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tteokdoroki · 2 months ago

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✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.”

“or else, what, honey?”

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him. initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here?

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory.

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?”

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal. “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.”

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?”

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?”

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.”

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more.

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.”

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time.

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away.

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.”

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother.

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy.

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother.

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk.

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?”

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth.

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air.

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon.

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear.

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality.

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from.

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well.

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.”

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length.

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair.

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity.

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?”

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory.

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood.

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all, you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache.

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two.

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens. “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore.

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top.

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you.

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way.

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,”

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?” the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…”

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n down. keep goin’ just like that.”

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light.

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him.

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close.

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you.

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?”

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair. the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom.

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull.

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him.

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth.

he’s going to cum.

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him.

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time.

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good.

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words.

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?”

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.”

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared.

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger.

the end.

#✐ᝰ KINKTOBER ‘24 #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jjk thirsts #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #gojo thirst

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controld3vil · 5 months ago

Text

here we stand

pairing: jacerys velaryon x mormont!reader

synopsis: news had broken out that the throne has been usurped. jacerys rides his way to winterfell, the end to the north where he meets cregan stark. and in evidently, you, lady mormont of bear island.

notes: first of all, HE LOOKS SO GOOD w/ long hair !! also this mentions the first scene in s2 ep 1, i just tweeked a few things where now jacerys receives the terrible news days after getting acquitted in at winterfell. and bc i wished for more jace & cregan interaction >:( no beta reading btw !!

Duty is sacrifice.

All know of it. It bypasses any blood or foe. To honor one's duty is to sacrifice one's possessions. And oaths can last long over through generations. It is bypassing children and their children. It is the utmost fidelity any honorable man should know. If for the Seven Kingdoms and everyone at stake at what's beyond the Wall. A barrier that towers over seven hundred feet from what lies more gruesome than death.

Your cousin, Cregan Stark took up the responsibility as Lord of Winterfell, sometime after the passing of his father, Rickon Stark. He's a noble lad, he took upon the role at the age of six and ten. He was young but quickly learned how to command and serve the people. Much like his House's words, he understood what was coming. Though unexpected news of an envoy from Dragonstone had landed him in monetary consideration. Of what's to come with his men and the upcoming raging war.

"This is only late summer snow, my prince. In winter it will cover all you see and all memories of warmth will be forgotten." The metal chamber that brings them to the top of the Wall stops and both men walk out into the cold winter bridge. It's desolate and high in altitude.

Jacaerys could only imagine what it would feel like in wintertime, where there is nothing else but ice. "It pleases me that over a century ago our ancestors were treated in this very place. The Conqueror and the King in the North." His brown hair, inches longer, flutters past the cold air. Even with his blood, the descendant of the ferocious fire-breathing creatures, his heart still churns with a chill.

"You at least had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon." The Lord of Winterfell smiles, eyeing the prince's reaction to the weather. No Southerner would know the true cold past summer.

The crowned prince returns his grin, looking out into the view beyond the Wall. From seven hundred feet above, everything, even the trees and people looked small. A wall that has been built this tall must offer security for what's beyond more terrifying than wildings and foes.

"While your men stand to protect against wildings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp my mother's throne. It is the duty of the Seven Kingdoms, and you, as Lord of Winterfell, to uphold your oaths sworn to the heir to the Iron Throne," Jacaerys gaze moves across where his eyes can take him off the Wall. It stretches out ridiculously long with men at every post. He has passed by a few to know whether or not, it was their obligation to join the Night's Watch, it was now their vow to protect this sacred place. However, he needed to remind Lord Stark of his reason for visiting. If the realm remained unbalanced, even Winterfell would not prosper.

"Starks do not forget our oaths, my prince," Cregan restates, with a look of sympathy and seriousness. "But you must know that my gaze will forever fall between the north and south. Here, in the winter, my duty to the Wall is more dire than what I ought in King's Landing. I need my men."

The prince of Dragonstone's look flickers, questionably. Until a holler from one of the watchmen signals Cregan of a visitor. He nods before glancing back at Jacaerys to dismiss him. A soft courtesy of his name before stepping down the post to greet the newcomer.

The cranks of the elevator come to a final stop. Before a pair of boots shuffle out of the old compartment to be met with the face of your cousin. Cregan's eyes meet yours in surprise and you subconsciously feel your shoulders untensed.

"Cousin,"

"Lady Mormont," He says with utmost respect as he can decipher the faint footsteps from behind Dragonstone's envoy. "What reason may you come to visit the Wall?"

"I received word that a messenger from Dragonstone came," Your bear fur coat holds you snug to protect you from the harsh winds. And your embroidered gloves, made from leather and deer fur have kept your fingers from freezing off during the trip to the edge of Winterfell. Your hands clasp together in an assertion. "Though I can already see he has arrived." Your soft stare transfigures onto Jacaerys and the sudden attention makes him slightly step aback.

Your lord gives you a playful look before turning back. "My prince, this is Lady Mormont of Bear Island. She is a close friend of mine and cousin." As embarrassed as the prince was, he could feel heat run up his spine as Jacaerys struggled to say anything welcoming.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Mormont,"

"The pleasure is mine," You blink innocently before addressing yet again your reason for presence. “Come, discuss matters over the fire,”

Eventually, a week has gone by with Jacaerys Velayron’s stay. His extended stay has left questions and concerns for the townsfolk. However, Cregan reassures them, replying to them in short curt responses. In all, he explains the prince should rest before riding back to Dragonstone as it was a few days' journey from the North. This brought no rejection from either party and allowed the two boys to catch up and take into consideration the risks.

You were always welcome at Winterfell. When you were little, your father, Lord Mormont, visited the black castle occasionally to meet with Lord Stark. The maids and servants knew you well as well as the Starks. They treated you like their own blood despite you being a distinct relative from a faraway island. Rare at times would they come to visit your home. Your homeland was not as welcoming as Winterfell some may say. Your House resided over lone shores, topped with horrific rock structures and charcoal reefs. A ruthless and barbaric landmark for the House of the Bear.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Lord Stark,” Jacaerys starts, holding his ale cup to drink as all of the other guests gather to feast for the night. The three of you alongside Cregan’s son, Rickon, were seated at the high table, enjoying the luxurious scene before you all.

Large condiments of meats, pastries, and wine for the people, nobles of the Northmen. Feasts were something that brought together everyone during harsh times. In times of violence or sorrow, it is the shared appreciation you all must endure to move forward. That is true of what the people of the North had that no other House had. The Velaryron prince gives you an appreciative smile. “And to you, Lady Mormont, I thank you for your sincere support of my mother’s claim.”

“Here we stand,” You raise your goblet, reciting your very House words. True to what it meant, your family stood prepared for what days would come to an end. You understood one day you have a place in something greater when the moment was right and here it was now, lying right in front of you. Mormonts are known to be willing to fight even when the odds are against them. So were you when you declared fealty to Cregan Stark, your dear cousin. Your loyalty towards him would only mean you would go to the ends of the Earth to fulfill your promise. “And here we fight for the queen.”

Despite not having Rhaenyra, her son knew she would be fond of you. Your attitude and strong integrity were something few held at King’s Landing. He acknowledged that people may not agree with his mother’s claim. However, there will always be those who still believe and support her. You are one of those people. Despite being hundreds of miles away from King’s Landing, Cregan and you showed fealty and loyalty to the oaths sworn nearly a decade ago. Some day, he wishes his mother would meet you.

“Of course,” Cregan begins, settling his cup down, before patting for his son to come towards him. “With the men we have, it is guaranteed they’d be ready to march the earliest as of the morrow” Rickon starts off his wooden seat and shuffles to his father’s lap. A clumsy stumble and the Lord of Winterfell picks up the child with ease with a soft smile. “From there, the men will march to King’s Landing.”

“Then I should leave by the morrow,” Rhaenyra’s son places his arms on the table.

Your heart skips a half second, knowing that the time you spent together would be short-lived eventually. The prince was sent as a messenger, nothing more. His stay was long overdue, though no word from Dragonstone has the eyes of the ravens yet. It sinks to you momentarily when you place the last piece of meat into your mouth and down the last drops of your ale.

“Yes, your visit has been short-lived,” Your cousin sighs, too aware of how the brief meeting would be over. Jacaerys was a good friend, being the same age as him, Cregan felt well acquainted with him. He had only wished that they had met under different circumstances and times. Perhaps when war wages on, they would meet again on the battlefield or after they have won against the Greens. Speculation of what was next was unknown. “But you have our support, my prince. Do not fret, we will prepare for what the Hightowers plan.”

Jacaerys nods, understandably. He turns to you who sweetly bobs your head in agreement. How delicate your features looked in the dim ambers of the Winter halls. He’s enamored by your presence with how often he gravitates towards your direction.

He had always assumed Northern women would be different from Southerners. They were different. Northerners were divine in their way. You excluded such poise and delicacy, Jacaerys sometimes couldn’t help but become curious of you. Your hobbies, what you liked to do, what was your favorite food, and your most desired ambitions. Southerners in King’s Landing were graceful and fragile like the summer breeze. However, you were like a chilly snow cast. The cold, it’s welcoming and he constantly feels chills running down his spine whenever your eyes meet.

“Now what do you think of the North?” Your lord light-heartedly brings up to lighten the mood. You and Cregan enjoyed the short mornings with the prince. The limited time you shared allowed for intimate discussions and a way to become acquainted with one another. The people, how things functioned, and how you adapted to the cold. It’s far much different than what he’s accustomed to in Dragonstone, where his home echoed through miles. Compared to the North, Winterfell was exceptionally enormous but had a sense of home and warmth.

“It’s different from Dragonstone,” The brown-haired envoy laughs, showing quite fond forever his home. “My home resides by the sea, surrounded by the high tides and rough shores. The castle is covered in obsidian stone and is known to be indestructible. My family has lived there for centuries now.”

“How fascinating,” Your cousin breathes, showing his teeth. “I’ve heard stories about Dragonstone. Some say you can find dragon eggs deep in the mountains.”

“That is true, our dragons reside in caves. They lay their eggs in crystallized magma. Our dragon masters look after the eggs and know when the time is right to harvest them.”

“What happens when a dragon egg doesn't hatch?” You lean your head forward, hands clasped together again. Learning about his family and their customs kept your interest for a long time. Not many Southern Houses come to visit from King’s Landing. They rather stay where it is warm and avoid the uncomfortable weather and travel to the North. Your eagerness was appreciated when Jacearys considered your question.

“We wouldn’t know for sure when they would or would not hatch. We simply wait it out.” He quirks a gentle smile when your gaze is sort of magnetic. It’s like you were in a trance every time he spoke of anything he was interested in.

“How long have you waited for one to hatch?” Cregan picks up his cup again to refill while his son pivots to run to the other side of the table, only to be greeted by you. With big smiles, you gladly carried the child to your side.

“A few years,” Jacearys remembers the day well. He remembers his brother Joffrey, struggling and whining to his mother about his egg. He was as young as four, however in the first three years of his life, his dragon had not hatched. It’s a mystery when the dragon decides to break out of its shell. He was fortunate with Vermax after months of being born, his companion was right beside him from the start. Lucerys had a similar reaction. Rhaenyra often told stories of many instances of good and bad hatchlings alongside their rider. Some may not have been awakened by its rider, for they might have been dead already. The unknown enigma of those ferocious beasts pales in the prince’s head.

“It must’ve been unpleasant,” You joked, hugging Rickon tightly, having his cheek meet with yours. The young boy giggles loudly, taking hold of both of your cheeks in excitement.

The atmosphere felt sublime and almost too perfect. Here in the warmth and formality of the Stark Household, everyone was lively and heeded no sorrows. How the prince wished upon the same for Dragonstone. If only the realm was brought together and the Hightowers had not usurped his mother’s throne despite her rightful claim. Would his family be united and happy finally?

He wasn’t sure as Jacaerys had never known familial love on his mother’s side. Both of his uncles vexed him, Luke and Joffrey. Helaena was kind, however, never showing malice towards him and his brothers. But the Hand of the King, and Queen Regent. Quiet in their schemes and distaste for bastards.

Affection is what fills the prince’s chest with glee. As he scans the dining room of men, women, and children, they all feast and brawl over pointless endeavors. The scent of mead and hot fresh meat fills the room with chaotic laughter and nonsensical bubbling. In another time and place, Jacaerys would have been thrilled to visit Winterfell during this time of year.

And his gaze slowly follows the wisp of your faint figure by the fireplace. With the heir of House Stark, you blow raspberry kisses against Rickon’s hot cheeks. As the boy squeals in delight, grabbing at the ends of your hair like ropes on the ship, bouncing them back and forth. You were good to Rickon, Jacaerys knows you care for the boy like it were your son. He thinks Cregan is grateful to have someone's endearment and protection toward his son. For the lack of a maternal figure had been long gone. You would be a great mother one day, he deciphers. You constantly fiddle Rickon’s hair which reminds him of his mother when he was little.

It was such a faint memory that stuck in his mind whenever he saw you with the children. Rhaenyra would question him if she were here. Mothers had a knack for spotting things such as things. The prince knew of his interest in you. However, would you do the same if he made them clear as day?

You never said anything to him. It makes him question if you were truly interested or not. You’ve shown fondness over meals and spoke of jokes whenever he came out to the stables, where his poor dragon, Vermax, gruntled in the snow.

“I’m sorry the farmers could not do much to help your dragon!” You shouted out one day in the early sunrise. He takes a few steps from his companion to find you in white fur coats and boots. You looked beautiful, the color suits you. As elegant and dainty as the pigment of his mother’s hair. Your locks were braided halfway with the rest, flowing down from your ears to your shoulders. “We don’t often have dragons visit us in the North!”

The prince laughs with small puffs of his breath becoming visible. “The stable boys did a fine job in accompanying Vermax.” At the call of his dragon’s name, it slowly hovers over his dragon rider. It purrs warmly in the frost as your eyes glower in fascination.

“He’s beautiful,” Your voice is nearly breathless at the size difference Vermax has over the buildings and people. It is a creature that comes far beyond your imagination and fairy tales. It's olive green scale prickle in delight as your eyes began to wonder back and forth. Dragons were rare in the North and it must’ve been a relentless recurrence for the people in King’s Landing.

The prince hums before kicking a chunk of frozen dirt. He makes an effort to be bold for once. “Would you like to pet him?”

You looked shook and it made him struggle to keep a composed posture. You stumble to make any words come out of your mouth. “I- May I?”

“Of course,” The dragon rider comes forward and grabs your hand, dragging himself closer to the beast. The sudden contact and closure make your heart beat faster than anticipated. As you find yourself glancing up at its reptilian eyes. In horror, you hold your ground, wanting nothing more than to back away. “It’s alright, he won’t hurt you.”

Jacery’s reassurance doesn't comfort you as you resist his grip on your wrist. Vermax merely stands, grumbling in curiosity as to your stricken presence. It’s trying to inquire about your anxiety when it was the reason for it in the first place.

Taking a short take of air, you stand in place. You did your best to calm your breathing, feeling a hand on your lower back to support you. Your dainty eyes meet the prince. And within contact, it felt as though you felt everything would be alright. His touch soothed your racing heart as you excelled forward, step by step closer to the beast. For you, it must’ve felt like the clock had slowed down when you were merely inches away from Vermax. Its enormous size was breathtaking and you could make your lungs free of oxygen again.

Yet your state of mind returns when the queen’s heir comes into view. The air felt a tension between fear and anxiety. It was both exhilarating and terrifying for someone who has never seen a dragon up close before. You took the last big step when you lifted your fingers above its nose.

Vermax shivered and at the last minute, you wanted to back out. Until Jacaerys hand envelopes over your hand to pet his companion. With such care and attentiveness, you should have realized the prince’s advances towards you by now.

The Godswood was a welcoming pastime you’ve grown to respect. With the decline in visits, you’ve come to value the historic tree for what it stood for and the ancestral value it had over your people. Cregan did not mind whenever you went away to pay your respects. He knew how important it was to you to respect the old gods and the new. War was coming. If you were going to support Rhaenyra, you only wish for your men to come out victorious.

You were no war-picking woman. But death was something you’ve come to accept recently. The passing of Rickon Stark brought a hole in your heart. You mourned in your ways, and so did Cregan when you had heard he had taken the mantle as Lord of Winterfell. He still is a young man, barely over six and ten. The best you could do was offer your presence and time. To him, being present with the people and acting lively was enough for him to regain his mind. Everyone looked up to Rickon for what he stood for and the House. There is no doubt Cregan would do the same in the coming time to King’s Landing.

“It’s saddening, isn’t it?” You breathe into the crisp air, only to feel your throat grow dry. But the person behind you knows you were referring to them. “How war affects us all.”

The prince of Dragonstone steps out from the shadows. His steps were slow and gruff, still worn out from the feast and the massive amount of ale that was offered to him. But you were the only thing that had piqued his interest. You were quiet, not expecting an answer from him. Until he stepped and stopped right beside you, shoulders nearly touching but inches apart. Your bear coat was held loosely on you as he recalled you too struggled to leave the dining table. You all drank too much tonight.

“The Godswood know of it all. They see everything,” The bear bronze sigil shines past his peripherals when he cannot meet your gaze. You were not drunk enough to do something reckless but not too sober to do anything either.

In return, all you could ever see was Jacaerys furrowed expression. He’s contemplating something. But you choose to stare and take in his features with such interest and curiosity. His soft and tranquil pout resembles much of a wolf you’ve seen. As though his curly strands, which you would imagine, are dim to the touch. The prince holds assertiveness in his duty, falling into the role of heir as for his queen. Perhaps he’s everything that his mother stood for. You admired it.

“Know you and your men's contributions would be known,” He whispers, it’s clear you could feel his breath close to your neck. The dark clouds could not even hide the indisputable truth. The crescent moon gleams somewhere in the far distance you can’t seem to find. But you know what’s true. Because moments ago, you could discern his distance inches away. Now it seems that he wants to close the gap by the second. “And that…”

“That we did our duties, nothing more.” You pant, unable to keep your eyes from moving from his gaze and lips. Strands of his dark brown hair trickle against your cheeks as you take one last glimpse at your prince. If any of this was acceptable. You wouldn’t exceed further to know he’d reject your proclaimed assumptions.

But nothing happens. It was as though the chill in the air had changed. When another figure reappears out of the shadows and into the light. Jacaerys distances himself from you. While you did your best to compose yourself for being caught red-handed by a servant boy.

“My Lady,” The innocent boy chants, as he holds up a scroll. “A message from Dragonstone.” Jacearys’s eyes shot up as you were given the letter. The moment you give the signal of approval, the servant boy leaves into the abyss and back into the cabin.

You unlatched the curly paper and patiently read its contents. The prince carefully awaits, every so longing to catch any misdemeanor you would have upon what letter had. He hopes and wishes it is good news more than anything. But you held a stone-cold expression and when you looked up at him, he could only discern sorrow with the words that come out of your mouth.

“I’m sorry, my prince.”

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darktrashsoulbear · 10 days ago

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The Abyss Of Affection

Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Summary: Aemond discovers the book his sweet wife has been obsessed with and after reading one of the scenes, a plan begins to formulate (fluff)

This was inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful Hannah @gwaynesprincess

House of the Dragon Masterlist

Taglist

Warnings: Allusions to smut

Word Count: 2308

Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics

Not entirely show canon as Jaehaerys is alive, Maelor exists and people are happy

Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)

His calculated footsteps echoed in the hallways of the keep’s royal chambers, following the elder of the King’s brothers - Prince Aemond Targaryen - back to his chambers after an incredibly taxing day filled with fulfilling duties that were not his own and patrolling the city atop his beloved Vhagar, the Queen of all Dragons. Many would argue a dragon fit for a true king, Aemond would agree. Finally rounding the corner, he greeted the familiar face of Ser Steffon giving a cordial nod as he made his way through the doors of his chambers, removing his cloak as he went.

The sight that greeted the prince was not surprising yet still brought a small, fond smile to his face. Laying on her side of the feather bed was his sweet wife curled up under the various blankets spread across the bed to combat the chill in the air as the citadel switched black ravens to white and summer turned to winter. Aemond made quick work of stripping out of his leathers and into a loose night shirt and breeches ready to join his wife in slumber.

Just as he was about to blow out the candles beside where they lay, he noticed a book beneath the blankets next to his sweet wife’s sleeping form. He picked it up ready to place it on the small table on her side of the bed before taking a look at the title and realising it was the book that had so often stolen her attention away from him during the nights they spent together before the fire. The prince’s insatiable curiosity, it seems, also extended to what on earth his sweet wife could be reading in the non-academic books she so loves.

Flipping over to one of the pages he remembers her completely raving about with her lady in waiting, he began to read and as he continued, a plan began to formulate.

She was met by a chorus of “good morrow, Princess” to which she responded with decidedly less vigour and an almost petulant expression as she discovered that her husband was in fact not in their shared chambers. This prompted the other ladies in the room to barely suppress their giggles knowing how not seeing her husband in the mornings can dampen her mood - not that the Prince fairs any better himself.

“Do any of you happen to know where my dear lord husband is at such an hour?” she discontentedly drawled.

The handmaidens exchanged uneasy glances with one another which, of course, did not escape her watchful gaze and she probed further with a single raise of an eyebrow. Silence ensued for a couple of very awkward, tension-filled seconds until the Princess’ lady in waiting - Elaena - stepped closer and stated that “we are not at liberty to say, Princess,” adding a slight curtsy at the end.

Again silence ensued only interrupted by her own chortle “what in the name of the seven do you mean ‘not at liberty’, forgive me but I am utterly confused.”

“I’m afraid Prince Aemond has forbidden us to speak of it Princess and he reminded us that if you demanded… well Princess he said for us to remember that his orders outrank yours,” Elaena hesitantly explained, shoulders visibly tense at her admission.

An even longer silence commenced, this one not so easily interrupted. Instead the Princess slightly nodded her head and proceeded to load some fresh fruits onto her plate before biting into a strawberry that was surprisingly ripe given the season. She sat with a contemplative look on her face, her ladies worried she was deeply hurt when really she was wondering what the best way to punish him would be, perhaps…

She was pulled from her musings by a knock on the chamber doors which one of the handmaidens - Lyla - was quick to answer. She carried a written message delivered by a page boy and with mild curiosity the Princess unravelled it and began to read.

She then very calmly got up, retreating to the sitting chambers with her beloved book and instructed her handmaidens to leave her, and on their way to “inform Prince Aemond that if he wishes to have an audience he may do so in our private chambers, I am not a dog to be called to heel and told to wait in the dragon pit until he finally chooses to descend from the sky”.

Suddenly Queen Helaena turned to look directly into the Princess’ eyes causing her to startle. Helaena grasped her arms in a gentle hold and decided that “you will be very happy with it,” and while not always understanding but being kind to Helaena’s ways, the Princess confidently nodded in affirmation.

“I’m certain I will be sister,” followed by a soft squeeze of the Queen’s hands she quickly let go to ensure she didn’t crowd the gentle soul beside her.

Turning her attention to Maelor, the youngest of the King and Queen’s children, she scooped him into her arms and brought him to her lap where she proceeded to grab the second less than perfect dragon (Daeron’s first attempt) and began to play with him. Entirely encompassed by the babe's soft giggles she failed to notice the shadow of her husband nor feel the piercing but fond gaze he stared at the two of them with - giving him a few ideas of his own.

Finally sensing his presence, his sweet wife turned towards him and pinned him with a markedly less than sweet gaze. After returning Maelor to his mother, the princess stood, brushed off her dress, said her goodbyes to the children with the promise of visiting again soon, squeezed Helaena’s hand and strode straight past her dear husband without so much as a look in his direction.

Aemond Targaryen, the incredibly formidable man that he is, immediately turned and followed (and after speaking with her lady in waiting) trailed a step behind knowing that if he got any closer he may well be subject to a more physical attack.

“Sweet wife - ,” his mouth slammed shut, the sound of his teeth clacking together audible as she turned around to face him and he thanked the seven that they’d at least made it to the hall outside their chambers to give a small amount of privacy.

“How can I be of service to my Prince? Shall I draw you a bath, change your linens, perhaps wash them too? After all, your commands should certainly be obeyed by all who rank lower than you lord husband!” and Aemond’s moment of stunned silence was all she needed to turn and push the door to their chambers open, her hair almost whipping Aemond in the face. After clearing his throat and righting his already perfectly placed doublet, the prince followed after his wife. This time the nod to Ser Steffon was slightly more stiff and definitely less cordial.

Upon entering their chambers, it became apparent that his sweet wife was just getting started on his torture as she began shedding her day clothes to ready herself for dinner that night as it had become customary for the royal family to dine together per the Dowager Queen Alicent’s request. As he walked in she turned to look at him, again raising a single eyebrow, a silent demand for him to explain himself and explain he did - after he managed to bring his eye back up to meet hers.

Aemond nervously began to describe how he had to go patrol the city earlier than expected that morrow and after his wife’s further probing he let out a sigh as he admitted that he was hiding something from her but he insisted she could not know. Instead he decided to avert her attention by apologising for his blunt and insensitive instructions, insisting his mind was incredibly preoccupied and he meant none of it.

After a beat, his sweet wife looked back up at him and simply agreed that it was foolish of him before continuing to prepare herself for dinner. With the guilt still weighing down on him, Aemond tried once more to draw a further reaction from her and informed her that “we will not be dining with the family tonight, my heart, it shall just be the two of us so please do not feel obligated to wear something that will placate my mother”. The huff of air Aemond let out could have rivalled Vhagar’s as his Princess finally met his eye and gave a smile of her own.

The Princess very quickly decided that she would never again allow her husband to guide her through the gardens, at dusk, alone with no idea of where on earth he was going. She marvelled at how her Prince had spent the entirety of his life growing up within the walls of the keep while she had only moved here three years past when their betrothal was finalised and yet she knew the gardens a lot better than he did. They walked in silence with the occasional mumble of “I’m sure it was this way”, “perhaps it’s actually that way” and what she is sure sounded like a “seven hells this is so embarrassing”.

Eventually, the Princess abruptly stopped walking causing Aemond to turn back to look at her with wide eyes as though he was expecting her to end the night and head back into the castle (which definitely seems tempting) but instead she drew herself closer to him tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb and sweetly asked him to tell her where he wanted to go and she would lead the way. Confusion clouded her eyes when she saw her husband’s gaze darken with disappointment at not being able to keep the location secret before giving a rather reluctant nod and mumbling the area of the gardens.

This again caused her to still, as not long before setting off on their adventure she’d gotten to her favourite scene in the romance novel she was currently re-reading which described the relationship between two lovers from flea bottom snook into the castle’s garden and had a picnic beneath a section where two trees intertwined to look like a heart. She let out a small laugh at the coincidence before leading him in the direction of the garden’s that she learned the trees actually existed in when she went searching after her first time reading the book.

As they stepped through the clearing, fingers interlocked, Aemond’s sweet wife stopped dead in her tracks. The scene before her bringing an onslaught of tears to her eyes and Aemond’s own eye drank in her reaction feeling his chest expand with pride. The scene was exactly as described in the books - granted the royalty version - with a table in the middle of the clearing, the heart trees standing right before it. A small fire was lit as the air was cool and biting and she thanked the gods for giving her a husband intelligent enough to organise for a canopy to be set up over the table. Even the food was some of the meats and fresh fruit described in her book.

After taking it all in, the princess - now thankful for there being no escort - fisted her husband’s nicest leathers and brought him down for a bruising kiss, whispering thank you’s and I love you’s in between.

Aemond’s own heart was beating out of his chest as they finally pulled away from one another and he helped her into her seat before taking his own next to her, never letting go of her hand - not even when they began to eat, opting to do it with his left hand instead, and certainly not as his sweet wife moved from her own seat into his lap, playing with his hair and telling him just how wonderfully he had done.

If you asked anyone who crossed paths with the Prince and Princess that night, they’d tell you that never before had they ever encountered two individuals looking so shamelessly in love. They’d express their shock as they witnessed their Prince, the fierce rider of Vhagar, laugh freely with his lady wife with his arm firmly wrapped around her waist and the Princess’ hand rubbing up and down his back.

As the Prince once again encountered Ser Steffon, he greeted the guard with a slightly more reserved smile than his wife received and instructed him to have a good night while he ushered his giggling wife inside. Once they were out of sight Ser Steffon let out a small chuckle of his own before walking a few paces down the hall, away from the door.

As the very smitten couple climbed into bed the Prince once again asked his sweet wife if everything met her standards to which she simply pulled herself up and decided on showing him how pleased she was instead - but not before ensuring the punishment she decided on earlier was carried out.

#in my fluff era (it probably won’t last long)#angst will always call me back I fear #if anyone sees any typos no you didn't 😭#darktrashsoulbear writes #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #ewan mitchell

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shadowandlightt · 4 months ago

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Snow and Flame | Cregan Stark X Velaryon!reader|

Sent to treat with Lord Stark, the young Targaryen prince and princess receive devastating news and must return to Dragonstone, only the princess is sure she'll see the young Lord once more.

Cregan Stark, Warden of the North, wasn’t what you expected. He was warm, and kind, not stone cold and hardened by the cold of the north. You expected him to be hard, hadn’t expected the warm welcome that you received with your brother Jace. Your mother, the rightful queen, sent you here to treat with the young Lord of the North and remind him of the vow once made to her father, your grandsire.

“Seven Hells,” You shiver, “Is it always this cold here?” “Yes, my princess,” Cregan laughs, “This is only summer snow though, it is much worse in the winter.”

You shiver once more, wishing for the warmth provided on Dragonstone, in the south. Yet you were glad to be here with your brother and the young Lord of the North. You were dressed in enough furs to outfit many in the south. But here they were needed.

“I would hate to see winter snow then, my lord,” You sigh.

“Winter snows aren’t so bad, Princess,” Cregan replies, “We find ways to stay warm.”

“Enough, Lord Stark,” Jace chides, “Remember you are in the presence of a princess.”

“Of course, forgive me, my Prince.”

You glare at your brother, hating that he cut off the Lord. You were a lady of course, a Princess nonetheless. But you were not accustomed to hearing such things, given that you grew up with brothers. They forget that you are no delicate flower.

You feel a heat in your belly at the way Cregan looks at you, desire rising up in you. You’d never felt this way before, never having been around men your own age since leaving King’s Landing as a child.

“Perhaps you should show me those ways in which you stay warm,” You blurt out before being able to stop yourself. Though you quickly recover, “Forgive me My Lord, that was out of character for me. I blame the long journey.”

“Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here at Winterfell instead of making the journey to the Wall,” Jace warns.

“No, I shan't stay behind,” You shake your head, “I was sent here to help secure the alliance between our two houses and I’ll do just that, Jace.”

He smiled, throwing his arms up in defeat. He did not dare say you sounded very much like your Queen, and Mother. You looked very much like her, only with dark hair instead of the trademark silver Targaryan locks. You looked like your father, you assumed, as well. Lord Strong. You hadn’t voiced your own suspicions, not even to your brothers. But you knew in your heart that Harwin Strong was your father, and that he loved you very much.

“It’s an equally long journey to the Wall, are you sure you’re up for it Princess?” Cregan asks.

“Yes, my Lord Stark, I believe I can handle a two week’s ride north.”

You were readying to mount your horse when a young boy came running between your legs, latching onto you. A little laugh escaped your mouth as your arms came around the small boy to hold him. He couldn’t have been more than two or three, similar to the ages of your youngest brothers.

“Who might we have here,” You laughed, picking up the small boy and holding him in your arms, “Don’t fret little one, we’ll come back.”

The little boy nuzzled into your neck, seeking warmth you surmised. Lord Stark couldn’t help but notice the way you beamed holding his young son, and the way he went to you instead of his own father.

“Forgive me, Princess,” Cregan said, reaching for the boy, “Tis my son, from my late lady wife.”

“No apology needed, Lord Stark,” You hum, holding tighter to the boy, “He reminds me of mine own brothers. Tis no trouble, really.”

The little boy mumbled something into your neck, causing you to laugh aloud once more. Cregan finally pried the young boy from your arms, holding him just as close to his chest.

“We’ll only be gone a few weeks, Little Rickon,” Cregan tells the little one, “When you’re older, you’ll come to The Wall too. Now, great your Prince and Princess, little lad.”

“Oh, no need for that,” You say before Jace can get a word in, “He’s only little. There will be plenty of time for formalities as he grows.”

Jace smiles at the young boy, poking his red little cheek to earn a smile from the wee little one. Cregan smiles down at his young son before putting him down and instructing him to go back to his maid, who was to look after him whilst Cregan was away.

You weren’t sure how your dragon would deal with you being gone for so long, but you wouldn’t miss out on this. You’d always wanted to see the Wall. So you endured the long ride on horseback, which was almost enough to fell you.

By the time you reached the Wall you were unsure if you could walk. Jace had to help you off your horse. You were thankful for the layers that added some padding and acted as a way to hide your limp.

“I did warn you Princess,” Cregan sighs.

“I’m fine,” I groan out, “Just haven’t been on my feet in some time.”

He grins at you, but leads you and Jace towards the lift to the top of the Wall. You were warned that the men who take the Black are wild and vicious, but that you would be safe as long as you stayed with Lord Stark. They would not dare go against him.

You vaguely listen as your brother and Lord Stark talk about politics during the ride north. You laughed along with them as Jacaerys made crude jokes. Something you were used to, but Cregan did not know of you and your brother’s humor. He’s a Northerner, something different from you. You were a fair southerner, not used to the chill and cold. He’s born and bred for it.

“Too cold for you, Princess?”

You like the way he says your title. A hint of mischief in his voice. You wanted to know what he would do if you were a low born girl, with no honor to protect. Would he take you? Make you his own? You yearn for him to take you. More than you expected. But you were a lady, a Princess at that. It wasn’t for you to want such things. Your marriage would be arranged for political gain, you were second in line for the throne, not the heir. Luke was heir to Driftmark, being the second son. You were nothing but a pawn, and you knew it.

“Not at all, Lord Stark.”

“Please, Cregan, if you will.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, though you were lucky enough that the wind would hide it, cheeks already red enough. He held his hand out for you as you reached a platform. The sight took your breath away. The wide expanse beyond the wall was a sight to see, as was the wall that guards it. Your mouth is open slightly as the gasp leaves you.

“Tis a sight, I know,” Cregan says, standing between you and Jace.

“It’s beautiful.”

You weren’t sure how the words left your lips, or if they were even given permission to leave. You were not mad about it though, words often had a way of escaping when it came to you. You often got in trouble for it.

Jace and Cregan began negotiations once more whilst you took in the view of the wall. You heard Cregan promise some two thousand men, which made you smile even wider. The North would bend the knee to your mother, and serve their rightful queen.

“A raven, My Lord, with urgent news from Dragonstone.”

You turn, facing Cregan as he reads the missive, watching as his face falls, looking to Jace before handing him the message. Jace’s jaw tightens and his hands begin to shake. Your brows furrow, reaching beyond Cregan for Jace’s shoulder.

“What is it?” You question, brows knitting together even tighter.

“We must return home,” His voice is tight, “Luke-he’s gone.”

You felt as if the world was crashing around you. Surely there was a mistake, he was simply flying to Storm’s End. He was only meant to treat, and return. Luke knew how important this was to your mother’s claim, he wouldn’t have jeopardized it. He wouldn't have gotten himself killed over it.

“Surely the raven is mistaken,” You scoff, taking a step back. Your back collides with Cregan’s chest, “Lucerys is fine, I’m sure.”

Strong, somehow warm, hands grip your shoulders, holding you in place, “No, Aemond and Vhagar killed him.”

“No. No I refuse to believe that,” Your head shakes, “Aemond disliked Luke after what happened, but he wouldn’t kill him. He couldn’t.”

“Princess,” Cregan says softly, barely audible over the sound of the wind.

“No!” You yell, feeling your chest cave in, “No!”

Tears freeze against your cheeks as you begin to cry. Without thinking, you turn around and bury yourself in Cregan’s chest. He stands still for a moment, stunned by your actions before wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly.

It only takes moments for you to compose yourself. You were two weeks away from your dragon, a week and a half at best. Days away from Dragonstone and your mother. All you could think of was how scared little Luke had to have been. He was all alone, high in the clouds, no doubt in the middle of a fierce storm. You should have opted to go with him instead of Jace. Jace could have handled this without you.

“We should go back,” Jace instructs.

You sniff and nod, backing away from the Warden of the North. You instantly miss his warmth, internally scolding yourself for thinking such a thing at a time like this. You instead lean into Jace, accepting your brother as your rock until you could return home.

When you say goodbye to Cregan several days later, you can’t help but hope this isn’t the last time you see him. He promises his men once more, and watches as you and your brother climb onto your dragons.

The flight home is wildly fast, pushing your dragons to carry you faster than you thought they could. As if they could sense how quickly you wished to return home to Dragonstone, they allowed you to push.

By the time you return, even you are out of breath, emotions swirl wildly in your chest. You want nothing more than to go straight to your mother, but Jace tells you that he’ll give the report, seeing you were in no shape to do so.

You retreated to your rooms, saying nothing to Baela as you passed her. All there was, was your misery over the loss of your brother. You screamed and cried his name, mourning in the only way you knew how. You wanted to go to war, slay the devil Aemond and Vhagar. But you knew in your heart it would be a fool’s errand. You would be the one who was slain. Vhagar was much too big for any of the dragons with riders here on Dragonstone. Vermithor was the only one who could potentially stand against her, yet the Bronze Fury was riderless still.

You wail even when Jace finds you once more, holding you tightly in his arms. You both cry for your little brother, who was so full of life and love. He did not deserve to die, and you find yourself praying to the gods to take you instead. You fall asleep in your older brother’s arms, having cried everything you had to cry.

You expect to see Luke when you finally close your eyes. To dream of his horrific final moments. But instead you dream of white snow, an ice wall, and the stoic northerner who threatened to consume you. When you woke, tears still shining in your eyes, you vowed that it would not be the last time you saw Lord Cregan Stark. You would see him again, and find if he thinks about you as much as you seem to be thinking of him.

#cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfiction #cregan x you #hotd cregan #hotd

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darkficlord69 · 3 months ago

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Fire & Ice

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Jacaerys Velaryon

Warning: tastefully depicted smut (18+)

Word Count: 2k

Summary: When fire meets ice, the very walls of Winterfell seem to tremble. But is the wolf a worthy match for the dragon?

Jacaerys Velaryon sat beneath the sprawling canopy of the godswood, a single white flower caught between his slender fingers. He plucked its petals one by one, watching them drift down to the withered grass like fallen snow. A sigh escaped his lips, soft as the summer breeze, and his fingers, adorned with silver rings fashioned in the shape of dragons' scaly tails, stilled when a bee landed upon his pink nipple. He dared not move, resembling a statue of marble, all sharp curves and delicate lines, carved by a true master’s hand. He held his breath until the bee took flight, then allowed a small smile to break across his face as he prepared to rise.

But then, a shadow fell over him, long and imposing, blotting out the sun. Jacaerys looked up, squinting against the sudden darkness.

"Good day, my prince," came a husky voice, roughened by the chill of the North.

"You too, Cregan," Jacaerys replied mildly, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he feared to break the stillness of the godswood.

"The lords of the war council request your presence in the solar," Cregan Stark said. "I had hoped you would care to join us."

Jacaerys let his gaze wander over Stark’s solid frame, taking in the man’s sturdy build. Those legs, long and strong beneath plain woolen breeches; that broad heavy chest hidden beneath layers of soft furs and leather; his hair, brown as autumn leaves, and his hard eyes, grey as winter’s ice—eyes that could thaw even the heart of a dragonlord.

He was lost in girlish thoughts, caught up in the rugged beauty of the Stark, when a soft throaty cough brought him back to himself. Cregan extended a gloved hand.

"Of course, my lord," Jacaerys said, taking the offered hand and letting Cregan pull him to his feet. "Anything you need."

***

The great hall of Winterfell rang with voices of discontent. Lord Umber’s booming shout rose above the rest, his face as red as his hair. “Straining our armies will only increase the risk of wildling attacks!” The room responded with a chorus of grunts and murmurs of approval. “Southron skirmishes are no concern of ours, I say!”

Lord Manderly, heavyset and lounging in his chair, responded in a bored drawl. “The South is as much a part of the Seven Kingdoms as the North. Sooner or later, one king or queen will force us to choose a side.”

“The Iron Throne will not look kindly upon our allegiance to Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Lord Hornwood intoned. Cregan Stark, seated at the head of the long oak table, had listened to enough prattle to make his head throb in annoyance. With a resounding thud, he slammed his large hands on the oak table, sending goblets rattling and silencing his bannermen. A sombre heaviness fell over the room, thick as the northern snows. The Warden of the North took a breath, his grey eyes hard and unyielding.

“We pledged our support to King Viserys’s heir long ago,” he said, his voice stern. “Never has a Stark broken his word, and I do not intend to be the first. Remember where your loyalties lie, my lords.”

With those words, dark and final as the grave, Cregan rose from the table, his wolfskin cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. Jacaerys Velaryon followed, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Once they were alone in the dim corridor of the Great Keep, Jacaerys’s mask of composure slipped, revealing the warmth beneath. “Cregan,” he said softly, his voice filled with genuine gratitude, “thank you.” The support of the North meant that his mother would be one step closer to claiming her birthright.

Cregan gave a curt nod, intent on heading to his chambers. But before he could take another step, he felt a firm yet gentle push, his back pressing against the cold stone of a column.

“Now let me show you how a dragon expresses his gratitude,” the prince murmured, a teasing grin curling his full, pouty lips. The words hung in the cold, still air, filled with a heat that made Cregan's blood pulse faster. Jacaerys moved with a lithe grace, every step a promise, every movement a dance of seduction.

Slowly, Jacaerys knelt before the Stark lord, his hands gliding up Cregan’s strong thighs. His touch was featherlight, just a whisper of fingers trailing over thick wool and leather, but it was enough to make Cregan’s breath catch in his throat. The prince’s eyes were dark, glimmering with mischief and desire, his expression one of pure intent as he let his fingers dance along the inside of Cregan's legs, feeling the muscles tense under his touch.

Cregan’s heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, insistent rhythm that matched the stirring in his loins. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling into fists as he fought the urge to pull Jacaerys up, to crush their mouths together in a desperate kiss. But he held back, held still, mesmerized by the sight of the prince at his knees, those nimble hands tracing patterns on his skin.

Jacaerys’s fingers found the edge of Cregan’s tunic, slipping beneath it, brushing against warm hair-covered flesh. The touch sent a shiver up Cregan’s spine, his breath hissing out between his teeth. Jacaerys looked up at him, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted slightly, his breath warm against Cregan’s thigh.

The prince leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Cregan’s leg, just above the knee. Cregan’s muscles tensed beneath the tender touch, his fingers twitching with the need to reach out, to bury them in the dark waves of Jacaerys’s hair. He watched, entranced, as Jacaerys continued his slow, torturous journey, his lips brushing lightly up the inside of Cregan’s thigh, each kiss a spark, each touch a flame.

The wolf stirred within Cregan, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he felt the heat of Jacaerys’s mouth moving higher. His desire, coiled tight like a spring, grew with every brush of those lips, every teasing touch. He felt himself harden, the ache of want becoming almost unbearable.

Jacaerys’s smirk widened as he felt the evidence of Cregan’s arousal beneath his hands. He looked up again, his eyes meeting Cregan’s, holding his gaze as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin just below Cregan’s hip. Cregan’s breath came out in a harsh exhale, his control slipping, his need overtaking him.

With a growl, Cregan reached down, his hands tangling in Jacaerys’s hair, pulling the prince up with a rough urgency. Their lips crashed together, the kiss fierce and desperate, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a frantic dance. It was a kiss that spoke of hunger, of a desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for too long, finally unleashed.

Jacaerys responded with equal fervor, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, their bodies pressing together, fitting like pieces of a puzzle. The prince’s lips were soft but insistent, demanding and giving all at once. Cregan could taste the heat of him, could feel the fire that burned beneath his skin, and he met it with his own cold fury, his own wild, untamed desire.

Their mouths moved together, each kiss deeper, more intense than the last, as if they were trying to consume each other, to fuse together through sheer will. Cregan’s hands moved down, grasping Jacaerys’s waist, pulling him closer still, until there was no space between them, until they were one, bound together by the force of their need.

His lips left Cregan’s mouth, trailing down his jaw, his neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of his throat. Cregan tipped his head back, a groan rumbling in his chest as Jacaerys found a sensitive spot, sucking gently, teeth grazing over skin.

The prince’s hands moved lower, finding hard planes of muscle, scars that marked his furry skin. He traced them with his fingertips, memorizing the shape of them, the feel of them, each one a testament to the man before him, to the strength and the honor that he embodied.

Cregan’s hands moved to Jacaerys’s waist, fingers digging into the prince’s hips as he pulled him impossibly closer, grinding against him, feeling the heat of his arousal through the layers of fabric. Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back, his eyes fluttering closed as pleasure coursed through him, his body arching into Cregan’s touch.

They moved together, lips meeting again in a fierce kiss, hands exploring, claiming, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The wolf and the dragon, fire and ice, together in the dark, bound by a passion that neither could deny. And in that moment, they were lost to the world, to the weight of their titles and the burdens of their duties, lost to everything but each other.Jacaerys gasped, his fingers tangling in Cregan’s thick, dark hair as he pressed ever closer, his body melting against the northerner’s like ice before a flame. Cregan’s lips moved to Jacaerys’s neck, finding the pulse there and biting down just hard enough to make the prince hiss in pleasure.

“More,” Jacaerys demanded, his voice breathless, his eyes half-lidded with desire. “Show me how fierce the wolf can be.”

Cregan needed no further invitation. He lifted Jacaerys effortlessly, the prince’s legs wrapping around his waist as it was Cregan’s turn to press him against the wall. The cold stone was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, but neither of them noticed. Their world had narrowed to this moment, to the taste of each other’s mouths and the feel of their skin.

They were fire and ice, light and shadow, opposites drawn together by a force neither of them could fully understand but neither wanted to fight. Here, in the shadows of the keep, they were free of the burdens of their titles and the weight of their responsibilities. Here, they were just two dandy men, lost in the madness of each other.

Cregan’s hands found the laces of Jacaerys’s lacy smallclothes and pulled, the fabric sliding down the prince’s hips and pooling at his feet. Jacaerys shivered at the sensation, his hands gripping Cregan’s shoulders as the northern lord knelt before him.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Cregan looked up, his eyes meeting Jacaerys’s, asking a question without words. Jacaerys nodded, a silent answer, a trust given and accepted.

“Stay still now, woman,” Stark commanded and Jace whimpered at the order.

Then, Cregan’s lips were on him, hot and wet and hungry, and Jacaerys gasped, his head falling back against the stone. The world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the heat of Cregan’s mouth and the rough scrape of his beard against sensitive skin.

Jacaerys’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hands fisting in Cregan’s hair as pleasure coursed through him, building and building until he thought he might shatter from it. And then, with a cry that echoed off the walls of Winterfell, he did, his body tensing, his back arching, and then collapsing against the stone, boneless and sated.

Cregan rose, his lips curved in a small, satisfied smile as he pulled Jace into his arms, holding him close as the prince caught his breath. They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, the only sound their breathing, the only warmth the heat of their bodies.

Finally, Jacaerys pulled back, his eyes bright, a lazy smile playing at his lips. “Well, Lord Stark,” he murmured, “I must say, your loyalty has its rewards.”

Cregan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a thrill through Jacaerys’s already sated body. “And you, Prince Jacaerys, are a demanding wench.”

Jacaerys leaned in, his lips brushing against Cregan’s ear as he whispered, “Only because I know you can handle me, oh Wolf of Winterfell.”

Cregan’s grin widened, his eyes darkening with promise. “Then you’ll have to show me again, you feisty dragonling,” he said, his voice a low growl.

Jacaerys laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the corridor. “Oh, I intend to, Cregan Stark. Many times over.”

And with that, they slipped away into the shadows, leaving only the faint echo of their laughter and the lingering warmth of their passion behind them.

End.

Hi! Hope you liked it 🥰 Any form of feedback is greatly appreciated! 🫶

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149panda149 · 1 year ago

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TGCF: My theory on the inspiration behind the 4 calamities

In some of the oldest Chinese myths and legends, there are 4 guardian gods of the four cardinal directions - the green dragon, white tiger, crimson bird, and black tortoise, and each have a colour, season and element associated with them. I'm not sure if anyone has made this connection before, but I'm writing it down if anyone is interested. There are spoilers about the calamities' identity.

First, the 青龙（qing long, green dragon) --> Qi Rong, Night-touring Green lantern.

The qinglong's territory is the East, and its colour is qing, which means green, or turqoise. Its element is wood, and its season is spring. Closely associated with royalty and the imperial family.

Now, for the similarities with our favourite green goblin. "qing" is literally the colour in Qi Rong's title, and his colour scheme. Qi Rong has a habit of hanging corpses from trees, which may be his relation to the element "wood". He does not have any obvious coleration with the season "spring"- perhaps he was born in spring. He is royalty, part of the imperial family as cousin to the crown prince.

Second, the 白虎（bai hu, white tiger)--> Bai Wuxiang, White Clothed Disaster upon the Earth.

The baihu's territory is the West, its colour is white, element is gold/metal, and its season is summer. It is the king of all beasts, associated with disease and war, often used as a guardian symbol by soldiers.

On the other hand, Jun Wu's title, alias and colour scheme are all white, and has plenty of weapons that may be his link to the element of "gold/metal". I don't think he has anything to do with summer, but feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. He is king of the gods, a god of war, and the one to spread the human face disease.

As east and west are considered a pair, the guardian spirits are meant to reflect each other. In Chinese poems and such, symmetry is important, and both Qi Rong and Jun Wu were princes, one becoming revered by the highest of gods, covered with masks and false identities, one becoming the object of disgust by the lowest of ghosts, using his real name and face. There is a certain poetic symmetry to it, don't you think?

To the second pair. The 朱雀 (zhu que, crimson bird)----> Hua Cheng, Crimson Rain Sought Flower

The zhuque rules over the south, its colour is red, element is fire, and its season is summer. It is the king of all birds, more powerful than even the phoenix, immortal and undying. As such, in many places it is also considered a symbol of life.

Now, to the most popular ghost king: Hua Cheng. The english translation of his title is "crimson", and his colour scheme is indubitably red and autumn-y shades. He also re-re-met Xie Lian in autumn ( I think - I mean, the leaves were all red in the donghua??), and has died again and again to return like the zhuque. He is the king of all ghosts, with a great determination to live(sorta? are ghosts alive??) for his love.

Lastly, my personal favourite, the 玄武 (xuan wu, black tortoise)---->He Xuan, Black Water Sinking Ships

The xuanwu, also called a tortoise, is actually the only spirit to be a combination of 2 animals, a snake and a tortoise. It rules over the north. Its colour is black( sometimes depicted as dark blue), element is water, and its season is winter. In earlier legends, he is considered a guide and guardian to the netherworld, of death and of long life.

Thus, to our poor indebted water ghost. He Xuan's name is "xuan", the same! goddamn! character! as the spirit! His title and colour scheme are all to do with the colour black, and he is a water ghost because he died because of the Water Master. He has been marked by death, yet survived and vowed revenge. This, and the fact that his house is called the Nether Water Manor, is probably his relation to the netherworld of the xuanwu.

To the pair of south and north. Both Hua Cheng and He Xuan have suffered and suffered again, yet Hua Cheng chooses to linger on due to hope and love, and He Xuan due to revenge and hatred. But hatred and love are two sides of the same coin. If Hua Cheng hadn't experienced the hatred from his childhood, he wouldn't have thrown himself from the city wall and met Xie Lian. If He Xuan hadn't loved his family, so much, he wouldn't have broken that hard after their deaths to lose himself to hatred and empty vengence.

Aaaaaand that concludes this essay. Keep in mind that this is a theory, and probably even isn't true, but if anybody wants a more detailed description of the guardian spirits, or to know more about the similarities between the mythical creatures of ancient china and tgcf, I will be more than happy to make a part 2.

Thanks for reading!!

#he xuan #tgcf #bai wuxiang #hua cheng #qi rong #four great calamities #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #black water submerging boats #black water sinking ships #night-touring green lantern #crimson rain sought flower #white-clothed calamity #shan hai jing #meta #tgcf meta

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lilianasgrimoire · 7 months ago

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Every Pagan Holiday

JANUARY

KALENDS

1st January

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Honouring Janus/Juno, first day of the Year. Kalends brought us the word 'calendar'.

ÞORRABLÓT (THORRABLÓT)

End of January/beginning of February

Origins: Iceland

Observed by: Heathens, Asatru

Midwinter Festival honouring Thor, usually by feasting and poetry.

FEBRUARY

IMBOLC

2nd February

Origins: Celtic polytheism /Ireland, as St. Brigid's Day

Observed by: Most neopagans, Wiccans, Druids, Asatru (as Charming of the Plow)

Imbolc is the most widely known and observed pagan holiday in the months of January and February. It falls at the beginning of spring/end of the winter for the Celtic peoples; marking the changing of the seasons, as most holidays do. St. Brigid is a Christianised form of or inspired by the Celtic fertility goddess Brigid who is celebrated on this day.

PARENTALIA

13th-21st February

Origins: Ancient Rome

Observed by: Greco-Roman polytheists

Translating to 'Ancestors Day', Parentalia is a nine-day celebration of deceased ancestors. Historically it was observed by feasting and making offerings and sacrifices to the dead and spirits of the underworld.

VÁLI'S BLOT

14th February

Origins: Old Norse

Observed by: Heathens, Asatru, Norse polytheists

Váli's Blot is considered by some Asatru to be the Norse equivalent of Valentine's Day but is widely acknowledged as a season changing festival. A day for marriage and celebrating with family and friends, and for remembrance of Váli, the son of Odin who defeated Höðr on this day.

LUPERCALIA

15th February

Origins: Ancient Rome

Observed by: Greco-Roman polytheists

Festival thought to honour a wolf who raised abandoned princes, celebrated originally by sacrificing goats to the gods, feasting, and, for fertility, nudity and fornication.

LESSER ELEUSINIAN MYSTERIES

17th-23rd February

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Initiation to the cult of Persephone and Demeter by sacrificing a pig. Prelude to Greater Mysteries, initiations held on these dates. Once completed, initiates could then move onto Greater Mysteries in the autumn.

ANTHESTERIA

27th February - 1st March 2021

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Athenian festivals dedicated to Dionysus and the dead. Held around the full moon in the month of Anthesterion, which in the Gregorian calendar this year roughly translates to 27th February.

THE DISTING/DÍSABLÓT

End of February/beginning of March

Origins: Uppsala, Sweden

Observed by: Heathens, Asatru, Norse polytheists

Celebration of Valkyries and other female spirits, called dísir. Sacrifices were made for a good harvest. Celebrated still by an annual market in Sweden.

MARCH

KALENDS

1st March

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Honouring the god Mars/Ares. Kalends brought us the word 'calendar'.

OSTARA/EARRACH

20th March

Origins: Anglo Saxon paganism, popularised as Ostara by Wicca

Observed by: Anglo Saxon Pagans, Wiccans, Neopagans, Druids (as Alba Eilir), Heathens (as Summer Finding), Ásatrú (as Sigrblót)

The northern hemisphere's vernal equinox, the word Ostara was introduced though Wicca and named for the goddess Eostre. Surprisingly unrelated to Easter in all but name, Ostara symbolises the beginning of spring. As a seasonal holiday it is widely celebrated by many different groups of pagans.

RAGNAR LODBROK'S DAY

28th March

Origins: Icelandic Sagas

Observed by: Ásatrú

Day of remembrance for Ragnar Lodbrok, Viking King of legend

APRIL

KALENDS/VENERALIA

1st April

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Celebration of the first of the month, this one honouring the goddess, Venus.

REMEMBRANCE FOR HAAKON SIGURDSSON

9th April

Origins: Norway, C9th

Observed by: Ásatrú

Day of remembrance for ruler of Norway who claimed lineage to Odin in the Icelandic Sagas.

WALPURGISNACHT

30th April

Origins: German Christianity, originally Saint Walpurga was known for banishing witches and other pests

Observed by: LaVeyan Satanists

Anton LaVey chose to celebrate this holiday as a follow up to the spring equinox and due to its past association with witchcraft.

HEXENNACHT (WITCHES' NIGHT)

30th April

Origins: German folklore, as Walpurgisnacht but witches were alleged to convene with the devil in this night

Observed by: Temple of Satan as 'a solemn holiday to honour those who were victimized by superstition'.

MAY

BEALTAINE/BELTANE

1st May

Origins: Celtic (Ireland/Scotland/Isle of Man)

Observed by: Wiccans, Neopagans, Celtic reconstructionist, Ásatrú/Heathens (as May Day)

One of the more well-known pagan festivals, Beltane is a festival of fire and the beginning of the summer. Also widely referred to as May Day, it is celebrated by lighting fires.

KALENDS

1st May

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Honouring the goddess Maia, for whom the month may have been named.

REMEMBRANCE FOR Guðröðr of Guðbrandsdál

9th May

Origins: C11 Norway, Icelandic Sagas

Observed by: Ásatrú, Norse, heathens

Guðröðr had his tongue removed by Óláfr for rebelling against violent conversion from Norse paganism to Christianity.

JUNE

KALENDS

1st June

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Anniversary of temples to Juno Moneta (protectress of money, her temple was where coins were made), Mars/Ares (God of war), and the Tempestates (goddesses of storms).

ARRHEPHORIA

3rd Skirophorion (translates to mid-June)

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic reconstructionist

Feast in celebration of Athena and fertility.

MIDSUMMER/SUMMER SOLSTICE

21st June

Origins: Agricultural holiday/longest day observed for centuries by many civilisations. Christianity can date to as early as C4th

Observed by: Wiccans/Germanic neopagans (as Litha), Asatru/Heathens, Druids (as Alban Hefin)

One of the main four holidays in the Wheel of the Year and popularised by Wiccans and neopagans as Litha which is taken from the Anglo-Saxon words for June/July, this is the longest day of the year and the middle point and sometimes considered the beginning of summer.

JULY

REMEMBRANCE FOR UNNR/AUD THE DEEP MINDED

9th July

Origins: C9th Iceland

Observed by: Ásatrú, Heathens, Norse reconstructionist

Aud was a traveller in the 9th century moving between Dublin, the Hebrides, Orkney, and finally Iceland following the deaths of her husband and son. This day is to honour her memory.

HERACLEIA

July/August

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Festival dedicated to Heracles the demigod and his death, involving feasting and celebration.

AUGUST

LUGHNASADH/LAMMAS

1st August

Origins: Celtic Britain (Ireland, Scotland, Isle of Man)

Observed by: Wiccans, Neopagans, Christians (as Lammas), Ásatrú (as Freyfaxi)

Named for the god Lugh, this festival is one of the Celtic harvest festivals and marks the beginning of the harvesting months. It was celebrated by climbing mountains, bull sacrifice, offerings, and feasting. Handfasting is commonplace with Wiccans in modern times.

REMEMBRANCE FOR REDBAD, KING OF THE FRISIANS

9th August

Origins: C7th Frisia (area of Germany/Netherlands)

SEPTEMBER

NOUMENIA

8th September

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Celebration of new Hellenic lunar month. Offerings of honey and incense made to household deities.

REMEMBRANCE FOR HERMANN THE CHERUSCAN

9th September

Origins: C9th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú

Hermann the Cheruscan, also known as Arminius of the Cherusci tribe, led the defeat against the Romans at the Battle of Teutoburg Forest and is lauded for saving Eastern Germanic peoples from being conquered by the Roman Empire.

AUTUMN EQUINOX (NORTHERN HEMISPHERE)

22nd September

Origins: 1970s neopaganism

Observed by: Wiccans and Neopagans (as Mabon), Ásatrú (as Winter Finding)

Named Mabon by prominent Wicca and Neopagan Aidan Kelly, after the Welsh mythological figure Mabon ap Moldron, the autumn equinox is one of the harvest festivals and marks the beginning of autumn in the northern hemisphere. Mabon is a relatively new pagan holiday not based on any specific historical festival, but traditionally people around the world would celebrate some kind of harvest festival around the end of September/beginning of October.

OCTOBER

PYANOPSIA

7th October

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Pyanopsia, or Pyanepsia, is a festival to honour Apollo, one of the most important deities, God of music, the sun, knowledge, healing, and archery - amongst other things. During the festival, two special offerings would be placed on doorways and carried to the temple. These offerings were a bean stew, and an olive branch wrapped in wool with honeys, pastries and seasonal fruits hanging from it.

REMEMBRANCE FOR LEIF EIRIKSSON

9th October

Origins: C10th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

Remembrance for Leif and his sister Freydís Eiríksdóttir, children of Erik the Red, who are cited with being the first Norse explorers in North America.

THESMOPHORIA

12th-14th October

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Festival held in honour of Demeter Thesmophoros, goddess of agriculture, and her daughter Persephone, goddess of death and life, Queen of the Underworld. Celebrated primarily by women, this festival is linked with fertility, and we know very little about it due to its secretive rites. It is thought that it involved the sacrifice of pigs (although some sources say women), and abstinence.

REMEMBRANCE FOR ERIK THE RED

28th October

Origins: C9th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

Erik the Red, probably named for the colour of his hair and beard, was the first permanent European settler in Greenland. His children were explorers too, who went to America, and although his wife converted to Christianity, Erik remained faithful to his Norse pagan gods.

SAMHAIN (HALLOWE'EN)

31st October-1st November

Origins: Gaelic - Scotland, Ireland, Isle of Man

Observed by: Celtic pagans, Neopagans, Wiccans

Pronounced SOW-in (sow rhyming with cow), Samhain was originally a harvest festival marking the beginning of winter. The day itself is the 1st November, but celebrations begin on October 31st, and this has become the accepted associated day. It's a festival of the dead, where the síthe, fae and spirits, can enter this realm from their own. Wiccans talk of a 'veil' thinning, meaning the boundary between worlds. Similar death related festivals around this time can be noted in other faiths from across the globe, and of course in the modern Hallowe'en.

WINTER NIGHTS (VETRNAETR), ÁLFABLÓT/DÍSABLÓT

31st October

Origins:

Celebrated by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

Winter Nights is mentioned in the Ynglinga Saga as one of the three greatest blessings of the year, the other two being Sigrblót in April, and þorrablót in late Jan/early Feb. Winter Nights is the celebration of the beginning of the winter season; Álfablót is a sacrifice to the elves, and Dísablót a sacrifice to the female spirits (dísir) and Valkyries.

NOVEMBER

REMEMBRANCE FOR SIGRID THE HAUGHTY

9th November

Origins: C9th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

It is not actually known whether Sigrid Storråda, or Sigrid the Haughty, was an actual historical figure, an amalgamation of a few, or simply a myth. The lore goes that she was proposed to multiple times and turned down many but went on to orchestrate conflict when a potential suitor - Olaf Tryggvason, King of Norway - attempted to convert her to Christianity.

DECEMBER

REMEMBRANCE FOR EGILL SKALLAGRÍMSSON

9th December

Origins: C10th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

Day celebrating the poet, farmer, and berserker Egill Skallagrímsson, who is recalled in The Icelandic Sagas by Snorri Sturluson. Egill is known for his many killings and escaping death by writing an epic poem after being captured when washing up on our Northumberland coastline.

SATURNALIA

17th - 23rd December

Origins: Ancient Rome

Observed by: Roman polytheists, some Hellenic

Like Yule and Lesser Dionysia, Saturnalia was the Roman winter festival celebrating the coming return of the sun and honouring the god Saturn. The standard feasting and drinking feature, and slaves would be treated as equals like Dionysia. Saturnalia is another festival cited as being picked up by Christians and used as inspiration for Christmas.

WINTER SOLSTICE (YULE/MIDWINTER)

21st December

Origins: Germanic nations, as early as C4th CE

Observed by: Norse pagans, Wiccans, Neopagans, LaVeyan Satanists, Ásatrú, Heathens, many Germanic nonpagan peoples

Yule is the midwinter festival known commonly among pagans as a time for feasting, being with loved ones, remembering ancestors, and looking forward to the return of the light and warmer days. Many pagans will celebrate Yule for more than one day, some celebrating a week either side, some for longer, up to two months, and some for twelve days afterwards. True Yule would have originally been in January for midwinter, but King Haakon the Good

moved it to coincide with the Christian celebrations in the 10th century, as told in the Ynglinga Saga.

On the 24th of December, Anglo Saxons are said to have celebrated 'Mothers Night' honouring female ancestors.

RURAL/LESSER DIONYSIA

End of December/beginning of January

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Smaller festival honouring the god Dionysus (Greater Dionysia took place in cities at the end of winter). Feasting, mask wearing to stop distinction between classes so that everyone could feel equal, sacrifices, parades, and phallic display were all used to celebrate.

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chosetherose · 2 years ago

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Updated as of 6/30

The Eras Tour *Surprise Songs*

Taylor said her goal is to not repeat each show’s surprise songs so I thought it would be fun to track them as the tour goes on! Black strikethrough is included in the main set list. Purple strikethrough are included in the main set list but have been switched up at some show/s. Blue songs Taylor played but might be repeated due to messing up.

Taylor Swift

Tim McGraw (3/17) • Picture to Burn • Teardrops on My Guitar (5/5) • A Place in This World (4/22) • Cold as You (4/23) • The Outside • Tied Together with a Smile • Stay Beautiful• Should’ve Said No (5/19) • Mary’s Song (Oh My My My) • Our Song (3/24) • I’m Only Me When I’m with You (6/30) • Invisible (5/20) • A Perfectly Good Heart

Fearless

Fearless • Fifteen (5/6) • Love Story • Hey Stephen (5/14) • White Horse (3/25) • You Belong With Me • Breathe• Tell Me Why• You’re Not Sorry (4/21) • The Way I Loved You • Forever & Always (5/13) • The Best Day (5/14) • Change • Jump Then Fall (4/2) • Untouchable • Come In With The Rain • Superstar • The Other Side Of The Door (4/28) • You All Over Me (6/3) • Mr. Perfectly Fine (6/16) • We Were Happy • That’s When • Don’t You • Bye Bye Baby • Today was a fairytale (4/22)

Speak Now

Mine (5/7) • Sparks Fly (5/5) • Back To December • Speak Now (4/13, Taylor restarted part of the song but did not confirm it could be played again) • Dear John (6/24) • Mean (4/15) • The Story Of Us (6/17) • Never Grow Up • Enchanted • Better Than Revenge • Innocent• Haunted (6/9) • Last Kiss • Long Live • Ours (3/31) • If This Was A Movie (6/23) • Superman

Red

State Of Grace (3/18) • Red (5/21) • Treacherous (4/13) • I Knew You Were Trouble • All Too Well • 22 • I Almost Do (6/9) • We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together • Stay Stay Stay • The Last Time (6/16) • Holy Ground (5/27) • Sad Beautiful Tragic (3/31) • The Lucky One (4/2) • Everything Has Changed • Starlight • Begin Again (4/23) • The Moment I Knew (6/4) • Come Back… Be Here (5/12) • Girl At Home • Ronan • Better Man (5/19) • Nothing New • Babe • Message In A Bottle • I Bet You Think About Me (4/30) • Forever Winter • Run • The Very First Night • All Too Well – 10 Minute Version

1989

Welcome To New York (5/28) • Blank Space • Style • Out Of The Woods (5/6, Taylor confirmed it might be played again) • All You Had To Do Was Stay • Shake It Off • I Wish You Would (6/2) • Bad Blood • Wildest Dreams • How You Get The Girl (4/30) • This Love (5/13) • I Know Places • Clean (4/1, Taylor confirmed it might be played again, 5/28) • Wonderland (4/21) • You Are In Love • New Romantics

Reputation

…Ready For It? • End Game • I Did Something Bad • Don’t Blame Me • Delicate • Look What You Made Me Do • So It Goes… • Gorgeous (4/29) • Getaway Car (5/26) • King Of My Heart • Dancing With Our Hands Tied • Dress • This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things • Call It What You Want • New Year’s Day

Lover

I Forgot That You Existed • Cruel Summer • Lover • The Man • The Archer • I Think He Knows (5/21) • Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince • Paper Rings (6/23) • Cornelia Street • Death By A Thousand Cuts (4/1, Taylor confirmed it might be played again) • London Boy • Soon You’ll Get Better • False God (5/27) • You Need To Calm Down • Afterglow • Me! • It’s Nice To Have A Friend • Daylight (6/24) • All of the Girls You’ve Loved Before

Folklore

The 1 (replaced IS multiple shows) • Cardigan • The Last Great American Dynasty • Exile with Bon Iver • My Tears Ricochet • Mirrorball (3/17) • Seven (spoken, 6/17) • August • This Is Me Trying (3/18) • Illicit Affairs • Invisible String (replaced by T1 multiple shows) • Mad Woman (4/15) • Epiphany • Betty • Peace • Hoax • The Lakes (6/2)

Evermore

Willow • Champagne Problems • Gold Rush (5/12) • Tis The Damn Season • Tolerate It • No Body, No Crime • Happiness • Dorothea • Coney Island (4/28) • Ivy • Cowboy Like Me (3/25) • Long Story Short • Marjorie • Closure • Evermore (6/30) • Right Where You Left Me •It’s Time To Go

Midnights

On 4/14 Taylor changed the rule: ALL SONGS ON MIDNIGHTS MAY BE REPEATED. I’m adding the dates to the midnights surprise songs but they will remain in black text since they can be repeated.

Lavender Haze • Maroon (5/26) • Anti-Hero • Snow on the Beach (3/24) • You’re on Your Own, Kid (4/14) • Midnight Rain • Question…? (5/20) • Vigilante Shit • Bejeweled • Labyrinth • Karma • Sweet Nothing • Mastermind • The Great War (4/14) • Bigger Than the Whole Sky • Paris • High Infidelity (4/29) • Glitch • Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve (5/7) • Dear Reader • Hits Different (6/4)

Other

I don’t wanna live forever (6/3)

#reach out if I’m missing anything #eras tour #eras tour set list #surprise song #Taylor swift #taylor nation

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mumbledramblings · 1 year ago

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Summer Prince!Knives: It's not fair! I should have inherited the Summer Lord's power! It should have been me! I spent my whole life working towards it! Why didn't it pay off!?!

Summer Prince!Vash: Why can't I have the Winter King kneel and kiss my hand and call me "my lady"...

Summer Prince!Knives: what

Summer Prince!Vash: what

Summer Lady!Tesla: 😀 🧍‍♀️

#trigun #trigun au #trigun x reader #vash the stampede #millions knives #trigun tesla #tesla jumpscare #mid writes #summer prince winter king #I love summer lady!tesla ruining her brothers' plans/dreams just by existing #she still has no idea how any of this works but by god she is doing her best

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systemic-dreams · 7 months ago

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I made a map of the Feywild because I could not find one I liked.

Feel free to use for your own personal needs.

4K version under the cut:

The Fae take things very literally, especially promises. They can take names, hands and unborn children from unsuspecting visitors with loose lips. Eating and drinking Fey food can ensure that you never leave the Feywild again. But as chaotic and unpredictable as the Fey may be, they abide by the rules of Hospitality and the Rule of Threes. Three Queens, Three Wishes, Three Questions, Three Answers and so forth. They have noble and powerful beings called Archfey which rule from the Summer Court and Winter Court. The Courts of Spring and Autumn are usually subservient or less important and their whole society tends to have a matriarchal dominance. The Queens are the true rulers while the Kings are merely consorts or generals in their armies. You may also find Maidens, Ladies, Mothers and Crones of incredible power here.

Notes:

The Feywild is a plane of existence adjacent to the mortal world we call home. It is a more vibrant and colourful version of our plane where supposedly, the dreams of mortals can shape the terrain. The spirits that pass on when we die become the spirits that inhabit the Feywild, eventually transforming into Faeries and Fae creatures of many different shapes, sizes and temperaments. This has stagnated in more recent years due to religion drawing souls out beyond the Astral Sea. Now the plane is ruled by Archfey who have had countless time to practice their magics. But as beautiful and enigmatic as the Fey and the Feywild may seem, they are a crooked mirror of the real world, much like one you might find in a circus funhouse.

The Feywild seasons are locked geographically and regions grow stronger or weaker depending on the time of year in the mortal world. It is always summer in the Summerlands, etc. And in the Vale of Long Night, it is always night. Some places slip in and out of the Feywild like the city of Astrazalian, and the terrain is constantly changing. Distance is measured by a place's spiritual connection to another, or sometimes by rules the Fey make up themselves. For this reason, it supposed to be unmappable.

Out of lore, I've found this makes for a frustrating experience to navigate. However, I've played the Descent into Avernus DnD module by Wizards of the Coast. It came with a glossy foldout map of Hell and told the DM that the mapmaker went insane while creating it so some of the landmarks might not be accurate. For this reason, I think it wouldn't be unreasonable to tell your players that the person who made this map of the Feywild is certifiably insane. (This will save you grief as a DM when/if complicated questions crop up. Just say a madman did it! since this is not entirely inaccurate ( ͡• ͜ʖ ͡• )

DnD Lore Locations you can look up for modules/story:

Winter Court

Summer Court

The Lake of Frozen Tears

The Vale of Long Night

The Howling Forest

Shinaelestra

Cendriane

The Murkendraw

Mithrendein

Nachtur

Plains of Echoing Thunder

The Summer Forest

The Temple of Leaves

Senaliesse

Maze of Fathagn

Brokenstone Vale

Astrazalian

Harrowhame

The Court of Stars (floating over Autumn next to a mountain)

Other locations are inspired by Faerie Lore or Grimm Fairytales and their derivatives.

Powerful NPCs from DnD lore:

Queen Titania/Tiandra and King Oberon (the Green Lord) are seated in the Summer Court.

The Queen of Air and Darkness/Mab in the Winter Court.

The Pale Prince lives in a fortress on the Lake of Frozen Tears.

Baba Yaga could be anywhere. She fast-travels by flying around in her mortar and pestle/big wooden bucket with a broom. She lives in a Hut on Chicken Legs that moves around by walking and can be found in any forest. Caution to those who enter the Hut when she is not home.

Cernunnos, the Lord of the Hunts may also be seen riding through any of the forests with a big pack of hunters. He is frequently joined by Oberon in the Summer Forest.

Nachtur is the goblin capital and is ruled by the nasty hobgoblin named Great Gark (I have placed this inside a volcano for flavour and dungeon material. You're welcome).

The Murkendraw is a massive endless swamp and can be host to any number of nasty critters including Pfilosfyr the Carrion King, known for his many fungal clones and mycelium minions.

In Brokenstone Vale, you will find lycanthropes and shifters that depend upon the moon, hence their proximity to winter and night. This place is ruled by Viktor Kazan, the Lycan Lord.

Nearby, the island city of Astrazalian spends half the year in the mortal plane and is ruled by Lady Shandria.

The Silver Lake is home to the Lady of the Lake if you want to reenact some Arthurian myth like they did with Geralt in Witcher 1.

The Floating Forest is home to the Pegasi and Lurue the Unicorn Queen (Alicorn). I have put a little tower there for some Eladrin Pegasus Keepers/Servants depending on how intelligent you make the winged horses.

In the Gardens of Pleasure, you will most likely find satyrs, including Hyrsam, the Prince of Fools.

I have left the White Well purposefully off the map. You can place it anywhere in the Winterlands. Should your players find it and the Lady of the White Well, she may grant them a boon. Those she falls in love with, become enamoured with her and earn her blade. They become champions who seek to free her from banishment by becoming her true love. All have died in the attempt.

Additionally, some places may cross over into other planes. The Vale of Long Night and The Dark Forest cross into the Shadowfell where the latter becomes the Dead Forest. The endless swamps of the Murkendraw may also cross into the Shadowfell or The Grey Wastes, while Nactur is closer to the plane of fire. The Feysea leads to Fey islands and the Court of Seafoam and the Court of Coral and continues into the plane of Water. The Primeval Forest spills over into Arborea and Brokenstone Vale spills into the Beastlands.

The Isle of Dreams is made up. If you ever reach it, your players will find the world of their dreams and can choose to stay (and become thrall to the Dreamlord/lady/monarch) or go back with a single-use stone. Breaking it grants one use of the Wish spell. Make them roll a wisdom save.

Honeysuckle Lake is made of honey which makes all the water in the Feywild taste sweet. However, running water is very dangerous to Fey and can wash away their magic. You can see it creating artificial boundaries in the form of rivers. The honeywater in Honeysuckle Lake however, does not flow so quickly and is very viscous and sticky. Dipping a hand into it may not remove a Fey's magic but it can be just as dangerous. The honey is stronger than concrete and has known to pull unsuspecting honeyguzzlers into its grasp.

This is all based on my own reading and research and imagination, so feel free to change it up!

Happy hunting

#feywild #map #dnd #dungeons and dragons #world map #ttrpg #fairy

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calisources · 11 months ago

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THE ROYAL TREATMENT. all sentences are either taken from fantasy or fictional and historical novels about kings, queens, royal blood and some sparked romance and magic. change all pronouns and names, locations as you see fit.

“You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.”

“She was a ray of sunshine, a warm summer rain, a bright fire on a cold winter’s day, and now she could be dead because she had tried to save the man she loved.”

“He was a man known for the violence of his temper as well as the deliciousness of his touch.”

“Am I making you nervous, Natalie?”

“Sad it is, the fate of kings.”

“Go to this masquerade ball with your new friends, put on a pretty gown, and dance the night away.”

“Repentance is like a royal cheer.”

“Even the small joys are worth cherishing, and they will lead to greater ones.”

“when you become king shall find many difficult tasks and you shall have to hurt others and yourself.”

“The throne brings trouble and grief along with the glory.”

“Anger is a feeling afforded only by royal blood. Ordinary people ask for mercy in such situations.”

“True leadership is serving others; follow Queen Elizabeth's noble example.”

“Success isn't wealth or status; impact matters.”

“The power of empowerment can change the world, one person at a time.”

“Leadership is service, not a throne to seize.”

“I have in sincerity pledged myself to your service, as so many of you are pledged to mine.”

“Proper training is key, it allows one to accomplish a great deal."

“Oh honey, someday a real man is going to make you see stars and you won't even be looking at the sky."

“Royalty comes with a cost. My great-great-grandfather was one, and he left me no royalty but loyalty to empower people.”

“At all times an empire is more important than emperor and empress, prince and princess.”

“You might have to ask yourself, however right your claim is, if you are the leader the realm needs and wants.”

“You’re Royal. Get used to it and that involves a lot of burdens and things you don’t want to do.”

“I’m in awe of you, Rowan Palotay.”

“Slow down there, princess. How do you know what kind of first impression you gave me?”

“Prayer is a royal power.”

“You forget yourself and who you are speaking of.”

“Anyone young, famous and beautiful who dies young is forever frozen in time and fascinating to all of us.”

“Youths are the life blood of any nation.”

“I am not yet come of age, my lord. How can I be queen?”

“To crown her is to kill her.”

“He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.”

“Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.”

“I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.”

“Rule with the heart of a servant. Serve with the heart of a king.”

“There’s a fine line between gossip and history, when one is talking about kings.”

“We kings do develop a certain ability to recognize objects under our noses.”

“...alone is such a nebulous state when one is queen.”

“I respect you as my king, and I respect you as my father, but I do not respect you as a man!”

“She was made to be a queen, just like her mother.”

Protect Myrcella with your life. Defend her... and her rights. Set a crown upon her head.“”

“You’re my princess, right? You were always going to be my princess, no matter what you were born.”

“For dogs we kings should have lions, and for cats, tigers. The great benefits a crown.”

“This marriage had resulted from impulse.”

“The king is a saint and cannot rule, and his son is a devil and should not.”

“One does not ask if one likes the Blood Royal. They simply are. It is like asking if one likes the Gods.”

“You are a king worthy of their allegiance . . . with a queen full of fire and promise.”

“The idea that how you are born or the name you are given dictate the sort of person you really are.”

“You seem to think that you can still turn back, but it’s too late. You’ll have to face it, Princess. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough. And you can’t be this scared when the time comes.”

“Was it worse, she wondered, to be wanted dead or wanted Queen?”

“My royal status is both a shield that protects me and a sword that impales my heart.”

“Respect shouldn't be hereditary; it must be earned.”

“You know, for a pampered princess, you have a certain gift for violence.”

“There is nothing sharper than a well mannered princess’ words.Their true meaning are a mystery.”

“People are born great but yet need to grow into greatness”

“Kings needn’t raise their voices to be heard.”

“She was their witch queen, and they adored her.”

“To be fair, I don't quite see any difference between an assassin and a knight. They both kill people, only one "in the name of Honour '' and the other is just a "monster"

“Crowns belong to those that serve.”

“I have the softness and meekness of a daughter but I also have the boldness and Braveheart of a Son.”

“Will you visit my chambers tonight?”

“A throne won in blood will soon be drenched in it.”

“Even when she's dethroned by hardship, she still wears the sun as a crown.”

“The Princess knew in her heart she is strong, smart, and capable because it is in her blood.”

“There is the matter of succession that has to be settled. You don’t start a reign without settling how it continues.”

“My reign has been anything but traditional. Let’s not start now, shall we?”

“Every girl thinks about growing up in a palace. Few ever ponder living in a cage.”

“Often blessings and burdens comes hand in hand. The bigger the Crown the heavier the burden”

“If stubborness were all that was needed to be a good queen, I'd rule the world.”

“Some girls have a frightening killer instinct. Don't let the ball gowns fool you.”

“You don't turn your back on your destiny.”

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt

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colormepurplex2 · 24 days ago

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Beneath The Boughs | Dare To Dream

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ Robinhood Retelling, Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates, Ruined Arranged Marriage AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,740 ⚠️violence, crass language, mentions of parental illness, melancholy feelings

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

“My Lady,” Ms. Duckett calls from beyond the doors of the balcony terrace. “My Lady, it is time. If we do not leave now, we will not make it through this side of Sherwood before nightfall.”

You sigh with one last look out over the rolling expanse of bleak countryside. You push to your feet and smooth your gloved hands over the back of your gown, brushing away any detritus that might have attached to the fabric from the bench you were seated on. The heavy silk skirts swish over the layers of your thick wool petticoats as you turn to make your way back inside.

The first flurries of winter have begun, and unless you wish to spend the season shivering in the northern reaches of Yorkshire, you best get on with it. The window to return to the city of Nottingham is closing swiftly. It was a fool's move to leave it until the last moment anyway. But you couldn’t bring yourself to rejoin society sooner than absolutely necessary.

“Apologies, Duckie,” you offer her, the childhood nickname you gave her rolling off your tongue with affection despite your surly mood.

Verna Duckett has been your attending maid ever since your mother fell ill some twenty years prior and found herself with more need for a nursemaid than a lady’s maid. Duckie’s age is a mystery to you, but considering the silver knot tucked under her bonnet, you’d guess she was far older than her spry body and fiery attitude suggest.

Thinking of your mother’s continued ailing constitution only sours your demeanor further. After all, it is why you’ve found yourself in the predicament you are currently trying to avoid. So, to keep from dawdling further with those dark thoughts, you focus on gathering the fox-fur-lined cloak you left draped over the end of your bed and securing its thick golden clasp at your throat.

Duckie titters under her breath, reminding you of a flittering songbird as she encourages you from the room. “The sheriff is waiting with the carriages.”

That news pulls you up short at the top of the grand staircase. “The sheriff?”

“Indeed so, My Lady. He has come up from Nottingham to be your escort at the request of Prince Seokjin.”

Bile threatens to rise from the churning pit of your stomach. The Prince. “Must it be so?” you mutter to yourself. “Right,” you try to clear the disappointment from your voice as you begin the descent down the stairs. “Let us not keep him waiting long, then.”

The bite from the snowy northern winds does little to soothe the blazing tempest in your chest as you breeze through the open doors of the home you’ve kept for the summer in Yorkshire. It was once your father’s estate, passed down to you when you came of age. You prefer it to the oppressive halls of the inner city home you keep in Nottingham—the one your parents choose to reside in year-round.

“My Lady.” The sheriff greets you by way of an oily smile and a tip of his chin. “Trying to catch a cold before your big day?”

A snide remark forms on the tip of your tongue but you bite the offending appendage before it can garner you trouble over the next two days of travel. The absolute last thing you wish for right now is to land on Yoongi’s—the sheriff’s—bad side.

It’s possible you might have once considered him a friend. He has all the charm and grace of a pleasant gentleman. But, when he started to bow and scrape, doing the Prince’s bidding in forcing your hand, you lost all respect and good will towards him.

You’re aware that’s not exactly fair, considering Yoongi is merely a sheriff, and the prince is, well, a prince. But it simply is not fair, and you are more than aware of the other dealings the prince and Yoongi have gotten up to in the recent years since King Seokjoong went on his crusades.

Mirth twinkles in Yoongi’s eyes; clearly, he can see the restraint painted all over your face. “Of course not, My Lord—I mean, Sheriff,” you reply, your words dripping with saccharinity. His lips flatten at your intentional misuse of the title.

Yoongi is as much a Lord as you are a pigeon. And you know that rankles him far more than any snide remark you might have bestowed upon him. Being the Sheriff of Nottingham brings Yoongi power, but not nearly enough to satiate his growing greed. That much is evident in how he swindles and ousts any and all meager bits of coinage from the pockets of those he is sworn to protect. No, Yoongi protects only himself…and occasionally you, per the prince’s request.

The ride to Nottingham starts slow and ponderous, the snow turning to sleet with each creeping mile south, causing the dirt under hoof and wheel to quickly form ruts and mud pits that suck and pull, sapping any haste from the procession.

Duckie was being generous in her assessment of time, as by the time the sun drops below the horizon, your caravan escort has barely hit the outskirts of Sherwood. You know it was unwise to have spent so long avoiding the ride; this is your own doing.

It’s not that you mind the forest at night; it’s just that the swaying oil lamps and guttering torches do little to diminish the darkness. Every creak of the carriage and distant animal chitter have you quite literally on the edge of your seat, the velvet cushion firmly crushed under your hands where they fist the lip of the bench.

The sudden, jarring stop of the carriage nearly unseats you. Muffled shouts sound from beyond the drawn curtains. Duckie frowns, absently pulling a handkerchief from her apron pocket and fanning her ample bosom with it.

“Dreadful luck stopping in these cursed woods,” she mutters nervously before flicking back the edge of one of the curtains and peeking out the window. “What in heavens is going on out there?”

She jumps back, her alarmed yelp echoing through the carriage as Yoongi jerks open the door. “My Lady, I apologize for the delay. There is some debris across the roadway. It should only take a moment for it to be moved, and then we shall be on our way once more. I think it best we continue through the night,” he says with a grimace as his focus is pulled somewhere back beyond the carriage.

Without another word, he disappears, shutting you and Duckie in the carriage once more. The silence is only broken by the soft swishing of Duckie’s handkerchief as she goes back to fanning herself.

“Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure the Sheriff will have us back on the move in no time.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins when muffled shouts and screams rend through the air, breaking the tense silence. You catch the faintest bellow from the head of the caravan.

“Brigands! Brigands in the trees! To arms!”

Duckie shrieks, her handkerchief fluttering in the air as she lurches toward you. The air wooshes from your lungs as she drags you bodily into the bottom of the carriage and throws herself on top of you.

One of her elbows catches you in the chin as you try to turn over, your skirts tangling around your ankles with each struggling movement.

“Duckie!” you croak, sucking in pitiful gasps of air. The corset stays pinching at your ribs, combined with the full weight of your maid laid across your back, are making it hard to gain the breath that was shoved from your lungs when you hit the carriage floor. “I cannot breathe!”

She wails something unintelligible and pushes up onto her knees. You flop over onto your back and suck in a sweet lungful of air. Your exhale is an aching sputter that turns into a fit of coughing. Suddenly, the air inside the carriage is too hot and thick.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s bark of protest follows you out of the carriage. You couldn’t reach your feet fast enough, scrambling up from your knees and shoving open the carriage door, stumbling out several steps. You stand there, plunged into the cacophony around you, trying valiantly to suck in fresh air.

The night is alive with pain and shrieks of madness. Chaos engulfs your small caravan, and there are scattered pockets of struggle everywhere you look. Figures dressed in various shades of dark green and brown are engaged with the bright reds and golds of the Prince’s colors.

As if wanting to bear witness to the violence, the moon has worked its way through the gloomy cloud cover overhead and lends its light to the smoking oil lanterns and torches to illuminate the mud-churned—now striped with blood—road.

A sneering face comes into focus, startling you back a step. “Are you mad, woman!? Get back in the carriage!” Yoongi roars before taking off back into the fray.

He meets the swing of a brigand's sword with his own; the clash of steel against steel rings through the air, further jolting you from your frozen state. Panic harries you as you retreat further, your eyes on a constant swivel for danger.

A gout of flame flares to life near the head of the line of carriages, and the screams of horses pierce the din. “Fire! The horses!” thunders a voice that is soon swallowed by the frenzy of other sounds.

You watch in horror as a carriage engulfed in flame careens off the road, being dragged through the sticky muck by out-of-control horses. Their fear is palpable, the flames devouring the front coach seat and licking so close to their tails.

The painful whickering of the beautiful draft horses draws you like a moth being led directly to the inferno. You’re heedless of the danger around you. One sole focus consumes you; no one is available to free those horses…if you don’t do it, they’ll surely die.

Once again, your feet move before you can do more than register Duckie’s protesting cries from behind you. You fist the billows of your skirt in your hands, hiking up the thick material, making your reckless sprint a little easier, though the churned mud still sucks at the soles of your slippers, which are soon filled with icy water and slimy muck.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s cry follows you, closer than before. “Please, My Lady, no!”

“The horses, Duckie! We have to help them!” you beg, skittering to a stop in the muck, arms windmilling to keep yourself upright.

Whether or not she heard your desperate plea or simply followed you out of an attempt to get you to turn back toward the carriage, she stumbles to a stop beside you as you take in the carnage.

The carriage that caught fire was one of the ones lit with the hanging lanterns. Arrows dot the wooden side, which is now facing the sky. The entire thing has turned over in the muck from the mad dash of the horses combined with the sticky mud. It’s evident an arrow hit one of the lanterns and caused the fire. Whether by accident or intentional, the damage is done, and your time is running out as the flames lick across the carriage and shoot toward the sky.

A massive tangle of leather hitching straps and splintered wood connects the two draft horses to the wreckage. They rear and scream, massive hooves raking the sky as they thrash and pull in vain at their harnesses.

Ignoring the sapping cold of the mud seeping through the skirts of your gown, you throw yourself on the ground where the straps attach to the overturned carriage. Duckie lands in the muck beside you a second later, her hands moving as frantically as your own as you wrestle with the buckles and bolts. The entire wreck shudders every time the horses stomp and attempt to free themselves, but you don’t dare abandon the buckles to try and calm them. You’d likely catch an errant hoof to your person for the efforts.

Heat beats down on you, and the faint stench of burnt hair and singed fabric mixes with the acrid stink of smoke filling the air around you. The flames are growing closer, but you ignore the discomfort, pouring all your focus into freeing the horses.

“To your right!” a voice calls out over the din of battle a second before something thunks heavily into the ground beside you.

You spare a glance up, and your eyes catch on a hooded figure. Time suspends in a moment of what you can only describe as magick. Something flickers in your chest as your eyes meet the ones staring out from the cowl, like a blossoming flower opening under the warm spring sun for the first time.

It’s captivating, soul-capturing, and utterly unexplainable. Dark, seemingly endless eyes, inky hair, and a face you’re sure you’ve never seen in full before…yet know more intimately than even your own—a man of your dreams. Dreams you’ve had since you were a young teenager of a man with eyes like endless pools of night sky and a heart that beats in kind with your own.

A frantic cry from Duckie breaks the spell, the carriage shifting so violently it rocks you backward onto your bottom. You tear your eyes away from the mysterious man. Focusing back on the task at hand, you grasp the hilt of the forearm-length blade you know he’s responsible for tossing to you. It is embedded point-down in the ground by your side, still vibrating from the force.

Ripping the blade from the mud, you make quick work of slicing through the harness straps. The horses burst free from their restraints and take off at a panicked gallop away from the fire raging behind you.

Quiet sobs are hiccuping from Duckie. She grabs a fistful of the back of your gown and jerks. “Go!” But instead of directing you back toward your carriage, her momentum sends you sprawling in the direction of the closest darkened clutch of trees. “We need to hide! Hurry, to the trees!”

Digging for purchase in the icy muck, you lurch to your feet and stumble until the forest's darkness gobbles you up. Duckie is only a pace or two behind you, her mud-covered bosom heaving as she slumps down behind a knotted and gnarled tree.

Wordlessly, she beckons for you to join her, and you both sit there, peering around the side of the tree and back at the chaos still engulfing your caravan. The fighting has died down. A few green and brown-clad bodies writhe on the ground, making your stomach protest the senseless violence.

Broken crates and boxes lie scattered about, their insides spilled and pilfered through by the brigands—clearly a band of no-good highwaymen. It’s one of the main reasons the Sherwood Forest should be avoided after dark. Bands of rogues and disgraced knights have taken to prowling the thick woods.

As sour as your thoughts are, you can’t help searching the fray for a particular hooded figure. You feel like if you could get one more glimpse of him, you might be able to decipher what happened when your eyes met his. At the moment, you could have sworn he was the man of your dreams, but now, you’re not so sure. There is far too much adrenaline coursing through your system for you to make heads from tails of it.

You watch as one of the brigands uses the pommel of their sword to clock one of your escorts across the temple, crumpling him into a heap of red and gold. Focusing on each pitched cluster of violence, you realize the red and gold figures are the only ones trying to deal lethal blows. You’ve watched enough tournaments of combat to know the basics of battle.

“They’re not trying to kill them,” you mutter under your breath.

“What, My Lady?”

Sparing a glance at Duckie, you nod back toward the road. “The brigands. They’re not using lethal moves. It is as if they are intentionally avoiding critical damage. Like they…” you trail off, catching sight of a familiar hooded figure, glinting eyes shadowed in the cowl latching on yours.

“You cannot possibly be suggesting—”

“Behind you!” you scream, lurching from your hiding spot and sprinting back toward the road where you saw Yoongi creeping up behind the hooded figure as he was distracted, staring at you.

Branches scratch and rip at your gown and the exposed skin of your throat and hands. But the stinging lashes are second to the intense panic slicing through your chest as Yoongi’s bloodied sword arcs through the air.

By the time you spill from the cover of the trees, the cloaked man is springing up from a roll where he must have dodged Yoongi’s blade. You watch as he spins to face Yoongi. He brings a hand up, and an ear-splitting whistle pierces the air.

As if the sound has broken a dam, the dozen remaining hooded figures, including the one with those molten eyes locked on you, disengage and retreat. They dissolve into the surrounding trees like fog baked away by a noonday sun; there one moment and gone the next.

Yoongi barks an order to pursue, and half the remaining gold and red soldiers peel off to follow. They look like a ragtag bunch, their armor speckled with dark mud and blood. But, you know they have received extensive training under the tutelage of Yoongi and the Prince’s court mage and will try to track down as many of the brigands as they can like the good hunting dogs they are.

“Yoongi, please, call them back!” you plead. “The wood is dark. It is not worth it! Please, I beg you, let us hurry—”

The narrowing of Yoongi’s eyes causes your words to catch in your throat. You’ve never seen such a venomous glare. It pierces right through your heart, spearing you in place. You think he is about to lay into you, lashing at you with that curdling tongue. Yet, he just nods, turning away and stalking from you before whistling a sharp cadence that you recognize is used to call the guards back.

“My Lady,” Duckie sniffles. “Oh, your gown. This simply won’t do. Come, come, back to the carriage.”

She ushers you quickly back toward the open door of your carriage, the horses tethered to the front, finally calming their stamping hooves and wild eyes.

“Move out!” Yoongi shouts. The guards who had peeled off to follow the brigands emerge back into the clearing, and in a few short minutes, the caravan moves once again—albeit a few carriages short, the carnage left behind like a pock on the King’s Road.

🍂🍂🍂

Namjoon

There were too many.

Too many uniforms of red and gold and sharpened swords.

It was a bad call.

No amount of coin is worth the bodies that were left behind in the mud. Namjoon knows he shouldn’t have encouraged the men. He should have put his foot down and been firm in his insistence that they hold back.

But, there’s naught to do for it now except lick their wounds and hope the amount of coins and jewels they got off with can fill their larders against the coming winter. The bags seemed heavy enough, but one can never be too sure until they actually begin to count and weigh it out.

The men seem happy enough. Their jovial shouts and laughter carry through the woods, adrenaline adding to the thrill of it as they all easily lope along under the darkening boughs.

The dense foliage overhead absorbs their merriment, and Namjoon doesn’t wish to take it away from them by asking them to quiet down. He realized that the Sheriff called off his dogs shortly after anyway—a surprise for sure and a welcomed one at that.

“How many did we lose?” Hoseok asks, pitching his voice low so others don’t hear. His long legs trot along, keeping pace with ease beside Namjoon.

Namjoon frowns, huffing a breath as they jog in silence for a few moments. “Five.” He rattles off their names, hating how each one coats his tongue with a bitterness that nothing but the most potent fyre ale will be able to staunch.

“We will honor them and ensure their families are taken care of,” Hoseok offers, his voice hollow but firm. He’s always been a softer guy, something Namjoon has cherished in all their years of friendship. Hoseok has helped to temper Namjoon’s anger and quell his intensity at dire times of need; he is an empath through and through.

Not trusting himself to say more, Namjoon just nods as they continue through the woods until they reach their destination.

It’s a hidden city—a village, really. But everyone likens it to a city, considering it stretches across nearly an entire league of forest, tucked into the upper branches of the trees. It’s a proverbial city of wooden treehouses and rope bridges spanning between platforms. They have nearly everything a city does, even a bakery and a small darning shop.

The only thing not within the hidden city in the tops of the trees is the smithy—too much of a fire hazard, of course. So, Jungkook has his forge and the bellows tucked away into the crumbling remains of an ancient fortress long forgotten in the woods.

As an exiled knight of the crown, Jungkook knows his way around weaponry. It wasn’t that far of a leap to smithing once he got the hang of it. Namjoon can just see the glow of the forge fire as his band approaches, the approaching call having been whistled just a moment before.

It’s safer like that, using mimicry of bird calls as signals. He learned early on that you can never be too careful. The last thing Namjoon wants is for someone to come across his home…his people, the outcasts and the damned.

“I’m going to check in with Jungkook. Be up shortly,” Namjoon tells Hoseok before veering off towards the old ruins.

Hoseok disappears into the foliage, rallying the band up the rope ladders to the hidden homes above, where most of their families wait. Despite how ramshackle and hodgepodge his little city is, there is beauty in it, too. Beauty in the families, the small children that have spent more of their lives living among the leaves of trees than on the ground. But at least they’re safe; that’s what matters most.

That and the food from the coin they managed to loot tonight will garner.

That’s the primary reason he needs to speak with Jungkook. Being an exiled knight, the man not only knows his way around weaponry, but he has a knack for trading and brokering deals as well.

Despite his exile, Jungkook is still respected among many of the Prince’s men. With a well-placed word and an extra coin or two, Jungkook can get just about anything Namjoon needs.

There is a chill in the air, but the forge is blistering hot, the heat reflecting off the stone ruins' few remaining walls. Namjoon thinks this particular nook of rubble was once a stable—the rusted iron hitching posts lining the lower wall leads him to that conclusion.

Jungkook seems to be getting ready to shut the forge down for the night. He’s shirtless and dripping sweat with an assortment of new blades, which are laid out on the makeshift table off to the side.

“Oh! You startled me,” Jungkook huffs, a soot-covered hand slapping over his heart as he turns and spots Namjoon.

Namjoon smiles apologetically. “Sorry, brother. I was just about to announce myself.”

“It’s no matter,” Jungkook says, brushing it off. He swings around further, depositing the leather roll of tools cradled in his other arm on the table beside the new blades.

“What brings you here? I thought surely you’d be up with everyone else, filling your belly with some ale. There are still a few casks left.”

“In due time.” Namjoon shrugs, looking for something to distract from the real reason he’s come to talk to Jungkook. “Do you mind if I have one of these?” he asks, gesturing to the pile of fresh blades.

Jungkook’s eyes sweep over Namjoon, landing on the empty dagger sheath at his hip. “That’s, what, the third blade you’ve managed to lose in as many months?”

Namjoon scrubs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah…there was some trouble on the road.”

Those eyes that were resting on his empty sheath now narrow into a calculating query as they rise to Namjoon’s. “How did it go?”

The tense silence lasts just a spell before Namjoon clears his throat and breaks it. “We came away with a few hefty bags.”

“But? There’s a but there, I can tell. Go on, tell me, how many did we lose?” Jungkook leans a hip against the table. He pulls out the rough-spun towel tucked into the top of his leather apron and begins to absently brush and wipe the soot and grime from his hands.

As much as Namjoon would rather talk about the trade and bartering that would come from the coin, he knew Jungkook would ask after the loss. After all, it was Jungkook’s suggestion that took Namjoon and his band of men to the edge of the forest tonight. He had heard that the Sheriff would be moving precious cargo. It turns out the precious cargo was in the form of a woman.

A fierce and brilliant woman who came rocketing into Namjoon’s life like a shooting star blazing through the night as she streaked across the impromptu battlefield to free those terrified horses. It was an accident, the errant arrow catching one of the hanging lanterns. He heard the man who loosed the arrow curse and lament over it and they both got caught up defending their backs against the Guards before they could act.

“We lost five,” Namjoon says to pull his mind out of that rabbit hole. The last thing he needs to be thinking about is the odd, visceral connection and pull he felt with that mystery woman.

Jungkook nods, his lips thinning into a straight line. “They’ll be honored by all,” he says, mirroring Hoseok’s words from earlier. “Tell me what else went on? What was so precious Yoongi disregarded all safety guards and ventured into the Wood so late?”

The words get caught in Namjoon’s throat. In part, he doesn’t want to tell Jungkook because he somehow feels possessive of the woman. It’s absurd. Forcing that notion aside, Namjoon forges on, recounting everything that transpired for Jungkook. By the time he’s done, Jungkook nods with a faint look of knowing on his face.

“For some reason, the Sheriff signaled a pullback a few minutes after the order to follow. He’s never done that before.”

“That,” Jungkook says, tucking the now-soiled rag back into the top of his apron, “would be The Fair Maiden of York’s doing.”

“Wait. The who?” Namjoon has heard of The Yorkshire Maiden. She’s renowned throughout the parts, even for someone as hidden and removed from society as Namjoon. In fact, he knows that she’s— “The Prince’s betrothed? You mean to tell me we attacked her caravan?” He mutters your name, the sweet sound of it coating his tongue like honey. “That’s who that was?” Each new line of thinking has Namjoon’s alarm rising.

“I had thought she had already ventured south. It didn’t even cross my mind that the precious cargo could have been her. In truth, I should have considered it. I’m sorry, my friend. I’ll try to get better information next time.”

Namjoon barely registers Jungkook’s words, giving him a jerky nod and a half-muttered excuse of needing to go. Jungkook waves him off, saying he’ll be up shortly.

But he won’t find Namjoon when he does.

No, because Namjoon is now on a different trail, having passed off a curt message to a sentry about returning in a few days' time that he was going to speak to a contact. Which isn’t entirely a lie. He needs answers and fast. There is only one place he can think of that he might be able to find them. A place he hasn’t visited in far too long—months at this point.

The feeling in his chest…the name still echoing in his mind. There is an explanation. But he needs to be sure, confirm it, and see it once again with his own eyes. Because surely it’s impossible… fairytales are just that, fairytales.

It’s not like he didn’t already know your name. But the combination of your name and the feelings that assaulted him…Namjoon’s thoughts trail off as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping to the shadows.

He cuts around the tree-top encampment, skirting the ruins until he hits a very seldomly trailed path. It spears right into the heart of Sherwood, leading Namjoon directly to the outskirts of Nottingham.

Namjoon has to journey through the night, taking a brief reprieve under the drooping boughs of a pine. Thready light filters through the trees, guiding Namjoon. Despite the infrequent use of this particular trail, he knows it perhaps more intimately than any other. It was the path of his childhood, where he found salvation and freedom.

The spire of the old church comes into view, breaking through the canopy before it gives way entirely to the thick stone wall encasing the city proper. It was the wish of the church to remain outside the city so its doors could remain open to any and all manner of wanderers, even those who may have found themselves on the wrong end of the Kingdom’s sword.

“Friar Gill! Friar Gill, are you within?” Namjoon whisper-yells, peeking over the sill of one of the rear windows of the sprawling sect house that connects to the church proper. It’s early enough in the dim morning hours that daily service and devotionals haven’t happened, but the brother within should be awake to prepare for them.

“Is that you, Namjoon?” comes a familiar voice, though one that does not belong to Friar Gill.

“Jimin? Er, Friar Park, yes, it’s me.”

“What brings you here at this hour?” Jimin asks, his tousled head of dark locks poking out the window a second later. His eyes are bright, the dark irises catching the first glimmers of morning light. A hefty tome is clutched to his robe-covered chest and there is a smudge of ink on the apple of his left cheek.

“Is Friar Gill here?”

“I’m afraid not. He left per request of the King, nearly a month gone now. He’s to bless the front lines and bestow his grace upon the King as he continues his crusade. It seems the Prince’s favored mage has not brought the King any luck,” he adds that last part with a healthy smirk, his cheeks instantly coloring as he clears his throat. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the Prince’s Mage.”

It’s an automatic response, Namjoon knows, for Jimin to feel contrite over his words immediately. Even if he knows Namjoon holds no warmth with the Prince nor his Mage. If anything, Namjoon harbors far more resentment and hatred towards the snake of a magick caster than most.

After all, it was The Mage who saw to Namjoon’s displacement and subsequent outlawish ways. It’s his fault that Namjoon has had to resort to pillaging city-bound caravans to get by.

He reminds Jimin as much, “You know there is no pleasantry lost between Taehyung and myself.”

Jimin nods, a frown pulling down his full mouth. “Yes. Yes, I don’t suppose so.” Straightening up, Jimin gives a quick shake of his head. “Friar Gill may be gone, but perhaps I can help you. What is it that you need?”

“There’s a book…a book that was shown to me when I was just a boy by Friar Gill. It has a green leather cover and gold etching along the edges. The title was something odd, a language I’m not familiar with. Do you know it?”

“‘Prophetia Somniorum’,” Jimin intones softly, his eyes widening with twinkling wonder. “A book about dreams. Prophetic dreams.”

“Yes. That’s the one. I think it has the answers that I seek.”

🍂🍂🍂

“Please, My Lady, come away from the window before you catch a chill. It’s the last thing you’d want on this day.”

You sigh, turning away from the open window of your tower room. The landscape beyond is bleak, the sky streaked through with heavy, grey rain clouds. There’s been a perpetual drizzle ever since you arrived in Nottingham.

Six days. It’s been six whole days since the incident in Sherwood Forest. Six days since you saw him…and you can’t stop thinking about those dark eyes. You’ve dreamed about them several times throughout your life, a few times a year at most. Now, though, it’s become a nightly occurrence.

There was a point in your life, in your early twenties, when you asked your mother about the dreams and whether or not she thought they held any meaning. You’ll never forget the faraway look she got in her eyes and the sad smile that curved her rouged lips.

It was like she was haunted by your question, or rather whatever your question made go through her mind. Memories, perhaps. Though, she never would tell you, no matter how much you asked. She simply told you that you should always dare to dream, whether your eyes are opened or closed.

You wish you could seek her guidance now, to ask her whether or not the man on the road could genuinely be the man you’ve been seeing in your dreams or if that kind of thing only belongs in storybooks.

It’s been months since you’ve seen either her or your father. Ever since your mother took ill and she and your father took up permanent residence in Nottingham, you’ve spent far more time alone in Yorkshire than in either of their companies.

As it is, you’ve not even seen either of them since you came into the city. Their estate is on the far side of Nottingham, in the garden district, and you’re restricted to the Palace. You had received a brief letter from them when you first arrived, a simple check-in via a cursore. You sent a response, but there hasn’t been word since, not a single knock at your chamber door aside from the occasional servant bringing your meals.

You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s still months before you see them again, given your mother’s health and your father’s demanding position within the governing body.

Duckie titters, her hands automatically moving to straighten your gown, even though not a stitch has moved since she trussed you into the stays an hour gone. The sun sits heavy and low on the horizon, its thready rays trying pitifully to eat away the thickness of night and perpetually grey cover.

You woke long before you should have, feeling restless with an itch beneath your skin. The fine hairs along your arms prickle under the long bells of your sleeves. You can’t shake the feeling that’s been gnawing at your gut since your eyes popped open, the dream of your highwayman sluicing away like a rush of icy water down your back.

“My gown is fine, Duckie,” you mutter. It takes every ounce of nerve you have to not jerk away from her prodding and fluffing.

Her wrinkled lips turn down in a frown. “One can never be too lax on a day such as this, My Lady. I just want to make sure you are pristine for Prince Seokjin.”

You might have once smiled at the thought of a prince. Part of the girlish charm of childhood, you’re sure. Pretty dresses, handsome princes, and a single care of naught else in the world. Only, you’re not a girl anymore. Not even close.

“I’m quite alright. Please. If the prince cannot accept me as I am right now, then perhaps he does not befit me after all.” You meant to say that to yourself, a mere utterance under your breath, but your frazzled nerves must be affecting your senses as a whole.

The gasp from Duckie is so dramatic it belongs in the theatre, center stage with an anticipation-gripped crowd holding their breaths to find out what happens next. In this case, it's a twitching of your eye as you suppress an eye roll and plaster on a tense smile instead.

Duckie swallows whatever response is on her tongue when a loud, sharp rapt sounds at the door. She schools her features and turns towards it, giving you a quick glance over her shoulder. You nod, letting her know it’s acceptable to open the door, even if you’d rather tell her to send whoever it could possibly be away. Nothing good can come of a knock on the door today, even if it could be a cursor from your parents.

Just as expected, the door opens, and you’re certain the temperature in the room drops several degrees. If you were facing the window, you’re sure you’d see the sun slink backward in the sky, choosing to hide from the figure on the other side of your threshold instead of continuing its journey to spread its meager warmth.

The prince’s mage sweeps into the room, his upper lip curled in mild disgust as his gaze sweeps over Duckie, quickly dismissing her, until they land on you. Those cold, calculating eyes have always unnerved you. What with their slender vertical pupils that slice through his golden brown irises, he looks every inch the venomous snake you know he is.

“My Lady,” he says, tilting his unruly head of midnight hair toward you. Even his voice has a hiss-like quality to it, the syllables drawn out just a breath too long.

“Taehyung.” You hope he can hear the apparent disinterest in the flat tone of your voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Though it’s anything but, you mentally note.

“I came to escort you to the arena.”

Of course, he would be the one to come and escort you. You should have figured as much. Despite the threat of rain, today’s festivities are set to commence at high noon. In celebration of your betrothal to the prince, a tournament of varying specialties is being held. There will be horse jousting, stone lifting, archery, and a multitude of other events, along with a giant feast. The event is open to most of the public, one of the only times mere commoners may get the chance to mingle among the upper echelon.

You balked at the idea when it was presented to you by your father. But, he would hear nothing of it, nattering on about how this marriage will benefit not just the Kim crown but your father’s own standing with his home country as well. For lack of a better way to say it, you are simply a means to a political end. No better than a slab of meat being bartered for at market.

“There is no—”

“There have been more reports of attacks on the road, growing ever closer to the city. The prince worries for your safety. You can come with me, or I shall have to call for the sheriff. My Lady, there simply can be no other way.”

It’s tempting to make him call for Yoongi. However, you’re not sure who the lesser of two evils is. As much as you hold disdain for the sheriff, you know if he’s pulled away from his duties to escort you, his wrath will be great. While the prince’s mage unnerves you…best to get this over with.

“Very well.” You incline your head and clench your jaw in preparation for the feel of his skin against yours as you stiffly rest your hand over the top of his when he offers it to you.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling growing in the pit of your stomach, you allow Taehyung to guide you out your door, Duckie shuffling close behind. The soft whisper of your slippers over the cold stones in the corridor might as well be the toll of a bell, telling of your impending doom and the future you want no part of.

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #bts fantasy au #namjoon imagines #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fanfiction #kim namjoon #bangtanwhq

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justatypicalwizard · 6 months ago

Text

Weave your own web, my prince

BNHA royal au x reader ❥⋰ Another marital season bears down Katsuki's shoulders. His mother tortures him with a new guard - one that will follow each and every step the prince takes. Soon Katsuki decides, it's time to act on his responsibilities and decides his target will be the guard. Tons of royals flush the corridors of the Bakugo castle, among others Shoto - the Todoroki prince on the make. What will come out of their rivalry? Will Katsuki be able to break out of his mothers web of plans and schemes? Will he be able to claim what he desires or will it run through his fingers? ❥⋰ Reader is referred to as Cat. Word count: 16k ❥⋰ I just want to say I had so much fun writing this piece. I really tried to elevate my language and make something fun. I hope you find it entertaining!

Katsuki hated Spring with all of his heart. He loved the new life peeking out of every corner, he loved the birds that came from far lands with new stories to croak about, he loved the fresh air saturated with the scent of juicy grass and wildflowers. Katsuki hated Spring because Spring meant courting season, the awful marital hunt.

The young, and only, son of queen Mitsuki and king Masaru attained a position on the grand bachelor and maiden list as soon as his 15th Spring approached and has been on it since. Despite the weight of the crown bearing hard on the prince’s temples he refused to find a wife each and every year. The queen was on the verge of forcing someone on him. On March nights Mitsuki cursed at her son’s undeniable masculinity. It would be easier if he was a girl.

The martial aspect of Spring pricked at his side like a thorn but there were other nuisances. It was a time when not only did you have to stand up to your enemies, you also had to let them into your home. Trains of carriages and caravans climb up the steep hill road leading into the Bakugo lands. The castle swole with lace, silk, gossip and scheme. It was full of two-faced ministers, greedy lords, gasping matrons and pale princesses.

Katsuki wondered whether he preferred to travel abroad for courting or let that multitude inside his own stone and gem walls. At least the army was here, some units preparing as if for war. Units like his mothers personal guards.

Day and night, Summer or Winter these soldiers run at top speed, and at top secrecy. They were always in the corner, lingering to the queen like a shadow, flat and easy to miss. Katsuki was supposed to build his own unit such as this, pull it together, brick by brick from desperate, lonely and crazy, ones that would sacrifice their life in the name of loyalty and gratitude. Ones that would sparkle at his side like gems in his crown. Ones that would slice throats without even a blink at his single word. That was, of course, a massive exaggeration but the queen made sure to give him this lecture every time a new rumour could be heard about the assassin known as Denki flirting with a cook or when the archiver and historian girl Mina messed up a few very important dates in the chronicle of Katsuki’s life. At least Kirishima was reliable.

Katsuki stomped towards his mother’s writing room in her open-for-guests chambers. The guests took off and it was once more high time to try to persuade him. Names and oil paintings were hung up in the representative corridors leading to the ballroom. Small noses, corseted waists and absent eyes that gazed up into the sky peeking out through the grand windows. All of these seasons maidens presented like cattle on a Sunday village market. Soon bachelors would accompany the lonely girls on the other side of the hallway.

The angry boy slowed down, his boots finally giving the echo of the corridor a break. Slick black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Diamonds scattering the crown of her head, packed onto a delicate silver web, signalling her worth but also painfully reminding of the lack of a real queens’ crown. At least it matched her eyes.

Yaoyorozu was one of the candidates for Katsuki. Despite her mathematical calmness and chin raised to touch the sky, she fumed every time she saw him. The Yaoyorozu family lacked a crow but swam in wealth. Their banks held and operated on the riches of the neighbourhood kingdom making them important players on the royal courts.

Lord Yaoyorozu tried his luck with the family of his own king but with poor results. Many princes adorned the king’s right hand but none of them would marry with someone of a lower status. At least that’s what they officially said. Next on the list was Katsuki who also refused to take Momo Yaoyorozu. The girl was beautiful, smart and wealthy, but it all meant nothing as her father’s ambitions were too high for her crystal-heel-clad feet.

Another portrait that stung Katsuki’s eyes was yet to be hung. He huffed, a short pathetic laugh. What an irony that the cheeky round face that poked through the messily scattered cloth lay beneath Momo. Someone should quickly gather this portrait or else whatever commoner left this will be punished for offence to a highborn.

Uraraka, a princess well known for Katsuki, smiled cheekily from the frame. Another candidate, this time a real princess. Such a pity her royal family had less funds than the Yaoyorozu. A pity for her, a blessing for Katsuki. She was being held as an option courtesy of friendship rather than position.

Leaving the lifeless faces Katsuki wondered which girl had it worse, which was scattered around more. The wealthy but unprivileged lady or the poor but accepted princess. One thing he knew, he would pick none of them.

Three knocks were enough to be welcomed by his mother. She seemed to be alone in the room. Bookshelves that once were mighty oaks bent under the weight of thousands of books, chronicles and registers. Rugs secured the stone floor giving the room a warmer touch, just as Mitsuki liked. Despite a rather early hour candle flames glistered and twitched around the desk, trapped in glass lanterns. Little daylight was allowed through the narrow windows, always leaving the room in a state of half-shadow.

Katsuki knew that in these elaborately planned out shadows figures lingered in defence of his mother. The prince felt the presence right now but he knew better than to comment on it. Those ears will hear everything but speak of nothing.

“So glad you made it that quick.” The queen turned slightly in her rich chair to face him. The old and well-used wood cracked slightly, though the quiet of the room made it seem like thunder.

“Stop tip-toeing around it and tell me what you have to, old hag.” Katsuki knew what this conversation would be about, he guessed what the bulky volumes in front of his mother were - genealogical trees of high families. It was the same every year.

“Fine. I command you to pick a wife this season. You know the old candidates but there are a few new ones worth taking a look at.” She proceeded to open the book but her son’s harsh voice left her only grazing the cover.

“You can command your little chess pieces of soldiers around, not me. I will not take any of these fake, trained pushovers.” His resistance was hardy.

“You know your responsibilities as a male, and only, heir to the throne. It gets more dangerous each year.” Always the same. Katsuki had enough of it.

“You and dad don’t look like you’re gonna drop dead any moment, which is a pity.” He snarled at his mother like a kid throwing a tantrum - which in fact he was. “I will secure the family line just-” The fierceness of his voice lost its momentum. “Just when I find the right person.”

Did he just admit to his mother that he believed in love? Did he believe in love? He thought about it every Spring, what was it that he was looking for. The princesses were obviously not a match for him because they were all a lifeless mass of similar faces, similar gowns, similar smiles. They were taught to be interested in you, to abide by every need and want, to not ask questions but at the same time to demand the best, tastiest, wealthiest and most luxurious. Katsuki did not wish to play this game. Was he really looking for someone who will make his heart skip a beat? Might as well try.

“Anything else?” He walked around the room grabbing objects and examining them, anything to look away from the disappointed mother in the centre. She sighed.

“Yes. Because of the situation at Todoroki’s I decided to have two of my personal guards watching over you. They have a schedule and will follow your steps for the next months, as long as this farce will take.” Now this, this was new.

Mother was letting two of her dogs off leash. Both excited and annoyed, Katsuki gave her a questioning look. He moved towards her desk, and pushing his abdomen hard into the edge he looked down on his mother. Or so he thought.

“Don’t try to order them around, they already know what to do and they will not abide by a single need of yours.” Though sitting lower she was still looming over him, her shadow longer than his, extended by two additional people.

Finally, he got why she decided such a thing. It was not to keep him safe, it was to make him miserable, push him to his limit and make him succumb to her wants. Who knows what these people will do or how much they will foist themselves on him. Katsuki felt a hand creep up on his throat and ball into a vice grip, suffocating him. He also knew that he will peel those fingers off one by one.

“Meet your daytime guard. Then leave.” Mitsuki gestured to a woman who grew out of the shadow behind her chair.

Katsuki looked the intruder in the eye and let out a short huff, turning on his heel and leaving the writing room in a sour mood.

A few mornings and evenings later Katsuki figured out a bit more about the strange duo following him around. The woman was there during the day while the bulky man with dark wavy hair and a scar on his face guarded his person at nightime. They changed in the evening and morning without much talk.

Those past days the young prince tried to ignore the presence but it became overwhelming, always hearing additional steps behind you. This and the preparation for hosting the ass clapping festival as Katsuki liked to title it.

The castle changed into a busy anthill with servants-ants running back and forth, carrying anything from bouquets to wooden tables all around the place. The prince was needed here and there for very important business such as fitting fancy costumes, giving his opinion on a flower arrangement or signing fifty greeting letters that will be left on the nightstands of the guests’ beds. In simple words, Katsuki had enough.

“Your highness, you are needed in the fitting room.” Shall the white, laced blouses be damned.

Maids jumped around his partially undressed form as they tried to baste a rich red robe around his torso. The loose scraps of material and pins scratched at his skin leaving red marks and giving Katsuki a scowl. The air in the room was stiff and seemed to lack oxygen. The blonde was getting dizzy with all the heavy perfume and powder dancing around in the light of the candles.

“Give me more pins, I need to tighten it here.” One of the seamstresses squeaked.

“Take them yourself, I can’t move right now.” The other one argued

His head slumped down and a deep sigh escaped his lips. How much longer will this take?

“Excuse me. The prince is needed for his evening duties.” A new voice made an interruption.

“We were promised the price will be available today. This fitting was due for a few days.” One of the working women bickered while resting hands on her hips.

“Well, your time has passed.”

The half finished robe was pulled down Katsuki’s arms and shoved into a terrified maid's hands. The prince felt a small hand on the back of his arm. The fingers were so tiny, yet they quickly clasped down in a vice grip, pulling him out of the stuffy fitting room and out into the cold corridor.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” He did not even mind who forced him outside. The preparations, the long days of doing absolute shit, the constant feeling of being watched even in his sleep, Katsuki was too fed up to care.

“Nothing. Or maybe a walk outside would be refreshing if you ask me.”

The prince finally looked up at his companion. It was no one other than the guard woman following him around. She was propped up the corridor wall, arms crossed on her chest, looking out of the window on the ground below.

“Is there something wrong, your highness? Do you wish to go back to the fitting room? You looked rather displeased there and the seamstresses did take their time, didn’t they?” The girl asked with a raised brow.

“Did you really just pull me out of there and lie to them?”

“Are you unhappy with that?”

“Not even a bit. Let’s go outside.”

The evening breeze was refreshing, like a cold shower after a good workout. Katsuki and the guard strolled the park outside of the castle. It was a maze of high hedges, fancy bushes and ponds. The long path led to the grand lake far at the back. The further they got from the castle, the easier it was to mistake the small lights in the windows with stars in the sky. It was peaceful here, sleepy.

“If you wish to know, the name is Cat, my prince.” The guard, Cat, opened her mouth without warning, breaking the melodic tune of night critters.

“Cat is your real name?” He questioned with a brow raised over a scowl. His companion only laughed softly, speaking up no more. Of course it isn’t her name. Of course he would never learn it.

Moonlight shone down on the rich overseas rug giving the warm colours a cold tune. Gold thread twisted and turned forming seemingly endless patterns. Katsuki also twisted in his fur bed sheets, unable to fall asleep. Sweat clung to his overheated body like a second skin. He has to ask for summer sheets, thin like his patience with the restless night.

Pouring himself a goblet of lukewarm water he cursed, exhaustion weighing his shoulders down. Nonetheless, he slipped a soft cotton shirt over his head, pulled on the trousers he left forgotten in the corner and took off in search of some peace in the sleeping castle. The nightguard stalking his every step.

Not finding any relief in his own chambers, Katsuki turned his steps towards his mother’s private rooms and squares. The crushing difference between what was Katsuki’s and what Mitsuki owned was a demonstration of power. Everywhere she could, the queen reminded her son that he was her property. Everywhere he was able to, Katsuki pushed back.

Right now his strategy for enraging the woman was strolling through her chambers at times he shouldn’t. He should be asleep, redying himself for a day packed to the brim with responsibilities. Instead, he opted for passing the scarce guards in silence, looking for a place that would put his nerves at ease.

Far off in the quiet wing of the castle he fished out a familiar figure.

“The fuck you doing there, sneaking around?” He calls out, his voice too loud, cutting through the quiet night like thunder.

There’s a shuffle and Cat turns around to face him fully just as Katsuki enters the square. The smell of flowers is heavy in the air, the queen’s private fruit garden oversaturated with the sweetness of spring life. Katsuki thinks, just for a second, that there’s a glimmer of panic in the guards eye, but her usual polite-jaded expression overtakes her face instantly.

“I am enjoying free time, my prince.” She bows slightly upon his arrival.

“Free time.” The blonde weighs the word on his tongue like a caramel drop. “Sounds exotic.”

“Is there anything you need, my prince?” No response, just blind civility. Noone in this castle, in this world, talked with Katsuki. They obeyed, listened and answered by not one person ever held a conversation with him. Maybe not counting the deliberately selected group of idiots that he called his party. But they are gone now, always seemingly busy during spring. The queen just wanted them away from him, so as not to give him any ideas. Friends were forbidden for a prince.

I need you to shut the fuck up and stop rubbing your free-will into my face. He wanted to shout but the memory of the fitting room, how she freed him of the constricting hands of seamstresses brought Katsuki to a halt. She had more freedom than him, she could do as she pleased when her duty hours were off. Maybe he could use it.

“I need you to speak to me as equals.” He stated, taking a step closer, entering the moonlight square.

“I don’t think this is a good idea, my prince.”

“I don’t want you to suddenly call me by my name, I just want - just talk to me for fuck’s sake.” This is embarrassing. Katsuki cursed the moon’s silver dick for shining so finely today. The pink tinting his cheeks must have been in plain sight. Something shifted in Cat’s expression, relaxation passed over her features, mingling with the usual disinterest.

“Fine.” Her steps were silent as she proceeded to a bench carved out in marble. “I’m listening then.”

“I promise this will stay between us.” The prince dropped down bluntly next to her, swinging his arm over the cool backrest of the uncomfortable bench, his other playing with the loose strings of his cotton shirt, untied, letting his chest breathe fresh night air.

“There is no such thing as a promise here, on court.”

His head whipped her way only to be met with a small smirk. So the woman could speak her mind when she wanted to.

A rich, plump flower sat next to Cat’s head. More of them scattered around the bush leaning on the marble. The one that seemed to nearly graze her cheek was big and flashy, oozing with juices that threatened to spill if you touched it ever so slightly. Katsuki found it repulsive, his mind suddenly drifting off to the thought of wetness.

He looked back, straight ahead to free himself from the shameless flower. His mother tortured him with bees and flower analogies, how he would have to find his flower someday to bear a fruit. It was one of these bushes she made him observe to understand his duty.

Katsuki shook off the nasty feeling.

“So, what do you usually do in your free time?”

“I sleep.”

From the corner of his eye the blonde followed Cat’s movement. She was interested in the flower, poking at it only to get her fingers sticky. Her displeased expression amused him.

“You’re not sleeping now.”

“That’s true.” She stood up and wandered the little maze of flowerbeds and dwarfed trees to find the fountain in the centre. Katsuki following her steps.

A figure appeared in the shadow, leaning on a pillar, watching his every move. The beast of a man, his night time guard, too loud for his own good. A string of curses left Katsuki’s lips. He wasn’t allowed any privacy.

“Cat.” She focused on him, shaking her palm, droplets of water flying in the air. “Switch with the other guy for the night. I want you to guard me.”

It took her a few blinks to think through his order. “And what would I have from it? I would have to be up all night.”

“The next day off. He will take your shift.” The blonde shrugged, as if it was nothing, a mere proposition of business partners too wealthy to mind a single thing. “Besides, if you really care about your rest you would be sleeping right now.” A chuckle left Cat’s lips and Katsuki felt like smiling himself. He did not succumb to the temptation.

“Well, I could use a day off. Have business to take care of.” She came closer and the prince once again thought about the flower. “Did you hear Hound? What do you think about it?”

Hound, the man with messy hair and a messy beard, messy uniform and a crystal clear, sharp look to his eyes stepped onto the square. To Katsuki, he seemed to utterly despise his position, impatience and anger dripping from his face.

“Fine by me.”

“Goodnight then.” Hound huffed at the politeness, turning his back to Katsuki after a short and forced bow, disappearing into the darkness.

“Don’t mind him, my prince, he doesn’t like anyone beside the queen.” Despite Hound’s posture the queen was the real beast here, making a person so blindly loyal.

At once Katsuki felt at ease, alone. He looked up into the sky speckled with stars so very prominent in the moon’s silvery hue. His body felt dry, the sweat of his restless tossing evaporated into the quiet night. He felt fresh and lulled, as if he could fall asleep on the uncomfortable marble bench, his guard sitting on the other side, gazing at the obnoxious flower. He would feel like a still life that hung in the dining room, unmoving and eternal. His life would be still for once, peaceful and silent.

All of it a dream that would never come true.

“What business do you have for tomorrow?” He asked as he sat on the flat surface of the fountain. Every time the light breeze flew by it scooped loose droplets from the fountain, lifting them into the air, letting them dance in the moonlight. It was one of Katsuki’s favourite places to sit as a child, the drops of water hitting his back on hot summer days.

“If I can speak to you as equal for the time being then my business is none of yours, my prince.” Harsh, he thought. He didn’t mind.

“Keep your secrets then.” He scoffed, letting one of his hands dip into the water. It was cool and for a second Katsuki craved nothing more but to tear off his clothes and sink, letting his ears fill up, muffling the sounds of the unbearable world around him. But instead he said. “Just wait until you ask me for something.”

“I would never.” Annoyance forced a scrunch on the bridge of his nose, his pretty face going all ugly. Why didn’t she want to lean on him? He was her ruler. “I would never put more burden on your shoulders, my prince.”

My prince, he was hers but she was not his. She didn’t abide by his needs because she was told to refuse. She was a soldier, a sword in his mothers long-reaching hands that would never be held by him. Her presence reminded Katsuki that he is watched, controlled. Her sharp edge was just underneath his neck, forcing him to hold his chin high, like a prince, and to always look forward, like a future king.

“Why do you have more freedom than I do, huh?” The ugliness never left his face.

“Because I'm nobody.”

“You don’t seem sad about being nobody.”

“Because I’m not.”

Anger bubbled in Katsuki’s veins, promising a night robbed of sleep, one spent twirling in his sheets, gritting his teeth together. Why was this lowborn, this nobody so very free. Why was a capitan, a special guard whose whole existence was dedicated to one painfully narrow task so full of life, so nonchalant. Why did she get to take deep breaths while he was bound to huffs and silent screams. She would never be genuine with him, she did not hold the conversation, she did not answer the questions. She did not talk to him like he wanted, needed. This was a mistake, no longer did he care if it was Hound or Cat at his door tonight. He returned to square one.

Without another word, Katsuki stood up and left for his chambers. This time the steps following him were silent. The exotic flower leaked its juice onto the marble bench, the sweet stickiness running down to pool at the stone path. It cried silently.

Salty water kissed the shore, although it was running away. The sea wanted to override from the adorned tents and sparkish servants littering the beach. Katsuki’s brows were arched in a nasty frown as he gazed into the endless green and blue and foam, sympathising with it. He would also rather be somewhere else.

While in the castle, the whole party seemed quite peaceful, reserved, safe for a few shallow friendships that were now being brought back to life. The closer they got to the shore, the louder the multitude got. Further away from hawk-like eyes of chaperones and scrutinising queens, the youthful spirit flourished.

Looking to the right Katsuki fished out Ochaco’s round face. She was seemingly discussing some matter with a well known klutz. Oh, how Katsuki despised Midoriya. As much as Ochaco’s dusty wardrobe reminded of her rather pitiful standing in regards to wealth, Midoriya was the embodiment of her kingdom’s woes. The greenish boy was a historian, respected astronomer, mathematician was he also? Katsuki was not interested in what he was seemingly good at. His wandering eyes, never bold enough to look anyone in the face, shaking hands that drop anything they hold, stuttering voice that can’t produce one legible sentence. All that Midoriya was Katsuki hated. If not for the fact that Ochaco’s outright crush on her kingdom’s scholar kept her far from him, maybe he would even mock them.

“If you consider princess Ochaco a valuable cover for your marital affairs, my prince, I’d suggest you tell her not to touch her dear servant’s hand that often.” Capitan cat did not budge a muscle, gazing straight into the sea.

“Half of these people already know. They don’t mind ‘cause she’s not a real player anyway.” Katsuki answered, also keeping his gaze steady. He felt as if they were two predators, wild cats still in tall grass, awaiting prey on the horizon.

At the back of the tent Yaoyorozu burned holes in the back of Katsuki’s head. She sat straight like a stick. No need to hold that head up so high, no one's gonna put a crown on it either way. After a few nasty fights Katsuki knew better than to start with the queen-wannabe. It was enough that he called her princess in front of everyone.

To Momo’s right, drinking the same tea from a finely painted porcelain, sat Jiro. Katsuki pitied the dark haired girl. If not for being Momo’s personal maid, she would be a nice companion. Unfortunately, she had to listen to her lady’s venomous whispering, while also sending Katsuki glances, hers apologetic.

“The Yaoyorozu ladies must have received your letter, my prince.” Cat stated disinterested.

��Glad to hear that.” Katsuki made sure to welcome Momo with a letter clarifying that she is not on his personal list of candidates. This way he saved both of them unnecessary troubles.

Wind blew salt from over the sea, slapping the blonde’s pale cheeks. A gasp and commotion could be heard at the back of the party. A maid of honour slipped on a lace and fell face-flat onto the sand. Despite no harm caused she needed fanning, a chair and at least three people ensuring her safety.

At that moment Katsuki agreed with his mother. This didn’t happen a lot but as he looked his companion up and down he did admit, through gritted teeth, that his mother at least had taste. Cat was dressed in black. Her boots reached her lower thigh, she must have at least a few knives up there. Simple trousers with horse ride edging in the inside on her legs. A jacket, not too official, nothing that would catch unwanted attention. Under the fine, black material a white sheer blouse peaked out.

Katsuki caught her gaze, she was looking at him from the corner of her vigilant eye.

“Is everything alright, my prince.” Her stance was fine, elegant even, with knees together, head high and hands behind a straight back. She did not look like she sported a stick in her butt like Momo, but rather, like she was born to look down on others, despite being shorter than him.

Suddenly, Katsuki wanted to see her in that white blouse. The delicate material would surely dance in the breeze, as if someone draped bed sheets over a statue. Would she look less sharp without the black jacket widening her shoulders.

“Aren’t you hot in that?” It was indeed a hot, spring day.

“I am.” Cat answered with a lazy blink.

“Then take it off, the jacket.”

And she did, and Katsuki, for a moment, felt as excited, as if she was stripping naked in front of him. He was wrong and right. The material was indeed soft and loose around her, dancing in the light breeze, catching salt to scrub out later. Yet, she did not look even a slight bit softer. Her strange pupils were still in the corner of her eyes.

“Thank you, my prince, this does feel better.”

In comparison to all of the clownish servants and maids behind her back, Cat looked like an empress inspecting the sea as if it washed the shore only for her.

“Oh, Captain!” Giggles erupted behind Katsuki and the corner of his red eyes caught an intruder.

In between colourful dresses another gem in the Todoroki’s crown entertained the maids with cheap tricks. Their restless feet tiptoed to see him better. They couldn’t decide whether to look at his handsome face or glamorous crimson wings. The hybrid, the mutant, the eyes and ears of Todoroki, Capitan Hawks. Katsuki wondered how many of those drooling maids with hungry eyes knew what the man really did for a living. Behind the adorned misfit a shadow of a man, a certain Shinso.

“I’ve never seen this… maid with you before.” If not for the proximity of the man, his voice would die out in the salty wind. The Todoroki prince grew out of thin air in front of Katsuki.

Of course Shoto wouldn’t bother with a greeting, how could the ethereal prince mind something as mundane. Right now the blonde didn’t know whether he’d rather look at Hawk’s stupid tricks or at Shoto’s stoic face. Neither, if he could choose. Those two rarely came in pairs.

“Cat’s not a maid, she’s a guard.” Although he would rather sit quietly through the fact that for the last weeks he moved around with a babysitter, Katsuki felt that his captain’s rank should be highlighted in front of the Todoroki prince. If he had to move around with a her he’d at least show her off, make it seem as if she was a precious and deadly decoration, a blade fastened to his hip.

“Oh yes, my brother’s emerging a few months ago has everyone alert.” Shoto sighed as if he was talking about an unfavourable score in a knight tournament, not about a serial killer stalking the highbourns. A serial killer who came from his own royal family. “Nothing I can do about it right now.” The half and half prince looked into the sea.

You could evaporate from the world and that would surely make that psycho of a brother happy. Katsuki thought but couldn’t really say anything, shouldn’t. Talking about the missing brother in broad daylight was taboo. Cat also seemed to know that.

“Beautiful day for some recreation on the beach, your highness.” Her strange pupils, now more round and relaxed, locked on Shoto. “Are you feeling well, is there anything you would fancy?” Suddenly, Katsuki felt as if Cat was a bit too hospitable.

“Hm, I do maybe feel a little bit bored.” If that was true, Shoto’s plain face hid all of his emotions.

“Is there anything we can do to change that, your highness?” We? Of course, Katsuki should be the one asking that and walking around entertaining the guests. “Maybe a horse ride?” The stoic prince perked up for a moment, nodding his head lightly. “Very well, I will send for steed.”

Soon three sizable horses were brought over, stablemen with bowed heads passing the reins into royal hands. Before they took off Shoto gestured for his captain to come over. Nestled in the saddle, he spoke in a disinterested tone. “We’re going off for a ride, I will be in the Bakugo captain’s care.”

“Do you wish for me to fly over you, your highness?” Katsuki swore he heard a few gasps upon the word fly. It was not an everyday view to see the captain use his wings for something else than showing off. Katsuki was certain the blonde mutant was a creature of the night.

“No need Hawks.” Without another word Shoto dug the heels of his boots into the horse’s side.

It wasn’t long before Katsuki felt left out. He rode slowly behind his two companions, comparing their stances and words. They both seemed rather stiff. Cat’s hips swayed with the horse’s movement, similar to his, but her shoulders were tense, hands gripping the rein with a strange focus to it. Shoto looked like he mounted a horse for the first time. Sure, he kept in the saddle but his body lacked the natural movement. Katsuki was sure his ass would hurt in the evening.

Despite their weird riding, the two managed to uphold a shallow conversation. The blonde deemed the words that left their mouth absolute rubbish, but at the same time he couldn’t find a moment to butt in. Cat and Shoto created an awkward but sturdy combination.

“I find it a day too beautiful to talk about my work.” Cat’s voice was soft, as if she was talking to a child.

“You simply can’t talk about it.” Shoto learned no new boundaries since they saw each other last time, still speaking whatever came to his mind.

“I’m content you understand, your highness.” There was no sense for Katsuki to feel threatened by Shoto’s shallow discovery. Everyone on the court had their secrets and no person yielding a sword was without sins. Every guard, especially the one designated to a prince, was there for a reason no ears should ever catch. The same went for Hawks, who was left far behind in the avalanche of satin and lace, Katsuki knew the man did some shady business but what kind exactly, no clue.

“But the day indeed is beautiful.” Shoto was a poor rider and the fact was painfully visible. The Todoroki prince wasn’t looking ahead of him and if not for the slow pace of their ride, he would surely divert off the route. His eyes were locked on Cat who guided the small group.

Katsuki wanted her to put on the coat once again and shield her chest chiselled in stone. The white blouse, swept by the wind, seemed too vague, to see-through for her. Shoto was looking at his mighty guard and she presented herself in a blouse suitable for a lady in distress, who wandered off too far in her nightgown. Cat’s high-waisted trousers hugged her form accentuating the movement of her hips and Shoto was looking.

“Yes, the weather is warm, very warm in fact.” The prince breathed out and let the rein loose. His horse started to turn the moment it felt a lack of a humans’ hand but Cat was quick to bend down and put it in its track.

“Your highness, you shouldn’t let it loose. The Bakugo horses are known for being feisty.” She scolded him softly.

“Oh, sorry, I just got a bit hot.” Shoto answered, no emotions lacing his tone, as he shrugged off his rich coat. How can he feel at ease after just being scolded by a guard. He tucked the garment around his saddle and kept on with his poor ride, taking back the rein from Cat. Now, both of them were only in white, cotton blouses and Katsuki felt it was too intimate for his liking. Kicking his horse, he jammed between the two.

“I was fucking bored back at the picnic but now it’s even worse.” The blonde brute eyed Shoto who looked back at him with a slightly shocked expression. The fuck you staring at.

“What would make you feel better, my prince?” Cat still looked ahead of herself, disregarding the disruption to her conversation.

“Some action.” He grunted in response. “Like a race.”

Oh, how his blood started to rush in his veins at the thought of challenging his guard. What if he could make her sweat and gasp? Would she fight for her breath, biting her lips while trying to win? Was she even competitive?

“To the southern beach gate.” Katsuki grinned, snaring her into a battle. He also wished to get rid of Shoto, leaving him behind in his poor attempts to catch up.

“Okay.” Cat answered, looking at him from the corner of her eye, unfazed.

Digging his heels hard into the horse’s sides the blonde rushed forward, forcing a canter. He lay low, nearly hugging the massive neck of his steed, gripping the rein hard enough to leave marks on his palms. The horse cut through the sweeping shore line, water splashing from under its hooves. Without looking behind, Katsuki pulled the rein, forcing the animal to turn, guiding it towards a more grassy ground. As soon as his steed felt soil instead of sand it rushed forward with confidence, making Katsuki’s golden hair dishelve in the wind.

The prince reached the gate in master time. He raced the beach since he was six or seven. Gasping, he turned the horse around, combing his now unkempt hair back with his hand. Neither Cat nor Shoto showed up from behind the tall cliffs that hugged the beach from one side. Katsuki relaxed in the saddle, unclipping his own coat and taking it off to feel the breeze hit his softly clothed skin. The prince couldn’t wait to see the look of defeat on Cat’s face.

Soon the two figures turned and came in view, but despite starting with two horses they only came back with one. They neared him and Katsuki felt as if he lost, despite winning the short race. Shoto sat behind his captain, due to the slow pace at the finishing line he wasn’t hugging her tightly, rather his hands sat loosely in her tights. He was flushed tightly against her back, the saddle too small for two people to feel comfortable. As Cat guided the horse close to him, she made it stand side-to-side so that they all could look at each other. Katsuki had a perfect view of how Shoto’s crotch pushed into Cat’s butt, the saddle still too small despite Katsuki’s displeased look.

“Congratulations, my prince, you won.” Cat said without a hint of discomfort.

“Why the fuck are you on one horse? This idiot has his own.” The blonde spoke but his gaze was locked onto where their bodies connected.

“It would be an utmost disrespect of my if I left prince Todoroki alone, my highness, as price Todoroki cannot race.” Katsuki felt a dissonance. With the delicate highborn strapped onto her back, she looked like Todoroki's guard rather than Bakugo’s and such sharing did not fit into his mind. Now, the blonde wished for Hawks who could assist his damned useless prince, to set his Cat free. “The third horse should follow us.” But of course, the damn thing didn’t.

After a while they decided to head back, Cat and Shoto even closer than before. Katsuki didn’t know if he preferred to ride behind them to keep watch over Shoto’s hands or rather in front to save himself the sight of their phantom hugging. As soon as they wandered back to the multitude, which didn’t ignore Shoto’s position, Katsuki jumped off the horse shooting the two a hateful glare. Cat slid off of the horse first and lent a hand to Shoto who gracefully accepted it. They looked like a lady and knight but reversed. The blonde scoffed and threw Cat’s jacket into her hands after grabbing it from her saddle. He draped his coat back over his shoulders and his captain followed, without a word.

“My prince.” Hawks seemed to catch interest in the strange situation. Shoto stood there, between the massive horses in his cotton undershirt only, like a lost child. Of course he forgot his coat as it stayed on the steed that wandered off. “What happened?”

“We raced.” The half and half answered his concerned guard. “Cat offered to take me on her horse to ensure my safety.” He began picking at the hem of his sleeves, as if only now realising his attire.

“Captain.” Hawks bowed his head slightly to Cat in a silent ‘thank you’ which she seemed to ignore. “Did you like it, my prince?”

Shoto looked up slightly. The sky reflected in one of his eyes. “No.” He breathed out after a second of silence.

“Gather yourself, we’re heading inside.” Katsuki scoffed having heard enough of this nonsense. Few heads turned his way, displeased frowns springing on their faces.

He felt immense anger burning in his inside and bubbling up in his veins. The blonde was helpless despite his raging. Nothing he did, no action he undertook today went out as planned. Everywhere he went, the captain’s attitude reminded him that he did not rule over her, every move she made screamed of his mother’s doing. She was perfect in every ounce. Steady, royal and polite. Reserved but at the same time sweet and somehow caring for the ones she had to be, to the tip of her fingers that grazed Shoto’s as he slid off of the horse. Katsuki had enough of this court coded, pompous bullshit. Cat still had plenty of hours of her duty, following his steps wherever he went, entering every room he went into in spite of his curses. So he will head back into the castle, back into his chambers. He will close the door behind them and show her that even though she is under his mothers rule, he will be the one holding her lead. She is stuck with him just as much as he is stuck with her and he will prove to her that there is not one person in this kingdom that doesn’t do as he pleases.

One thing that day went as he planned so far as tiny raindrops fell from the sky bringing the picnic to an end.

“I want you to guard me tonight.”

“As you wish, my prince.”

Katsuki’s attitude was visible in plain sight, his boot clad feet stomping angrily on the paved floor of the castle grounds. A pair of silent steps following his every turn. The rain was hammering down by the time the whole multitude reached safety under a roof and it swept up the dust in corridors, barging in through arched doorways. As he passed down his mother’s fruit garden, Katsuki spotted the obnoxiously rich flowers being tossed around, their soft and fleshy petals torn off clean, revealing a juicy weeping core.

Serves them right, die. He thought as a chill crept up his spine. The flowers and bees will haunt him till the end of his days.

Laundry girls and guards jumped off of his route, as the angry prince stormed through corridors. Just a second longer, a few passageways and he will be safe and sound in his chambers, by the fireplace devouring on its warmth. And then… then what?

“Stop right there, brat.” A voice, harsh like the upcoming thunder, made him halt. Not her, not at this moment! “In, now.” She looked down on him, a frown passing through her features, a hand rich in golden rings holding the door open for him. “Alone.” She spat, looking at the guard behind his back.

With a heart full of hate and stomach bursting with anger Katsuki entered one of the endless rooms of the queen’s. Half-shadow seemed to stick to her butt, the places she spent her time in never lit properly. Was it her preference, safety precautions, or was it simply her ruthlessness oozing out, never letting her taste brightness.

Rulers pay high prices for their power. She used to say, Katsuki barely old enough to reach her knee, as he gripped the silky fabric of her dress, the two of them strolling through parks.

Did it backlash, mother? All the years you spent moulding me in the shape you wanted hitting you back with twice the strength. Katsuki will never be the same as her, he will not let her rule over this kingdom, through his hands, after she closes her eyes for the last time.

“What is it this time, you old hag?” The prince didn’t even bother stepping inside the room, opting for standing in the doorway, his back pressing into the oak.

“I’ve heard you’re overusing one of the guards.” So she took an interest in his little nightly escapades with Cat. Look how caring she could be when it came to her own pawns, merely the second night and she already went into action. “I don’t care how many kitchen girls, maids of honour of even stable boys you fuck, but listen to me carefully here.” The queen’s accusation finger darted his way. “Don’t you dare touch that guard, she has her own duties to fulfil.”

A few painfully long seconds passed by as Katsuki mulled over her words. He had no such intentions in the first place. Sure, a foggy image of putting the stubborn and nonchalant capitan in her place played on repeat in his brain, but he never even thought it through. There was no plan, no certainty in his actions, just plain and primal instincts telling him to assess his superiority. God, did her lessons get to me finally?

And then it clicked. What better place for the one who held her chin so high, the one who shone like a finely polished blade in his mother’s secret box of knives, the one that treated him with so little respect, what better place than under him? Your own games will eat you up, mother. He thought, as a grin crept up his poorly lit face. Once again he reached for the scarce reserves of self-discipline and fought off the smile.

“If you’re really interested in my bedding so much then remember this: I’m not a whore.” He spat, turning to grab the handle, nearly shaking with excitement.

“She’s to be conferred a title of nobility. Don’t you dare destroy it!” But he was no longer listening, the heavy doors swinging open to reveal the disinterested capitan.

Mitsuki was left in silence and darkness, free to contemplate and place the conversation deep within her web. He may not listen, that idiot, but she surely will. Out of all, this outcome was one she didn’t think about earlier, but all is not lost. An easy way out of this mess popped up in her head and let her back rest deep within the cushions of her seating. If he does something stupid, she strikes. If he reflects on his actions and takes the right path, she may see it as a small parenting victory. Plans inside plan, Katsuki. You still know so little.

Inside his chambers, Katsuki sat in front of the fireplace. Patting the place next to his, he gestured for Cat to sit. With curiosity written all over her face, she entered the dimly lit room and sat, legs crossed.

“Speak with me, Cat.” He said, no doubt she knew what he wanted. In the fruit garden, Katsuki felt the need to have her be true to him. Now, it was only a game. He didn’t care whether she was forcing, lying or spitting facts about herself, all he needed was for her to feel safe. Could he fool her, lure her like a moth to light, or will he just have to take her by force?

He slowly got why they called her Cat. The captain was agile and quick, silent and with a certain liquid-like laziness to her. Cats’ had claws, sure, but they would not stand a chance in front of a lion.

“So, you’re gonna become a nobility? How generous of my mother.” The blonde nearly laughed. So very generous to me.

“My task requires me to attain that title, yes.” She was looking around the room, from the fur draped bed in the far back, through the windows now obliterated with heavy covers, to the fireplace that cast a warm hue on her features.

“If I was you, I’d rather stay a nobody.” A slight scrunch to her nose and Katsuki knew she wanted to say something but her lips remained a straight line. “Not spilling your secrets, huh?”

“You’re not spilling yours, my prince.” Her turn of tables was sudden, she seemed a master at guiding a conversation away from herself.

“What secrets do I have? There is no such thing as privacy for a prince.” His eyes wandered to her crossed legs, just for a second, not to draw unwanted attention from the vigilant, strange eyes. Will she fight? Will she tear her claws into his back or will she succumb, like a cute little kitten?

“Everyone has secrets.”

“And my mother has the most.”

Cat let out a small, genuine laugh. It was like a warm breeze from over the beach on a spring day that you don’t expect, one that has you thinking about the beauty of summer, glistering water and hot days. One that puts a smile on your face. For a second Katsuki thought that making her hate him could hurt. But then, she rested her hands on the floor behind her, her chest stretching, the adorned buttons reflecting the light of the fireplace, the crest of his royal family. His thought was gone, like a single strand of silk that snaps. It was replaced with the need to tear those buttons, one by one, showing her how deep in his ass he had her duty.

“When will you get the title?”

“In a month.” Her eyes never really landed on him since she entered the room.

“So simultaneously with the first engagements.” He stated, matter-of-factly.

There was a shuffle and one of the covers moved as if a strong wind smacked the side of the castle. In an instant Cat went from relaxed and lazy to high alert. It made Katsuki second guess his strength over her.

“Stay put, my prince, I will check this.” With a knife steady in her hand, the captain crept up to the window, her steps silent as ever. After peaking out her head slowly she let her shoulders slump back. “It’s just a fat owl.”

Cat took her place back beside him, hiding the knife away. Just how many did she hold?

“Speaking of engagements.” Something shifted in the way she was looking at him, from under her lashes, her pupils strangely small. Suddenly, Katsuki felt like a prey. “How is your wife hunt going?”

So he wasn’t the only one titling the whole farce a hunt. Nonetheless, the question took him off guard and the blonde promised himself to punish her for each and every time she’d done that so far.

“Like each year. I’m sending hateful letters and pretending not to see Ochaco’s tries to get pregnant with that useless scholar of hers.” He had to take it slow, getting closer inch by inch.

Cat hummed in response, seemingly falling in deep thought. Turning, she lay down, her cheeks facing the fireplace to catch more of the delicious warmth. “Your mother seems to be displeased with your doings, my prince.”

“Nothing I do ever pleases her.” He scoffed, drinking in her vulnerable position, with hands under her head, one leg propped up.

“That’s because you’re acting like a pawn, not like a player.” The punishment of hers will be severe. “Instead of breaking her rules, challenge them. Make your own plans and put them into action, let them collide with hers to see who can weave a better web.” Cat looked him straight in the eye and what Katsuki saw was some kind of amusement, as if the woman was a spectator in a theatre, watching the play unfold before her.

Once again Katsuki felt like he realised something too late.

“Do you want to be a nobility?” He asked, his voice shaky with excitement and unease.

“I’ve already told you, I was fine as a nobody but my task requires me to be elevated.” Her voice was utterly disinterested, as if she was talking about someone else.

She was forced into things just as much as he was. She was a pawn and how could she not be exasperated with his doings. He was indeed acting like the little chess piece in his mothers arms, able to move only one square each side on his own. All the while he had the potential to become a player. Don’t worry my dear, I will answer your silent prayer. With the way she spoke to him, to the best of her ability given her position, the way she moved, the way she looked at him. It was all a quiet ask for him to use the given situation.

Katsuki didn’t know the details of this supposed mission of hers, why she had to become a nobility, but what he knew, finally caught, was that she looked for a way to wiggle out of it. He was the way.

On all fours, the prince crept up to his capitan. She was just about to question what is it that you need, my prince but he silenced her ask with his lips.

His hands roamed the thick black jacket, tearing the upper buttons just as he wished to, lips clasped tightly around hers, tongue exploring the bratty, nonchalant mouth. As he tore down the jacket and blouse from one of her shoulders, revealing her soft skin and one of her breasts, he spotted little scars scattered every now and then. Without second thought he began marking the uneven skin from the crook of her neck to the soft mound. Katsuki felt the need to grind on her tight, his excitement growing at the taste of her cleavage and then he received a hard kick to his abdomen.

He felt the heat of her body slip from under him as he fell forward, cheek hitting the place where she was just a second ago, the prickly rug damaging the side of his face. A weight on his back forced him down, a dull pain spreading from under one of his shoulder blades. The prince wanted to gasp but there was no air in his lungs, his throat constricted by a tiny hand with nails way too sharp.

“What is it that you’re doing, my prince?” Her voice was venomous, like she wanted to spit on him. Her hand grabbed his fair hair, letting him take in a shaky breath. He was forced to look at her from the corner of his eye, his scalp burning with the way she tugged his strands.

Her jacket and blouse were still undone, now both of her breasts spilling out, revealing a set of marks twin to the one he just gave her. Katsuki started to laugh.

“So you’re allowed to sleep around with others but I’m not good enough for you, huh?” The blonde didn’t know what hurt more, the grip on his hair, the knee in his shoulder blade or the rejection and lack of willpower to throw her off.

“You’re my prince, I could not possibly sleep with you.” She spat.

“Prince this, prince that. Fuck you.” He bared his teeth at her, but all that it gave him was dust in his mouth. “I’m too much of a price to get to dick you down but not prince enough to not treat me like a peasant thief! Let go of me, posing danger to your crown is punished by death.”

“I’m not posing any danger to you, my prince. Just keeping you on the right track. My ass is not beside it.”

“Everyone gets to tell me what to do. Get the hell off of me and fuck off, you and everyone!” His trashing built up. The prince tried to surpass the pain in his back but the more he moved, the harder she pushed. Her knee slid dangerously to his spine and dug in, earning a cry from him.

“Then stop fucking around and start acting. Stop pushing your nose in other peoples’ games and start playing your own, my prince.” With that she let go.

As soon as he felt relief in his back, Katsuki jumped to his knees with a hiss, the bruised muscles burning. He swung around drawing a knife of his own but the captain was already at the door. She pulled the loose material of her blouse making her breasts jiggle and fall back into their constricts. Katsuki wished to grab them as hard as her throat to choke all of her curses right out, fuck her until she couldn’t think of any more.

A look of disgust, one of hatred, fear or at least hurt, anything would be better than the expression she held. Her eyes were focused, crazed, corners of her lips turned upwards in a grin, the overall look apologetic. She traced the hickeys on her neck with a finger before letting her arm loose.

Cat pushed the door open and disappeared into the night. Mere seconds after the knife dug into the wood just where her forehead was. Katsuki stood alone in the dimly lit room unable to throw the look of her face out of his head. Once again he felt like his actions were not his own, like he was a puppet with millions of strings pulled by everyone.

The golden prince asking for a private audience with the queen was nearly as rare as getting struck by lightning twice, or shitting out a diamond. Yet, here he was, opening the door to her sombre writing room, the lowlife soldiers and gardeners whispering behind his back.

Yesterday night had him thinking hard, hard enough to cause a persistent headache. He didn’t give a shit about Cat’s rejection. Truth be told, he did not need overflowing affection to force her into a relationship, which is what he demanded right now.

Katsuki has been beaten in training, thousands of bruises littering his skin after every match with Kirishima. The prince was berated for his attitude by scholars and other hotshots of this kingdom. He was feared and despised by damsels who faked their interest, performing the never ending ritual of fluttering their eyelashes and sparing him glances appropriate for virgins. Katsuki was many things and beard even more every day on the court, but never has he felt as used as he does now.

Stop pushing your nose in other peoples’ games and start playing your own, my prince.

He wished never to play any games, he desired nothing more but a truthful life and even more clear ruling. He promised himself that he would never be like his mother. He was supposed to be a lion, a dragon, not a spider sitting in the dark, weaving never ending strings of lies and deception. Katsuki will achieve what he wants, and he will force the woman that used him so badly last night to finally see with her own eyes that a crystal clear world is possible, under his watchful eye.

She will watch and she will gape in awe. Then, she will thank me.

Was it a simple demonstration of power that he wanted? Did he feel the need to snatch one of his mother’s toys for his own use to anger her? Did he want Cat to sob, kneeling and clutching his cloak, thanking him for breaking her out from the web. Did he want to break her out? Was he seeing a reflection of himself in her so very strange eyes, what he could have been if he let his mother toss him around? Or maybe he simply wanted to silence her, show her that at the end of the day he’s the one dealing the cards of their fate.

Katsuki was not sure what his intentions were. What he did plan though, all night long, was his next step.

“Listen closely ‘cause I’ll only say it once.” The blonde shut the heavy door, leaving all of the whispers and commotion outside. The smell of parchment and ink was heavy in the dusty air.

“What do you want from me today, brat?” Mitsuki sighed.

“I decided on my bride. I want -”

The queen started silencing him, waving a ring-heavy hand in front of her face. This indeed was a strange day because Katsuki listened.

“Let me savour this moment, son.” Son. The word left her lips so rarely it sounded exotic. The queen stood up, shoving the dark adorned chair and straightening her dress. She circled the desk, reached for two goblets and poured wine for both of them, blood red wine. “So, who’s the unlucky one?”.

“Cat, in a month. When she will become a nobility.” The vessel felt odd in his hand. Katsuki never really drank with his mother on other occasions than representative ones. This intimate moment, the two of them sharing good wine, discussing the future, and coming to an agreement, Katsuki could almost get fooled. Almost.

“Not a chance.” She threw disinterested, not interrupting her savouring of the wine.

“One scandal is all I need to make the girl utterly worthless, the only option she - the both of you will have is either give her away to me or have her disgraced for life.” The bloody liquid shook in his golden goblet.

“As if you would be able to corner her.” The queen laughed, a venomous, derogatory snicker. “Don’t even get started. I already know about everything from yesterday.”

Katsuki scoffed. So she did run back to her torturer and spill out everything, just as she promised she wouldn’t.

There is no such thing as a promise here, on court.

Of course, she never even promised anything in the first place.

“And here I was, thinking you got smarter over the night.” The queen sat down by the desk, getting back to her initial position and attitude, cold, closed, and angry.

“What is your problem? Why can’t I get her? She’s strong and seems rather clever, knows a lot about the court and will be free of any family baggage.” Katsuki put the wine on his mother’s desk, restraining himself from dousing her mocking face in it.

“The girl has other duties.” Dipping a long quill in ink, she began to write, not sparing her son even a glance.

“Ones that she doesn’t want.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No. But-”

“Then that is not true.” When Mitsuki finally turned towards Katsuki, her gaze was stern and utterly disappointed. A grimace twisted her face, one that often blemished his. They were so similar. “Make a smart choice, take Ochaco. Her family is too poor to pose any political danger to us and they will gladly agree to whatever we say. If you despise her that much you can beget a son with any whore in this kingdom and we will simply make Ochoco pretend it’s hers. From what it looks like the princess already has a sweetheart so as long as you let her keep that boy in her chambers, you won’t have to even look at her a second time.”

Katsuki gritted his teeth until his jaw cried out in pain.

“Is this the life you want for me?” He asked with unconcealed anger oozing out of every pore in his body.

“That’s a life I don’t want for anyone.” She shoved the quill down the long inkpot and looked at her prince. “But you’re a future king, you don’t get the courtesy of doing what you like or want. You do what’s best for the nation, for all of your people.”

Thousands of thoughts spiralled in Katsuki’s aching head, none of which showed him a route to victory in this war. Either way he will lose something. Now, he has to pick how much damage he will inflict on himself in order to please everybody else, to secure the nation, to become a king.

“And what if I give you a compromise, mother.” Without a doubt the name took her by surprise. For a second she saw her little boy, the fair haired ball of anger, clinging to the hem of her dress, shouting and cursing into the air. Mitsuki knew that time was long gone. If she kept treating him like a child, like a son, she would lose her priorities, their shared priorities - the lineage, the court, the kingdom.

“What compromise would it be?”

“I take Ochaco and you give me Cat as a mother of my children. Ochaco will pretend it’s hers in front of the whole damn world. Inside my chambers I get to savour my real family.”

There was a long while of utter silence. No scolding, snickering or curses left the queen’s lips, much to Katsuki’s surprise. Fear and excitement started to sink into his bones, fear for rejection, excitement for the time glimmer of hope that the silence lit.

“I will think about it. That is-” A long sigh, biting her lower lip and looking at the narrow window. “That’s not the best option but it also ain’t the worst one.”

Their gaze met for the last time this day. Her eyes were distant, calculating something in her head, weighing the options and fitting them into her web.

“I will think about it. For now, Cat is withdrawn from your side due to your abuse. The last outbreak of the Todoroki eldest forces me to strengthen their garda with my own forces. I do not wish to put more of my soldiers into broad daylight than I have to, therefore Cat will be appointed as another guard for Todoroki. Kirishima, who I will bring back, and Hound will guard your side in the daytime. For the night, a new guard will be appointed but do care to keep him out of the picture as much as you can.”

“Did you know that our families would already be connected if not for my sister's holy order?”

“Everyone has their duties.”

The lukewarm conversation between Shoto and his newly appointed babysitter made Katsuki nauseous. They were discussing everything and nothing at the same time. How the weather was nice, who would likely get engaged this year, what tea is the most refreshing for the upcoming summer, how buffed sleeves are going into fashion.

“That’s true, but it would be nice to have Katsuki and my sister married.” Saying this the half and half prince looked at his blonde companion. Biting his tongue, Katsuki forced himself to look away. The Todoroki princess was not needed in this conversation. “We did not suppose that Queen Bakugo would only bear one child. That’s a pity but we are still looking for a way to connect our bloodlines.”

We. Shoto was speaking as if he had a say in his fathers plans. The thought of the ethereal prince having more power in his kingdom than Katsuki had in his angered him further. Kirishima huffed quietly as he always did when his golden bastard of a prince became moody. Hound seemed to be sleeping in the back of the open sun terrace where a small social gathering was being held. Supposedly courtesy of Katsuki, truthly his mother's.

“Creating an alliance between the two neighbourhood kingdoms would be a powerful move, your highness.”

“It would. Do you want to try?” Despite a few wide-eyed stares, Shoto grabbed a golden plate with rich chocolate pralines and offered it to Cat.

“I must refuse, your highness.” With a polite face and a tiny smile, the capitan shook her head.

“Such a pity. You don’t like sweets?”

“I do. I just simply don’t have the appetite right now.” Of course she couldn’t scold him by telling the prince that offering what should be for the royals to a mere guard is a faux pas. Katsuki snickered, catching Cat’s gaze, savouring it as long as she spared it.

“Hawks also likse sweets, don’t you?” The centre of all female attention of the room (maybe beside Ochaco) nodded his head. “You two have something in common. That and the fact that you’re both called with animal names.”

The two guards looked at each other. Hawks flashed his signature grin while Cat answered with lack of interest, looking up into the sky .The warm breeze made loose strands of her hair dance. Katsuki wished to comb his fingers in them and grip tight.

“That’s funny. Birds and cats don’t usually go together.” Shoto laughed and a few other people decided it would be a good idea to accompany, even if the joke was lame.

“It’s just a pseudonym, your highness.”

“Oh, so you do have a name? Hawks also has one.” A few interested heads turned their way. “But sadly I don’t know it. And even if I would, I couldn't really tell you.”

“Likewise, your highness.”

Never in his life has Katsuki experienced such a talkative Shoto. The blonde honestly thought that the lack of expression on the stone-like face of the half and half prince connected with his utter silence was the bane of his existence. A chirping Shoto came out to be even worse.

“Now that you’re in my party-” Katsuki hated the sound of those words. “I should have Hawks take you for a flight. The sea looks magnificent from that height.”

Cat clicked her tongue but shut her mouth, opting for a smile only.

“It would be an honour.” The winged man butted in. “Unless you’re scared of heights.”

“I am not, thank you very much.” The civil smile that Cat graced Shoto with turned ironic when she faced Hawks. Katsuki guessed cats and birds indeed don’t go well together, as the two seemed to hold some kind of grudge.

“You should try now! I want to see Hawks fly. The terrace is a perfect spot to take off.” Shoto pointed at the dead drop that fanned out on the other side of the railing. “Believe me it’s fun.”

Without an appropriate option to say no, Cat was left nearing the edge of the sun terrace, looking over into the ground down below. Every head was turned her way, some glances jealous as the winged capitan’s hands snaked around her waist. She twisted in his grab, placing her arms around his neck.

“Should you feel scared, don’t hesitate to use your legs as well.” A grin sprung on his handsome face and a maid sitting behind Katsuki started to fan herself. Katsuki wished for nothing more than to rip the sticky hands of the capitan away from Cat but any outburst could blow his cover. Shoto looked as pleased as punch.

“Thank you, I’ll see how it goes.” At least Cat’s face made Katsuki less angry as she held a slightly disgusted grimace, looking over her shoulder at the drop. Maybe it could be fun, hearing her bloody scream as they take off.

Nothing like that happened. One second Hawks was standing on the railing, with the captain in his hands, the next they were gone. He fell face-forward into the air and a couple of loud flirts later they were both far away, heading for the sea.

Few girls ran to the edge of the terrace, squinting their eyes in the sun, trying to make out the shrinking figures. Hound puffed out air through his nose, standing up from his sitting point, taking the place of the now gone guards beside Shoto’s back.

“Katsuki.”

“Young prince.”

Young prince. The adjective must have tasted like a well aged wine on the tongue of King Todoroki. He savoured every second of diminishing Katsuki. This, the aggression, dominance, and ruthlessness was a game the golden prince knew how to play, and he was more than happy to compete.

“You are not needed in this conversation.” His mother graced him with a pale cheek and a side eyed look. There was no need for her to go to the extent of turning to face him fully, for he was barely a prince.

“Why so? As a future king he may want to bear witness to changes.” Spite as sweet as sun kissed strawberries.

The Queen sent a dirty look towards King Todoroki, but abided by his unusual invitation. As Katsuki took a step inside the darkened room his gaze met Shoto. Changes? What changes were they talking about?

Suddenly Katsuki was back to his youth. Mitsuki dragged him by the shoulder that stretched painfully with every insistent tug. They nearly ran, passing monumental columns and soaring windows. The small, maybe ten years old Katsuki was thrown into a room, the doors shutting behind them as darkness enveloped his boyish figure.

“You are not to play a king when you are not one!”

She yelled, gritting her teeth. All the young prince did was slam through the door to a council meeting, shouting his ideas to the thousand-year-old ministers, just like his mother did every time she felt the need to be heard.

Was he being stuffed in a costume, with a fake crown and staff just now? Were they going to burst in laughter straight to his face? Were they, once again, leaving him behind, deciding what’s the best for him without bothering to ask the object’s opinion? Was this even going to be about him? With two Todoroki members present nothing was certain.

“What are you discussing?” Katsuki knew better than to allow them such games.

“The possibility of connecting our bloodlines.” The Todoroki King outran Mitsuki in his explanation.

“Have you kept a daughter in hiding all these years?” Katsuki snickered, spreading out in the richly padded chair, the soft cushions embracing his tired back.

“It shall not be a true blood connection but one that will be politically accurate.” His mother swished yet another blood red wine around a crystal glass. Some wondered whether she ever drank them or simply held them as decoration.

“And one that will please Shoto.” Since when did the King care for his childrens’ pleasure?

The ethereal prince kept his cool, the porcelain mask that he seemed to have been born with secured his face, declining Katsuki any chance at guessing what hid under the facade. If anything lay there at all.

Weave your own web.

He will not, Katsuki will stand up to any fight thrown his way. He will clash, head straight, with anything that stands in his way. If he is to become the king he wishes to be, he needs to target the right opponent, one that will one day bear the twin seat of kingship.

“So are you finally getting some bitches, half n’ half?”

“I would certainly not call her that.” Shoto looked down to the floor. He seemed to be tracing the hewed lines of the stone, peaking out of the opulent rugs, as if he longed for their cold in this castle burning with hatred.

“Then what would you?”

“I would like to know if she finally decided to give out her name.”

That sickly sweet, hazy gaze, his ring heavy fingers rubbing mindless circles into the chair’s armrest, the lightness of his shoulders. Shoto, despite being the least persistent, the most insular, the quietest and the most delicate looked like a captor in this very moment. He didn’t even spare Katsuki a glance. Why would he? Shoto already got what Katsuki couldn’t have.

There was always the possibility of a misunderstanding. It couldn’t be the enigmatic Cat he was talking about. As much as the golden prince fought with the idea, his instincts told him otherwise. What other nameless woman caught Shoto’s scarce interest? Who else was soon to bear a political position.

The Queen gazed upon a window, a small one embedded into the sloping ceiling, where the moon showed its palace cheek. It was shamelessly bright this might, no clouds obscuring the view. Katsuki wondered whether his mother was a werewolf or a witch, looking so intensely into the silvery disc, not sparing her son even one glance.

Later that night, away in his chambers Katsuki sought the centre of this labyrinth. He was forcefully removed from the small meeting held between the monarchs, as he started an argument that is and would always be out of his power, his mother’s words.

Was it all planned? Was Cat meant for Shoto from the very beginning? It that why she was getting the title? Was she supposed to get closer to the half and half prince by Katsuki’s means?

That would be pointless. She could just be admitted to the Todoroki prince from the beginning. Katsuki’s involvement in this operation didn’t make sense. He was an additional piece that didn’t fit anywhere. And his mother never used to be futile in her resources.

Ever since Katsuki was fifteen, he was forced into every marital council meeting. They were held in a rather grand room, seating kings and queens, their ministers and right-hands. Servants run round with bowed heads pouring wine to goblets that never seemed to be resting on the table, rather the content was being poured down thirsty throats. The chatter was loud, the whole room buzzing like a bees nest. Or more like hornets with how sharp these peoples’ claws were.

The golden prince paced around the castle looking for such a meeting. Sure as hell he should hear them from one of many open doors, he should smell the rich appetisers resting on the long table, he should get a damned invitation to take part! Just as he got one every year, one that was laced with his mother’s threats. If you don’t come I will kill you. Not this year.

As much as the guards and servants tried to dodge his questions, running away in the halls, hiding in chambers, pretending to be busy, all it took was one, too squeaky, cook’s helper. Katsuki learned the meeting was already being held. His mother sure as hell tried to keep him out of this one.

As he stormed the hallways towards the grand room with the painfully long table he gathered his thoughts. Of course he would burst with his decision - he will be with Cat. Katsuki never before wanted any particular wife, he was never interested in any woman like that. Suddenly, in a matter of a few months, one has given him several reasons to claim her.

Of course it would never be love that would be the thing, the force that pushed him towards someone. Katsuki was not sure whether he even knew what love tasted like. But the thought of taking away one of his mother’s swords excited him as if he was a young boy on his first horse ride. The prince would take the guard, a person so very intimate to his mother, and show her how much better he is. Without the web, the schemes, the grand plans and dirty business, without all this gruesome fakeness she will have the opportunity to be free. And he will savour her freedom as if it was his own. He will hold the decision of her title, he will make her stay a nobody - a sweet, safe and secured nobody.

Together the two of them will rub what best they hold on one another. Her confidence, high held chin and perfect stance, will be the best decoration for his crown, one that she will be in his private chambers - a queen worth her place. Then, Katsuki will grace her with all the time, resources and freedom she will want. Of course as long as she fulfils her duties in the keeping of the lineage, but that is a price she will surely be able to pay. That woman is not stupid.

The golden prince, the golden king will make her pleased and he will spread out a new and better world in front of her - one ruled by lions and cats, not by spiders.

Katsuki will beat Shoto in this game. He will never let the ethereal, thin as air and nonexistent in his own way, take away such a precious gem, one pulsing with life that will surely die out in the cold hands of the Todoroki. He will not let her be taken away from the kingdom she is accustomed to.

Cat will be sharp and nonchalant, lazy and harsh, smiling and teasing all for Katsuki, never for Shoto nor for anyone else.

Was it a pathetic feeling of, once in his life, being phantom close to someone? Was his conqueror nature building up in his veins, ready to overflow any given second? Was it resistance or maybe simply a caprice? With all due respect, Katsuki did not care which he chose to side with, the only thing he was certain as he pushed the door to the meeting room was that he would walk out of here with Cat in hand.

To his utter surprise there were no servants moving around in a mismatched pattern around the room. Wine was scarce as everyone, bunched around the far end of the long table, preferred to keep a sober mind. All the heads darted his way as Katsuki strolled closer to them, hiding his shock at the unusual scene.

“I honestly thought younge prince would be absent today.” King Todoroki laughed shortly, propping both of his elbows on the table, observing Katsuki like a predator.

“How could I miss the council meeting where I announce my bride.”

Despite the king being decision making here, the blonde spoke his words to Shoto. They held a short and intense stare - Katsuki fierce, Shoto not seemingly comprehending.

“And who would that be?” Lord Yaoyorozu peaked from behind the King, his gaze held hope, or rather despair.

“That will be…” For a split second Katsuki looked at his mother. He screamed inside, his ego trashing in the golden cage it was kept hostage. Why from all moments did he have to instinctively look at her? It was his decision, his statement, his milestone and step to take. Why did his gaze wander to her face, and more importantly, why was she nodding? “That will be princess Ochaco.”

Murmurs spread through the small gathering. Someone seemed to pat king Uraraka for he perked up suddenly, whispering prayers.

“That girl is disgraced!” Yaoyorozu seemed too enraged with his defeat, spitting venom on the poor princess. “I want her dignity checked!”

“First of all, her ass is no business of yours, Lord.” As much as he hated himself for this, Katsuki mimicked the manner in which King Todoroki diminished him, piercing the red-faced man with undeniable truth - difference in positions. “Second, I’ve known her for the longest time. That green-haired idiot does not interest me, she can keep him or kill him for all I care. I just want you all off my back and my heir on the way.”

Once again Katsuki mindlessly strayed towards his mother’s gaze. She was eying him intensely, her palms gripping the armrests of her throne. A smirk grazed her sharp features. She threw a quick order at the Yaoyorozu Lord sitting next to her and soon the whole row changed seats, allowing for Katsuki to take place by her side.

“We will play this out just as you wanted.” She whispered when he came close to her and a shiver went up his spine. We, as you wanted. She accepted his compromise. Katsuki came out with a proposition and she heard him, thought it through and let it pass. They were playing on the same side. The prince didn’t know what thrilled him more, the idea of his plan working out or the feeling of having one of the most powerful people next to him, with him for once.

“Very well. Now let’s get back to the matter we were discussing before someone decided it was his turn to speak.” Katsuki remembered, it was the Todoroki King who laughed at his mother hard enough, at the counsil meeting, to make her punish her own son so hard. He started to understand Shoto a bit more - if he had a father like this he would also detach himself from reality.

“Shoto.”

“I ask for the hand of a lady from your kingdom, your highness.” The prince, delicate as a flower, bowed his head slightly, but it quickly sprung up towards the Bakugo Queen. He looked like a kid waiting for a response, whether he can go play outside or not.

“With all due respect, I must decline your offer for now.”

It was the second time this day when the small gathering went rampage with whispers. The men in the room looked around each other in disbelief. The show certainly didn’t go along with the script.

With a hard tug of his father’s hand, Shoto was pushed back into the seat from his standing position. The now disorientated prince looked around the room, at the Queen’s face and finally at Katsuki who was now grinning wide. Something flicked behind his glassy eyes, something like understanding.

“And why is that, your highness?” King Todoroki seemed to send the deadliest looks of them all. At first they were directed at the Queen but soon, he caught Katsuki’s unpleasant smile. “So that’s how you’re playing it out.”

He must have caught the act quickly. The night of Katsuki’s bursting in during the small gathering the four of them held, it gave him out. But it didn’t matter, it had already been decided and no amount of the King’s trashing could override his mother’s words. After all, Cat was a property of the Bakugo’s.

“Bring the girl here.” The King demanded.

“There’s no need for that.”

“If we are to decide on an agreement tonight, the girl will come here. I find it obvious that you suddenly decide to gatekeep a thing that, one way or another, was supposed to connect our kingdoms. I want to, at least, hear the girl say it. I want her to pick!” This time it was the King speaking to Katsuki and not his mother. His nails would surely leave bloody marks with how hard the young prince was digging them into his own palms - all out of excitement. “I want her to come here, look at you, and tell us all she picks you.”

Cold sweat seemed to grow on Katsuki’s skin. One look at his mother and she knew he didn’t talk to the very girl. Yet, he was sure she would pick him over Shoto.

“What is going on, who are you talking about?” King Uraraka seemed as lost as the rest of the people, save for the Bakugos and Todorokis. “Weren’t you just talking about marrying Ochaco, prince?”

“And I will. I will make her my wife and then both of us can go back to our own… picks.”

Finally, the Uraraka king seemed to understand. His gaze lowered slightly as his back plopped against the chair. Despite the rather pitiful look of a man who knew his worthlessness, he did not oppose a single word. Maybe he knew what Katsuki was offering was honestly the best option for his daughter. Even though their royal family would most likely be a mixture of green, blonde and god knows what else.

“Fine. Go get the girl.”

A few long minutes passed in silence. The only sound in the room was the cracking of wood in the big fireplace. The air seemed to buzz with anticipation and unease. No one dared to look at each other. No one except for Katsuki drilling holes in Shoto’s mismatched head.

When the doors opened to reveal Cat all faced her way. She stood by the large, wooden wings.

“Come.” The Queen ordered.

Cat looked into the hallway she just came through as if someone would be there. After a second she came closer, with a few long strides, and was now standing with her hands behind a straight back, waiting for more orders. Despite her confident face she was looking upwards.

“Due to a misunderstanding we wish to ask you something.” The Queen turned directly to her guard and Katsuki followed her gaze. Cat was standing just behind his shoulder. If he reached out his hand he could grab her, touch her, signal to her to give the damn right answer to the upcoming question. But she was looking upwards, avoiding even his mother’s gaze, like a good soldier. “Do you wish to attain a title of nobility and be honoured with the possibility of connecting the Bakugos to the Todorokis in a political agreement, or do you wish to stay lowborned and help to elongate the Bakugo lineage.”

Silence fell upon the room as all awaited for an answer, one that could change the political stability of millions of square kilometres. Some feared, some sought possibilities, others clenched their jaws or bore their eyes into the guard, standing alone like a single strand of grass in a thunderstorm.

Cat took in a sharp breath and for the first time, she looked down on the Queen. At that moment Katsuki knew his world was about to fall apart once again. She never would and never will talk to him, with him, as he needs it.

Slowly, the woman went lower and lower, bending her knees, her back, her neck. She dropped onto the floor silently which made her voice contrast even more. She spoke with reserve and power.

“If I may beg you, your highnesses, I wish to finish the original plan.” I pick Shoto, I wish to be a nobility, I hate you. Katsuki braced himself for one of these, what other reason would she have for not looking at him as she made her decision? Cat picked her head up from next to her knee and looked straight at the Queen. “I missed four breaks in my service.”

The Queen gasped. It was short and unexpected, only for Katsuki and Cat to see. She blinked a few times as if trying to get rid of the shock from her features before she faced the other way, back to the awaiting group.

“Enji, I think we might have overdone ourselves this time.” Both Todorokis turned abruptly towards the Queen. Shoto was shell shocked from hearing his fathers name fall out of the queen's lips. The King looked stunned as his son.

“The original plan.” He muttered.

“What the fuck is the original plan? What break in service?” Katsuki cried out like a madman for truthly, he felt mad. Plans in plans in plans.

“Everyone out!” The Queen rising to her feet was all that it took for the rest of the men to usher out of the room. All they did was look back behind the shoulders and whisper. Weak.

It was only the five of them left and the room felt like a gruesome overkill. Without much comprehension Katsuki switched between looking at his mother and Cat, both of whom didn't spare him a single glance since the enigmatic words. King Todoroki was still seated in his original place, with his face in his palms, calculating something meticulously in his head. Shoto looked as disorientated as he was at the beginning, failing to grasp even a strand of understanding in this strange situation. Now, he opted to look at his father’s cheek, awaiting an explanation.

“What is the original plan?” Katsuki hated the need to repeat himself.

“The original plan can come in, I think.” The Queen sighed, gulping down wine that she greedily clawed at the moment she sat back in her spacious throne. Soon, she repeated the same but this time she was shouting.

The doors began to open slowly, as if someone was testing the waters before jumping into the whirlpool before him. A crimson wing was first to enter, then a halo of golden hair and strange marked eyes that quickly fished out his target in the group. Hawks came to a stop just behind his king, mimicking the way in which Cat was holding herself.

“Did the two of you… proceed with the plan?” Enji Todoroki broke the silence first.

“Yes, my king.” Hawks answered for them both.

“When?”

“First thing when we came here, around four months ago.” Hawks looked somewhere far, into a memory maybe, one that was not brought back to life, wrestled out of the nooks and crannies of his privacy. “We did not expect… such obstacles.”

“Because there shouldn’t have been any obstacles in the first place.” The Queen was looking down, on the table, her eyes darkened. “We got caught up in our sons’ stupid games, Enji.” The king's name felt oddly at home on her tongue. The third person she used, how she removed both of the princes from the conversation. Thai was not meant for their ears, they were only unlocking this secret because someone, by mistake, pushed the keys into their hands in a hurry. They stood in the right place at the right time.

“Then we shall proceed with the plan.” The Todoroki King finally looked up and turned towards Hawks. His ever-scolding gaze felt light right now, like he was testing something, looking for a sign on his guard's face.

“I will ask for the last time…” Katsuki desperately tried to earn some attention, to finally know what the whole farce was about.

“What you will do is shut up and listen, for I will only tell it once.” His mother’s words were sharp but her gaze was apologising when she looked at him. As if she was silently trying to tell him, I’m sorry. And Katsuki will understand her, because in the end even she was stripped down from the possibility of choosing who really dealt the cards.

“The original plan, one that has been going on for years now, was to breed, create two strong people - a man and a woman. Many were tested, many like the ones that consist of my or the King’s personal guards.” Katsuki knew who she meant, not the regular soldiers but the ones like Cat and Hound. “When we found two that would perfectly match each other we were supposed to title them nobility and marry them together to produce even better offspring. Children that would join the two kingdoms with a tie so strong that no one would have the guts to attack and expose oneself to the power.”

“And these people are…” Shoto finally mustered the strength to mutter.

“At this point there is no denying that the plan will succeed. There is no chance Shoto will have Cat and neither can Katsuki. Both of you could ruin the royal lineage if your supposed firstborn came out with red wings.”

From the very beginning, from the moment Katsuki wandered his mother’s garden at night and found Cat shuffling around the bush, she already weaved her web. They already weaved their web. The business she had to take care of at free days, the hickeys he found under her collar, around her breast, maybe even further. The fat owl who sat that night on the windowsill. It was him, him all along, everywhere behind her, inside her, with her.

Her strange pupils that now, finally, found a place in Katsuki’s mind. A cat, elongated and extremely sensitive to light and relaxation. Maybe she didn’t have such grand evidence of her animal nature like Hawks but sure as hell she acted on her instincts.

“We need to arrange the wedding quickly or else you will miraculously bear a child in three months.” The Queen sighed.

“Best to do it next week, as an opening of the season.” The King answered.

Katsuki lacked the willpower to fight anymore. How could he win her over when he already lost at the beginning. Soon, he will have a seat in the first row to see Cat take the hand of a different man. In a matter of months he will be able to look at the fruit of their… what was it between them? Nature, instincts, orders, loyalty or love? Maybe he would ask her. Maybe she will tell him what’s it like?

As Katsuki looked at Cat, she was already gazing into him, through him. For the first time since he met her she looked taken aback. Her plan worked and all that will have to settle into her brain. Apart from the trouble on her face there was also regret, her eyes spoke a silent apology. Not for Shoto, not for the Queen but for him. She used everyone she could. From the moment she realised Katsuki was after her, she led him to inappropriate actions and ran off to Shoto. Then, the half and half also started to pose as an obstacle, like he always does. But somehow, in this enormous whirlwind of schemes and lies, they found the way to each other.

What else could push people to do things that crazy if not love? And when she could finally face him, face Hawks, Katsuki saw one of the most beautiful smiles he would ever experience in his life. And as the two could finally close into an embrace, Hawks ever so attentive of her abdomen, and seal their feelings with a kiss, Katsuki couldn't look away, no matter how hard he tried.

Thank you so much for reading! I'm thinking about a small continuation of how Katsuki's and everyone's life is after the wedding, but that's a matter for another day.

#bakugou #mha #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #royal au

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