#the prince of the moonlight stone

[killersandy]

Ham-Egg scenes from TPOTMS (drawings by me).

Not a big fan of him, but I don't hate him either.

Weird. XD

[multific]

The Dragon’s Mercy

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After your brother is accused of treason, you are given to Aemond Targaryen to ensure your family’s loyalty.

The cold halls of the Red Keep swallowed you whole.

Each step you took echoed against the stone floors, the weight of your fate pressing against your chest, almost suffocating you.

Your brother had been accused of treason. And instead of execution, your family had been given a choice: surrender you to Aemond Targaryen as proof of loyalty or suffer the consequences.

You had expected chains. A prison cell. A fate worse than death.

Instead, you stood before him now, inside his chambers, watching as the Prince of the Realm, rider of Vhagar, the man they called the Kinslayer, studied you with that single violet eye, sharp as Valyrian steel.

“You tremble,” he observed, his voice low, smooth.

You straightened your spine, swallowing down the fear clawing at your throat. “I do not.”

A ghost of a smirk flashed at the corner of his lips.

He stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you with something heavy, something suffocating.

“I expected resistance,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “Anger. You think me a monster, do you not?”

You said nothing.

Because you had.

You had imagined cruelty, imagined a man who would take pleasure in your suffering, a captor who would treat you as nothing more than a means to an end.

But Aemond Targaryen only watched you silently. As if you were a puzzle he could not yet solve.

At last, he exhaled sharply. “You will be under my protection. No harm will come to you while you are in my care.”

You blinked. That was not what you had expected.

Still, you lifted your chin defiantly. “And what does your ‘protection’ entail?”

His gaze darkened. “It means that if anyone so much as lays a hand on you, they will burn.”

Days passed. Then weeks.

You had braced yourself for cruelty. Instead, you found something else.

Aemond did not treat you as a prisoner.

You had been given your own chambers, close to his, but never locked. Servants tended to you, ensuring your every comfort.

Aemond watched you.

Every evening, when supper was served in his private quarters, his eye lingered on you as you ate. When you spoke, he listened intently, absorbing every word as though they were precious.

And when you walk through the gardens in the mornings, he is never far, his presence like a shadow cast in silver and black.

It was unnerving.

And yet…

One night, as you stood on the balcony overlooking the city, a strong gust of wind made you shiver. Almost immediately, something warm and heavy settled over your shoulders.

You turned in surprise.

Aemond’s cloak.

His fingers brushed yours as he adjusted it over you. “You should not stand in the cold,” he murmured.

You looked up at him, at the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the moonlight softened his usually harsh features.

“Why do you care?” you whispered.

He hesitated. Then, quietly, “Because you are mine to protect.”

Something shifted in his gaze then, something deeper, something that sent warmth low in your stomach.

It was not long after that the rumours began.

That Aemond Targaryen had grown possessive of the woman given to him. That he kept her close, and allowed no one else near her. That the woman, in turn, had stopped flinching at his presence. She had started looking at him differently.

That she had begun to care for him.

Perhaps it was true.

Because one evening, when Aemond returned from a meeting with the King’s Council, his shoulders tight with tension, you found yourself moving without thought.

You stepped into his space, fingers hesitating before resting gently on his arm. “Aemond?”

He stiffened.

No one touched him. No one dared.

But you did.

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours, and in that moment, you saw something raw, something unspoken.

Slowly, cautiously, you lifted a hand to his face. You brushed your fingertips along the ridge of his scar, traced the edge of his eyepatch.

Aemond inhaled sharply. “What are you doing?”

You swallowed. “You carry this burden alone.” Your thumb ghosted over his cheekbone. “You do not have to.”

A shudder ran through him. And then, before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed a soft kiss to his scar.

Aemond’s hands clenched at his sides.

“You,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “are going to ruin me.”

You smiled softly. “Then let me.”

And when he kissed you, it was not the kiss of a captor claiming his prize.

It was the kiss of a man who had found something worth keeping.

Something worth protecting.

Something worth loving.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[littlelamy]

more headcanons of knight!rafe x younger!princess!reader

their relationship . ݁ ˖୨୧₊❀

୨ৎ   he was assigned after some noble tried to grab her during a parade. she didn’t even flinch—she just stared as rafe beat the man half to death. afterward, he was named her personal guard, and she groaned, “i don’t need a shadow,” all pouty and haughty. but now she won’t go anywhere without him.

୨ৎ   she brings him things—figs from the garden, letters with drawings of them as prince and princess, flower crowns with thorns still in them. once got caught in the training yard by the captain, and rafe just bowed low and said, “forgive me. i insisted for the princess to come out here.”

୨ৎ   she touches his armor like it’s soft. traces the scars on his hands like she wants to kiss them better. tucks wildflowers behind his ear, all giggly and sugar-sweet, and he goes stone silent, red-faced, gripping his sword like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

୨ৎ   he’d rather die than see her hurt. but she keeps doing reckless things like climbing trees and sneaking out past curfew just to see the stars. “what if i fall?” she teases. “then i’ll catch you, milady” he always says, completely serious.

little moments. ݁ ˖୨୧₊❀

୨ৎ   sitting in the window seat, braid undone, humming lullabies to her cat. rafe watches from the doorway like he’s guarding a relic, not just a girl.

୨ৎ   twirling barefoot through the empty ballroom at night, lit only by moonlight. she thinks no one’s watching, but rafe always is.

୨ৎ   riding behind him on his horse, arms wrapped tight around his waist, cheek pressed to his back. her eyes closed, his jaw clenched, feeling a peace like he’s never known.

୨ৎ   whispering prayers into the wind from her tower, palms folded over her heart, asking heaven to let her stay with her knight forever—even if she’s meant to marry a prince.

ᡴꪫ tags below

taglist𑄽𑄺: @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows @st8rkey @vdotcom @nemesyaaa

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮 !

— pairing; malleus draconia x ramshackle! reader

— summary; you throw rocks at his window, malleus thinks you've come for a midnight rendezvous

— notes; idk what this is, it just came to me in a fever dream. please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s late at night, and you’re just about ready to call it a night and head to bed. But then you suddenly think: is there any History of Magic homework?

❋ For a fleeting moment, you consider texting Ace and Deuce. But considering how terrible the subject is at holding their attentions — and yours — it would be a wasted effort.

❋ And so, you decide that the next best option would be to trek to the dorm of a fae prince in the dead of night, stand below his window, and proceed to throw rocks to get his attention.

❋ Because that’s obviously what any sane person would do.

❋ But in your defence, he lives in a tower, and this was the best way you could think of to get his attention.

❋ Ever the night owl, Malleus hasn’t turned in for the night just yet. In fact, he’s completely engrossed in a thick tome when you hurl the first pebble up at his window.

❋ The sound in the otherwise silent room startles him at first, but then he peeks out the window and sees you standing below with a handful of stones, your beautiful features perfectly illuminated by the moonlight.

❋ And his heart melts.

❋ Truly, his Child of Man never ceases to surprise him. No one has ever been so bold, so daring, so romantic as to venture all the way to Diasomnia for him. Throwing pebbles at his window in the dead of night? He’s read about this in Lilia’s novels!

❋ The Great Malleus Draconia, one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland, is now leaning on the windowsill, practically swooning.

❋ “How devoted,” he whispers to himself with a dreamy sigh, pushing open the window with a grand flourish, so that he might better take in the sight of his beloved.

❋ Meanwhile, you’re completely oblivious to his current train of thought. It’s freezing out here, and you just want a quick answer to your question before your fingers and toes fall off from the cold.

❋ “Malleus!” You whisper as quietly as you can, glancing nervously around as though you expect to see Sebek springing out at any moment to berate you for your transgressions. “Do we have any history homework?!”

❋ Silence.

❋ Malleus blinks once. Twice. He’s momentarily taken aback, but then realisation dawns. This casual question must surely be a clever way of hiding your true feelings! Ah, they’re shy about their affection . . . How adorable. He says, “We do not. But if you wished to see me, you need only summon me in the future.”

❋ “I literally just threw rocks at your window —”

❋ “It was lovely.”

❋ After that, Malleus starts to leave his window open every night, just in case you feel the urge to throw more rocks. He even enchants the area so the rocks won’t chip the glass . . . Purely a precaution for his beloved’s romantic tendencies.

[talesofesther]

and still, you have me

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: After everyone has left his side, you go find him.

A/N: A little something to heal our hearts from the finale. Here's a shameless plug of my ongoing series with Aemond, which has similar vibes to this story. <3

Masterlist

The night was late and quiet, tension high in the Keep as war loomed on the horizon. You'd been walking the lone hallways of the castle for a while now, smiling at each member of the king's guard who bowed their head at you.

You'd decided to leave your shared room with Aemond when the night stretched on and he was yet to show up. Having heard of his disagreement with his mother and sister earlier, you had a hunch he was keeping his distance, denying himself respite as he sometimes did.

However, it took you only a short while to find him. At times you thought he did it on purpose, that he wanted to be found, by the people who cared enough to look.

You pushed open the doors of the council chamber, which was now empty. The long table and stone walls softly highlighted by the golden glow of torches and candles. At the far end of the room, the doors that led to the balcony were open, and there, you found your Prince.

Leaning on the balustrade, Aemond overlooked the immensity of King's Landing under the clear night sky, his long silver hair softly moving with the wind.

You walked closer to him, quiet and careful, taking notice of his tense shoulders and head hanging low. If you had to guess, you'd say his talk with Helaena hadn't gone well.

Aemond straightened his back when he heard you approaching, you could almost feel part of his guard coming up again. Despite the way most people feared him, there was something delicate about him, you knew well. Under so many defenses, he protected a fragile heart.

The Prince took a deep breath in, he still refused to turn around and look at you. "Will you leave my side too, ñuha prūmia?" There was a crack in his voice as he spoke the last of his words.

"Only death could make me do such a thing, my love." You promised in the same breath.

Aemond turned around then, taking the remaining step that still separated the two of you. His eye shone bright under the moonlight, as did the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. He tried hard to keep his face impassive as he raised a hand to touch you but pulled away before he did so.

The turmoil was evident in how he softly furrowed his brows as if his thundering heart caused him pain, in how his lower lip wobbled, and how his eye quickly filled with new tears as he looked at the last person who stood by him. There was fear, guilt, and sorrow as he turned into the lonely young boy he once was before your eyes again.

"And what if-" Aemond stumbled in his words. He gulped, breathing through his nose, "What if the Stranger takes me before he does you? What then?" His voice was low and quiet, as if couldn't bring himself to utter the question any louder.

"Then I shall live the rest of my days in black, mourning the loss of the one I love," you spoke just as softly, gently taking one of Aemond's hands in yours. And he shuddered, you couldn't know if it was because of your touch or because of your words. "Yet glad that I got to share my time with you."

Aemond's lips parted, and the tear in his eye hung by his lashes when he blinked. There were suddenly no walls, he could crumble before you, just like that. His hand gripped yours tighter, and before his tear rolled down his cheek, he closed his eye, leaning forward so his forehead rested on yours. "Nyke ȳdra daor gūrogon ao."

You kissed the words, almost as an act of rebellion, your lips finding the edge of his with lingering affection. "Yn emā nyke mirre keskydoso." Devotion and love dripped from each syllable.

A low hum came from Aemond, and he followed after you once you pulled away, chasing your warmth.

"I will go with you," You spoke with ease, catching his gaze so he saw the sincerity in your eyes.

He kept quiet, with shallow and shaky breaths falling past his lips as he simply looked at you. Yet his hand held yours tight, refusing to let go.

"To Harrenhal. I will fly with you." You brought your free hand up, thumb brushing over Aemond's cheek and drying away the single tear that had fallen.

He closed his eye at your touch, and allowed himself to fall, for you were there to catch him. Aemond leaned his head on your shoulder, both arms coming to circle your waist and pull you against his body.

You held him back, squeezing him to you as your fingers buried in his hair. You could feel his tears dampening the fabric of your dress, could feel his nails digging into it with desperation as if you'd vanish if he didn't hold tight enough.

Aemond had refrained from asking you, because of how close you'd been with Rhaenyra once. Perhaps he lacked the courage to ask you to choose sides and risk losing you. Yet now, as you held his broken pieces together under the stars, he realized you'd chosen his side long ago.

If it would be you and him against the world, then so be it.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

High Valyrian translations: ñuha prūmia = my heart nyke ȳdra daor gūrogon ao = I don't deserve you yn emā nyke mirre keskydoso = but you have me all the same

Aemond's taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[strawberry-bubblef]

May I request some Malleus x Asian dragon reader? I just think the contrast between a western dragon and an asian dragon is neat

Asian dragon reader x Malleus

I’m not very familiar with Asian dragons, but I did my best to research about them them,sorry if I got anything wrong.Feel free to correct me!

Everyone knows who Malleus Draconia is.

A prince of thorns, shadowed by stormclouds and legacy, feared and revered in equal measure. The horned fae, the dragon of Diasomnia, heir to a kingdom most only speak of in hushed awe.

And you?

You are something older.

Not feared, not whispered of, revered. A whisper in the wind, a shimmer of scales gliding between the clouds. A celestial serpent, a creature of rain and sky, called by ancient temples and children’s prayers for rain.

You and Malleus are both dragons, yes. But you are night and dawn. Fire and river. Thunder and rain.

You meet at Night Raven College , you, summoned by strange magic you’ve never quite trusted, and Malleus, watching from the shadows with curious green eyes. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was the pull of your shared natures. But it doesn’t take long before you’re drawn to each other,not by the ferocity of your power, but by the loneliness beneath it.

And now?

Now, he rests his head on your shoulder as you both sit in the spires of Diasomnia’s tallest tower, silent save for the quiet wind brushing against your horns.

"You’re warm tonight," you murmur.

He huffs a laugh. "You always say that. You’re the one who's cold like cloudwater."

You turn your head to look at him, elegant, regal. His eyes glow faintly in the darkness, but they soften when he gazes at you.

“You burn like wildfire,” you say. “I glide like mist. You were raised to cast shadows. I was raised to clear skies.”

And he smiles at that, not the polite prince’s smile, but the one only you get to see. Soft. Secret. Full of something that borders reverence.

“Opposites,” he says. “Yet here we are.”

It’s not always easy.

There are moments when he rages,when centuries of solitude and misunderstanding claw at him like ghosts. When his temper crackles in the air and the world remembers why fae are feared.

But you, ancient and serene, don’t flinch.

Instead, you wrap yourself around him, coils and breath and calm. You press your forehead to his and whisper, “Storms pass. They always do.”

He clings to your voice like it’s a prayer.

And there are times you falter, too. When you’re lost in memories of temples long crumbled, of people who once knelt to offer offerings.You wonder if you’re still needed. Still wanted.

“Your divinity never needed belief,” Malleus says one night, when he finds you staring at the sky with distant eyes. “You shine, whether anyone is watching or not.”

He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, and you lean into it like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

“You found me,” you whisper. “When I thought I’d drift forever.”

In your dragon forms, the difference is even starker.

He is massive, winged and imposing, fire and smoke and ancient wrath.

You are long and serpentine, without wings, moving through air as if it’s water, trailing stars with every movement.

When you fly together, you are yin and yang,the sky splits with thunder and clears behind you with rainbows. Watching you together is like witnessing the balance of nature itself. Malleus, fierce and quiet. You, gentle and eternal.

He tells you stories of Briar Valley. You tell him tales from the clouds, of mountains that cry, of dragons who live in the rivers and whisper to fishermen. He listens as though hearing stories from another world.

And when you return home together,to your ancestral temple, deep in a bamboo forest few mortals find,he bows before the great stone gate. Not out of obligation, but because he knows what you are.

“I do not kneel easily,” he says, voice low, “but your roots demand reverence.”

You lead him inside, your form shimmering under moonlight, and the old spirits watch. They whisper of harmony. Of balance.

Of a future forged from thunder and mist.

In quiet moments, he holds your hand and traces the long curve of your claws.

“In another universe” he says, “we might have been enemies.”

You shake your head, resting your forehead against his. “In every universe, I would have found you.”

He believes you.

Because the contrast between you is not what divides, it’s what binds.

You are not two halves of a coin, nor two sides of a blade.

You are sky and earth. River and fire.

And where you meet, something holy grows.

English is not my first language !

[spxllcxstxr]

Vermax • J.V

(Gif not mine)

Request: jacaerys falling in love with a servant girl and taking her for a ride on vermax. -- @sarahisslytherin

Summary: Jacaerys takes a servant girl to see Vermax

Warnings: fem!reader (referred to as girl at some points), servant x prince forbidden romance, dragon stuff, lowkey abrupt ending but oh well

Word Count: 1.2k

A.N: need more smiling jace but DAMN he was fine in this scene, first jace piece, hope it's ok! This wasn’t supposed to be over 1k words lmao

•

The dark corridors of Dragonstone castle twist and turn as Prince Jacaerys pulls you through them. His grip on your wrist is light as it pushes up the sleeve of your red servant’s dress.

The only sounds surrounding the two of you were your steps across the stone floors and both of your panting breaths.

In mere minutes the cool air of Dragonstone hits you as does the grass slick with fresh dew. Any guards near the entrances are cloaked in the darkness.

"Jacaerys," You hiss, careful not to draw any attention to you. "Where are you taking me?"

"Calm yourself, (Y/n), I am only taking you to see Vermax." Jace responds, his pace slowing as he approaches a patch of grass where his dragon frequently can be found.

"Are you feeding me to your dragon, Jace? Is this what this is?"

He snorts at your question. "Not today."

You giggle as Vermax is appears within your vision.

The moonlight shimmers on Vermax's olive green scales. The dragon mesmerizes you, even when stationary. You can't even fathom the fact that Vermax is on the smaller side of the Targaryen dragons.

Jacearys turns to you, the flowing red cape attached to the rest of his riding gear rustles behind him. Your eyes flick to the Prince.

"Do you trust me?" The Prince asks, his gentle brown eyes staring into your own. His thumb rests on your cheekbone. The leather riding gloves obstructs the warm feeling you have come to associate with the Prince. It's comforting nonetheless.

You heart hammers in your chest. Even his lightest of touches always leaves you dazed, but with the addition of a dragon just over his shoulder contributes to your nerves.

"Of course, Jacaerys," You breathe, wiping your sweaty palms against the rough fabric of your dress. The tall grass tickles your ankles.

He hums, lightly pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do not be afraid, sweet girl, Vermax will do you no harm."

"Are you sure about this, Jace? We could get in trouble--"

"Nonsense, who here would fathom taking issue with the Prince?" Jacearys smirks, making your cheeks burn.

In the moonlight he takes your breath away. Pale skin littered with freckles, the desire to kiss every single one almost taking over.

You follow him as he strides over to his dragon, murmuring in High Valarian. His hands rest atop the dragon's snout.

He whispers to his dragon, gesturing to you to come closer. With your hand trembling slightly, you lightly place it on the dragon's scales, which are hot to the touch.

It takes a bit of maneuvering paired with Jace's help for you to get up on Vermax's saddle--you had barely ridden a horse much less a dragon.

"Might want to hold on tight, (Y/n)." Jacaerys whispers in your ear as he settles behind you. "Vermax is pretty quick."

He shouts a few phrases in High Valyrian and the dragon roars to life, large wings starting to move. As you rise through the air, you can't help but to scream your lungs out.

Higher above the trees, mingling between the clouds, a sense of adrenaline makes you dizzy.

How could anyone get used to this?

You holler and laugh as the wind quickly whips all around you. Your fingers tingle and your heart pound in your chest.

Jacaerys has Vermax climbing high up in the sky before dropping close to the ocean, twisting as you go down.

Eventually, with morning quickly approaching, Vermax coasts just below the clouds, heading towards Dragonstone, which is just a small island in the distance.

Dawn creeps over the horizon, the orange and yellow hues of the early light blending with the sea surrounding you. Your skin bathes in the light. The open sea and sky glitters in your vision. Closing your eyes you deeply inhale, the fresh air filling your lungs. You can feel his eyes watching you intensely. Jace's arms tighten around your waist as he guides Vermax to dive closer to land.

You don't open your eyes until you land and Vermax stops shifting on their feet. Slowly, and with guidance from the Prince, you dismount from the dragon, gently patting their scales once more before taking a few steps back.

“Thank you, Jace,” Your lips gently press against his cheek, red from the wind. "That was..." You search for the words that could possibly describe the experience you just had. "Amazing."

The dawn light highlights the flecks of gold in his eyes and you're unable to look away. His lips tilt up in a smile.

"Oh my sweet girl...I would do anything for you. Showing you all this," He gestures to Vermax's retreating figure in the sky. "It is because I love you."

You take a step back, breath catching in your throat. While the two of you had been sneaking around with each other and kissing in the dark corners of the castle, he had never told you he loved you before. You never thought he could love someone like you. "Jacaerys, I am a mere servant girl, you cannot--"

"I can, (Y/n)." He takes your hands in his, pulling you closer to his body. He smells of dragon and fire. "When my mother is sat on the Iron Throne it will not matter if my heart chooses to be with a serving girl or a lady at court." He squeezes your hands in an attempt to calm your nerves.

You bite your bottom lip, mind and heart racing with swarming thoughts and emotions.

"Do you--do you not love me back?" Jace's dark brows crease with worry.

"Do not be a fool, Jacaerys!" You respond, meeting his eyes. "I have loved you since I met you! But what of Baela? Of politics? You cannot just piss that all away for someone like me!"

"I do not care, (Y/n), please just listen to me!" He moves his hands to frame your face, one of each cheek. They're delicate on your skin. "We will deal with it when we get there, but please let us love each other now before we have to concern ourselves with all of that." Jace's eyes are wide, pleading with you to just say yes.

And how could you resist? You had loved him since you were both children running up and down the stone steps of the castle, him avoiding his duties as a Prince and you avoiding your duties as a servant.

Without saying anything, you surge forward to capture his soft lips in your own. Your own hands move to his neck, stroking the skin there. The two of you had kissed before, many times, in fact, but it was never like this. This was more special in a way you couldn't wrap your head around. It was slow and passionate, like Jacearys was trying to convey to you how much he truly loved you. You try your best to return the sentiment.

Breathlessly, you reluctantly pull away. Your eyes flutter as they meet his own. "Gods, Jacaerys, of course I love you back."

•

[antinousletmehit]

Hello pookie

I hope your having a good day, anyways, I saw you were asking for requests so I figured I'd give you one even though I'm sure your already getting many, also no pressure to actually do this or anything I don't want you to feel like anyone will be disappointed if you don't do this, but if you were looking for some inspiration or an idea...

(I know it seems out of the question to suggest a Telemachus x reader when you are already doing a story on that (which is very good btw))

Oh well, if you are looking for ideas - Telemachus x fem reader who is a servant at the palace. Well, there's my two sense.

Have a great day <3

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x fem!reader

୨୧┇note: I love Telemachus chat

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The palace was quiet, its grand halls wrapped in the heavy silence of midnight. Telemachus tiptoed past the sleeping guards, his sandals barely making a sound on the cool stone floors. His heart raced, not from fear of being caught, but from excitement. He knew you were waiting for him. Out in the garden, hidden among the olive trees, you leaned against a gnarled trunk, the moonlight casting a silver glow over your features. When you saw him, your face lit up with a smile that made his stomach flip.

“You’re late,” you teased, crossing your arms.

“Blame Athena,” Telemachus whispered, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “She wouldn’t stop lecturing me about responsibility.”You laughed softly, the sound like the gentle rustling of leaves. “And here you are, sneaking out with me. Very responsible, my lord.” Telemachus rolled his eyes, though his smile widened. “If you keep calling me ‘my lord,’ I might have to stop meeting you.”

“Oh, is that so?” you said, stepping closer. “What should I call you, then?”

“Just Telemachus,” he said, his voice softening. “When we’re out here, I’m not a prince. I’m just… me.” You nodded, your smile turning gentle. “Alright, Telemachus. Shall we go?” The two of you slipped through the garden and out into the open fields beyond the palace walls. It wasn’t the first time you’d done this, your secret nighttime escapades had become a routine over the past few months. You’d explore the countryside, climb hills, and sit by the shore, talking about everything and nothing.

Tonight, you ended up on a hill overlooking the sea. The stars sparkled above, their reflection dancing on the dark waves below. You sat down on the grass, and Telemachus joined you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. “You know,” he said after a moment, his voice hesitant, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this…free before.”

You glanced at him, your brow quirking. “Free?”He nodded, picking at a blade of grass. “When I’m in the palace, I’m always being watched, judged. Everyone expects me to be like my father, to grow into this great hero. But out here, with you… I can just be myself.” Your expression softened, and you reached out to touch his arm. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself, Telemachus. You’re already enough.” His breath hitched, and he turned to look at you. The way you gazed at him, your eyes full of sincerity, made his chest feel tight. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, you smiled and leaned closer. “Can I show you something?”

Telemachus blinked, confused. “Show me what?” Without answering, you tilted your head and pressed your lips to his. For a moment, his entire body froze. His mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that he couldn’t quite process. This was his first kiss, his first real kiss. And it was with you. When you pulled back, he was still staring at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. “I—I—uh—” You bit back a laugh, watching him flounder. “Telemachus? Are you alright?”

“I—yes—no—I mean—” He ran a hand through his hair, his voice cracking slightly. “Did you just—did we just—”

“Yes,” you said simply, your smile teasing but kind.

“Oh,” was all he could manage, his brain still trying to catch up. You reached out and gently touched his cheek, bringing his attention back to you. “Was that okay?”

He finally found his voice, though it was quiet and a little shaky. “It was more than okay.” Your smile widened, and you leaned back, propping yourself up on your hands. “Good. Because I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” Telemachus stared at you, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain you could hear it. “You… you have?”

You nodded, glancing up at the stars. “You’re kind, and thoughtful, and you have this way of making people feel safe. How could I not?” He didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, he sat there, watching you with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Eventually, you turned back to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Telemachus?”

“Yeah?” he said, his voice faint.

“You can breathe now.”

He let out a shaky laugh, finally exhaling the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Right. Breathing. Good idea.” You laughed with him, and the sound filled the night air, light and full of joy. As the two of you sat under the stars, Telemachus couldn’t help but think that, for the first time in his life, everything felt exactly as it should be.

[wholoveseggs]

Scars

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader} Your husband had just returned from battle, injured and needing to be cared for. He is a brat, and needs lots of love. So you take care of him, and then some...

3.5k words - Warnings: smut, blood and injury, wound care, soft!dom Daemon, fingering, riding, slow sex, Daemon pretending to not be in pain, lots of hurt and comfort...

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer

@cheneyq @fallout-girl219 @nina6708 @evasmlp @sadmonke

@deamonloverrrr @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonsleep

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight

The soft sounds of your feet scurrying against the stone floor of the keep echoed through the empty halls. Soft rustling sounds of the nightdress and robe you hastily threw over your bare body could be heard, but the only thing you could focus on was getting to him. The news of the battle that raged along the shores of Dragonstone had reached your ears only moments ago, but all you could think about was Daemon.

"My lady!" A startled servant gasped as she saw you rushing through the halls, her eyes wide as you came to a sudden stop, nearly running into her.

"Where is he?" You demanded, your chest heaving slightly.

"In his chambers. The maester is seeing to him now.” She answered and you didn't waste any more time. You rushed off in the direction of his rooms, your mind racing.

The door to the royal bedchambers flew open as you rushed in, startling the maester who had been cleaning the prince's wounds. Your husband was laid out on a lounge chair, his chest bare, revealing the deep wounds that covered him. You could feel your heart ache at the sight of the man you loved, but you didn't let yourself dwell on it, not right now.

There were a number of maesters and other assistants tending to Daemon, but the moment you entered, they all froze. "My lady-" the maester began, but you held up a hand.

"Leave us." You ordered, and the maesters and servants all began to clear out, they knew better than to go against your orders.

You watched them leave before turning to look at Daemon. His violet eyes stared back at you, a smirk forming on his lips as you walked over. He winced as he tried to sit up, but you pushed him back down, shaking your head.

"What were you thinking?" You asked, kneeling next to the chair, your hands gently pressing on his skin. He hissed softly, and you looked down, seeing a large wound in his side. It had already been cleaned, but it was deep. "Tsk, I told you to be careful." You sighed, looking around the room for supplies.

"Don't fuss, you know I can't stand it," Daemon spoke up, watching as you grabbed a needle and thread, holding the needle over a candle flame.

"I wouldn't fuss if you weren't such a fool." You scoffed, returning to his side with bandages and the thread.

"You don't mean that." He smirked and you rolled your eyes, threading the needle.

"Hold still." You ordered and began to sew his skin closed. He winced at first, but quickly got used to it, watching you as you worked.

You looked at the wounds that were already sewed up by the maesters, at the old and new scars that littered his body. He had seen many battles and many wars. This was one of the worst injuries he had suffered since his youth, and the sight of it made you uneasy.

"I'll be fine." He murmured, watching as your face contorted.

"What happened?" You asked, ignoring his hiss of pain as you continued to sew the wound closed.

"Pirates, probably from the iron islands." He explained, trying to shift in his seat, but hissing when you tugged at the thread.

"Stop moving." You snapped, giving him a pointed look. He sighed and did as you told him, watching as you returned to the task at hand.

You finished the deep gash on his side, tying the end of the thread before cutting it. You set the tools aside and took the bandages, gently wrapping the wound, making sure it was secure. There was another wound on his chest that was still bleeding, so you grabbed some clean cloth, pressing it against his skin, and putting pressure on it.

"What of Caraxes? Did you not bring your dragon to battle?" You asked, keeping the pressure steady.

"He's fine." He assured you, reaching up and cupping your cheek. You frowned and he chuckled, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. "It's just a couple of arrow wounds."

"You could've died." You whispered, feeling tears welling up in your eyes.

"But I didn't." He assured you, giving you a soft smile.

You nodded and took a shaky breath, taking the cloth away and seeing the bleeding had stopped. You grabbed a washcloth, dampening it with some water and wiping away the blood. You could see the dark bruises forming across his torso, the sight of them making your heart clench. But you quickly pushed the feeling aside, knowing now wasn't the time to fuss over him.

As soon as the wound was clean, you took the needle once more and began to sew it closed, going as fast as you could. He stayed quiet the whole time, watching as you worked on patching him up. Your robe and nightdress both fell off your shoulder, but you paid no mind to them as you reached over to grab a new bandage.

"You are far more skilled than the maesters." He stated, sitting up slightly to allow you to wind the bandage around his torso.

"I've just had more practice than they have." You hummed, tightening the bandages and tying it off. You took a moment to examine your work, tracing your fingers over one of his old scars, one that you stitched up not long after your wedding day. His large hand covered yours, his rough fingers entwining with your own, pulling you from your thoughts.

"This one will leave a nasty scar," he remarked, motioning to the gash on his side. "I fear I've run out of unmarred skin to stitch."

"You already have plenty of those." You shot back, drawing his attention to the old burn scars along his neck and shoulder.

"I thought you liked my scars," he teased, watching as you got to your feet and went to the basin to wash your hands. "You always seem to touch them so lovingly in bed."

Your cheeks flushed at the comment, your eyes refusing to meet his. He chuckled lowly, shifting in the seat once more, hissing slightly. Your eyes flicked over to him, concern filling them as you dried off your hands and walked back over to him.

"Let me see your arms." You commanded, gesturing to where an arrow had grazed him. He sighed and held out his arms, grimacing slightly as you unwound the bandage around his bicep. You examined the small wound on his right arm, the stitching was shoddy, but it seemed to be holding up for the moment. "Stay here. I need to speak with the maesters about these new sutures. They're horrible, any more stress, and they could tear."

"Enough," he grumbled, frowning at your fretting. "Come to me." He demanded, tugging at your wrist. You paused, looking at him with a slight frown, but you let him pull you into his lap.

"Daemon, this isn't the time. You're wounded, you should be resting," you sighed, wiggling slightly in his grip, though his arms caged you in, keeping you on his lap.

"I'm not an invalid." He scoffed, running his hands up your sides, pushing your robe and nightdress up.

"I'm serious. You need to rest." You sighed, trying to ignore the lovely way his calloused hands felt against your skin.

"I am resting." He purred, nipping at the skin of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your jaw.

You rolled your eyes, feigning disinterest, but your eyes fluttered shut as he continued to press gentle kisses along your skin.

"You have a couple scars of your own, don't you my dear wife?" He murmured, as his hands began to wander, moving over your stomach and down your hips.

"Yes, but I didn't get them the same way you did," you retorted, unable to hold back the soft moan that slipped past your lips.

"The birthing bed is just as violent as the battlefield." He replied, gripping at your thighs, using the other hand to tug at your garments.

"Daemon." You sighed, shaking your head.

He looked at you, taking in your appearance as his hand continued to roam your body. You sat on his lap, the thin fabric of your gown and robe slipping down to reveal your soft skin and smooth shoulders. Your bare legs were curled beneath you, nestled between his, and his hand moved further north, reaching underneath your dress to stroke the curve of your ass.

"Daemon, what are you doing?" You breathed, struggling to keep your composure as his rough hands slipped past your undergarments to squeeze your ass.

"Touching you, my darling. It's very healing," he whispered, his lips ghosting across your collarbone, leaving kisses along the skin.

"You'll make your wounds worse," you protested, but made no move to stop him. In fact, the last thing you wanted was for him to stop.

"Hush," he murmured, brushing his lips against yours.

You huffed, trying to resist the urge to lean in and kiss him, but in the end, you caved. The hand on your ass pushed you closer, forcing you to straddle his thigh. A gasp slipped from your lips and he grinned, enjoying the expression on your face.

His hand slid from your back to your hip, squeezing you lightly as he rocked your hips against his thigh. He watched with lust-filled eyes as your head tilted back, exposing your neck, a quiet moan leaving you.

"You always do this." He tutted, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You always make sure to take care of me, but when is someone going to take care of you?"

"I-I'm fine." You assured him, your hips bucking slightly against him. He hummed, his other hand grabbing at the fabric of your robe, pushing the heavy material off your shoulder. It fell easily, bunched up around your waist, revealing your nightdress underneath.

His hand dipped between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours. His fingers ghosted over your slit, his eyes darkening at the way your lips parted and your eyes fluttered shut.

Your hands gripped at his shoulders, digging into his flesh, your nails clawing down his arms, causing him to hiss. Your skin was glistening with sweat, the light of the candles bathing the two of you in a soft glow.

Your breath was ragged, a blush spread across your face, reaching down your neck and chest, visible through the low cut of your nightgown. You looked perfect, and he found himself pulling you into a deep kiss, his fingers easing inside you as your lips collided.

You moaned softly, a breathy little sound that had his cock aching. The softness of your skin was like velvet, so different from his. He couldn't stop himself from burying his face in your chest, taking in the smell of you. Everything about you was so warm and inviting, and he couldn't wait to finally be inside you again.

Your legs spread further apart, allowing him more access, and he cursed under his breath, burying his face further into your soft breasts.

You were like a goddess, kneeling in his lap, taking care of him and more. And you deserved no less than to be worshiped. He looked up, catching your eye. Your gaze was filled with heat and passion, and something else, something soft, a look reserved only for him.

"My job is to protect you, and our young ones," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Every one of these scars is a testament to that."

"I know, my love." You breathed, your eyes falling shut as you grew closer to your peak.

Your thighs shook, and he watched as your head tilted back, exposing your throat. He took the opportunity to attack your neck, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin, leaving small marks in his wake.

"But, I will always come back to you, no matter what." He promised, his eyes meeting yours, the love shining through. "Now, cum for me."

He curled his fingers and pressed his thumb against your sensitive nub, and you couldn't hold back anymore. Your mouth fell open, a silent cry leaving your lips, and your body shook. Daemon groaned, feeling you tightening around his fingers, his cock twitching, wanting to feel your warmth.

He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, and brought them to his lips, licking your arousal off of his fingers, and letting out a pleased hum. You bit your lip, watching as he cleaned his fingers, enjoying the way he was watching you.

"You certainly do heal quickly." You teased, moving to stand up, only to have him pull you back down on top of him.

"And you always know exactly how to care for me." He grinned, keeping a tight grip on your hips. "Now, why don't you let me return the favor?"

You sighed, leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead, "your wounds.. we can't-"

"Oh, they're nothing." He chuckled, his hands moving up and gripping the hem of your nightgown.

"You're so reckless." You chided, lifting your arms, letting him pull the nightgown off, leaving you bare before him.

His eyes wandered over your body, taking in the curves and marks, all the places that had changed. The swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, the softness of your belly, and the heat of your core. He loved it all, every inch, and every curve, because it was you, and you were his.

He ran his hands over your skin, a soft moan leaving his lips, a needy whine coming from yours. He grinned and pressed his lips to yours, kissing you deeply. You reached down and untied his breeches, pushing them down, and letting his cock spring free. He groaned as your hand wrapped around his length, stroking him slowly.

"You are so much better than any maester," He breathed, leaning back in the chair, enjoying the way you played with his hard cock.

You stifled a giggle at his words, releasing him and positioning yourself, hovering above him, resting your hands on his shoulders for support and avoiding his wounds. He kissed you sweetly, a sigh escaping him as he felt your heat against his tip.

He ran his hands over your hips as you sank down on his length, a soft gasp escaping your parted lips.

"There, now I'm all put back together again." He sighed, rocking his hips into you, making you groan.

You raised your hips slowly, then sunk down again, setting a steady pace and feeling pleasure race through your body. Daemon helped you ride him, his hands on your hips, his moans mixing with yours. You moved one hand from his shoulder, gripping the back of the chair, and the other moved to tangle in his hair, pulling lightly, drawing a deep growl from him.

You made soft sounds as you moved, your moans and sighs filling the room, as well as his grunts and groans, and the obscene sounds of your hips moving together. A dance that the two of you had perfected over the years, where both of you sought the pleasure you knew so well.

You could feel yourself growing closer to your peak, and by the way he was looking at you, you knew he wasn't too far behind. You reached down and pulled his lips to yours, kissing him hard, and panting against his lips.

"Faster," he breathed, gripping your hips tightly, guiding your movements, his eyes meeting yours.

"I'll hurt you," you murmured, but he shook his head.

"Like I said before, I'm not some fucking invalid," he grinned, thrusting into you hard.

You gasped, your arms wrapping around his neck, he hissed as you accidentally grazed one of his wounds, but he didn't care, focusing instead on the feeling of you clenching around his cock.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, peppering gentle kisses over the scars on his skin there, his hold on your hips tightening as you bounced in his lap. His eyes were half lidded, enjoying the way you felt around him. Your skin was slick with sweat, your scent filling his nose, making him dizzy with lust.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his, feeling your whole body growing hot. Your fingers were digging into his skin, trying not to hurt him, but getting harder every second.

You could see blood seeping through the bandages on his chest, and a moment later, Daemon hissed in pain. You stopped moving, opening your eyes, and looking at him with concern.

"Are you okay?" You asked, moving to climb off his lap, only to have him hold you tighter.

"Don't stop," he pleaded, a desperate look in his eyes. "Please."

You paused for a moment, and nodded, picking up your pace, feeling him thrusting up into you. The room filled with the sounds of your moans and grunts, the chair creaking beneath you, and the slap of skin on skin.

Daemon gripped your ass tightly, his hips moving faster, his cock hitting deeper inside you. You could feel your climax creeping up on you, and it seemed that he could too. His eyes were fixed on you, watching the pleasure take over.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice strained, and you obeyed, locking eyes with him.

The room was spinning, everything fading away except for the feeling of him inside you, the look in his eyes, and the heat coursing through you. You held each other tightly, and the pleasure exploded within you, his name a desperate cry on your lips.

He followed a moment later, spilling his seed inside you, his cock pulsing. The two of you stayed like that, holding each other, your foreheads resting together, the room filling with the sounds of your heavy breathing.

You slowly lifted your hips, careful as you separated from him, wincing slightly as his softening cock slipped out of you. Daemon groaned as the head of his cock popped out of your wet cunt, a string of his seed and your arousal still connecting the two of you. You reached down and wiped his seed from your thighs, the mixture coating your fingers.

"Now, I really have to clean you up." You giggled, standing up, your legs wobbly, and walking over to the washbasin, cleaning your hands, then bringing a clean cloth back to him.

"If I knew I would have such a dedicated nursemaid, I would have gotten wounded sooner." He joked, a grin spreading across his face.

You gently pushed his hands away, shaking your head and wiping his cock, and cleaning up the mess the two of you had made, a soft chuckle leaving you, "Now I have to sew you up again."

"Worth it." He shrugged, wincing slightly.

You sighed and shook your head, going back over to the washbasin and wetting the cloth, walking back to him, and dabbing at his chest and arms, trying to get the blood from the torn wounds.

"I told you it wasn't a good idea." You teased, gently running the cloth over the cuts and scrapes on his chest and shoulders, making sure the wounds were clean.

"It was a good idea," he retorted, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, "I would gladly go through the pain and torment if it meant I could have my way with you."

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, replacing the bandages and checking the stitching on his wounds. He was right, it was nothing serious, just a few torn sutures.

"There," you murmured, stepping back and admiring your work. "Much better."

Daemon grinned and pulled you into his arms and you gently rested your head on his chest. You traced your fingers over his old scars, and the bandages that covered the newer ones, your eyelids growing heavy. He stroked your hair, a soft hum leaving him, reaching for your discarded robe to cover the two of you.

"We'll have to do this more often," he mused, a lazy smile tugging at his lips, as you shifted your head, placing a gentle kiss over the wound on his chest.

"Absolutely not," you replied, a teasing tone in your voice, "you're not allowed to get hurt anymore."

He scoffed, and held you tighter, kissing the top of your head, "I make no promises."

"I thought as much." You smiled, curling up closer to him. "Just promise you'll come back."

"Always." He murmured, closing his eyes and resting his head on yours.

You sighed, letting sleep take you, not wanting to move just yet. It wasn't long before the soft sounds of you and Daemon snoring filled the chambers, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you safe. Like he always did, like he always would.

[seongwars]

Marry Me, Your Highness!

Pairing: non-MC x Prince-in-Disguise!Rafayel, non-MC x Prince!Sylus, Word Count: 2.5K (is it really a drabble at this point?) Warnings: None, slight OOC for some characters, mentions of violence Summary: Rafayel arrives demanding compensation, while you plot to escape your engagement to Sylus at any cost.

Note: I guess I'm starting a "Your Highness" drabble series. I need to stop tho because I have too many wips/drafts and I'm supposed to be on a semi-hiatus right now

Part 1: Absolutely Not, Your Highness!

You quietly scale the side of the garden wall leading to your estate, fingers aching from the climb and your skirts snagged on every thorn bush in the vicinity. With a grunt, you land in the courtyard, the moon casting long silver shadows across the stone path. For a blissful moment, it seems like you’ve made it undetected.

You tiptoe across the courtyard, praying that under the still hush of night, no one will catch you. 

No such luck.

“Nice landing,” comes a voice from the shadows. “I’m usually the one sneaking back into the house in the middle of the night. You're stealing my thing.”

“You can have it back,” you mutter, brushing dust off your sleeves. “I was only trying to get away from the imperial guards.”

Your brother, Xavier steps into the moonlight, one brow lifted. “What did you do exactly?”

“I turned down a proposal from the crown prince.”

He stares at you. Then blinks. “You… said no. To the crown prince of Linkon.”

“Yes, Xavier. I didn’t stutter.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You really did it.”

“I really did it.”

He drags a hand down his face, then laughs—like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all week. “You absolute menace. I mean… I’m proud. Deeply horrified, but proud.”

“I’m glad someone is enjoying this,” you snap. “Because Aunt Elizabeth’s guards are probably about to storm the mansion on account of me punching the crown prince in the throat.”

The laughter dies instantly. Xavier goes completely still. 

“You what!?”

“He startled me! I was already being chased by the guards, I ran into Sylus, and my reflexes kicked in. I punched him in the throat!”

“You assaulted the future king!”

“I didn’t even hit him that hard!”

Your brother exhales through his teeth, thinking. “If they come for you, we can fend them off.”

“We!? And what army?”

“Fair point. Instead, we redirect the narrative. You can’t accept Sylus because your heart belongs to another.”

You stare at him. “Another who, exactly?”

“I don’t know yet! Someone useful. Charming. Disposable, if it goes wrong.”

“Xavier.”

“You need to be married,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Or at least engaged. That way it’ll get mother and Aunt Elizabeth off your back.”

“I’m not marrying someone just to avoid prison!”

“You might not have a choice! They’ll be at the gates by morning!”

You both fall silent, racking your brain for options. Xavier’s wife had a few eligible acquaintances: the devastatingly attractive doctor, the charismatic colonel…

But none of them feel like a real solution.

“...I did fall on a man earlier,” you say slowly.

Xavier gives you a slow, skeptical look. “You want to track down the mysterious stranger you fell on and ask him to marry you.”

“I may have given him a hairpin…”

“And?”

“…And I may have told him to seek you out for compensation.”

Xavier lets out a long, pained breath and turns back into the house. 

“I’m going to bed.”

“I’m sure your wife will be thrilled,” you call sweetly after him. “I would like to be an aunt some day!”

He doesn’t even look back. You wait until he disappears inside, then glance up at the stars. 

“Gods, help me,” you whisper, hoping that this time your fate would take a different turn. 

⟡ ݁₊ .

Rafayel rubs his ribs where you landed on him. One moment he’s wandering the streets outside the imperial palace, the next, a woman quite literally falls from the heavens, vaulting over the palace wall and crashing directly on top of him.

Now, cold, tired, and entirely out of patience, he fiddles with the hairpin you left behind, its silver length delicately wrought with tiny moons and stars. Rafayel scowls down at it. 

“Compensation,” he scoffs. “I could buy her entire household if I wanted!”

His stomach growls. Loudly.

“I thought someone wanted to blend in with the common folk,” Thomas reminds him dryly.

“That was before I was crushed by a madwoman,” the prince pouts.

Another grumble from Rafayel’s stomach. He frowns at it like it’s personally betrayed him.

“Did you at least bring your coin purse?”

Rafayel stiffens. “...No.”

Thomas exhales slowly through his nose. “Of course not.”

Then Rafayel’s eyes light up.

“She said I could get compensation from her brother! Xavier! She said that! I could find him. Demand...food. And repayment. For emotional damages.”

Thomas blinks. “You’re going to track down a nobleman you’ve never met, in a country you snuck off to and ask him to buy you dinner because his sister fell on you?”

“Yes,” Rafayel says. “This is diplomacy, Thomas.”

“This is blackmail.”

Rafayel lifts his chin, regal even in suffering. “This is for emotional distress. And bruised ribs. And because I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Thomas sighs. “You could’ve just said you were hungry.”

“I am hungry. And injured. And slighted. Wandering the streets at night is no way for me to live!”

By the time Rafayel finds the mansion, his feet are caked in dust and his patience is worn. Navigating Linkon with just Thomas and a map had proven...challenging.  

He rounds a corner and slows, eyes narrowing at the iron gates ahead. Ornate stars curl in elegant arcs across the gates. He glances down at the hairpin in his hand. 

Moons and stars, silver and delicate. 

“Found you.”

He steps up to the guards stationed at the gate and thrusts the pin forward. “Your lady of the house gave this to me,” he announces. “And I am here to collect my compensation.”

The guard blinks. “The only lady of this house is married to Lord Xavier.”

Rafayel frowns. “No. Not her. The other one. She fell on me. From the palace wall.”

Thomas makes a small sound, halfway between a groan and a wheeze.

“She was rather dramatic,” Rafayel insists. “She said her name was… actually, she didn’t say her name. But she did say I could come here for compensation!”

“She fell from the palace wall and landed on you?” a guard asks, deeply skeptical.

“Yes! And left me with this!” Rafayel exclaims, waving the hairpin around. 

The guards exchange looks, clearly questioning their sanity. Then they whisper to each other and one sets off to find Jeremiah, the head butler. 

You’re on your way to breakfast after having dreamt of it all night, particularly the egg souffle with scallion pancakes. But you barely make it to the end of the hall before you overhear a scuffle at the gates. 

“Unhand me! I’m Rafayel Qi, prince–”

“Please forgive my master, he is delirious having gone without food!” Thomas interjected, placing himself between Rafayel and the guards. 

Why do I recognize that voice?

You rack your brain. Where have you—?

Then it hits you. The man from yesterday.

You bolt for the gates, still in your sleeping robes. You’re halfway there when you see him, disheveled, waving your hairpin around.

Beneath the tilt of his ridiculous straw hat, with his tunic wrinkled and dirt clinging to his sandals, he’s...annoyingly handsome. All sharp cheekbones and charm, mauve eyes glinting with fire. The kind of face sculpted by the gods that could topple an empire.

The kind of man any mother would take one look at and declare perfect marriage material.

You shake your head quickly as he spots you. Before he can say anything else, you grab his arm, plastering on a bright smile for the guards.

“There you are!” you exclaim, slipping your arm around his like you’ve done it a hundred times.

The guards blink, visibly confused.

You lean in, hissing under your breath, “Play along.”

His eyes flick between your expression and the guards. Then, to your surprise, he smirks. 

“Of course, darling,” he says, a little too loudly, wrapping his arm around your waist with dramatic flair. “Missed me already?”

The guards exchange bewildered glances, clearly unsure of what to make of this display. One of them even flushes. 

“A-Apologies, my lady,” he stammers, bowing slightly. 

“We didn’t realize—”

“That he was mine?”

Rafayel snorts under his breath, thoroughly enjoying himself as you hauled him into the mansion. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up!”

“Well, I’m emotionally damaged from being body slammed out of nowhere, starving, and slightly winded, so yes, I showed up!”

“Great,” you mutter, giving him a once-over and imagining what he’d look like after a proper bath and a set of robes. 

As much of a disaster as this stranger…what was his name? Rafayel was it? This disaster might be your ticket out of marrying Sylus. And if nothing else, he’ll certainly make things interesting.

“You’re perfect.”

“Obviously!” 

You ignore him, turning the corner and calling down the hall, “Charlie! Have the maids bring me my breakfast to my quarters. I’m not feeling particularly well.”

Charlie appears in seconds, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Miss Y/N is everything alright?”

Y/N? So that’s her name, Rafayel thinks, casually running his gaze over you, though it lingers a little longer than it should. You were no princess, but there was a certain wildness about you. A feral, untamed charm that made him want to learn more. You’re not bad on the eyes, though you’re certainly not up to Lemurian standards when it comes to beauty.  

“Shall I call for the doctor?”

“No! Just…food. Double my portions, please!”

You don’t wait for Charlie to respond before yanking Rafayel into the closest room. You slam the door shut behind you, then whirl around to face him with your arms crossed.

“Here’s the deal,” you say, voice firm. “You can eat…under one condition.”

Rafayel blinks. Once. Twice. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Marry me.”

“Marry you?”

You shrug. “Aren’t you a starving artist seeking inspiration with no coin to your name? Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“This is exploitation.”

“It’s practical,” you reply, unbothered by his disbelief. “You get to eat and I get to avoid a life trapped in a loveless, political marriage. Everyone wins.”

Rafayel eyes you for a moment, processing the logic or lack thereof. “What’s so awful about the crown prince?”

“He’s a selfish, pompous ass who puts his own ambitions above everyone else! It’s all about what he wants, without caring for anyone else in the process. He doesn’t deserve to be king, let alone have me as his wife!”

He falls silent, your tirade stirring something uncomfortable within him. Was this how his people saw him too? A selfish ruler unfit for the crown? His expression falters for a fleeting moment, but he masks it quickly, avoiding your gaze.

You, however, are too busy thinking about the practicality of your agreement to notice his inner turmoil. 

“Do you want your payment up front?”

Rafayel’s mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Am I just a whore to you? I’ll have you know that I’m the prince—”

“Yes! Yes, we will accept the payment up front! Forgive us, my lady!” Thomas bursts into the room and slaps a hand over Rafayel’s mouth. 

“Please excuse us,” he says, quickly bowing. He drags Rafayel into the hall, muttering apologies as the door slams shut behind them.

“Have you lost your mind?” Thomas hisses, releasing Rafayel and pacing the length of the hallway. 

“We’re in Linkon, your Highness. Yes, relations with Lemuria are friendly, but you’ve vanished without a word! If anyone here finds out who you really are—”

“They won’t.”

“Someone will recognize you eventually,” Thomas lowers his voice even further, casting a nervous glance at the door. 

“The palace must be in chaos. The guard is probably searching every port. And Solana…gods, Solana is going to kill me.”

“Your wife says that all the time.”

“I’m sure she means it this time.”

Rafayel raises both hands lazily. “What’s wrong with pretending to be someone else for a few weeks? There’s food, a warm bed, no council meetings, and zero talk of arranged marriages. Sounds like a vacation to me.”

Thomas stares at him. “You’re still the prince of Lemuria.”

“Not if no one here knows it,” Rafayel shrugs. “Let me live a little. When this fake marriage falls apart, I’ll disappear.”

Still mulling over his decision, he turns and heads back to your quarters. As he pushes the door open, he comes to an abrupt halt. Before him a feast is laid out in the center of the room–steamed meat buns, slices of crispy duck, and root vegetables. 

He pauses, taking in the sight, the corner of his mouth lifting into a slow, lazy smile. It’s as if the universe itself had conspired to tempt him further into this bizarre arrangement.

“Alright, Miss Y/N. I’ll marry you.”

⟡ ݁₊ .

Sylus hadn’t expected to be punched in the throat yesterday.

He’d faced assassination attempts, ambushes, and battlefield skirmishes, but none of them had made his heart race quite like the woman who glared at him with righteous fury.

It was, against all odds, love at first punch.

He replays the moment a dozen times in his mind. The fire in your eyes. The absolute, scorching contempt. The way you vault over the garden wall without a second glance.

He sighs, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “She hates me,” he murmurs aloud, almost in awe.

He rehearsed what he planned to say, a thousand times over, upon hearing that you had been chosen by his father to be his bride, the next princess consort.

“Do you remember me?” No, it was too direct.

“I missed you.” True. But useless.

Because the last time he’d seen you, you were dying in his arms. 

He hadn’t wanted to marry the Northern Princess.

It had been a match for power, nothing more. No love. No affection. When you’d found out, you hadn’t argued. Hadn’t cried. You had simply bowed, offered a polite farewell and disappeared into your chambers.

He hadn’t realized how the new concubine had overstepped, encroaching on your position as princess consort. From the outside, it seemed as though he favored her, ignoring the life you had built together.

In truth, Sylus wasn’t indifferent. He was quietly scheming to end the marriage to the concubine without risking you or triggering political fallout. But by the morning of the ceremony, you were gone, having left for your brother’s estate while the imperial palace drowned itself in festivities.

It was Charlie who came staggering into the great hall hours later, bloodied, trembling and barely alive.

“Bandits. She stayed behind. Fought them off.”

Sylus left the ceremony mid-vow and rode until his horse collapsed.

By the time he found you, it was too late. You lay on your side, unmoving. Blood pooled beneath your ribs as your sword lay just out of reach.

Sylus dropped to his knees and pulled you into his arms. He begged you to wake, promised you anything. Everything. That he’d fix it. That he didn’t forget about you and that he’d tell you everything.

But you were already gone.

He lit your funeral pyre himself. And when the flames rose high, he didn’t wait for the ashes to settle. He walked into the fire, praying quietly, desperately, to the gods that he’d find you again.

“Your Highness.”

A voice broke through the memory. Sylus didn’t look up from the scrolls on his desk.

“Speak.”

The advisor steps inside, shifting awkwardly.

“I’ve come to inform you…that Miss Shen is engaged.”

taglist: @animegamerfox @beaconsxd @browneyedgirl22 @crimsonmarabou @whosthought @zoezhive @cupid-gene

[killersandy]

Power of the Moonlight Stones

Another TPOTMS art by me.

[colorfulrook]

Hi! Could I get number 77, "I waited for you. Every day." with Sung Jinwoo? If you know EPIC The Musical I was thinking Penelope Odysseus vibes.

So Jinwoo goes away to fight something or other, and it's supposed to be a short, few month trip and he leaves reader back in their home. But stuff ends up happening, and it takes him forever to get home. Like, years on end. And reader's constantly being told that they should move on and find someone else, but they're all "No he'll come back." And then BAM! Jinwoo does indeed come back. And there's a tearful reunion then everyone's happy again yay!

Maybe make it a fantasy AU where reader is a princess? And Jinwoo was fighting a rival kingdom?

Not sure how much of this you could fit into a drabble, sorry if it's too long or complicated a plot 😅

Congrats on 100 💖

BLURBFEST 100X100 - #77. "I waited for you. Every day."

I AM OFFICIALLY BACK ON BUSINESS MY DARLINGS!!! Sorry for the long wait (couldn't help myself eheh) here you are my sweet 💖Anon. Happy reading my loves - Rook

The war was meant to last three months.

Three months that would be full of bloodshed on distant borders, of hardened letters sealed with trembling wax, of counting days and hoping every knock at the door wasn’t a messenger in mourning colors, but him — the love of your life.

Three months.

It had been five years.

Your fingers trembled against the embroidery hoop you hadn’t truly worked on in hours. The thread was still tangled near the border of the lake you were stitching — the same lake where you had kissed him goodbye, where his hand had held yours with quiet strength.

“Three months,” he had whispered, brushing his lips over your brow. “Then I’ll be home. To you. Always.”

You believed him.

And even now, five years later, when every lord and lady in the kingdom tried to convince you that Sung Jinwoo — your shadowborn knight, your raven-haired guardian, your love — was nothing more than ash scattered in some faraway valley, you still believed him.

So you waited.

In the same tower chamber he used to visit in secret, before your farther gave you his blessings. In the same gardens where his gloved hand would brush yours beneath the moonlight. You sat alone at feasts and walked alone by the river, where children whispered that the princess had lost her mind to love.

And when suitors came — war heroes with gilded swords, mages with glowing hands, kings with kingdoms to offer — you turned them all away.

“He’s dead,” your advisors pleaded, a hundred times over. “Princess, he’s gone.”

“I know what I saw in his eyes,” you always answered. “He’s coming back.”

But during those long years devoid of him, the only ones who kept coming back were them — spoiled princes with sugar-slick smiles and polished boots, their words sweetened with false promises and treaties laced in greed. They pawed at your kingdom like crows at a battlefield, drawn not by love, but by the glint of a crown and the prospect of having you on their side — not as a partner, but as a pretty conquest, a prize to parade before thrones built on ambition.

And yet, you remained unclaimed. Not untouched by sorrow, but unmoved by them. Because your heart had never been theirs to win.

Sometimes, when you were alone, you let yourself whisper his name just to hear it echo. Just to remember how it felt on your lips.

You were in the garden when the earth shifted.

Not metaphorically — truly. The ground trembled beneath your feet, low and steady like something ancient was waking. Shadows flickered between rose bushes, and the sky seemed to darken even though the sun was high. Then came the shouting.

Soldiers yelling their boots hammering on stone in a panic when black knights came from the main gate of the palace. Silent like stillwater they began to kneel, creating a path from you to the gate.

You rose slowly from the bench, afraid to hope. Too much hope can destroy you.

And then you saw him.

Black armor dusted in blood and soot. A dark cloak fluttering behind him like the wings of something eternal. His eyes — violet, fierce, weary — locked on yours across the courtyard.

Jinwoo. Your Jinwoo, alive

You didn’t think. You didn’t breathe. You just ran.

Down the stone steps. Across the tiled walk. Past the gasps of servants and the cries of stunned guards. You collided with him like a crashing wave, your hands reaching up, his arms catching you with the practiced ease of a man who had dreamt of this very moment a thousand times during his long days away.

“You’re real,” you sobbed, clinging to the chestplate still warm from battle. “You’re — you’re real.” Your fingers slick with the blood on it, but damn it all, you didn't care. Because he was there.

His voice cracked like thunder and silk. “I told you I’d come home.”

Tears blurred your vision as you pulled back, cupping his face, memorizing the new lines around his mouth and the fatigue in his gaze. “I—I thought I was losing my mind. Everyone said you were gone, Jinwoo. I was supposed to move on. Marry someone. But I couldn’t—”

And that was when his hand — still calloused, still gentle — brushed your cheek.

“I waited for you,” you whispered, voice shaking. "I've been waiting and waiting and waiting" tears rolled on your cheeks. “Every day.”

He swallowed hard, and his eyes glistened. “I know. I counted every sunrise without you. I saw your face every time I closed my eyes. I wanted to come back sooner—gods, I tried—but the kingdom we fought, they had magic I’d never seen. I was trapped. Hunted. But I never gave up. Because you were waiting.”

He pressed his forehead to yours. “You were my reason.”

The crowd around you had grown, nobles and servants and soldiers standing stunned at the sight of the girl who refused to stop loving a ghost — and the ghost who had come home.

You didn’t care.

In that moment, it was only you and him. Just like it had always been.

“Come home,” you breathed. “Come back to the palace. To me.”

His smile — tired, slow, real — bloomed like the first sun after a long storm. “Lead the way, Princess.”

You took his hand. The same hand that once fit perfectly in yours by the lake.

And as you walked back toward the castle, side by side, the crowd parted like the sea before a miracle.

You were whole again. Because this time, this time he was there to stay.

[theonottsbxtch]

A FUTURE WORTH LIVING | CS55

an: this was a request from @carlossainzapologist and RAHHHHH they’ve given me so many ideas chat be ready to be blown up on here please enjoy knight!carlos

wc: 3.6k

The castle walls were always cold at night, the chill seeping into her bones no matter how many fires roared in the hearth. She stood at the balcony, the silk of her gown whispering against the stone as the wind tangled itself in her hair. Below, the training yard was empty, save for one figure—Carlos.

He moved like the ocean, each swing of his blade fluid and unyielding. Moonlight danced along the edge of his sword, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to mock her. She had watched him countless nights like this, a silent penance for the sin of her love. The knight was hers in duty, bound to protect her with his life, but not in the way her heart so desperately craved.

She clenched the railing, the cool stone biting into her palms. Tomorrow, she would stand before an altar, draped in gold and jewels, and vow her life to a man she barely knew. A prince who was everything a kingdom could hope for—noble, strong, diplomatic. And yet, she could barely remember the color of his eyes.

Carlos, on the other hand... She could sketch the curve of his jaw from memory, trace the faint scar that cut through his brow with her fingertips. But he had never once looked at her as though she were anything more than his charge.

She turned away, unwilling to let the tears fall where they might be seen, even by the night.

“Your Highness,” his voice broke through the stillness, low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine.

She hadn’t heard him climb the stairs. “Carlos,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

He stood in the doorway, his armor glinting faintly in the moonlight. “It’s late. You should rest.”

She laughed softly, bitterly. “Rest will not come easily tonight.”

He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’ve...much to think about, I’m sure.”

Her heart twisted at his careful tone, the way he avoided her gaze. “Do you ever think about what it might be like to leave all of this behind?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos stepped closer, and for a moment, she thought he might say something—something that could shatter the fragile balance they had maintained for years. But instead, he bowed his head.

“My duty is here,” he said, his words as unyielding as the steel he wielded. “With you, always.”

And wasn’t that the cruelest part of all?

She turned back to the balcony, desperate to hide the tremble in her lips. His words echoed in her mind, a hollow comfort and a deeper torment. With you, always. But never in the way she longed for.

“Duty,” she murmured, tasting the bitterness of the word. “And what of desire, Carlos? Do you ever think of what you want?”

The question hung between them like a blade poised to strike. She didn’t expect him to answer; he never did. He was a master of restraint, trained to subdue his every impulse, his every want, for the sake of the kingdom.

But this time, he faltered.

“I have no right to want,” he said at last, his voice tight with something she couldn’t quite name.

She spun to face him, her heart pounding. The stoic knight who had stood at her side for years, unflinching, unyielding, looked...fractured. His jaw was clenched, his hands trembling at his sides, as though holding himself back from something he couldn’t afford to let loose.

“Everyone has the right to want,” she said, taking a step closer. Her voice was steadier now, emboldened by the crack in his armour. “Even you, Carlos.”

He shook his head, “It’s late, Your Highness,” he said, his voice cold again, the mask he wore sliding back into place. “You should go to bed.”

Her heart stuttered.

“I…” She swallowed, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. “Carlos, I—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice a little softer but still firm. “It’s been a long day. You need rest. Tomorrow, I’ll be here to take you to your wedding.”

The words stung, sharper than any blade. Your wedding.

Her chest tightened. She nodded, but it was a hollow motion, an empty gesture. “Of course,” she whispered, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “I will go to bed.”

Carlos didn’t move, didn’t speak, as she turned away, her steps heavy as she walked past him and into her chambers. His silence followed her like a shadow, and when the door clicked shut behind her, the walls seemed to close in.

She collapsed onto her bed, the weight of the night pressing down on her chest. The tears came then, hot and relentless, streaking down her face. She buried her face in the pillow, her sobs muffled by the soft fabric, but the pain was no less real. How many years had she spent in this prison of her own making? How many nights had she wondered if he felt the same? And now, she had the answer.

He had never loved her. Not like that.

The cruelest part was that she had always known it. He had always kept his distance, had always put up that invisible wall between them. But tonight—tonight, she had hoped for something different. A sign. A glimpse of what could be. But instead, he had pushed her away, as he always did. As he was bound to.

And tomorrow, she would marry a prince. Not Carlos.

The thought was suffocating.

She cried until the tears were spent, her body aching with grief. The room, the bed, the very air around her felt like a tomb. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, but sleep was fitful, filled with dreams of a life she would never have.

When the morning came, bright and cruel, she woke to the sound of birds outside the window. The sun was already rising, casting its light on a future she was powerless to change.

The day had come.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her chamber, staring at the reflection of the woman she was supposed to be. The dress—gold and white, sparkling like the dawn—felt like a weight, a gilded cage around her body. Her hair, braided intricately, was pinned perfectly in place, but her heart was a mess of tangled threads she couldn’t untangle. She had spent the last few hours preparing, her hands trembling with the knowledge of what was to come. The crown, the prince, the vows.

But as she looked into her own eyes, she saw only a woman who had never been allowed to choose her own fate.

Her father’s voice echoed from outside the door. “It’s time, my daughter.”

She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears.

When she stepped into the hall, the air seemed to thicken with the weight of expectation. The guests were already seated, whispering amongst themselves, all of them dressed in their finest clothes, their faces a blur of curiosity and anticipation. The music began to play softly, and her heart raced in response.

She could feel every eye on her as she made her way down the aisle, each step feeling heavier than the last. The golden carpet stretched out before her like a path to a life she had never wanted but had been told to accept. Her father’s arm was warm and steady at her side, but his grip felt more like a shackle than a reassurance.

And then, she saw him.

The prince stood at the altar, tall and regal in his embroidered cloak, his expression composed but his eyes glimmering with the excitement of their union. He was a handsome man, noble, with a smile that promised safety, security. But it was a smile she had never truly felt for.

The thought of marrying him—of giving herself over to someone who had always been a stranger to her—gnawed at her insides.

She caught sight of her people sitting in the pews, the nobles, the courtiers, their faces filled with eager expectation. The kingdom was relying on her. They all expected this—her duty to marry and secure the future of their land. And she had always known it was her responsibility, her burden, to uphold this legacy. But today, as she walked closer to the prince, closer to the altar, something inside her broke.

This wasn’t her life to choose. This was a life written for her before she had even taken her first breath.

Her heart pounded as she neared the altar. The prince’s eyes were fixed on her now, his smile widening. He reached out, eager to take her hand, to finalize the union that had been arranged for years. But something inside her snapped.

She looked to her father, his face a mask of pride and expectation. And then, she whispered—her voice trembling but resolute, despite the tears that threatened to spill.

“I can’t.”

The words were quiet, but the silence that followed felt deafening. Her father’s face faltered, the confusion and anger flashing in his eyes as the entire room fell into stunned silence.

“I can’t do this,” she said again, louder this time, her breath shaking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Before anyone could stop her, she turned. Her gown swished in the air as she fled from the altar, her heart pounding with every step, every beat screaming to be free. The room erupted in chaos, gasps of shock and whispers of disbelief. Her father’s furious voice called after her, but she didn’t look back.

She ran down the aisle, past the stunned guests, toward the doors. The weight of their eyes was suffocating, but it wasn’t enough to make her stop.

But then, as she reached the doors, she heard it—the sound of footsteps, fast and urgent. A figure pushed through the crowd, his heavy armour clanking as he moved with determination.

Carlos.

Her breath hitched as he came to a stop in front of her, his face flushed with exertion but his eyes filled with something softer—something she hadn’t dared to hope for.

He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. The world had stopped, leaving only the two of them.

“Carlos,” she whispered, her heart thundering in her chest.

He looked at her, his gaze gentle but firm. “You’re not alone,” he said, his voice low, raw. “I’ll be here. Always.”

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she allowed herself to breathe, to feel something that was her own.

He reached out, taking her hand with a tenderness she hadn’t dared dream of.

“Come with me,” he urged quietly.

Without a second thought, she nodded, her heart finally free of the chains that had bound it for so long.

Carlos led her swiftly through the palace, his hand firm around hers as they moved with purpose. The chaos of the wedding behind them still echoed in the corridors, muffled voices and heavy footsteps trailing in their wake, but they were already a world apart.

He knew every hidden corner of the palace. Every secret passageway and forgotten alcove. He had trained here for years, had wandered these halls long before he had become her protector. Now, as he led her through a narrow, unlit hallway, his grip tightened, a silent promise that he would never let her go.

They reached a small, inconspicuous door at the end of the hall, tucked away in the shadow of a grand staircase. With a glance over his shoulder, Carlos pushed the door open, revealing a small room that had been untouched by the outside world for as long as either of them could remember.

The walls were lined with old tapestries, their colors faded with time, and the floor was covered in a thick rug. There were no windows—no light except for the soft glow of torches on the far wall. The air was thick with dust, but it felt safer than any grand chamber in the palace. Here, in this forgotten corner, they could be hidden from everything, from everyone.

He closed the door behind them, the click of the lock sounding final.

For a moment, they both stood in silence, catching their breath. She was still in her wedding gown, the fabric bunched around her legs, her chest rising and falling with each breath. His hands were still warm from the grip he had kept on her, his fingers now twitching with the need to touch her again.

Carlos took a step closer, the heat between them building. His eyes searched hers, full of questions, but also something deeper—something he had fought to conceal for years.

She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “What now?”

Carlos didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, his hand gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. His touch was hesitant, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he moved too quickly.

“I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “I didn’t mean to make you run. But I couldn’t let you do this, not when I knew you weren’t ready.”

Her heart skipped at the weight of his words. He knew her. Truly knew her.

“You should’ve let me go,” she whispered, her voice strained. “You should’ve stayed out of it. This is not our fight.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “It’s always been our fight, Your Highness. I’ve watched you—” His voice faltered as if the confession had come too suddenly. “I’ve watched you give everything for this kingdom, for your people, for your father. But it was never your choice, was it? Not once. And I couldn’t bear to watch you live a life you didn’t want.”

The words were like a dagger to her chest, but they were also freeing. For the first time in her life, someone saw her, truly saw her—beyond the princess, beyond the duty. He saw her heart.

“I don’t want to marry him,” she said, the words coming out with a rush of emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel until now. “I never did.”

Carlos stepped closer, his breath mingling with hers. “Then don’t. Not now. Not ever.”

She looked up at him, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name. “But what do we do now, Carlos? What’s left for us?”

He didn’t hesitate. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to spill from her eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Whatever you need, I’ll be there. Always.”

And in that moment, everything that had been left unsaid, all the years of longing and silence, came crashing down.

Carlos leaned in, his lips brushing against hers for the briefest of moments, tentative, searching. She gasped, her heart racing as she finally let herself feel everything she had been holding back. She kissed him back, her hands moving up to his chest, tugging at the fabric of his tunic, desperate to feel him closer.

The kiss deepened, their bodies pressed against one another as though they were two halves of a whole, finally coming together. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him as his mouth claimed hers with a fierce urgency.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short gasps as the heat between them intensified, the room spinning with a mixture of passion and desperation.

She had imagined this moment a thousand times—dreamed of it in the silence of her heart—but nothing had prepared her for the reality of it. The way his hands burned against her skin, the way his lips moved over hers with a hunger that matched her own.

Carlos pulled back for a moment, his forehead resting against hers, both of them gasping for air. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve always wanted this,” she confessed, her voice trembling.

And without another word, they kissed again, this time with a fierceness that spoke of all the years they had spent apart, of all the moments they had lost. In that hidden room, within the walls of the palace that had confined them both, they were finally free.

Just as their kiss deepened once more, a sharp, urgent knock at the door shattered the fragile moment between them. The sound echoed in the small room like a warning bell.

She pulled away immediately, her heart leaping into her throat as she scrambled to straighten herself. The panic rose within her, hot and suffocating. What if it was her father? What if the whole palace had come after her?

Carlos, too, immediately stepped back, his expression flickering between concern and irritation. He moved toward the door swiftly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though it wasn’t drawn. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and in that glance, there was no need for words. They both knew they were far from safe.

The knock came again, louder this time, followed by a low voice from the other side.

“Carlos? Open the door. It’s Lando.”

Her heart skipped. Lando—one of the knights she recognised from the court. He had always been polite, professional, and loyal to her family, but what was he doing here?

Carlos hesitated for only a moment before he reached for the latch and opened the door. Lando stood there, his expression tense, eyes scanning the room quickly. He wasn’t wearing his armor, but he was still dressed in the colors of the royal guard, his dark cloak billowing slightly behind him.

“Carlos,” Lando began, his voice low but urgent, “I’ve heard the rumors. Your princess...she’s gone?”

Carlos didn’t answer right away, his gaze still fixed on Lando, weighing the situation.

“Yes,” Carlos said, his voice steady but tinged with something like defiance. “She’s with me. No one else knows of this.”

Lando nodded, glancing quickly at her—still in her wedding gown, eyes wide with fear—and then back at Carlos.

“Good,” Lando said, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I’m not here to make trouble. I’m here to get you both out.”

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. “Get us out?” Her voice trembled, the reality of what that could mean slowly sinking in. “Where? How? They’ll come for us. The entire palace…”

Lando closed the door behind him with a soft thud, cutting off the room’s only escape from the chaos outside. He leaned against the door, his hands steady. “I have a plan. I know the back routes. I can get you on a train, to the border. The prince and your father will have no idea you’ve gone. But we need to move now, before they realise what’s happened.”

Carlos turned to her, his eyes dark with unspoken emotion, but this time there was no hesitation. He wasn’t waiting for her to choose anymore.

But she was frozen, her mind racing. The weight of everything was bearing down on her—her family, the kingdom, her future. She had run away from her wedding, run away from the life she had been promised. It wasn’t just a momentary flight of passion. This was real, and there would be no going back.

Her heart was torn between the life she had been forced into and the man standing in front of her. She had always known she was meant for something more, but this—this escape—felt so final. So dangerous.

The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing against her chest as she breathed in sharp, ragged breaths.

“I can’t... I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Carlos took a step toward her, his hand gentle on her arm. “You don’t have to decide now, but we don’t have time. They’ll find us, and they’ll make sure you marry him. You’ve already decided you can’t go through with that. So what are you going to do? Stay here, be forced into a life you never wanted?”

The words stung, but they were true. She had always been the dutiful daughter, the princess. She had always done what was expected. But this—this was hers.

She looked at Lando, then back at Carlos. The decision was there, right in front of her.

The chaos of the wedding, the pressure of her family’s expectations, the silence she had lived in for so long—it all came rushing to the surface. She didn’t have time to think anymore.

Fuck it.

The thought shot through her mind like a spark to kindling.

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice steady now, her decision final.

Carlos’ eyes softened, relief flooding through him. He reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already have,” she replied, a wild grin breaking across her face. “But this... this is my choice.”

Lando smiled, and with a quick nod, he moved toward the door. “We’ll need to move fast. You two better follow me.”

Carlos took her hand, guiding her toward the door, but before they stepped into the unknown, she paused for a moment.

“Carlos,” she whispered. He turned to her, his hand resting on her back. She looked at him with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. “Are you sure? Will you stay with me? I... I don’t want to be alone in this.”

Carlos stepped closer, his voice firm. “You’re not alone. I will always be here.”

And with that, they followed Lando through the dark corridors of the palace, the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance.

They were no longer bound by duty, by royal expectation, by anything but their own desire for freedom. And in that moment, they realised that together, they could forge a new path—one they chose.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

[novaursa]

Hello, I love your stories! I would like to request a female reader × Gwayne Hightower where the reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister, she and Gwayne have a secret relationship and then one night she sneaks into Gwayne's room and he asks her to marry him and then the two have a very hot night. (+18)(sorry if something doesn't make sense, this is the first time I've made a request)

Greenblooded

Requests are closed

- Summary: You go to Gwayne and ask him to make you his. And he does.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @zizouu23 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @wuluhwuhmaster @idenyimimdenial

- A/N: I hope this is what you had in mind, dear anon. ❤️

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet at night, but never truly silent. Moonlight spilled across the stone floors, painting silvery paths between the shadows. You moved with the careful grace of someone who had memorized the placement of every creaking tile, every lazy guard's post. The gauze of your nightgown fluttered faintly at your ankles, the soft whisper of silk against skin the only sound that followed you through the gloom. Your heart thudded in your chest—not from fear of being caught, but from the ache of wanting. From the knowledge of where you were going.

Gwayne’s chamber was tucked behind the sept's cloisters, modest in its furnishings—he was no prince, after all—but you knew every detail of the room by heart. The scent of leather and oil from his armor, the faint scent of cedar and cloves that clung to his tunics, the way the moonlight fell across the bed where he waited for you. You slipped in through the door, eased it shut behind you, and there he was, already standing, his dark green cloak slung over a chair, his eyes finding yours as though he had sensed your presence before the latch even clicked.

"Y/N," he said softly, like your name was a prayer he dared not speak aloud. His hair was tousled, shirt unlaced at the collar, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone, of the heat beneath skin. He crossed the space between you in a few long strides, reaching for your hands, warm and calloused against your own.

"You shouldn’t have come tonight," he murmured, though he didn't let you go. "They’ll speak if they find out. They always do."

You tilted your chin up, daring him to send you away. "Let them speak. They speak of me anyway. I’d rather give them something worth whispering about."

He gave a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head, but his hands moved to cradle your face. "Seven save me. You are going to be the death of me, sweet girl."

"And you, mine," you whispered, fingers curling into his tunic. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your palms.

He hesitated then. Something changed in his eyes—an intensity, a certainty. He stepped back just enough to look at you fully, hands still cupping your cheeks as though afraid you’d vanish if he let go. "Marry me."

The words hit you like a gust of wind, soft but staggering. You blinked, breath catching. "Gwayne—"

"Don’t say no," he cut in, voice low and hoarse. "I know what they'll say. I know your father would never allow it. I know the Queen, my sister, has better plans for you. A Baratheon lord or a son of House Velaryon, perhaps. But I don’t care. I love you, Y/N. I don’t want to wait for some clever arrangement to take you away from me."

You stared at him, your lips parted in shock, in something close to wonder. "Do you think I want them?" you asked, voice thick. "Do you think I care for gold or ships or Storm’s End? I would trade all of them for one night like this. One word from you."

"But we live in a world where duty means more than love," he said bitterly. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones. "You were born a dragon, and I am but a knight of Oldtown. They’ll say you deserve better."

"They’ll say what they always say," you murmured, leaning into his touch, "but they don’t know what I want."

He swallowed hard, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then you reached up, sliding your fingers into his hair, drawing him closer. Your lips brushed his, once, soft as a sigh. And then again, slower, firmer, with the taste of desperation between you.

He groaned softly into your mouth, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him. The kiss deepened, mouths parting, breaths mingling. You clutched at his shoulders, at the strength that had always steadied you, the warmth you could not give up—not now, not ever.

His lips moved with yours, a promise in every press, every touch. And when his hands slid to your back and held you like a man drowning, you knew neither of you would let go again. Not willingly.

His mouth lingered on yours, kisses slow and reverent as though he feared you might dissolve beneath him if he held you too tightly. But you didn’t want gentleness tonight—not only that. You wanted him, all of him—the man who had haunted your thoughts since the first time he bowed before you in his green and silver cloak, who held you like you were made of fire but kissed you like you were starlight. You tugged at the laces of his tunic, fingers trembling only slightly as you worked them free, lips not leaving his as you murmured against him, “Let me have this. Let me have you.”

But his hands stilled yours, firm and breathless, pressing your fingers to his chest. “Y/N… wait.” His forehead rested against yours as he searched your eyes. “If we do this, there’s no going back. You know that. If they find out, it won’t matter what I want or what you feel. They’ll say I’ve defiled you. That I’ve ruined the daughter of the King.”

You didn’t flinch. You met his eyes with the quiet fire that always simmered in your blood, the legacy of dragons. “Then let them say it,” you whispered. “Let them call it ruin. I do not care. If it’s you, I would be ruined a thousand times.”

His breath hitched, his jaw clenched like he was fighting something—duty, honor, his own self-loathing. “Your father has betrothals planned. Men of power and name, sons of lords—”

“I don’t want them,” you cut in, firm, decisive. “Let my father and the council weigh my worth like coin in a purse. Let them speak of alliances and dowries. I’ll give them no choice. If I am yours in truth, they must wed us.”

A shudder passed through him, and he closed his eyes for a moment as though the force of your words had undone him. When he looked at you again, something had broken—something he’d been gripping too tightly for too long. The knight fell away, and the man remained. “Seven help me,” he murmured, voice thick. “You make me forget everything.”

“Then forget,” you whispered, and took his hands, placing them at your waist.

This time, he didn’t stop you when you undid the rest of his laces. His tunic fell away, baring the lean muscle and scarred strength of a man who had spent his life in armor. He was beautiful in a way that only a man born to war and discipline could be—roughened by steel and softened only by your touch. Your own gown slipped from your shoulders like mist, and he caught his breath, reaching to draw you close again, bare skin to bare skin. The heat of him made you gasp, your arms sliding around his neck, your fingers threading through his hair.

He kissed you again, slower now, reverent, his hands roaming your back, your hips, as if trying to memorize every inch. He led you to the bed in silence, and when he laid you down, he looked at you like you were sacred. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your neck, breath warm. “And I will.”

“I will never ask that of you,” you breathed, pulling him down to you.

The first touch of him inside you was a breath stolen from the world. Your back arched, fingers clutching the sheets, a soft cry falling from your lips that he silenced with a kiss. He moved gently at first, slow and deep, like worship. His lips never left yours for long, and every touch was threaded with longing, every sigh a vow left unspoken. You clung to him, to the weight of him above you, to the feeling of being filled and claimed and known, body and soul.

But the gentleness could not hold. Not for long. The hunger buried between stolen glances and longing silences broke free, and the pace between you quickened. His hips moved faster, his breath harsh against your throat, hands sliding down your thighs to draw you tighter to him. Your legs wrapped around him in instinct, in need, your bodies moving in frantic rhythm, a dance of starved affection and aching devotion. You moaned his name like it was the only word you knew, and he answered with your own, gasped against your skin, again and again.

There were no walls left between you. No titles, no crowns, no weight of noble blood. Just two people, tangled in moonlight and sweat and quiet promises, losing themselves in the only place they could be truly free—each other. And when release finally claimed you, it was like fire blooming beneath your skin, your body shaking against his as he followed moments after, burying his face into your shoulder, trembling from the force of it.

For a time, there was only the sound of your mingled breaths, the thud of your hearts, and the press of his lips against your temple.

And in that silence, you knew you were his—and he, yours.

[kxsagi]

hold on I have no clue how to go further about this, but knight!Isagi who yearns for princess!reader with a happy ending sounds so romantic!! Your writing for isagi is what I read before bed every night I LOVE YOUUU 💞💞 (if you don’t want to write this I understand, feel free to ignore!)

"𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬"

a/n: I LOVE YOU TOOO i love how my works are like a bedtime story to you lol, but ofc i am gonna write for you! don't be afraid to request anything :)

knight! isagi stood beneath the royal balcony, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the glow of the lanterns above. the world was quiet, save for the distant hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. he’d battled beasts and defended the realm, but this… this was unfamiliar terrain. 

you, princess! reader, leaned against the railing, dressed in a simple nightgown made of silk, far removed from the grandeur others expected of royalty. the moonlight softened your features, and knight! isagi’s heart pounded not from your beauty, but from the gravity of what he needed to say. 

“i’m not great with words,” he began, his voice low. “but i think about you... a lot. more than i should, probably.” 

you smiled faintly. “i’ve been wondering when you’d admit it.” 

he blinked. “you knew?” 

“i suspected. you’re not exactly subtle when you dive in front of danger every time i so much as step near a puddle,” you teased, your eyes glinting with mischief. 

he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah... i guess i’m predictable.” 

silence settled between you two, comfortable and electric. he felt the weight of his armor pressing against his skin, the weight of everything he’d been holding back for so long. “i don’t want to be just your protector,” he said softly. “i want to be by your side, not as a duty, but because... i care. for you.” 

your smile faded slightly. “you know my father would never allow this. he’s already promised my hand to a prince from the neighboring kingdom. if he finds out…” 

knight! isagi’s jaw tightened. “i know. and i would never want to bring dishonor to you or the throne. but... i can’t pretend i don’t feel this way.” 

you glanced around the courtyard, the shadows stretching like watchmen. “come up here, before anyone sees.” 

he hesitated, but only for a moment. he grasped the vines climbing the stone wall and scaled them with practiced ease. when he reached the balcony, you stepped back to let him land gracefully beside you. 

“i don’t need a knight in shining armor,” you said, your eyes searching his. “i need someone who understands that freedom isn’t found in castles or crowns. it’s in quiet moments, like this.” 

his heart raced as you took his hand and led him through the dimly lit corridor and out to the royal gardens. beneath the glow of ancient lanterns and blooming roses, you stopped at a small, forgotten pond that mirrored the sky above. 

“i come here to breathe,” you said. “to remember who i am beyond titles and expectations. and now, i want to share it with you.” 

knight! isagi felt the tension ease from his body as he sat beside you at the water’s edge. the reflection of the stars shimmered in the pond, as if the heavens had come to rest in the earth’s embrace. 

“i’ve faced countless enemies,” he murmured, “but i never knew how terrifying honesty could be.” 

you laughed softly. “well, you’re doing just fine.” 

as the night stretched on, you talked and listened, weaving dreams and truths between you. yet, the weight of reality loomed in the back of his mind – the king’s decree, the inevitable political marriage, and the eyes that watched from the shadows. but in that moment, with your hand resting in his, none of it mattered. 

as dawn crept over the horizon, you guided him deeper into the gardens, where an ancient oak stood, its twisted roots forming a hidden alcove. there, you leaned into him, your breath warm against his neck. his heart raced as he brushed his fingers against yours, hesitant but yearning. 

“you shouldn’t risk this for me,” you whispered. “but i can’t ask you to stop.” 

“i won’t stop,” he replied, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the morning chill. “i’ll stand by you, in the shadows if i must, for as long as you’ll have me.” 

your fingers laced with his, and you pulled him closer, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that tasted of defiance and longing. time melted away as you shared stolen moments beneath the ancient oak, the world beyond the garden walls forgotten. 

when the distant bell signaled the castle’s awakening, he rose reluctantly. “i’ll protect you, no matter what,” he vowed. “even if it means protecting you from your own fate.” 

“and i’ll fight for my freedom,” you replied, eyes burning with quiet rebellion. “not for a throne, but for us.” 

with a final glance, he slipped back into the shadows, disappearing before the servants stirred. you stood alone in the pale light, heart pounding with the knowledge that while the world may bind you with rules and duty, love would always find a way to flourish in the spaces between. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n: cliche or nah

(header image credits go to poorthing__ on X/twitter)

[dreamersworldduh]

A GAME OF DESIRE

PRINCE FIYERO x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — From the moment Prince Fiyero arrived at Shiz University, he captured the attention of nearly everyone with his charm and carefree attitude. You, however, remained indifferent, focused on studies and not interested in his flirtations. But Fiyero was intrigued by your lack of interest and began to pursue you with teasing words and touches, breaking down your defenses

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 11.1k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! You know I really have this addiction to write these 10k—11k works. It's almost 4AM and I needed to get this out. Enjoy your reading!✨

Prince Fiyero's arrival at Shiz University sent waves of excitement through the student body, turning the once-serious halls into a flurry of hushed whispers, stolen glances, and barely contained swoons. His effortless charm, striking good looks, and undeniable charisma made him the center of attention from the moment he set foot on campus. Nobles and commoners alike vied for even a sliver of his attention, their eyes lingering on him as he passed by, hoping to be the one he chose to dazzle with his easy smile.

But you were different. While others found themselves utterly enchanted by the exotic prince from the Vinkus, you remained unmoved. It wasn't that you failed to recognize his allure—anyone with eyes could see he was handsome, and his reputation for being carefree and flirtatious only added to his mystique. But unlike the rest of Shiz, you had no interest in chasing after a prince. You had your own ambitions, your own studies to focus on. You weren't about to let some charming aristocrat, no matter how effortlessly magnetic, distract you from your goals.

Yet, much to your surprise—and mild annoyance—it seemed that Prince Fiyero had taken a particular interest in you. While you ignored him, he noticed you. While others competed for his attention, he sought yours. It was as if your disinterest intrigued him, drawing him closer rather than pushing him away. His gaze lingered on you in class, his words seemed to carry an unspoken challenge whenever he addressed you, and despite your best efforts to remain indifferent, he had a way of making his presence known.

You weren't interested in him. Not in the way everyone else was. But it was beginning to seem as though he was very interested in you.

The grand stone halls of the university library loomed in eerie silence as you carefully pushed open the heavy wooden door, wincing at the faint creak that echoed through the vast space. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, the dim candlelight casting long shadows between towering shelves of books. It was well past curfew, and by all rights, you weren't supposed to be here. But rules be damned—you needed a quiet place to think.

Your dorm room had long since become unbearable. Your roommate was loud, obnoxious, and seemingly incapable of understanding the concept of personal space. If it wasn't his raucous laughter filling the room, it was the constant chatter of his equally boisterous friends, their presence turning your once-private retreat into a social hub you wanted no part of. Studying there was impossible. Thinking there was impossible. Even sleeping had become a gamble.

But here, in the vast, empty library, there was peace.

You made your way deeper into the maze of bookshelves, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the thick rug beneath you. The flickering candle sconces barely illuminated the high ceilings, leaving much of the library cloaked in shadow. You relished the stillness, the quiet hum of solitude that settled over you like a comforting cloak. This was what you needed—a space where you could breathe, think, and read without the constant interruptions of the outside world.

Choosing a secluded table near a towering window, you let out a slow breath and dropped into the chair, the weight of the day easing off your shoulders. The moonlight filtered through the stained glass, painting soft colors across the worn wooden surface. You reached into your satchel, pulling out the book you had been trying to finish for days.

Finally. No distractions. No unwanted company. Just you, the words on the page, and the stillness of the night.

However, that precious silence didn't last long as the stillness of the library was abruptly broken by the sound of footsteps—light, but unmistakably approaching. You stiffened, your fingers instinctively tightening around the edges of your book. No one else was supposed to be here. You had been careful, slipping through the halls undetected, ensuring that not even the nosiest students or patrolling professors caught sight of you.

And yet, someone had.

A shadow shifted between the towering shelves, and before you could so much as contemplate slipping away unnoticed, a familiar figure emerged into the dim candlelight.

Prince Fiyero.

He stood there, a curious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his striking blue eyes flashing with amusement as he took in the sight of you sitting alone, past curfew, in a place where no one would have expected to find you. His finely tailored jacket was undone, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar—he looked like someone who had carelessly wandered into trouble, which, knowing him, was probably the case.

"Well, well," he mused, folding his arms as he leaned against the nearest bookshelf. "I never would've pegged you as the type to sneak into the library after curfew. Isn't this more my kind of thing?"

You let out a slow breath, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "I needed some peace and quiet," you muttered, casting a pointed glance at the book in your hands.

Fiyero, of course, took that as an open invitation to do the exact opposite of what you wanted.

With an exaggerated sigh, he pulled out the chair across from you, the wooden legs scraping against the floor as he carelessly dropped into the seat. He sprawled out in his usual fashion, limbs draped lazily, as though he had all the time in the world. His gaze flicked to your book, then back to your face, mischief gleaming in his expression.

"Peace and quiet, huh?" he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. "Funny, considering you just got yourself some very unexpected company."

You narrowed your eyes at Fiyero, barely suppressing a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, looking completely at ease despite the fact that he, like you, was very much breaking curfew. His presence was already an irritation, and the last thing you needed was his signature brand of playful arrogance invading what was supposed to be your quiet, distraction-free night.

Trying to redirect the conversation—and, with any luck, get him to leave—you arched a brow and said, "Shouldn't you be off chasing after Glinda? That seems to be your favorite pastime."

Fiyero's lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he tilted his head slightly, studying you like you had just said something particularly amusing. Then, with a low chuckle, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Jealous?" he asked, his voice dripping with teasing amusement.

You scoffed immediately, rolling your eyes as you leaned back in your chair. "Not even remotely," you shot back, your tone dry. "I'm not attracted to you, Fiyero."

He hummed thoughtfully, as if he didn't quite believe you, his smirk widening just enough to set your teeth on edge. Then, after a moment of silent consideration, he tilted his chin slightly, mischief flashing in his blue eyes.

"Wanna bet?"

His words were smooth, deliberate, and undeniably challenging. It wasn't just an idle taunt—it was a dare.

You felt a flicker of irritation at his confidence, at the way he always carried himself like the world bent at his will. You knew exactly what he was doing, trying to get under your skin, to see if he could make you flustered like so many others who had fallen for his effortless charm.

But he was wrong about you.

You met his gaze steadily, arms crossing over your chest. "You'd lose," you said flatly.

Fiyero only grinned wider, as if that was exactly the response he had been hoping for.

The atmosphere between you shifted in an instant.

One moment, Fiyero was lounging in his chair, that smug, self-assured grin still playing on his lips. The next, he was leaning forward, closing the space between you with slow, deliberate ease. His voice dropped to a low, knowing whisper, the warmth of his breath ghosting against your skin.

"You know," he murmured, his tone almost conspiratorial, "I've noticed something about you."

You stiffened slightly but held his gaze, refusing to be the one to back down first. "Oh? Do tell," you said, keeping your voice even, though you could already sense where this was going.

His smirk deepened, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he studied you, far too closely for comfort. "I've noticed the way you stare at me," he said smoothly. "Almost as much as I stare at you."

Your fingers curled against the surface of the table, but you willed yourself not to react, not to give him the satisfaction. "You're imagining things," you muttered, though even you could hear the lack of conviction in your voice.

Fiyero, of course, caught it instantly.

"Oh, am I?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. His eyes roamed over your face, sharp, assessing, taking in every flicker of expression as though committing it to memory. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned in even closer, his voice barely more than a whisper now.

"I've also noticed how your eyes scan me when you think I'm not looking," he continued, the teasing lilt in his tone making your pulse flicker with irritation—or something else entirely. "Like you're trying to see through my clothes."

Your breath hitched, just slightly, but you masked it quickly, shooting him a sharp glare. "Don't flatter yourself," you muttered, your jaw tightening.

Fiyero just chuckled, low and amused, as if he could hear the tension in your words, as if he had already decided he was right and nothing you said could convince him otherwise. He shifted back just a fraction, but not enough to break the crackling energy between you.

"No need to be shy," he said, flashing you a grin that was all challenge. "If you wanted to see me naked, you could've just asked."

You didn't miss a beat.

With a slow, unimpressed arch of your brow, you leaned back just slightly, enough to create the illusion of distance—though it did little to cool the heat creeping into your skin. "You know," you mused, voice perfectly level, "they say men with big egos are usually compensating for... well, something."

Fiyero blinked, and then his lips curled into an even wider smirk, his amusement flaring like a spark catching fire. "Oh?" he drawled, tilting his head with mock curiosity. "Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, determined to keep the upper hand. "I'm just saying, for someone who loves to be the center of attention, you seem awfully desperate for mine."

It was supposed to be a smooth deflection, a way to turn the teasing back on him. But Fiyero wasn't like most people—he didn't back down, and he certainly didn't let go of a game once he realized you were playing it too.

Instead of retreating, he leaned in again, close enough that the scent of him—warm, rich, something faintly spiced—wrapped around you. His gaze flickered down briefly, sharp and assessing, before locking onto yours again, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of unease. Not because you were intimidated—but because you knew he had caught something.

Something you didn't want him to.

His smirk turned knowing. "You're trying awfully hard to prove you don't want me," he murmured, voice lower now, more deliberate. "But your body says otherwise."

Heat pooled in your gut as you fought to keep your breathing even. Your jaw tightened, hands clenched under the table where he couldn't see them. But it didn't matter, because he wasn't looking at your hands. He was watching you—watching the way your posture had stiffened, the way your thighs pressed just a little too tightly together, the way your pulse had betrayed you.

Damn it.

You knew exactly what he meant, and the worst part? So did he.

Still, you refused to let him win. Your lips curled into a smirk of your own, forcing yourself to keep your tone casual. "You must be imagining things, Your Highness," you said smoothly. "Maybe all that attention from Glinda has finally gone to your head."

Fiyero chuckled, low and wicked, shaking his head slightly. "Oh, I don't think so," he murmured, his voice like silk against your skin. Then, after a pause, he added, "And if you don't believe me—"

His gaze flickered downward just for a split second, and you nearly cursed at how bold he was being, how much he was enjoying this.

"I could show you better than I could tell you,"

The moment Fiyero's hands gripped the edges of your chair, a sharp, sudden scrape echoed through the quiet library as he pulled you closer—too close. Your body tensed instinctively, your breath hitching as the wooden legs groaned against the floor.

Now, there was barely any space between you.

His face was mere inches from yours, his breath warm as it fanned over your lips, his scent intoxicatingly close—earthy, spiced, and unmistakably him. The smirk never left his face, but his eyes had darkened, sharpened with something that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low, rich, dangerously smooth, "I could make you admit it."

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up the back of your neck. "Admit what?" you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected.

Fiyero chuckled softly, his lips barely curving, but the sound alone made something coil tight in your stomach. "That you want me," he whispered, his words deliberate, each syllable drawn out as if savoring the effect they had on you. "That no matter how much you pretend otherwise, you feel it."

His hand moved.

A slow, deliberate movement—starting at the side of your chair before it ghosted over your knee. His fingers were light at first, barely there, teasing as they traced just above the fabric of your trousers. Then, they slid upward, his touch trailing along your thigh, achingly slow, deliberate in a way that sent heat rushing through you despite every effort to keep your body still, to keep your expression impassive.

Damn him.

You clenched your jaw, but the way your breath faltered—just slightly—betrayed you. And Fiyero, ever the predator when it came to games like this, noticed. Of course he noticed.

His smirk deepened, his thumb brushing over your thigh in a way that was almost casual, almost innocent—if not for the way his eyes locked onto yours, drinking in every twitch, every tiny reaction, like he was waiting for you to break.

"You can keep denying it," he murmured, his voice so close now, so damn smug, "but your body is already telling me everything I need to know."

His fingers pressed just slightly into your thigh, a wicked promise in the way they lingered.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, heat curling at the edges of your self-control. You needed to say something, to do something before he got exactly what he wanted.

Before you proved him right.

Your mind screamed at you to act, to push him away, to end whatever dangerous game Fiyero was playing before it got out of hand. You wanted to challenge him, to grab his wrist, to force that cocky smirk off his face with sheer defiance alone. But you didn't.

You let his fingers continue their slow, torturous ascent.

The heat of his touch burned through the fabric of your trousers as his fingertips grazed higher, slipping past the safe zone of your outer thigh, inching toward something far more dangerous. Your pulse pounded in your ears, your breath coming slightly shallower, but still, you didn't stop him. You should have—gods, you should have—but some stubborn, reckless part of you refused.

You weren't going to be the first to break.

Fiyero's smirk deepened, his gaze flickering between your face and where his hand wandered, his expression smug, almost lazy—like he had all the time in the world to push you, to unravel you bit by bit. His fingers reached your inner thigh, his touch featherlight yet electrifying, sending a sharp jolt straight through your core.

And then—

A firm, possessive grasp.

Your body betrayed you instantly, stiffening beneath his touch, a sharp breath hissing past your lips before you could stop it. His fingers curled around you through the fabric, confident, unapologetic, testing the weight of you in his palm as if he already knew the answer to the question neither of you had spoken aloud.

Fiyero let out a low chuckle, one that sent shivers down your spine, his thumb brushing over the sensitive fabric-covered length of you in an infuriatingly slow caress.

"Well," he murmured, his voice dark with amusement, "would you look at that."

Your fingers clenched into fists against your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you fought against the fire threatening to consume you. You could still stop this. You could still shove him away, throw some sharp remark that would wipe that insufferable smirk off his face.

But you didn't move.

And neither did he.

The tension between you was electric, thick enough to drown in. Fiyero's smirk never wavered as his hands slid from your thigh to your knees, pushing them apart with a slow, deliberate force. You let him, even as your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, your breath catching as he moved between your legs.

Then, without a word, he dropped to his knees.

The sight of him there, positioned so brazenly in front of you, made something coil tight in your stomach. His hands were warm against your legs, fingers curling just slightly as they rested on your parted thighs, his eyes flickering up to meet yours with that same wicked glint. He was waiting—watching.

You sucked in a sharp breath as he reached for the waistband of your pajama pants, his fingers hooking into the fabric with clear intent. That was when you finally moved, your hand snapping down to grip his wrist before he could pull them down.

"Fiyero," you hissed, your voice low but urgent. "We're in the damn library."

He only grinned, completely unfazed by your resistance. "And?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. "No one's coming in anytime soon. Trust me."

You shot him a glare, but he simply chuckled, shaking off your grip like it was nothing. And before you could argue further, before you could remind him that anyone could walk in at any moment, he moved.

In one smooth, unhesitating motion, he yanked your pajama pants and underwear down in a single sweep.

Cool air rushed over your skin, and your breath hitched as you felt the sudden freedom, the way the fabric no longer confined you. Your dick sprang free, thick and aching, twitching slightly at the sudden exposure.

Fiyero let out a low, satisfied hum, his gaze dragging down to take in the sight of you. His fingers tightened just slightly against your thighs, as if restraining himself—or savoring the moment.

"Well," he murmured, his smirk turning positively sinful. "Now that's a sight."

Heat surged through your body, embarrassment and desire warring inside you as you clenched your jaw.

"Fiyero—"

But whatever protest you were about to make died on your tongue the moment his hands slid up your legs again, his touch burning, his eyes dark with intent.

Fiyero's fingers gripped your thighs with a firm but teasing touch, holding you in place as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your exposed skin. The anticipation alone sent a shiver through you, your body tense, bracing for what was coming.

Then, his tongue made contact.

A slow, deliberate lick from the base of your dick to the very tip, his tongue warm and slick as it traced along your length with maddening precision. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped your lips, and before you could stop yourself, a low, breathy moan followed.

Fiyero stilled for a fraction of a second before chuckling against your skin, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through you. "Now that," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker, "is a sound I wouldn't mind hearing more of."

He went in again, his tongue moving with practiced ease, flicking over the sensitive head before dragging back down, swirling in just the right places, mapping you out like he already knew exactly what would make you tremble.

It was infuriating how good he was at this.

You barely managed to bite back another moan, your fingers twitching at your sides, unsure whether you wanted to grip the edge of the chair or bury your hands in his tousled golden-brown hair. He was enjoying this—there was no doubt about that. The way he worked you over, the way he hummed softly in satisfaction every time your body betrayed you, the way his fingers pressed a little harder against your thighs whenever your breathing stuttered.

He was in complete control, and he knew it.

Fiyero pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening, his smirk utterly devastating. "You can try to stay quiet," he teased, tilting his head as his fingers traced lazily along your inner thigh. "But I'd much rather hear how much you're enjoying this."

And then he went back down, his mouth wrapping around you with slow, agonizing intent, his tongue working you with the kind of expertise that made it clear—he wasn't just good at this.

He loved it. And he loved making you lose control.

Fiyero was relentless.

His tongue moved with maddening precision, swirling and flicking in ways that made your entire body tighten with pleasure. His lips wrapped around you, dragging up and down your dick with slow, deliberate movements, taking his time, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. Every hitched breath, every low moan that slipped past your lips only seemed to encourage him, his fingers digging into your thighs as he kept you firmly in place.

You barely had the presence of mind to glance down, but when you did, the sight nearly undid you right then and there—Fiyero on his knees, his head bobbing in perfect rhythm, his dark lashes fluttering as he worked you over with infuriating expertise. He was enjoying this far too much, and the worst part? So were you.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your fingers gripping the armrests of the chair with a white-knuckled hold as heat coiled dangerously tight in your core. He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, drawing out every ounce of pleasure until you were trembling beneath him.

"F-Fiyero—" You barely choked out his name, your voice strained, warning.

But he didn't stop.

If anything, he doubled down, hollowing his cheeks as he took you deeper, his tongue pressing in just the right way that sent a sharp, electric jolt through you. A strangled groan tore from your throat, your body arching slightly as the pressure in your core snapped.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your release spilling forth in a rush of heat. You expected him to pull away, to recoil—but he didn't.

To your utter shock, Fiyero held firm, his lips sealing around you as he took everything you had to give. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, not a drop escaping, as if this was exactly what he had planned all along. The sensation alone made your legs tremble, overstimulation shooting through you like lightning as his mouth lingered for just a moment longer, drawing out every last aftershock.

When he finally pulled back, his tongue flicked out, lazily licking his lips as he gazed up at you with a smug, satisfied smirk. His blue eyes were dark with satisfaction and mischief, locked onto yours, and then—without hesitation—he leaned in.

The kiss was slow and deliberate, his lips warm and teasing against yours, tasting of heat, arrogance, and something undeniably intoxicating. He kissed you with the same ease he did everything else, like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring the moment, knowing it wouldn't be the last. His mouth moved against yours with a lazy sort of confidence, drawing you in, making your pulse spike all over again.

And despite everything—you kissed him back.

Your hand twitched against the armrest of the chair before you let it move, fingers tangling briefly in the loose strands of his tousled hair. Fiyero let out a low, pleased hum at that, deepening the kiss just enough to make your breath hitch before he finally pulled back, a satisfied smirk playing at his swollen lips.

His voice was a husky murmur, brushing against your skin as he whispered, "We're not done, you know."

Your stomach twisted at the certainty in his tone. There was no hesitation, no question—just pure, infuriating confidence. He knew exactly what he had done to you. And he knew you weren't going to forget it anytime soon.

He gave you one last teasing peck before finally pulling away, stretching lazily as he got to his feet. You barely had time to process the shift before your gaze inevitably dropped—and that was when you saw it.

Even through the dim candlelight of the library, it was impossible to miss.

The prominent bulge pressing against the front of his trousers.

Large, heavy, undeniable.

Heat shot through you all over again, your breath stalling for just a moment as your mind caught up with the realization—he was just as affected by this as you were. Despite the smug exterior, despite the teasing, despite the way he had controlled everything—he wasn't untouched by it.

Fiyero noticed your lingering stare instantly. His smirk widened, one brow quirking up as he casually adjusted his belt, making a show of it, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"Careful, darling," he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "If you keep looking at me like that, I might just have to stay."

You snapped your gaze back up to his face, scowling, but the warmth at the back of your neck betrayed you.

Fiyero only chuckled, taking a step back toward the library's exit. "Guess we'll have to save the rest for later," he murmured, winking before slipping into the shadows.

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving you alone in the quiet, in the dim candlelight, still catching your breath, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your skin—and still knowing, with absolute certainty, that this wasn't over.

From that night on, you couldn't deny it—there was a part of you that looked forward to being alone with Fiyero again. The way he had touched you, kissed you, left you utterly wrecked in the library lingered in your mind far longer than you cared to admit. It was maddening, how his smirk, his voice, his hands still haunted you in the quiet moments when you let your guard slip.

But that didn't mean you were desperately waiting for him.

You refused to be one of those people who fawned over him, who tripped over themselves just to catch his attention. You were better than that, and if Fiyero thought otherwise, he had another thing coming.

So, every time you saw him—whether it was in class as you sat beside Elphaba, diligently taking notes, or in the courtyard where he lounged with Glinda, flashing that easy, effortless grin at anyone who so much as glanced his way—you played it cool.

When his eyes flickered to you across the lecture hall, you barely spared him a glance, keeping your expression neutral, focused. If his lips quirked in a smirk, as if daring you to react, you simply turned your attention back to your work, refusing to take the bait.

Even when you passed him in the corridors, when his arm was slung lazily around Glinda's shoulders and he looked at you with that glimmer of amusement—like he was waiting to see what you'd do—you gave him nothing. Just a casual nod, a fleeting look, and then you moved on as if that night in the library hadn't set fire to something deep in your core.

But Fiyero wasn't stupid.

He saw through it.

And that was the problem.

Because every time you pretended not to care, every time you played it cool, he enjoyed it. You could see it in the way his smirk turned just a little sharper, the way his gaze lingered a second too long, the way his fingers tapped idly against his knee in class, as if counting down the moments until you were alone again.

And, damn it, a small, infuriating part of you was waiting for that moment too.

The library was quiet, save for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional scratch of quills against parchment. You sat beside Elphaba at one of the long wooden tables, your books and notes spread out between you as you went over her latest assignments for her training with Madame Morrible. The flickering candlelight cast shadows over the ancient texts, the scent of parchment and ink thick in the air.

Elphaba, as usual, was focused—her sharp green fingers tapping against her temple as she read through a particularly dense passage. You were about to make a comment, something about how Morrible always seemed to assign the most convoluted texts, when—

A firm hand suddenly grabbed your wrist.

Before you could react, you were being pulled from your seat, your chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. A few students turned to look, but by the time Elphaba even lifted her head, you were already being dragged past the towering bookshelves and deeper into the library's shadowed corridors.

You barely caught a glimpse of who had grabbed you before your back was suddenly pressed against one of the towering shelves, the scent of something warm and familiar—spiced, earthy, unmistakably him—filling the space between you.

Fiyero.

His grip loosened just enough to let you breathe, but he didn't step back. His body was close, too close, his blue eyes flashing with something unreadable in the dim candlelight.

"What the hell are you—" you started, voice low, annoyed—but before you could finish, Fiyero cut you off, his smirk sharp, teasing.

"Miss me?" he murmured.

Your pulse spiked, but you kept your face carefully impassive, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted. "I was in the middle of something," you muttered, casting a pointed glance back toward Elphaba, who was probably scowling at your now-empty seat.

Fiyero didn't care.

"If you were really focused," he mused, tilting his head, "you wouldn't have let me drag you all the way back here without a fight."

Your jaw clenched. You hated that he had a point.

He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your skin. "We never did finish what we started," he murmured, his voice dark with amusement. "And I'd hate to leave anything unfinished."

Heat pooled low in your stomach, but you forced yourself to keep your expression unreadable. "You do realize we're still in the library?" you deadpanned.

Fiyero grinned, his fingers grazing your wrist again, light and teasing. "That didn't stop us last time."

Damn him.

Fiyero's smirk lingered as he remained close, his presence a force you couldn't quite shake. His fingers, still ghosting over your skin, were warm, teasing, deliberate. The dim glow of the library's candlelight caught in his blue eyes, making them gleam with mischief and something deeper—something you weren't sure you were ready to name.

"Come by my room later," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety promise. "After curfew."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "And if I don't?" you asked, arching a brow in an attempt to keep your composure.

Fiyero chuckled, his fingers trailing lightly up your arm before stopping just below your collarbone. His touch sent an infuriating shiver through you, one he most certainly noticed. "Then," he mused, tilting his head, "I suppose you'll be lying awake all night wondering what you missed."

His smirk widened as he leaned in, his breath brushing your lips now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. "And trust me," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, heavier, "you don't want to miss it."

Before you could react, before you could push him away or—gods forbid—pull him closer, he closed the distance.

His lips met yours in a slow, intoxicating kiss, a deliberate tease rather than an overwhelming demand. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, his mouth soft but certain, coaxing rather than taking. It wasn't hurried, wasn't rushed—it was confident, controlled, and devastatingly effective.

Then, just as you started to sink into it, just as your body betrayed you by leaning the slightest bit forward, he pulled back. His lips barely left yours, his breath still mingling with your own, his fingers tracing one last, lingering path down your chest.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," he whispered, his voice thick with amusement and promise. "Don't keep me waiting."

With that, he stepped back, letting his touch fall away completely before turning on his heel. He strode off between the bookshelves as if he hadn't just unraveled you, as if he hadn't just left your skin burning and your thoughts spinning.

And as much as you wanted to pretend otherwise, you knew you'd be at his door when the time came.

It was a no-brainer that you were going to meet up with Fiyero.

You told yourself otherwise for most of the night, stubbornly keeping your mind occupied with anything but the invitation he had whispered in your ear. You paced your room, flipped through books you weren't really reading, and even attempted to get some sleep—though that was laughable, considering your thoughts were already tangled up in the what ifs of what waited for you behind his door.

And so, despite your better judgment, despite the part of you that wanted to resist his arrogant, teasing confidence, your feet carried you through the dimly lit corridors of Shiz after curfew, the halls eerily quiet, the only sound your own steady footsteps.

When you finally reached his door, you hesitated.

Your hand hovered just over the handle, your pulse slightly elevated—not from nerves, you told yourself, but from the thrill of sneaking through the halls at this hour. At least, that's what you wanted to believe. But the anticipation clawing at your stomach, the lingering heat from his earlier touch, said otherwise.

Exhaling sharply, you shook off the hesitation and pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted you was enough to make your breath hitch.

Fiyero was already waiting.

Reclined against the headboard, shirtless, the soft glow of candlelight flickering over the golden-brown skin of his chest, casting shadows over the defined muscles of his arms and torso. He looked completely at ease, his fingers lazily drumming against the sheets, his smirk appearing the moment his gaze flickered up to meet yours.

"Took you long enough," he mused, his voice warm, rich, and laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you changed your mind."

Your throat felt suddenly dry, but you forced yourself to remain composed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. "You wish I changed my mind," you countered, keeping your tone as indifferent as possible.

Fiyero chuckled, tilting his head slightly as he eyed you, his gaze trailing down your body before flicking back up to your face. "Oh, I knew you'd come," he murmured, his smirk deepening. "I just like hearing you pretend otherwise."

The air between you crackled, thick with the same unspoken tension that had been following you both since that night in the library.

Fiyero stretched, his movements slow and utterly unbothered, his bare chest shifting with the motion as he patted the empty space beside him.

"Well?" he drawled, cocking a brow. "Are you just going to stand there, or are we going to finish what we started?"

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward, closing the distance between you and the bed. The soft candlelight flickered over Fiyero's bare skin, highlighting the sharp lines of his collarbones, the toned muscles of his chest, and the relaxed way he sprawled across the mattress as if he had no cares in the world. He watched you with an unreadable expression, his blue eyes dark and knowing, like he had been waiting for this moment all night.

Slowly, you sat down beside him, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight.

Before you could settle fully, Fiyero moved.

Effortlessly, he shifted, his hands finding your waist as he guided you into a more comfortable position—his touch firm but unhurried, like he wanted to savor the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. He adjusted your posture, angling you slightly toward him, his leg brushing against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin despite the minimal contact.

"There," he murmured, his voice low, satisfied. "Much better."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral, though the way his fingers lingered against your side didn't go unnoticed.

Fiyero let his hand drift away, resting it lazily against the sheets as he leaned back against the headboard, studying you with a look that sent something unsteady coursing through your veins. Then, after a pause, he spoke.

"You know," he mused, tilting his head slightly, "people always assume I go for the obvious choices."

You raised a brow at that. "Obvious choices?"

He smirked, eyes flickering with amusement. "The ones who throw themselves at me," he clarified, his tone almost bored. "The ones who bat their lashes, hang onto my every word, do whatever it takes to get my attention." He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "But they never keep it."

You didn't say anything, waiting for him to continue.

Fiyero's gaze flickered over you, slower this time, more deliberate. "But you," he murmured, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "You don't try."

He leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your skin. "You don't chase," he continued, his fingers idly toying with the hem of your sleeve, barely grazing your wrist. "You don't throw yourself at me like the others. You just are. And that—" he let out a slow breath, his lips curving in something softer than a smirk but no less intense—"that drives me insane."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let him see how much they affected you.

Instead, you scoffed, arching a brow. "So what, I'm interesting to you because I don't want you?"

Fiyero chuckled, but there was something knowing behind it, something deeper. "Oh, you want me," he murmured, his fingers trailing just barely over your wrist again, enough to make your pulse stutter. "You just don't want to admit it."

His smirk deepened as he watched you, waiting for your response, waiting for you to push back—because that was part of the game, wasn't it?

And damn it, you weren't sure who was winning anymore.

You let out a slow breath, schooling your expression into something neutral, something unreadable, though your heart was still thudding a little too hard from the way Fiyero's fingers had lingered against your skin. His confidence was infuriating—his words, the way he leaned in like he already knew exactly how this night would end, how you would end up. But you weren't going to let him have the upper hand so easily.

So, you met his gaze steadily and countered, "You've got it all wrong."

Fiyero's brow arched, amusement flickering in his eyes as he leaned in a fraction more, his smirk widening. "Do I?"

You tilted your head slightly, letting your own lips curl just enough to challenge him. "You're acting like I'm the one pining after you," you said smoothly. "But let's be honest here, Fiyero." You let your gaze sweep over him, slow and pointed, before flicking back to his face. "You want me."

For a second, there was silence.

Then, to your complete lack of surprise, Fiyero laughed—not in shock, not in denial, but in pure, shameless amusement. His grin widened, his teeth flashing in the dim candlelight as he tilted his head slightly, like he was genuinely impressed.

"You're not wrong," he admitted, voice low, warm, dripping with that lazy, arrogant charm that had driven so many others to their knees. "I do want you."

His fingers traced absentmindedly over the sheets between you, his gaze still locked onto yours. "I don't just kiss anyone, you know." His smirk deepened, his voice dropping an octave. "And I certainly don't invite just anyone into my room after curfew."

He leaned in again, closing the space between you, his breath fanning against your lips now. "If all I wanted was an easy distraction, I could've had that with anyone." His hand slid up your arm again, slow, teasing. "But I didn't want anyone." His fingers curled lightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. "I wanted you."

His words sent a shiver through you, your pulse betraying you for the briefest moment. You knew he could feel it, could see it in the way your throat bobbed slightly as you swallowed.

Fiyero chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against the inside of your wrist in a way that made it suddenly very difficult to breathe. "And the best part?" he murmured, his voice a near-whisper now, thick with satisfaction.

"You want me too."

Damn him.

The tension between you snapped like a cord stretched too thin.

Maybe it was the way Fiyero's voice had dropped into that low, velvet murmur, thick with confidence and something darker. Maybe it was the way his fingers traced over your wrist, his thumb brushing against your skin like he already knew what you were going to do before you even did it. Or maybe it was just the simple, undeniable truth hanging between you—one that you had spent too much time pretending didn't exist.

You wanted him.

And, as much as he had teased, challenged, and played this game—you knew he wanted you just as much.

So you kissed him.

You didn't hesitate, didn't second-guess it. One moment, you were staring him down, determined not to let him win this little game of his. The next, you were leaning in, your lips crashing against his, erasing any space that had existed between you.

Fiyero responded instantly.

A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat, and then his hands were on you—gripping, pulling, claiming. His fingers curled around your waist, his touch firm and possessive as he guided you forward. Before you could process it, you were being pulled into his lap, straddling him as his body pressed against yours, warm and solid beneath your palms.

The kiss deepened, all slow-burning heat and urgency. His lips moved against yours with effortless confidence, like he had been waiting for this, like he had known this would happen eventually. His hands slid up your back, his fingers digging into your hips just enough to make your breath hitch, to make you realize how little control you had left in this moment.

Fiyero grinned against your mouth, his breath hot as he murmured, "Took you long enough."

You didn't even have it in you to glare at him. Not when his hands were holding you like that, not when his lips were trailing down to your jaw, pressing slow, teasing kisses along the curve of your throat.

Not when every single nerve in your body was screaming for more.

Fiyero's hands roamed your back lazily, his touch firm yet unhurried as he held you in his lap. The warmth of his bare skin beneath your fingertips was almost distracting, but not nearly as much as the way his lips ghosted along your jaw, trailing heat in their wake.

Then, he pulled back just slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk still in place but laced with something more curious now.

"So," he murmured, his fingers tracing small, idle circles against your lower back. "Tell me something..." His head tilted slightly, blue eyes sharp and full of mischief. "Is this your first time?"

For a second, you just blinked at him before a laugh escaped you—short, unexpected. The sheer audacity of the question, the way he asked it so smoothly, so casually, as if it was a mere formality, made it impossible not to react.

Fiyero's brows lifted slightly at your amusement. Clearly, he had expected a different answer.

"Oh, Oz no," you said, shaking your head, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Not even close."

That wiped the smug certainty off his face in an instant.

For once, Fiyero looked genuinely surprised, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly, as if reevaluating everything he thought he knew about you. His gaze flickered over your face, studying you like you were suddenly an entirely different person.

"Huh," he mused after a beat, tilting his head as his smirk returned, albeit with a little more intrigue this time. "You had me fooled."

You arched a brow. "Oh?"

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You just seem so... I don't know," he mused, his fingers trailing up your spine. "Innocent."

That made you scoff, your smirk widening. "That's your mistake, then."

Fiyero's grin turned downright wicked, his hands squeezing your hips as he pulled you even closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"Oh," he murmured, voice low, dark with promise. "I'm definitely going to have fun proving myself wrong."

The room felt warmer now, the air thick with something heady. Fiyero's hands were firm against your waist, fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt as he watched you with that dark, knowing smirk. There was no rush in his movements—just confidence, a slow unraveling of anticipation, a game he was savoring.

You didn't stop him.

You let him push the fabric up, let his fingers skim over your skin, warm and deliberate as he peeled your shirt away and tossed it aside. The cool air ghosted over your now-bare chest, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Fiyero's gaze as he took you in, his lips parting slightly, his hands smoothing over your sides with an appreciative hum.

Then, before you could think too much about it, before you could catch up to the shift in his expression, he moved.

His lips found your skin—hot, soft, teasing—as he pressed slow kisses along your collarbone, working his way downward. His breath fanned over your chest, sending shivers down your spine as he trailed lower, lower, his hands gripping your hips just tight enough to make your pulse stutter.

Then, his mouth closed around your nipple, and a sharp jolt of heat shot through you.

A low, involuntary sound escaped your throat as his tongue flicked over the sensitive skin, slow and deliberate, testing what made you react. His lips curled slightly in satisfaction at your sharp inhale, and he did it again—this time with more intent, his teeth grazing just enough to make your fingers twitch.

Your hands, which had been gripping the sheets at your sides, moved on instinct. They tangled into his hair, tugging slightly as you exhaled a shuddering breath, your body arching just a little under his touch.

Fiyero hummed in approval, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. His hands slid lower, fingers tracing patterns against your sides as his mouth switched to your other nipple, his tongue teasing, working you over like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did.

Because, judging by the satisfied gleam in his eyes when he finally looked up at you, he was nowhere near finished.

The air between you was electric, thick with heat and something far more intoxicating than just lust. The last scraps of clothing had been discarded, forgotten, leaving nothing between you but the weight of anticipation.

Fiyero towered over you, his body lean and golden in the candlelight, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths. His hands rested lightly at his sides, fingers flexing as he watched you—watched you with dark, half-lidded eyes, full of heat and satisfaction at seeing you exactly where he wanted you.

On your knees.

The flickering glow of the room cast shadows over his skin, emphasizing every sharp line of his torso, every curve of toned muscle leading down to the heavy, aching dick but standing proudly before you. He was already hard, thick and flushed, the evidence of his arousal obvious, impossible to ignore. And gods, he knew it.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk as he looked down at you. "You look good like this," he murmured, voice dripping with amusement and something more sinful.

You didn't dignify him with a response—at least, not with words. Instead, you leaned in, your fingers wrapping around the base of his dick, feeling the warmth of him, the way he twitched slightly at your touch. That wiped some of the smugness off his face, though the satisfaction only deepened in his gaze.

Fiyero let out a slow breath, his hand sliding into your hair, not forcing, just there, lingering, waiting.

And then, you parted your lips and took him in.

The first drag of your tongue along his dick made his breath hitch, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair. You worked slowly at first, savoring the way he responded—the subtle way his stomach tensed, the soft groan he let out as your mouth wrapped around him properly.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his voice slipping into something rougher, less controlled.

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling the weight of him against your tongue. Fiyero's grip in your hair tightened just enough to send a thrill down your spine, his hips twitching slightly forward before he caught himself.

His head tilted back for a moment, his lips parting as he let out another low groan, before looking back down at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Shit," he murmured, his smirk still there but weaker now, his voice ragged. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a slow, reverent touch. "And here I thought I was supposed to be the one ruining you tonight."

Fiyero's fingers tightened in your hair, not forceful, but guiding—his touch firm, confident, completely in control. His breath hitched as your tongue dragged along his dick, slow and deliberate, tasting him, feeling the weight of him against your lips. His body was warm, his skin flushed, his muscles taut beneath the golden glow of candlelight.

"Just like that," he murmured, his voice low, rasping with pleasure. His thumb traced along your cheek as he tilted your head slightly, adjusting the angle, guiding you exactly how he wanted.

You followed his lead, hollowing your cheeks as you took him deeper, feeling him twitch against your tongue. His reaction was immediate—a sharp inhale, a quiet groan that sent another rush of heat through your own body. His hips shifted, just slightly, his restraint evident in the way his fingers trembled against your scalp.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his grip flexing as he stroked your hair, his thumb brushing along your jaw in a touch that was almost tender despite the intensity between you.

You licked again, swirling your tongue around the head of his dick before taking him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs for balance as you let him set the pace. His breath came in heavier now, his control fraying with every flick of your tongue, every slow, wet drag of your lips.

His head fell back briefly, his throat exposed, his chest rising and falling in deep, ragged breaths. Then his gaze dropped to you again, heavy-lidded, dark with desire, his smirk returning—lazier this time, more affected.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick, dripping with satisfaction. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, tilting your face up slightly so he could watch you work. "So fucking pretty like this."

You hummed around him, feeling the way his body tensed at the sensation, and he let out a sharp, breathy chuckle, his grip tightening again.

"Shit," he muttered, his voice rasping, his control slipping just a little more. His fingers flexed in your hair as he groaned, rolling his hips just barely forward, chasing the heat of your mouth.

He was close. You could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his muscles strained, the way his grip on you faltered between restraint and the desperate urge to pull you down completely.

And gods, you wanted to see him come undone.

Fiyero suddenly pulled back, a sharp exhale leaving his lips. His blue eyes, dark and blown with desire, locked onto yours as he reached down, his strong hands sliding under your arms, over your waist, and down to your thighs.

Then, with effortless strength, he lifted you.

A startled gasp escaped you as he pulled you up to your feet, barely giving you time to steady yourself before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was fierce, hungry, his mouth moving against yours like he was determined to claim every inch of you. His tongue slid past your lips, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed lower, gripping your thighs, pulling you even closer against him.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your breath hitching as he hoisted you up with ease, holding you firmly against his body. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, his muscles tensing as he adjusted his grip, pressing you back against the nearest surface—the cool wood of the wall a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him.

Fiyero groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you effortlessly, his broad shoulders supporting your weight as if you weighed nothing at all. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, nipping at your throat, savoring every sound you made, every tiny reaction.

His hips shifted, and you felt it—the hard, aching length of him pressing between your legs, sliding against your skin as he adjusted his stance.

"You ready for me?" he murmured, his voice rough, teasing, full of dark amusement. His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear as he rocked forward again, his dick sliding against your hole, teasing you, making your breath catch.

He grinned against your neck, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Because I promise—I'm going to make this worth it."

His hands flexed against your thighs, gripping you tighter as he lined himself up, the anticipation making your pulse thunder in your ears. You could feel the heat of him, the sheer size of him, and you swallowed hard as he rolled his hips just slightly, just enough to press against you, just enough to make you want more

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push in.

Your back was pressed against the cool, solid wood of the wall, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from Fiyero's body as he held you in his arms. His grip was strong, secure, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he kept your legs spread wide, completely at his mercy. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips brushing along the curve of your jaw, teasing, savoring the way you trembled beneath him.

His body pressed flush against yours, his toned chest firm against your own, the warmth of his skin seeping into you, making your head spin. And between you—him. Hard, thick, ready, pressing insistently against your hole, teasing you, making the anticipation coil tight in your stomach.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety promise against your ear. His lips curled into a smirk as he rocked his hips forward, the head of his dick pressing just barely inside. "I've got you."

His fingers flexed against your thighs, gripping you tighter as he pushed forward, slow and deliberate, stretching you inch by inch. A sharp gasp escaped you as the pressure built, your body instinctively tensing around him, adjusting, taking him in.

Fiyero let out a low groan, his head dropping to your shoulder as he stilled for a moment, letting you breathe, letting you feel every inch of him. "Fuck," he exhaled, his voice rough, strained with pleasure. "You feel incredible."

He shifted his stance, pressing you harder against the wall as he buried himself deeper, filling you completely. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, but there was pleasure beneath it, a slow-burning heat curling through your veins as he gave you time to adjust.

His lips found yours again, his kiss slower this time, more indulgent, as if he wanted to drown in the moment, in the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him. His hands slid up your thighs, gripping your hips, grounding you before he pulled back just slightly—only to thrust in again, deeper this time, stealing the breath from your lungs.

A strangled moan escaped you, and Fiyero grinned against your mouth.

"There it is," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I knew you'd sound beautiful like this."

And then, with another slow, deliberate roll of his hips, he really started moving.

You were starting to understand.

Why people were so obsessed with Fiyero.

Why they whispered his name in the halls, why they giggled behind their hands whenever he passed by, why so many threw themselves at him, hoping—aching—for even a fraction of his attention.

Because Fiyero didn't just take. He didn't just fuck.

He devoured.

His body moved against yours with practiced ease, every thrust calculated yet effortless, filling you completely, setting your nerves alight with every deep, rolling motion. But it wasn't just the way he moved—it was the way he spoke.

His voice, low and velvety, curled around you like warm honey, thick with satisfaction, amusement, and something dangerous.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "So tight, so perfect around me."

His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you spread wide for him as he pressed you harder against the wall, his pace slow but deep, forcing you to feel every inch of him.

And gods, you felt it.

His lips brushed against your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse as he chuckled, dark and knowing. "You're taking me so well," he praised, his voice thick with heat. "Didn't think you would, but here you are—so fucking eager for me."

A strangled moan tore from your throat before you could stop it, your fingers clenching against his shoulders.

Fiyero grinned.

"There it is," he purred, his thrusts quickening just slightly, the pressure mounting, the pleasure building. "Don't hold back on me, love—I want to hear you."

And fuck—fuck—you couldn't hold back anymore.

Because every snap of his hips sent fire licking up your spine, every filthy word that left his mouth sent another jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins, and every teasing, knowing laugh he let out made you crave more, more, more.

You understood now.

Fiyero didn't just get inside your body—he got inside your head.

And the worst part?

You wanted him to.

Fiyero's grip tightened on your thighs as he pulled back slightly, his movements still slow, deliberate, teasing. His lips curled into a smirk against your skin, his breath warm as he murmured, "As much as I love having you against this wall, I think we need somewhere... more comfortable for what I have in mind."

Before you could process his words, he moved.

With effortless strength, he adjusted his hold on you, keeping you securely in his arms as he carried you across the room. His bare chest was firm against yours, the heat radiating from his skin making your pulse pound in anticipation.

Then, the world tilted slightly as Fiyero lowered you onto the bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of your flushed skin. He hovered over you, his toned body casting a shadow over yours in the dim candlelight, his blue eyes dark with intent.

He didn't rush.

Instead, he took his time, his hands trailing over your body, mapping you out as if he wanted to commit every inch of you to memory. His fingers ghosted over your chest, teasing, his touch featherlight as he traced the sensitive skin beneath your collarbone. His lips followed soon after, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the length of your throat, down your chest, tasting you, claiming you.

"You're beautiful like this," he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with heat. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips as he settled between your legs, pressing himself against you once more. "Flushed, breathless, wanting."

A shiver ran through you at his words, at the sheer confidence in his tone, at the way he looked at you like you were something to be worshiped.

Then, without warning, he rolled his hips forward.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he filled you again, slow, deep, purposeful. Your fingers instinctively gripped his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin as he began to move, setting a steady, intoxicating rhythm.

Fiyero groaned, his forehead pressing briefly against yours as he exhaled shakily. "Fuck," he muttered, his hands squeezing your thighs, holding you open for him. "You feel so damn good."

His pace quickened, his thrusts growing more insistent, more desperate. But even then, he didn't stop touching you—his hands never left your skin, his lips never strayed far from yours. He wanted you to feel everything, to know exactly how much he was enjoying this.

And gods, you did.

Because Fiyero didn't just fuck—he pleasured. He consumed.

And he was nowhere near done with you yet.

By the time you and Fiyero had finished, the room was thick with the lingering heat of your bodies, the scent of sweat and satisfaction hanging in the air. The sheets beneath you were tangled, evidence of just how much had transpired between you. Your limbs felt heavy, spent, the kind of exhaustion that came not from fatigue but from pleasure so intense it left you breathless.

Fiyero lay beside you, his bare chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, his skin still warm against yours. The candlelight flickered lazily, casting golden shadows over his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, the lazy, satisfied smirk that hadn't left his lips since he had finally collapsed beside you.

He looked pleased with himself.

More than pleased—smug. Like he had won some unspoken game, like he had expected this all along.

You turned your head slightly to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by the way your body still trembled slightly from his touch. He noticed, of course—because of course he did.

His smirk deepened, and he shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow as he lazily trailed a finger down your arm. "Well," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and lingering desire. "That was fun."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though your breath still came slower than you would have liked. "Glad you're enjoying yourself," you muttered.

Fiyero chuckled, and before you could react, he pounced.

In one fluid motion, he rolled over, pinning you beneath him again, his body warm and solid against yours. His grin was wicked now, his blue eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing your ear.

"Oh, I'm more than enjoying myself," he murmured, his voice a low purr. His fingers ghosted over your ribs, making you shudder involuntarily. "And judging by how many times you moaned my name, I'd say you were too."

Your face heated instantly, and Fiyero laughed, his chest vibrating against yours.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his smirk never wavering. "Admit it," he teased, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead. "You loved it."

You huffed, turning your head away in defiance, but the way your lips parted slightly, the way your body still reacted to his touch, betrayed you.

Fiyero grinned.

"That's what I thought."

Fiyero's blue eyes glinted with mischief as he smirked. "You know," he mused, his voice dripping with lazy amusement, "we should definitely do this more often."

You let out a short, incredulous laugh, tilting your head to the side to glare at him. "Oh? Already planning the next time?"

Fiyero grinned, completely unrepentant. "Obviously," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He propped himself up on one elbow, his fingers dragging lightly over your arm in a lazy, teasing pattern. "I mean, I had my suspicions before, but now that I know how good you feel..." He trailed off, biting his lip playfully before continuing, "I'd be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity."

You rolled your eyes, though the way your stomach twisted at his words—at the way he was looking at you—was something you tried very hard to ignore.

"And here I thought I was supposed to be the desperate one," you teased, raising a brow.

Fiyero laughed, full and rich, before leaning in, his breath warm against your cheek. "Oh, make no mistake," he murmured, his fingers trailing down your waist, his touch featherlight but promising. "I am desperate—for you."

The sheer boldness of his words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let him have the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, you smirked, tilting your head as if in mock contemplation.

"Well," you mused, tapping a finger against your chin. "I suppose I could be convinced..."

Fiyero's grin turned wicked as he rolled over you once more, his lips barely brushing against yours.

"Oh, trust me," he whispered, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. "I will convince you."