#Wolf's Head Helmet
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Etruscan Bronze Helmet in the Shape of a Wolf’s Head
6th-5th centuries BCE.
#Etruscan Bronze Helmet in the Shape of a Wolf’s Head#6th-5th centuries BCE#Wolf's Head Helmet#Head of a Boar#bronze#bronze helmet#bronze sculpture#ancient artifacts#archeology#archeolgst#history#history news#ancient history#ancient culture#ancient civilizations#etruscan history#etruscan art
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If you're still taking requests: palette №118 "wild dogs" for Tom and Buddy Boris
the duality of boris the wolf…
tom and buddy boris with #118 - wild dogs
#bendy and the ink machine#batim#bendy and the dark revival#batdr#boris the wolf#tom boris#doodle dump#dialogue dump#palette#if any of the details are wrong no they aren’t. everything is perfect. (i drew the helmet wrong. head in hands…)#smooth brush different style messing around wooo!
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A little fanart with a crossover! Montague from the first chapter of “So Cries The Wolf” fanfic by @clxckwork-sun-n-moon and a crossover drawing with my celestial canines au.
And, happy birthday Clxckwork! <3 Hope you have a good one!
#aaaa#0-g-i draws#So Cries the wolf au#celestial canines au#fnaf sb#fnaf au#it's 6 am!#but wanted to finish this aaaa#Happy birthday!#*throws confetti*#*throws hearts at u*#crossover#that part with Montague wearing the helmet just stuck in my mind and sketched it out#*give Monty head pats*
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hmmm. streamer Young Wolf
#Chat shows up in their helmet#No one knows what's going on#they keep mentioning it. but they never explain#some people are convinced Chat is voices in their head. Wolf does not deny this#this may or may not be related to the Comedy Show Crew
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Just some ideas for an oc of mine, ignore me.
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It's been rattling around my head recently that Discworld is almost anti-whimsy, and I mean that in a good way.
Whimsy, as I define it, is when something magical is put in just to wow the reader. A magic thing that doesn't really effect the story, but its fantastical. Pots cleaning themselves? Moving paintings? A fantastical creature used as set dressing? A spell that does something cool but we'll never hear about it again? What do they mean? Why are they there? Doesn't matter, we're moving on.
But Discworld always applies Logic to these things.
e.g. The old idea of all dwarfs having beards? Ha ha, even the women have beards. How silly.
But that means all dwarfs are men. But there are female dwarfs, right? Are they happy being men? What if you gave one the chance not to be a man? Oh, sure, they'd still have the beard, the helmet, the axe, those are cultural, but what if a dwarf wanted to be a woman? How would other dwarfs react? Would there be biting insults? Snide remarks? Jealousy from other female dwarfs trapped in their society? What if the Low King were a woman? What then?
Pratchett always had this tenacity to follow a whimsical idea until it was ground down in its own grim reality. It's like those old conversations about what would really happen if Superman caught you falling from a high building. You'd smash on his arms because you're still hitting something indestructible at terminal velocity. But the comics would never show that.
Pratchett shows that.
Introduces a werewolf? She has a constant identity crisis and feels like a dog sometimes, between human and wolf, and she's discriminated against in places for being undead. A conman running a bank? Forces everyone to realise how useless gold really is in a scathing indictment of economics. Death becomes Santa? But WHY DOES THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL NEED TO DIE? WHY THE UNFAIRNESS IN THE WORLD? WHY?
What can the harvest hope for, if not the care of the Reaper Man?
It's what sets these stories apart from so many others. Magic is never the solution, reality is usually the solution. And little is introduced without Pratchett delving the idea to its depths, sooner or later.
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Qatar Heat - Grid x Driver! Reader
Plot: Everyone has a hard time at the Qatar GP, most needed medical attention once the race finished, some drivers retired and some continued even though they threw up in their helmets. What happens when the female of the grid, who already struggles with body temperature regulation finishes the race?
Credit to skitskatdacat63 for the GIF
It was Thursday, which was media day in Qatar which meant that right now you were walking round the paddock in shorts and your Aston Martin Team top.
"Lance, hey are you okay?" You ask your team-mate. You'd known him since last year as the reserve driver for Aston Martin, Seb wanted you to take his place after retirement.
"Yeah, its just so hot. And Henry's still making me do training" he complains.
"I know but think we got the ice bath's later!" you grin excited to have the ice bath. After a hot day of training it was like a reward. So you did your ball exercises and you did a track run for the media team. Afterwards you were about to lay down on the track ground but it was blistering when you put your hand to it.
"Tires are gonna get shredded" you complain a little out of breath to Jessie your personal trainer.
"Can we go get water and smoothies now?" You ask and Sid one of the media guys who had followed you around today nods. You guys get out of the sun before running into the garage and collecting as many people's orders from the garage as you can.
You bring everyone back what they wanted on a tray. Sid filmed you the whole time, so he could upload it to the Tik-Tok saying that the new Aston Martin waitress is pretty cool. And another one joking that you can always fall back on waitressing if F1 falls through which you found hilarious.
"Okay, Lance Y/N. Ice bath time!" Mike Krack informs you both. You go into your driver room changing into your bikini that'd you'd brought with you. You pull the Aston Martin polo back over, feeling as though it would be odd to walk out the back of the motorhome in a bikini.
You see the cameras on you and immediately smile. You go up very close to the camera.
"Hi guys, i felt awkward coming out in just my bikini so Aston Martin Representation!" you whisper before stepping back and poking your thumbs at your top to show them what you were talking about, as if it wasn't obvious.
Looking to your left, Lando, Oscar, Alex and Logan were also all doing icebaths out the back of the motorhome too.
"Looking good boys" you shout after wolf whistling in their direction, they all laugh having finished their icebaths coming over to you and Lance.
"Come on" Alex gestures you towards the ice bath. You roll your eyes pulling the top over your head and passing it to Alex, he steps back looking at the other three boys who are shamelessly staring at you.
You were the current youngest on the grid. 21 years old, so Oscar, Logan and Lando all took a liking to you, not only because of the age similarities but because of your sense of humor.
"Ready Lance, you ask your team-mate whose shirt was just pulled off and handed to Mike who was helping the social media team.
"Lets make this interesting. First to fully submerge wins"
"That's not exactly fair your from Canada...okay your on" you shout and before anyone can blink your jumping into the ice bath. Your up to your thighs before you watch as Lance starts to sink down. Not even thinking about the cold you just force your whole body down. You can feel the cold all around your hair as it floats up and you can feel the cold water on your eyelids.
You come back up with a gasped breath before looking over at all of them.
"Who won, it was me right?" you say with your eyes blown wide as Lance emerges.
"Yes, but your fucking crazy" Lando laughs looking at the smile that comes across your face.
"Hahaha Suck that Stroll! I win" you say looking over at him.
"Ohhh you know what we should do" you say looking over at the camera that was still pointed at you.
"We should do a thirst trap of me, so people can edit me on TikTok!" you exclaim and Oscar chokes, while Logan and Land laugh as your started to lean back in the bath, running your hands through you hair.
"Y/N how many times have we talked about this" Your PR manager exclaims trying to stop the admins from filming.
"Oh come on its what they want!" You exclaim.
After that night, you went out for food, a healthy meal of course that Lance payed for as the looser of the bet.
Friday First Practice was good, you'd come in 4th just behind the two Ferrari's and Max.
Qualifying was just as good, you were starting in 4th next to Lewis, with George and Max ahead of you for Sunday's race and that was locked in. It was exhausting, you were boiling but you pushed. Lance was angry with the car performance and got angry at Henry, you were shocked to see and hear what happened when you were still driving and scolded Lance, before nearly fainting from being dizzy.
Again, you did the ice bath dinner and slept.
Now to focus on Saturdays sprint. You did well in the first two sprint shoot outs. But ended up retiring the car in Q3, starting in 9th position.
You were so faint for the whole race. Today, it was hotter than all the other days. Your fireproof felt more clingy to your skin than usual and the water in the car was heating up quicker than it normally did.
At one point during the sprint race the water was so disgusting to drink you actually spat it out in your helmet on reflex.
You finished in 8th gaining 1 point for the team who congratulated you. You stayed in the car as you pulled into the garage for a minute before you stripped of in the garage down to tank top and your underwear. You sat on the cold garage floor, head in your hands as you panted, looking for breath.
A team member brought an orange juice up to you, tapping you on the shoulder to which you shake there hand and thank them for the gesture.
You sip it slowly, not wanting to gag like you had before.
"How you doing sweetheart" Mike comes up to you, everyone in the garage had reported to him, how red and beat up you look coming out the car. You look at him and nod.
"It's always been harder for me" you laugh looking up at him wiping the sweat from your forehead before it falls down into your eye.
"What do you mean?" he asks crouching down so he's at a similar level to you.
"I mean, you've probably never checked my medical papers right. And women struggle with heat more than men anyway but my body doesn't regulate its temperate that well... so I've always struggled with being hot in the car but this is next level" you sigh to him.
"Are you going to be okay to race. We can get Drugovich to fill" Mike says concern filling his face as he can tell your struggling from the speech pattern and labored breathing.
"No i promise I'll be okay and I'll bring us home points" you smile.
I'm going to go congratulate Oscar on his Sprint win. You smile before holding you hand out for help. He helps you up and you trot over to Mclaren pulling the taller male into a hug the minute you see him.
"You did amazingly Ozzie" you grin, still holding onto him.
"Hey! I did well as well" Lando interrupts and you roll you eyes before turning to look at the man baby behind you.
"Yes yes, well done on P3 Lando Norris" you grin pulling him towards you and hugging him. He hugs you back before lifting you and squeezing you making you groan at the harshly shown affection that you were used too.
"How you feeling about tomorrow starting P4?"
"I'm hoping for a podium with my boys" you grin, pulling them both in, one arm round each of them.
"With us starting P6 and P10. I doubt that" Oscar groans, knowing he stuffed up Qualifying the other day, along with his team mate.
"Never say never. Tomorrow's going to be a hard race for everyone"
Sunday was the day that everyone struggled as you'd said.
Max actually ended up crashing out, and after coming back on the track, the car didn't have the pace it had from the start of the weekend.
"Come on Y/N, win in rookie season will look amazing. Keep holding. You've got Oscar behind 2.3 seconds gaining and Lando behind him. 3 laps left" you engineer inform.
"Guys the heat's really getting to me" you voice but its barley recognizable through the radio.
"Not long left, just push until the end" the engineer says but his voice waivers, he could tell you were struggling but unlike Logan who retired early on, lap 40 and with only three laps left there was no point especially when you were this close to a win.
"I - I know" you waiver, you control the car, speeding up trying to get this done as quickly as possible.
Martin Bundle - AND IN HER ROOKIE SEASON Y/N Y/L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2023 QATAR GRAND PRIX
"Guy's I need to get out this car now" you cry, tears forming in your eyes.
"Okay copy that"
"I cant move" you cry, the only thing that was able to move from your body was your hands which were shaking.
"We're sending pit crew to help" your engineer says. You see race marhsalls come up to your car, where Oscar and Land pull up alongside you. They both jump out hugging their team who were stood their waiting for them both. They turn to congratulate you thinking you'd be there next to them with the Aston Martin team but see you still sat in the car.
"Oh my god, she's shaking" Oscar says looking closer at you.
"She's in shock, from the heat" Lando says running over Oscar behind him.
"Y/N hey hey hey. Its okay its okay" Lando says flicking up your visor so he could see you. He honestly could have cried at the sight. He saw you looking so exhausted and out of it, the tears in you eyes and the sweat underneath them mixed.
"Come on baby lets get you out" Oscar voices, pulling Lando back by the shoulder and leaning down into the car, putting his arms under your knees and the other behind your back before lifting and pulling you out the car.
"Can we get a cold towel over here" Lando shouts which makes your head dizzy. Oscar sits you on the car wheel, pulling your helmet off, and then your balaclava. You were extremely red in the face but he still thought you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.
So did Lando, he had for a while, and he would always flirt with you when you were the reserve Aston Martin driver. But he cared for you, and seeing you like this pulled at his heart strings.
"You did so well today darling" he compliments. He pulls back your hair that was sticking to your face, doing it in a low bun so it wasn't tight but was out of your face and off your neck.
Lando unzips your race suit, pulling it down off your shoulders so your in your fireproof top before laying the cooling towel around you neck.
"Just breath" he smiles at you handing you and Oscar an icy bottle of water than was handed to him by his team. They got you to the cool down room where you sat on the floor with your back against the wall and your cheek resting on the cold marble.
"Great race guys. Said I'd have a podium with my... my boys" you smile, before you feel the urge to throw up. You get on your knees grabbing the bin before spilling the food you'd eaten before the race into the bin. Oscar sits next to you rubbing your back.
"Come on lets go get weighed" Lando sighs. Oscar goes first, the you and Lando watches the figure seeing you'd lost a whole 6 kilograms which meant that you'd lost 9 over the whole weekend. He, Oscar and Logan would all have to go out for a big meal to all put the weight back on.
The podium was amazing, first place and sharing a podium with Lando and Oscar had never felt better. It was a shorter podium as they wanted all of you to seek medical attention. You were eventually declared to have heatstroke and were forced on home rest in a nice a/c-ed room and lost of Peach Ice Tea's.
One thing for sure was you never wanted to race in Qatar as this time of the year again.
Taglist:
@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1#formula one#formula one fanfiction#oscar piastri#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri f1#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri fanfic#lando norris imagine#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris#landoscar#logan sargeant#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant x you#lando norris x y/n
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Hello! I was just wondering if you could write some angst!!
I was wondering if you could write a ghost x male reader where reader gets seriously injured to the point where it scares the shit out of ghost and ghost lectures him but ends up crying as he's lecturing the reader? 👀
a/n: hurt/comfort my love
tags: canon typical violence, gore(??ppl get stabbed and someone gets their throat sliced open) no use of y/n, male reader, injured reader, prob occ ghost??? ghost cries, everyone cries. angst, hurt/comfort
ヾthis is a multi-fandom blog that is designed for mlm/nbmlm identifying readers! so if you're female or fem please do not follow or interact with my mlm/nbmlm related post!! you will be blocked if you do not heed this warning ゛
You were a sniper. You weren’t supposed to get too close to the fight. All you had to do was hang back and try to offer support, but by the gods do you never listen.
The situation got tight, Gaz and Soap trapped in a room by enemy fire. Captain Price and Ghost were clearing out another building.
You being the oh so self-sacrificing bastard you are ran to help. You went the back way, so the enemies’ backs would face you, unaware of your approach.
You quickly and efficiently took them out, just as you were trained, but—you missed one. A heavy hitter, a fucking Juggernaut.
He didn’t bother reloading his gun, throwing it to the side before he started swinging. The first few swings caught you off guard, and he got you right in the nose, breaking it. This throws you off balance, which gives him the opportunity to throw you against the concrete wall.
You rolled to the side before he could kick your ribs in, quickly standing up on your feet, slightly dazed. You pull out your knife, the one you were gifted to Simon, as using a gun in close combat would be useless.
You circled each other, waiting for the other to strike first. Vaguely out of the corner of your eye, you can see Soap carry Gaz out of the building. You feel a slight relief that now they’re safe.
Your way of winning this fight was to take it nice and slow, bait him into moving so he wears out easier due to all that heavy gear.
You move forward like you’re going to swing, which causes him to charge forward. You sidestep. His armor barley grazes yours.
“Oh? Is That all you got?” You mock, tapping your foot like an impatient child. You’ve played this game before.
He huffed like a big bad wolf, “I’ll fucking kill you,” He growls out.
Charing at you again, he actually gets you. He grabs onto the side of your armor and pulls you on him, securing his arms around your body before throwing you onto the ground with him.
You can feel something crack as your head fits the floor, that doesn’t stop you from squirming and wriggling in his grasp. You use your knife, plunging it into the nearest flesh you can find.
It didn’t go far, but it did make him shout in pain. For just a moment, his grip loosens, you throw yourself out of his hold, trying to dash away to create distance.
He recovered quickly, grabbing onto your ankle. He forced you to trip. Landing face first, you couldn’t stop him from dragging you back to him. He gets on top of you, pinning your arms down with his knees as he starts punching you again.
You black out, head and mouth bleeding. The man cackles, throwing you up against the wall with a cackle. He holds you up, forearm pressed against your through as your feet dangle helplessly in the air.
Your eyes shoot open at your sudden lack of air, you kick at him weakly. Shaking hands, reach for your knife, ripping it out of his thigh. You can’t use it before he rips the blade out of your head and stabs your stomach multiple times.
High off of adrenaline, you grab a smaller knife from your shoulder strap, one that was covered in a fast acting poison to render your opponents immobile. You did the knife under his helmet; the knife meeting his now exposed throat and you slice.
The man immediately drops you, leaving the knife in your stomach as he stumbles back, holding his neck. He slides down against the wall as his body gives up on him.
You raise a shaky hand to your walkie, “Captain-L.T. I need a medic asap. I can’t stay awake for much longer.” You can feel your eyelids get heavy.
“Stay awake, soldier. I’m on my way.” Simon’s gruff voice was the last thing you heard before your eyes seemed to shut for what may be the last time.
You float in and out of consciousness, eyes cracking over just barley as you feel familiar arms pick you up and run to the evac. On the helicopter, his gloved hands holding your face with such gentleness.
The last thing you remembered was being jabbed with one too many needles before passing out completely.
You felt like shit. Your head was pounding, and the rest of your body felt like it was on fire. You crack your eyes open, wincing at the blinding lights of the medical ward.
Your eyes scan the room. There isn’t anyone here. Aside from whoever is sleeping next to you. You turn your head slightly, recognizing the familiar build of the love of your life, Simon.
“Simon.” You try, voice dry and horse.
His head automatically shoots up at the call of his name. His eyes lock with yours. You can see the internal strife within them debating over what he wants to say.
“You’re an idiot.” The insult doesn’t make you wince, as it’s true.
“I know—.”
“No, I don’t think you do. You rush in blind, without a care in the world. You could’ve been killed, and you nearly were.” Simon takes your hand in his.
“I was only trying to help Si... I couldn’t do shit from the bird’s nest.” You interlock your fingers and squeeze his hand.
“What help are you if you ended up dead?” His shoulders drop. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you did.”
You can feel tears prick at the corner of your eyes, “Simon... let me see you.” You nudged the edge of the mask with your free hand.
Simon slips off the mask, his eyes are bloodshot-a result of hours of crying. You cup his face with a shaky hand. “But I am here now, that is what matters, yeah?”
He leans into your palm, tears streaming down his cheeks. You sigh, pulling him towards you. Pressing your forehead against yours, he sighs against you.
“I’ll make sure to be safer next time, okay?”
“Okay.”
#simon riley x male reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley#ghost x reader#ghost x male reader#ghost#ghost cod#mw x reader#cod x reader#cod angst#cod x male reader#cod x you#male reader#x male reader
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• chapter 1 • ñuha dāria • my queen •
Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader
Summary: Daemon is about to meet his match...
Warnings (and some ramblings): physical description vaguely (?) described and implied by relation, not gonna spoil the plot but there's gonna be targcest (come on, it's Daemon), other canon stuff (violence, death/murder, sex, misogyny, calling children bastards), Daemon is about 21 (according to canon, you'll see what I mean), reader is younger by at least two years; twisting up canon: Alyssa died within the year of Daemon's birth, Queen Alysanne is still alive and the Daemon-Rhea wedding has not happened yet, the fight is basically the Geralt vs Renfri fight (if you want visuals bc I suck at describing it 😅), bit of insta love, enemies to lovers (sort of), it's mostly from Daemon's POV, not proofread at all
Series masterlist • next chapter
• 102 AC • Winterfell •
Daemon was warned to behave before most of the House of the Dragon parted from King's Landing but he was called the Rouge Prince for a reason.
The tourney was held on the second day of their stay and he had not shown himself in public until then, content to spend his first day in the North reading under the heart tree.
Daemon always loved dramatic entrances, always seeking attention that he seemingly only gets when he is misbehaving. So he was ready to wreak havoc during the event that was supposed to be a friendly match between the great houses.
As a prince, he got to choose his first opponent, and who else would it be than a Hightower. He spared a smirk to that cunt of a Hand before he marched ahead to win with brutal precision, sending his opponent's horse and the knight himself to the ground.
The horrified gasps and then the loud cheering from the crowd only made his smirk wider. Daemon looked over the high seats from where the Targaryens, Velaryons and Starks watched the show. He immediately noted three empty seats, two besides Lord Stark - no doubt one of them was his brother's or cousin's whose helmeted figure Daemon had seen in the line of knights - and one by the King.
Since his grandmother, the Queen, was not present due to her illness, the only one who was sending him scolding glares was his brother, Viserys. The old king just sighed at the scene, while Corlys and Rhaenys sat there, amused, like parents watching a naughty child.
The next challenges were won just as easily as the first, although none of them was even remotely close to that savage end the Hightower boy had to suffer.
While the Prince usually didn't bother to watch the others, this time that Stark was drawing attention with his effortless wins. Prompting the people to make guesses and bets if a wolf could win against a dragon. Well, they were about to find out.
The first round shattered his opponent's shield but, to his astonishment, he stayed upright in the saddle. Daemon was smirking as usual but this time a tiny bit of admiration made his eyes glint in a softer light.
He could tell the little wolf would go down in the next round but he didn't expect to be taken with him too. The dragon prince's blood was singing at meeting a worthy opponent who was just as determined to win, no matter the cost.
The boy must have known he had no chance to stay on the horse, so instead of attacking Daemon as would be proper and expected, he somehow hooked his spear under his arm, yanking him back with the force of his own fall.
Both of you heavily landed on the ground, the impact crushing the air from your lungs and making it unable to move for a long moment. The spectating people were holding their breath, waiting to see if you were, well, alive or not.
The cheering was deafening as you got to your feet and proceeded to fight with swords.
Without wasting another second, you marched forward. Stabbing in his direction, aiming for his head and swinging at his neck with the same momentum once your initial blow missed its target.
The prince leaned away from each attack and his sword met yours at the third strike. He let you lead the fight for a few more clashes but he paused to assess you as he blocked a blow that meant to hit his legs.
Daemon straightened and stepped back, pushing your sword away with his and striking down with a high swing of Dark Sister. Your sword met his again, protesting under the finer steel.
To spare your weapon the worst of the hit, you focused on meeting the side of the blade while avoiding the edge and rolling the swords, trying to dislodge the weapon from his grip.
To unsuccessful stabbing attempts later you made a move at his head again. He ducked down, then didn't hesitate to use the opportunity of the few seconds you left yourself open.
You didn't expect a hit by his other hand and certainly not the following kick that sent you to the ground. Unfortunately, this resulted in losing your helmet.
Daemon paused at the sight.
It was no brother or cousin of their host, not even a boy as he suspected from the lighter build of the armour but a girl with the features of a Stark, the infamous wild beauty of the North, Lord Stark's niece by his late sister.
For the second time during this event, a unanimous scandalized gasp was heard from the crowd right before loud the protests of his brother and your uncle reached the two of you as they forbade you to continue the fight.
At that, your still bewildered expression turned into something Daemon was extremely familiar with. Blinding, all-consuming, untamed rage at being denied.
The Targaryen prince grinned wickedly at you but before you could turn your anger on him, he tore off his helmet, throwing it away and subtly nodding at you, giving you the approval to attack him and continue the fight. The answering spark in your eyes before you charged at him made his heart skip a beat.
It was similar to how you started the first time. He let you advance, then half-heartedly attacked back, ending the session with another backhanded slap before he pushed you backwards until your back met the edge of the fighting arena.
"You are holding back." You practically spat the accusation at him through gritted teeth while holding your sword to block his. Although with the way he took hold of your hand, making sure that your blade did not cut into your throat proved that you might as well let go altogether and would still be safe from any harm.
The world around you seized to exist as the prince pressed a little closer. Answering with an infuriatingly smug grin. "It would be unforgivable to hurt a little lady like you."
"You just hit me," you scoffed.
"You'll live."
"If you won't start fighting properly, you will not." The menacingly low threat made chills run down his spine, eliciting a low chuckle out of him that was definitely a mistake.
Then 'the little lady' pulled a knife on him.
Daemon grunted at the pain of being stabbed in his side. He looked at you with disbelief, the blade went through his armour like it wasn't even there. Valyrian steel.
It was enough distraction. You pushed him away, attacking with the dagger and the sword simultaneously and if you were a little less aggravated, you'd be impressed with the way he blocked your attacks with not just his sword but bare hand fight combined before he started to use his sword more like a shield.
Swords crossed, you paused.
Daemon could have swiped your legs, and you could have stabbed him with the dagger again but you were too busy trying to make it a show that you could overpower him and he was just too pissed to let you go easy.
In a blink of an eye, you were kneeling on the ground with your opponent's blade digging into your shoulder. Although he was careful not to cut too deep, he was not above the pettiness of giving you a scar in return for his.
A half groan, half gasp sound was the only indication of your pain and Daemon felt a moment of regret before he was consumed by flames from deep within that seemed to be seeded in the pull he felt towards you from the moment he laid his eyes on you. He found your rage and your inner fire, which was clearly visible in your determination and anger at the present, mesmerisingly beautiful.
He became distracted again. It was enough for you to be able to move and swipe at his leg, cutting him with the dagger before you stood and faced him with a challenging stance.
A few seconds of silent discussion followed, with him letting you know he will give you what you wished for if you continue, warning you that he will not hold back anymore.
You grinned, attacking him, again using both weapons, with some moves applying them like a single extended weapon.
Then he put you in a difficult position. Stopping the dagger by grabbing it, he was forcing you to stay still not by strength but by thrusting you that you would not want to permanently damage him.
If you pulled away now, he would lose at least a few fingers if not his hand altogether. Both of you gritted your teeth, mostly in pain but it showed more like anger, which made it seem like you were practically snarling at the other.
With barely clutching the handles, you pry his hand off enough to only graze him. And it leaves you vulnerable.
You almost lost your weapons when he immediately attempted to disarm you. Then he truly advanced, forcing you to defend yourself and back away. He was relentlessly stabbing and swinging with Dark Sister in your direction.
Then it was over, he took your sword. Holding you at the end of his blade, telling you to yield.
It was only then that you heard the crowd again. Cheering at the incredibly fast and hard-to-follow battle they just witnessed.
Despite the loud audience, Daemon still heard as you sighed with annoyance, keeping eye contact with him as you threw your dagger to the ground, refusing to do more or say the words.
He smiled, this time with pure amusement only. He stepped away, letting you breathe freely and to his further entertainment dropped to the ground to sit and rest or pout like a child. It was hard to guess and that made him enjoy the scene even more.
You were so busy with pealing away the suffocating armour where you could reach and the impending scolding that you knew was coming the moment you tied up your cousin and took his place, that you didn't pay attention when the prince received the flower crown or what he was planning to do with it.
Feeling the crown of winter roses placed on your head, you look up, wide eyes meeting with the Rogue Prince's mischievous gaze as he offers his hand and helps you stand. Without letting go, he bends a little, kissing the back of your hand as he murmurs, "My queen."
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#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x reader#prince daemon#prince daemon x reader#house of the dragon#daemon targaryen x you#daemon x reader#daemon x you#stark!reader
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She Has Your Eyes Pt. 1 (Daemon x Reader)
Alright man, this was entirely too long to put in one part, this is only part one and it’s 3k words long so let’s see how this part goes and we figure out the rest
The north has always been quite different when it came to their traditions, there was no exceptions or favouritism when it came to their children, especially when the children where Starks, to be born in the house of the dire wolf it meant you would be as strong as your sigil, daughter or a son it had no meaning
The tourney in the north was held in her honour for her 15th nameday, every house send a representative to take part in the duel, how could they know? It was not often that they had the chance to hold a stick against a Stark lady.
When Daemon got up on his horse to fight against her he had made the mistake of underestimating her, foolishly assuming that he should go soft on lady (y/n), to say he was surprised when he got knocked off quite violently was an understatement, he could still remember (y/n) taking off her helmet and her dark raven hair falling out, her strong features and tall build was compelling.
“Such a shame, I expected better from a dragon”
Her chuckle as she toyed with his reputation was a thing that would usually make his blood boil, however he laid there dumbfounded, “what a woman” he had thought as she trotted around on her stallion, the armour shined under the sunlight and Daemon had finally found his worthy opponent.
“You did well lady (y/n)”
“Well? I could have easily slashed your head off your shoulders”
“I am very thankful you refrained from such act”
“It’s a pretty head”
“To be on my shoulders or served to you in a silver platter?”
“I have yet to decide”
“I know the hour is late, although it just came to me that we have yet to present you with a gift”
“I do love gifts”
“Follow me my lady”
When (y/n) was met with Caraxes a audible gasp escaped her as she came to a halt at the Dragon being a few feet away from her. Daemon only took her hand in his to guide her closer to his dragon, Caraxes remained calm until (y/n) came close enough to sniff her, (y/n) felt her blood freeze out of fear something that did not happen often, as Caraxes appeared to accept the princess since he did not try to eat her.
“How did you know your dragon would not try to kill me?”
“I did not”
“You fucker”
The experience of riding a dragon was euphoric, the sense of freedom it brought while (y/n)s entire body shook from joy and a small dosage of fear was intriguing to Daemon, feeling her nails dig into him as she held for dear life was a scene for sore eyes, Daemon had never experience such emotions for a woman prior this.
Alas as the small folk say “all good things come to an end” and Daemon had to depart from the North, memories are such a funny thing, he could swear it was yesterday that he gave (y/n) a sweet deep kiss and got on his dragon, heading back to kings landing his stomach was turning as the red keep got bigger and bigger, when Caraxes landed Daemon wanted to throw up, he brushed it off as anxiety now he would say it was his body trying to warn him, an instinct some would say.
King Jahaerys was a king of justice, (y/n) leaned on that trait to ease her nerves at the suggestion of her being betrothed to Daemon. However Jahaerys was also a calculated man, the north was a strong force but they were never a problem, so a marriage alliance was not needed, runestone though needed a match, a union to ease the bad blood.
“Why would they say no? I am an eligible match”
“You are the perfect match my love, I guess we were… late”
“So, this is goodbye”
“I am afraid… it is”
(Y/n) could not find the strength to walk away, neither could Daemon and there they stood gawking at one another, it was (y/n)s eyes which were filled with tears that caused a reaction out of Daemon to pull her in his arms, to caress her hair as her body trembled from the sobs.
“Do not mourn me my love, I will always be with you”
Daemon had no idea of how his words would take form in a love child, (y/n) was locked up in her room for the entirety of her pregnancy and her mother was the one that tended to her instead of servants. People talk, the family could not risk the rumour of a Targaryen bastard that belonged to a married prince it would tarnish (y/n)s reputation and even be the sole cause of a war, they kept her safe until they could figure out what should they do next.
Ayleen came into the world during a snow storm, (y/n) was in labour for a full day until the babes wail was finally booming through the room, (y/n) was so exhausted that she could not even hold the small babe, her mother had to assist her so (y/n) could take a good look of her first born.
“She looks like him”
She had whispered with tears falling like a stream on her flustered cheeks, choking on sobs that no one could identify if they were from joy, relief, pain or sadness, (y/n) herself was not aware as of why was she crying in her mothers arms, cursing herself for allowing her heart to lead her and her womb for creating such a perfect thing that would not know what the true meaning of a family is.
Daemon was at the other end of Westeros, so far from his princess, still that cursed night he could not get a wink of sleep, tossing and turning in his bed tormented by images of the Stark lover calling for him while in pure agony, they had been bind for life and now he was absent at the birth of their first born, but he could feel every lick of pain, every grunt and push like he was there.
It was the only time Daemon got on one knee to pray, asking for the old gods and the new to save his lover from all harm, to shield her and spare her, even offering his own life instead of hers.
Daemon was a ghost of himself, he had left all life and warmth in the north, (y/n) was all he could think about, what was she doing? Was she dreaming of the way they laid together? Has she found a husband? Was she happy? A man that was known for his unquestionable lust for women and their presence to warm his bed was now feeling sick at the mere suggestion of bedding another woman.
The one time that he tried to get Rhea to bed to at least consummate their marriage after downing all the wine he could find Daemon flinched at Rheas touch, harshly pushing her to wobble out of her room, falling on his knee in his room and repeatedly apologising to his true love.
The morrow of that day he rode his dragon to go North, nothing was worth such agony, he must go to her or else he would die, the closer he got the colour in his face appeared, it resembled a spell he was under that would only be resolved if he was with her.
“Where is (y/n)?”
“Not here”
“You are lying, why are you keeping her from me?”
“Prince Daemon”
“Fuck off with all of that, I want to see her”
“Daemon?”
Her voice barely above a whisper from behind him took him out of his trance. Once he turned to finally see her his jaw hit the floor, she was holding a child, a tiny creature wrapped up with blankets, Daemon was confused and slightly hurt, has she already moved on? Whom was it that impregnated her? She found the gall to bed another man?
“This is Ayleen, Ayleen this is your father”
“Father? Is she”
“Yours, ours”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You are married, I did not want to cause trouble in your”
“Unconsummated marriage”
(Y/n) was left speechless, she had found peace with the idea that she would never be around him again, she had their child, a part of him and a token of their love, she had mastered the strength to love the babe enough for the both of them.
Daemon approached her by dragging his feet, the second he could fully eyeball his daughter it was the moment he felt his heart beat so hard he thought it would come out his throat, she was so fragile, barely the size of his entire arm.
“May I hold her?”
(Y/n) let out a laugh at the question, slowly and with careful movements for the first time Daemon held his daughter, “Ayleen, my love child” he kept repeating in his brain.
“She is… I would kill for her”
“Let us hope we do not have to go to that”
“I missed it, I was not here, I could not… help you”
“I do not hold grudges Daemon, you couldn’t have possibly known”
“I failed you”
“You gave me a daughter”
“No I did not, you did it, you blessed me with the most amazing gift”
They both yearned for one another, like two moths attracted to the flame, unfortunately everyone knows how that story ends, howbeit for that moment, those very few days Daemon spend in the north with his love and daughter he had been ecstatic, to wake up next to her or see her put the babe to sleep while sitting in her rocking chair, softly signing a lullaby, every waking moment was his new found treasure.
“Give her this, it was my mothers and my grandmothers before that”
(Y/n) placed a necklace on Daemons open palm, she could barely hold herself up from the despair of being separated by her firstborn, “it would be better this way” (y/n)s mother attempted to soothe the girl that cried at the decision of Daemon taking their daughter to kings landing, deep inside she could understand the reason behind it, even that how could a mother not be in shambles over this? It simulates the pain of her heart being ripped straight out of her.
Daemon kept his daughter close to his chest as he walked in proudly to the throne room interrupting another “important” event, he couldn’t care less for what was occurring, the presence of his daughter was far more important. Viserys was stunned, to see your own brother strut in after so long with a child was shocking.
“I would like to present to the court, my first born daughter,princess Ayleen Targaryen, first of her name”
“Gods be good, the princess of runestone”
“No, princess Ayleen was not conceived in the Vale”
“If she is not from your wife… then”
“She is my daughter, a Targaryen, that is all that matters”
-
“My dearest love,
I hope this letters finds you and our daughter well, I have missed you dearly, the memory of the sound of your breathing while you laid next to me has been my lullaby as a drift off to slumber ever since you left the North.
You must find the strength to forgive me for not writing to you sooner, I pray you understand it has not been easy for me to adjust with you and our sweetling being away from me
I come with the best news, the Gods have blessed us with a son, a healthy little boy named Saemor, he was born 3 moons ago, I did not inform you due to how difficult this pregnancy has been, we feared he would not make it out alive.
Me and Saemor will be waiting for your arrival, come to me my love and bring our daughter with you, let us be a family even if we both know it won’t last long
Yours truly,
(Y/n)”
Daemon took this as his way out, to finally be free of the bronze Bitch and be with his true love, the mother of his now two children. When Daemon announced his departure so he could summon his second born Viserys was livid, a state that Viserys rarely took.
“Another bastard! You have stained our name forever”
“They are my rightful heirs”
“They are bastards, from an unknown woman whom you have repeatedly denied of mentioning, a low life whore you yourself are too embarrassed to reveal”
That was the last thing Daemon needed to hear, his lover had gone through one of the most painful experiences alone, frightened as her life was in danger, she survived and came out of it victorious, the scene of her holding their frail son burned his mind enough to send him over the edge.
Daemon pulled out his sword and attacked his on brother, the steel of black sister shined under the light as Daemon let it rest on Viserys neck, the king was certain he was about to be killed while Daemons eyes were demonic.
“She is my love, my beautiful wife that owns my heart, I should take your head for merely suggesting she is of low rank, I was cursed to marry a woman I despised while you were free to take the woman you loved”
“You are a mad man”
“Mayhaps, but one important rule is to never tell a mad man that they have gone mad”
Daemon was a man that had committed plenty of crimes, to kill your own brother, your blood, no that was beneath him. He pulled away his sword and just walked away, he was sure that Viserys would banish him, send him and his daughter away, Gods know what that cunt of a man Otto had whispered in his brothers ear, poisoning their bond forever.
None of it mattered any more, all he did was take his daughter up in the sky while she held on her dragon egg tightly and fleeted to his love, his Stark lady for refugee.
(Y/n) had seen Caraxes fly above her home, at once she was up on her feet and ran outside to greet him, she had not changed one bit, she was as ravishing as he remembered her to be, his soulmate wrapped her arms around him before he could even firmly land on his feet. Her embrace was all he needed to finally be able to breathe again, relief washing over him, she was alive and well, that itself meant that he could be happy.
“Ayleen, oh my precious little wolf”
“She said her first word”
“Did she? What was it?”
“Mama”
(Y/n) gasped at the word, her daughter called for her and she was not there. (Y/n) balanced her daughter in her hip as she plastered kisses wherever she could find skin, she was finally whole again, with both of her children and her Daemon United, like a true family, to gaze into (y/n)s eyes was a dream itself, though to be able to view the scene of her holding their daughter was the biggest achievement of them all
“She has your eyes”
“She has your hair, a true Targaryen princess”
“I would much rather is she had inherited your hair, to have a little stark running around the castle and cause trouble”
“Come, you must see him”
As time went on Daemon and (y/n) were in their own little world that tasted like berries and cream, Daemon would take his family up in the sky even the small babe that would nestle in his fathers arms had grown accustomed to flying, the only way they could make him sleep was to take him up to Caraxes and fly in circles.
(Y/n) would sleep holding on to Daemon like he would slip out of her fingers during the night, as the cold of the North brought them closer clinging on to the heat of each others bodies and layers of covers protected them the shimmer of the fire made her look even more beautiful, Daemon would often stay awake just a little while longer so he can gawk at her, stroking her dark hair and whispering all types of things to her.
(Y/n)s head rested on his chest she found it comforting to listen his heartbeat, it was the only way she felt like their moments were real and they weren’t just figments of her imagination.
“He will be a menacing knight”
“What if he wants to be a poet?”
“Then he will be a menacing poet”
“No, our boy will be gentle and kind, like his father”
“Have you gone rogue? Or are you hiding something from me?”
“You are the most gentle person, you think I don’t notice how you tuck our boy in his bed? You are my sweet dragon”
(Y/n) whispered in Daemons ear before he kissed her bare shoulder, Daemon and (y/n) could not get enough of each other, the tension between them compelled them to crave the other ones touch, holding hands as they experienced the road of pleasure, neither of them knew when they would have to separate again so they started clinging to the present moment for dear life.
“Don’t start rumours about my gentleness I have a reputation to uphold”
“What that you are the scary ruthless rogue prince? You have never been that, you are loving, caring, protective-“
“And hungry for my lover”
Combined by a yelp coming from (y/n) before she could even defend herself her back was on the bed with daemon laying on top of her, a soft grin decorated her lips while she gently tucked behind his ear a loose strand of his silver locks.
“I really missed you”
“I missed you too my sweet”
Daemon had grown accustomed to living in the North, just being able to bask in her aura was enough for him to be content with his new way of life. That would be his first mistake, life has tricky ways to sneak in to your dream and remind you who is really in control, Daemon had to once again ride his dragon away from his beloved family, war had ensued and he was called for aid in the Stepstones, he could deny it, he should deny it.
Requests are open!
#daemon targeryen x reader#daemon x oc#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen fic#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon au#daemon targaryen headcanon#daemon targaryen x you#daemon x you#daemon targaryen x reader#hotd fanfic#hotd#hotd fic#hotd imagine#hotd x reader#house of the dragon#house of the dragon imagine#house of the dragon x reader
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etruscan era boar/wolf's head helm (?) c.6th-5th century BC//wolf jawsome costume hate c.21st century AD
...Although this object has been described previously as a helmet, perhaps used as part of a ritual, the interpretation of the object as a helmet depends greatly on the modern reconstruction (3). The closest comparanda for the upper part of the head are boar-head protomes on Etruscan chariots, which consist of the top section of boar heads, including the snout, eyes, ears, and sometimes crests, but not the lower jaws (4). These protomes covered the draft poles of chariots at the juncture of the pole and the main body of the chariot. It is possible that the eyes, top of the snout, and parts of the upper dome are ancient pieces from an Etruscan chariot, while other sections, such as the teeth, tongue, and nose piece, were added later to create a more cohesive piece...
Transform yourself into the wolf that has had a bad rap in all the stories with this Jawesome Wolf Hat. This cap has a soft-sculpted wolf head surrounding its normal structure. It is lined for comfort and has hook and loop fasteners to keep the head in shape. (You'll even find a secret pocket so you don't need to depend on pants to keep your cards in place!)
#this is the only way i will be presenting ancient artifacts from now on#also PLEASE read the harvard art museum article i linked. it's so interesting#tagamemnon#art history#queueusque tandem abutere catilina patientia nostra
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Photo
2024 January 9
Thor's Helmet
Image Credit & Copyright: Ritesh Biswas
Explanation: Thor not only has his own day (Thursday), but a helmet in the heavens. Popularly called Thor's Helmet, NGC 2359 is a hat-shaped cosmic cloud with wing-like appendages. Heroically sized even for a Norse god, Thor's Helmet is about 30 light-years across. In fact, the cosmic head-covering is more like an interstellar bubble, blown with a fast wind from the bright, massive star near the bubble's center. Known as a Wolf-Rayet star, the central star is an extremely hot giant thought to be in a brief, pre-supernova stage of evolution. NGC 2359 is located about 15,000 light-years away toward the constellation of the Great Overdog. This remarkably sharp image is a mixed cocktail of data from narrowband filters, capturing not only natural looking stars but details of the nebula's filamentary structures. The star in the center of Thor's Helmet is expected to explode in a spectacular supernova sometime within the next few thousand years.
∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap240109.html
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shining armor.
rating: explicit. 18+ only.
length: 17,649
content: Ser Criston Cole x f!Stark!reader, reader is a Stark, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, yearning, mentions of animal hunting/death, smut [f receiving oral, unprotected p in v]
Criston Cole is faced with the reality of a life falling for a lone wolf.
Early Winter, 112 A.C., The Crownlands
Due to the warm nature of the southern part of the kingdom of Westeros, it was not a hindrance to hunting parties when the winter months rolled around, the weather staying pleasant enough to set out on exhibitions. It was just after the turn of the new year, and a colder-than-normal winter in the Crownlands offered a unique opportunity for the crown on the youngest of King Viserys I’s youngest son’s name day. As could only be expected of the occasion, houses from across the kingdoms sent forward representatives to partake in the hunt, keen on gaining favor with the crown.
Very few of those present had any real interest in the hunt itself, the only trophies the group holding valuable thrones, crowns and castles.
A day into the festivities after the sun had set behind the trees the sounds of heavy hooves could be heard over the rain through the coverings of tents, signifying the unexpected arrival of two additional guests. Emerging from the tents the king and his company came to face a flag they had long-since seen: the banner of House Stark. Carried by two large black horses, built as such to endure the winters in their native lands, the strangers who wore sturdy armor and various furs emerged from the fog to approach the king.
“Bennard Stark, son of Lord Benjen Stark and Lady Lysa Locke, accompanied by Ser Grandin Rane, your grace,” the knight on the left spoke, removing his helmet as he spoke. Ser Grandin was an intense man, every bit of what a northerner was expected to look like with long, dark hair and beard, pale from the longer, harsher winters. “You’ll have to excuse Lord Bennard. He has suffered an injury on our long journey to you and finds himself unable to speak, and the current state of his face…well, sadly, it would upset the sensitive among us. We apologize for our late arrival, without the injury we’d have been here on time.”
The King analyzed the image before him in full, at a loss for words at the implications an event like this meant after years of House Stark remaining passive toward the crown. The youngest son of Lord Stark held tall mounted atop the horse, small for a boy from the North, which the king passed off as a probable result of age. To the right of the Lord now stood a massive black animal with fierce reflective golden eyes, the symbol of the house itself – a direwolf. Rumors that the house currently had four of the animals in their possession had been shrugged off as simply that, but taking in the animal before him was a wonder – the king had never spent much time in the colder areas.
A glance at Otto Hightower, his still-trusted Hand at the time, confirmed the many thoughts racing through his own head were likely shared by everyone present, and yet no one could bring themselves to voice any of them without a private conversation. The knight, noticing the apprehension on the faces before him, jumped from his horse to slide to a knee.
“As a sign of good faith between the house and the crown,” he bowed his head, which was mirrored by the young lord who remained atop his horse in favor of staying out of the mud. King Viserys nodded and motioned for the knight to rise before gesturing at the large animal. “As much as I am sworn to protect the House Stark, that animal is as well. It will listen to the lord, you needn’t be fearful of it.”
“I am…truly overjoyed to see this day between our houses, Lord Bennard. Many thanks to you, Ser Rane, for escorting the young lord this long way. Please send my regards to the Lord Stark upon your return,” King Viserys spoke, his words careful and as calculated as something on the spot like this could be. “I am afraid we were quite unsuccessful in our hunt this first day, and while we can certainly feed the two of you after this long journey, we do not have the excess to feed such an animal.”
The knight from the north couldn’t prevent the small chuckle that fell from his lips, shaking his head in response as the young Stark made a gesture with a gloved hand, the large wolf immediately bounding off into the forest. The knight’s tone was amused, and yet still respectful to maintain the good spirit of the conversation. “The wolf can feed himself. He will hunt far enough to not affect our excursion, and he will return in the morning to protect the camp as the party sets out. He is of benefit to stay, and the lord will vouch for him. They are as much connected as your grace to dragons.”
The comparison landed and soon the newcomers were welcomed in, put aside in a spare dry area to settle in for the night before the morning, and sent to beds with plates of bread, fruits, and cheeses that remained from the earlier feast. The remainder of the camp had fallen to sleep as the two had changed into warm clothes, hold for those on watch. The night was loud with the rain yet everyone found peace enough to sleep through the night.
The next day’s events wrought similar results to the first day – while the party had a long day in the forest searching for a worthy beast to kill in honor of the young prince, they returned to the camp as the sun began to set with nothing more than a few wild turkeys. With better weather and worse moods than the night before the party found themselves drunker on this second night, seeking anything to soothe their wounded egos. It was well into the dark night when Ser Criston Cole observed the silhouette of a rider on horseback disappearing into the trees, a large wolf following closely behind. With permission to relieve himself of his duties since the king and his family remained in good company, he gave into the curiosity and pull to follow.
His own horse was large but lean, and moved silently through the woods after the scarce prints that littered the remaining mud from the rain the day before until he could see the figures once again, now waiting beside a riverbed. Stilling his horse far enough back to seem only as another animal in the woods moving about, the Dornish knight observed as the Stark child removed his helmet. He was met with you instead.
It had long been a favorite game of yours, to don the clothes of your brothers and come up with an absurd plot with the aid of your sworn knight to do the activities you desired. While initially the schemes only resulted in small adventures in your home, it had since elevated into hunting trips, tours of Castle Black and the Wall, small sailing excursions in the cold waters, and even the occasional wedding. This was your largest and most irresponsible scheme yet, and the fact was thrilling.
When you removed your helmet for the first time since the early hours of the morning to feel the fresh air against your face, Criston found himself in complete bewilderment as he watched hair come toppling down out of the helmet. The unmistakably feminine features illuminated in the pale moonlight that managed to force its way through the thick trees caused a tightness in his chest, and a confusion in his mind. The sight before him was no son of Benjen Stark.
It was an impressive sight set before the knight as he quietly followed you through the Crownlands that night – hours spent silently watching as you slid from your horse to observe tracks around you, silently communicating with the wolf beside you who was quick to bound off into the trees at your command. Eventually, Criston watched on as you took down a large moose with an arrow from horseback, smiling a confident and beautiful smile in celebration to yourself. When the wolf returned he held a rabbit in its jaws, which he was instructed to eat.
He decided then to return to the camp, aware that he had already pushed his luck following you for so long and abandoning his sworn duties to follow a woman through the woods. Fortunately, he still made it back long before a majority of the camp had risen, and so he’d sat by the fire enjoying the last remaining hours of darkness running through what he’d witnessed that night.
You were a skilled hunter – not just in the sense that you managed to be lethal with a bow, a silent killer, but you were also a capable tracker. Despite communication with your canine companion, he swore he didn’t recall a single sound out of you within the hours that had passed. The more he thought on that fact, the more he wished to know the sound of your voice. The more he wished to hear you speak, the more he found his thoughts lingering on the pieces of the real you he’d gotten to see.
You were beautiful, with wild hair that you had attempted to tame into a braided hairstyle, though throughout the night it became more and more disheveled and he found himself, often, wanting to run his fingers through it. You’d taken the gauntlets off of your hands and forearms in order to properly wield your bow, showcasing soft hands that would undoubtedly feel like bliss against his skin. His thoughts focused most on a pair lips that begged to be kissed. Suffice to say, his mind suffered more consequences from his excursion than could have been anticipated.
After some time others began to emerge from tents, already dressed for the day in armor to begin a third day of hunting. Though he knew a successful kill was on its way back to the camp, he kept the information to himself – including the information of who was truly beneath the youngest Stark child’s helmet; the middle child, a daughter.
When the sun began to rise and warm the camp for the day is when you made your grand re-entry, leading your horse on foot as he dragged the massive kill you’d made back to camp, your brother’s helmet once again on your head and his identity assumed. Your wolf, the animal you could vouch for better than most people, trailed behind you with a happy step this morning, fully satiated from his time in the woods. He stopped next to the tent that belonged to you where it was noticed that he also carried several turkeys on his back. It was here that Ser Grandin joined you once again.
It was obvious from body language that you were being scolded by your sworn protector and Criston had to sympathize with the man, though he wondered if you held a mischievous smile at the chastising. Soon enough you had halted in front of the awaiting King Viserys, dropping to your knees slowly and gesturing behind yourself at the animal dragged by your horse.
“Lord Bennard would like to present his prize to the one true king in a show of good faith between House Stark and the crown,” Ser Grandin spoke clearly for you, and Criston had to wonder how often he fell into these schemes with you. In a way, it was admirable that he was so committed to his vow to you that he partook in these games, clearly, to ensure there were no slip-ups and your safety was secure. Admirable of your obvious insistence to live life your way, he still had to admit a scolding was technically deserved – putting yourself in danger by going out alone, wolf or not, was irresponsible.
“Rise, my boy,” the king spoke after momentary contemplation, walking forward to put a hand against the cheek of the helmet. “The camp is indebted to you for this. You handled this feat alone?”
“Himself and the wolf, your grace,” the knight responded, coming forward to stand beside you. “The young lord often finds himself in the woods late at night hunting, much to my behest. Nevertheless…he is a successful hunter, to be certain.”
You must have felt touched by his pride toward you as Criston noticed your head turn for you to glance at him before quickly bowing again out of respect. The king smiled – a seemingly rare thing these days – and nodded before stepping back to speak louder in addressing the camp.
“This young hunter from the North is the reason we will eat well today, my friends,” the king announced, resting a hand on your armored shoulder to turn you to face the awaiting company. “And instead of glory for being the best among us, he wishes to gift the impressive kill to me in honor of my son.”
Everyone knew when the king wanted an applause, and sensing that now was one of these times when he wanted to give credit where it was due everyone gave a polite applause. Everyone present was careful not to carry on too loudly or too long in order for the king to be heard again when he wishes.
Criston found himself drifting closer to you throughout the day, hanging around you close enough in the hope that he’d hear even a single word from your lips or be offered another look under the helmet. Unfortunately, Ser Grandin, the king, and the queen did not leave you alone very often for the remainder of the day, leaving the Dornish knight no opportunity at being alone together.
Later that night when the company found their way back into their beds, you and your sworn protector left under the cover of the darkness, the long road back to Winterfell beginning.Ser Criston Cole would not see you again for many weeks thereafter, but not a single day would pass that you did not enter his mind.
Ten Months Later , Winterfell
A bellowing roar signified the visit of a creature that had long avoided the North, and as those sitting within comfortable castle rooms made their way to confirm what they already knew to be true, the gates opened to present a small company of knights, accompanied by Ser Criston Cole. Outside of the castle and a safe distance away, the princess Rhaenyra landed her dragon before walking the remaining distance through the gates. Ser Criston was alight with excitement as he waited for what he could feel in his heart to come, and his teetering patience was beautifully rewarded once he saw you make your way down a set of stairs behind your father.
Wearing your brother’s armor had done no favors to your appearance, but this elegant, shimmering silver gown that cascaded in a sheer train behind you clung onto every part of you he now wanted to grab. Atop your shoulders wrapped a fine fur, smooth and from what looked like a silver fox. Your hair was much better tamed today than he’d last seen it – recently washed, braided intricately, but enough of it let down that immediately made him imagine running his fingers through it.
Criston had never found himself to dwell on the beauty of a woman long, his sense of responsibility taking over his thoughts before they could stray for long. It would be a lie to state that he hadn’t thought of you, and often, throughout the last 10 months without seeing you. He often wondered about the subtle colors to your features if he had the chance to get closer, and while he was soaking in what he could from this distance, being this close to the real you only made him want to be closer. He found himself scrambling to remove his helmet, unhappy with the slightly difference it made to his vision. He needed to see as much of you as you offered, and it needed to be unobstructed.
When you reached the bottom of the stairs behind your father you bowed your head, eyes staying toward the ground in politeness. Criston saw the princess’ eyes linger on you before landing once more on your father, a light smile crossing on her features.
“Lord Stark, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne and future Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and First Men,” Criston found his voice to introduce the woman who should have his full attention, though he still hadn’t pulled his eyes away from you. Your father made a show of respect by kneeling, but before you could follow Rhaenyra held up a hand with a light smile.
“Please, don’t soil yourself in mud and snow on my behalf,” the princess spoke to you, ever one to respect a woman before a man. Your father stood at the instruction, bowing his head as yours raised to smile the most tantalizing smile in their direction. Criston was glad he had found himself capable of speaking when he was needed, because he was certain it was an impossibility now. “My family was appreciative of the gesture for my youngest brother’s name day this past Winter. Your youngest son is quite the adequate hunter. We wished to repay the gesture with a gesture of our own.”
Criston noticed the way Lord Stark’s eyebrows furrowed together and the subtle glance he threw your way, and how you avoided the gaze with unphased intent. He had to wonder if your father knew the kind of trouble you liked to get into, but if the older man was mentally wondering about the situation, his voice didn’t waver. Criston had not broken your secret to anyone in the time since he’d discovered it.
“An unnecessary gesture, Princess. It is the head of a House’s responsibility to ensure good relations with the Crown, not the other way around,” your father’s deep voice spoke, his eyes taking in the people before him and the dragon in the distance. “It is my hope we can be good hosts to you for however long you wish to stay in the cold North. My sons return in the morning from a long journey to the Iron Islands.”
“We have brought food, and money in exchange for any livestock potentially used to feed Syrax, my dragon, before she flies back to the warmer climate in my stay,” Rhaenyra was getting better and better at speaking diplomatically. “After a long journey for my escort, I am certain we would be happy with a meal prepared in your kitchen and the company of you, your Lady, and your daughter for the evening. Tomorrow we shall feast in honor of our houses.”
Rhaenyra stepped forward to approach your father and so Criston followed, his brown eyes returning to you once more due to the irresistible draw. This close he could see the blush on your cheeks and nose from the cold, and the small flecks of color that scattered in your eyes. Whatever words were spoken between the princess and your father went unheard by him as he found himself transfixed on you, completely bewitched by you.
“My escort, Ser Criston Cole, a knight of the Kingsgurad,” he heard Rhaenyra speak, his name snapping him from his trance. He hadn’t even realized you were returning his gaze. “You’ll excuse his manners, he is from Dorne and this may be his first snow.”
The Princess’ words were teasing, Criston quickly moving his gaze back to your father with a nod. “I am afraid I’m used to quite a bit more heat.”
“In our hall there is a large fireplace, it would be my honor to escort the future Queen and the good Ser to somewhere far warmer.”
Your voice pierced through him like an ice dagger straight through his heart, his eyes finding you again as the perfect sound finally filled his ears after months of yearning to know it. It was better than anything his mind could have imagined for it, and he was glad the armor covering his body hid the goosebumps on his arms from view.
Rhaenyra smiled and agreed, of course, offering an arm to the Stark daughter in a friendly gesture, much warmer than Criston had seen her in years in the snow of Winterfell, of all places. Your father excused himself to see to the preparation of a meal and the feeding of the dragon, and thus left you to escort the Knight and Princess yourself.
As you made your way through the much-more-modest halls of Winterfell you made pleasant conversation with Rhaenyra, and Criston followed closely by clinging to every word. You were effortlessly endearing as you spoke, even pulling laughs from the normally-serious Princess and pulling her into a conversation sparked by your curiosity about dragons in no time. When the trio arrived to the main hall, Criston made a move to stay outside the door, immediately taking up his post to protect the Princess. At that moment a Knight they already knew emerged, his helmet held under one arm.
“Please join us inside the hall, Ser Criston,” you spoke, turning to face the taller Knight with a smile that warmed him plenty. “My sworn sword knows these halls well and can withstand the cold. Allow him to watch over the Princess in your time here, so you may recover from the journey.”
He found himself simply nodding, the brown pools of his eyes gazing into yours once more as he agreed to whatever you propositioned to him, knowing he’d never be able to refuse you. He missed the knowing smile that crossed Rhaenyra’s features as the three of you made your way to waiting fur-covered chairs before the fire. A small table sat to the side, holding glasses and an offering of mead, plus a plate of cheese, meats and breads. The North could be hospitable with the right people seeing to it.
“Help yourselves to refreshments and the fire. I will have a word with Ser Grandin and rejoin you.”
You excused yourself to the hall again, entering into a hushed conversation with the other person on the planet that Criston knew also held your secret with certainty. Before his thoughts could be swallowed by you again, Rhaenyra broke him from the trance with a playful tone as she handed him a tankard of mead. “You must stop staring at the Stark girl, no matter how beautiful she is, Ser Criston. Perhaps stories of witches in the North have some truth to them.”
The remainder of the evening would pass by in a flash, a hearty meal settling into the company’s stomachs with thankful welcome. Despite the many differences a family of the North faced, the Starks were hospitable and pleasant company to keep, and it was only safe to assume the sons would be the same when they returned. After a large meal and a hot bath Rhaenyra retired for the night, Ser Grandin taking his position for the time being outside of her door while Criston was meant to be settling into bed as well. Instead, he had donned his armor once again and wrapped himself in furs provided by the kind Lord, making his way throughout Winterfell to familiarize himself with the map of his surroundings.
When he made his way to an outdoor walkway he heard the unmistakable noises of a horse making its way toward the front gate slowly, attempting to be as quiet as possible. Rushing to find his own horse he climbed on swiftly, steering his horse through piles of snow to mask the sound of hooves following behind. Once you’d passed through the gate on horseback you stopped, and Criston pulled to a slow stop behind, wondering where you were going and why you insisted on doing these reckless things alone.
“Would you care to join me, Ser Criston?” your voice rang clear in the silent night though it was quiet, the only ears around for it to fall on being the horses and the named man himself as everyone sheltered from the cold. His breath caught in his chest as he realized he’d been caught, and not only caught but confronted.
“I am sorry, m’lady,” he breathed, urging his horse forward to join you at your side. When he came to a stop again he turned his head to face you, meeting your gaze and feeling the nerves lift from his chest at the sight of your smile. No one angry at him for following could smile at him so sweetly. “I thought since Ser Grandin protects the Princess, I might take his place. It will help me learn the area.”
Your smile widened and brightened your face, your eyes lightening as a small laugh fell from your lips. Once again he found breathing an impossible labor at the sound, and the playfulness your tone took only encouraged him. “You think me safer with you than alone, Ser Criston? Do Dornish even know how to walk in the snow?”
Your teasing pulled a quiet, short laugh from his chest as he shook his head, wondering where all of the politeness you displayed for him before your father and the Princess before had gone. “Perhaps not. But I’d like to learn.”
You smiled again and turned your horse back through the gate, heading back to the stables and motioning him to follow. “The first lesson is: your horse is far too small for the terrain we’re going, and isn’t used to the cold. You can borrow my brother’s horse, Titus. He is the gentlest of giants and will take good care of you.”
He followed behind immediately, mentally admitting he could feel his horse struggling in this new environment. Before long he was mounted on a considerably larger animal, white and easy to spot in the night, which you insisted was important going into the woods with you. As the two of you set off into the darkness again your wolf joined by your side again, the same black one that had supposedly belonged to your brother. He supposed you got away with things like this because few visited the North – but still, it was reckless.
“Your wolves are impressive animals, m’lady,” he complimented in a soft voice from beside you as you set off on a trail you knew well. “I remember Ser Grandin describing the bond between them as similar to dragons and their riders. Is this true?”
He caught the smile you offered his curiosity and the curt nod you provided before speaking, your tone and body language more relaxed now that you were beyond the walls. The leather pants you wore clung to your legs in a way he wasn’t used to seeing a woman dress, fur covering the majority of your torso with a hooded cloak. He was glad the cold wasn’t so bitter you had to cover your face, preferring you weren’t hidden from him.
“It is true, in many ways,” you explained, turning your gaze to him as you trusted your horse to continue down the path it had taken many times before. “While the direwolf can live a longer life than that of a normal dog, we certainly don’t share cribs with the animals and then grow old with them. But while Man Eater is alive, he will be my closest companion. He is only two-years-old and already I can’t imagine life without him.”
“You named the beast Man Eater?” he pondered aloud, an amused tone slipping through his words.
“As the middle-born daughter of the Northern Lord, I will never know any real power,” you started, feeling comfortable with his eager and genuine questions. “I have figured the next best thing is to see the fear on men’s faces when they see such a large animal named so fearfully. He enjoys scratches behind his ears and the occasional fruit.”
A genuine, loud laugh came from the Knight and you couldn’t help but join him, the sound of you two laughing tomorrow forming a beautiful chorus in the night. It was immensely validating for him to know the woman he’d spent 10 months pondering was worth every thought he’d given you, as you were turning out to be just as interesting as his mind had hoped you to be.
The conversation remained playful between the two of you as you made your way down the trail, Criston quickly coming to the conclusion that this excursion wasn’t for you to hunt, but instead simply enjoy the night. It had been a long time for Criston to be able to speak with such honesty with someone, and he found the casual conversation resulted in his hard exterior melting away to expose the man he was inside.
You were every bit as enamored in the man, enjoying his questions about your home and living in the North, hanging onto every word he offered about his own home when prompted. He grew to open enough to enter a comfortable banter with you, and soon the conversation was so casual and natural between the two of you, he was certain he could ride to Kings Landing and back before he grew tired of your company.
After several miles you announced it was time for the two of you to walk (if he felt like he could handle the snow, as if he could say no) the rest of the way, and he found himself hurrying to dismount his horse so he could reach for your waist to help you down. The brief feeling of your hips in his hands made him want to pull you in closer but he resisted, maintaining the gentleman’s mask and returning the smile you offered as he let you go. The flush to your cheeks at his firm touch did not go unnoticed.
As you tied the horses to a tree to secure them you instructed the large wolf to keep watch, throwing him the leg bone of a cow that you’d attached to your horse in offering. Before long the two of you were maneuvering on foot through thicker trees before you reached a frozen waterfall, turning to smile at him happily. “This was my favorite place to come when I wanted to get away as a child.”
The intimacy of what you were sharing with him sank in and he felt the smile that came to his face, glad he’d somewhat gotten the snow-walking down so he could keep up with you at a better pace as you made your way toward the frozen water. You reached a thin ledge next to one of the massive sheets of rock and began shimmying across it, making it only a couple of steps before he grabbed your arm, halting your movements.
“My lady,” he breathed out in a rushed tone, grasping onto you like you would slip away from him at any moment. “Have you always insisted on putting yourself in harm’s way, or is this a new hobby?”
“I have done this hundreds of times, Ser Criston,” you taunted, reaching across with your free hand to rest your leather-gloved hand against his. “I’d think that you would know that I can handle myself after you saw me hunt the moose at the young Prince’s name day just this year.”
His hand dropped from your arm as he cleared his throat in awkwardness, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find a way to proceed, unable to form appropriate thoughts as every thought in his mind wondered how long you’d known. All he could bring himself to do was watch as you made your way across the ledge, disappearing behind the waterfall. Unwilling still to leave you alone, he hurried to follow after you, being just careful enough not to fall. Before long he had joined you in a small, icy cave where some furs and old books lay about. It was clear this was a place entirely your own.
“You said nothing about my presence for hours that night,” Criston finally pondered aloud when he joined you, only to be greeted in response with a small laugh.
“I had no clue what could even be said. I thought you were going to turn me in to the Crown…and today when I heard the dragon, I thought it was certain that you had finally confessed what you saw. I was, for a moment, afraid of what consequences I was to face. Of the shame I’d caused my house.” You were admitting deep feelings to him with no real understanding as to why it was so easy to do so. All he could do was watch you in wonder, brown eyes fixated on yours as he listened. “But Princess Rhaenyra doesn’t know, does she? You haven’t told a soul.”
“I haven’t told a soul. It is a secret I hold to myself.”
“Why? Why do you do that?”
You stepped further into the caves to coax him in with you, away from anything in the woods that could possibly hear the two of you and be disturbed. Your questioning did not come from a place of anger, he noted, and instead you sounded almost affectionate. It was easy to tell you the truth, no matter how shameful it was.
“I’m afraid I do not have an answer for you, m’lady,” he began, drawing in a deep breath. “I can’t begin to explain anything you’ve done to me since I saw you remove that helmet, or take down that moose with a single arrow from your bow, or walk down the stairs in that gown. I -”
His would-be passionate monologue was cut short as he attempted to step nearer, straying from your path and hitting an icy patch. His foot began to slip beneath him and as you stepped forward his hands reached out, grasping your hips and holding onto you tightly to steady himself, pulling you flush against him. Despite the thick furs and leathers you wore you could feel the cool of the metal from his armor, and it sent a chill down your spine, no matter how badly you wanted to be this close to him.
Your hands grasped at his armored shoulders, thankful for the thick gloves against the metal, in an attempt to steady him further. You smiled at his clear attempt to get closer to you, tilting your head back to look into his face.
“It must have been hard for you in the Dornish Marches since you’re so horrid in the snow. Isn’t it quite cold in the Red Mountains?”
This close, you found yourself unable to resist thinking about what his golden skin would feel like against yours, finding it near impossible to resist reaching forward to run your fingers through what looked like incredibly soft waves. A quiet laugh fell from his lips at your subtle accusation, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as he stood back to his full height.
“You’ll forgive me, m’lady. I couldn’t resist an excuse for time alone with you,” he conceded, silently admitting what you already knew in your heart. Over your clothes you could feel his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips, and whether he was aware he was doing it or not, you certainly made note of it. “I thought the Targaryens were interesting when I first met them, but they’re really all the same. You…are truly one-of-a-kind, if I may say so.”
Your cheeks burned despite the increased cold in the dark, icy cave – a near-impossible invitation for him to remove his gauntlets and reach out to touch them. He wondered if you would be cool or warm to the touch…he wondered if your lips would feel the same against his, about how soft they could possibly feel. Before he could give into a temptation there was no coming back from he withdrew, releasing a deep breath from his chest as you looked at him with a flustered look.
“It grows colder, m’lady. I should return you to the warmth of the castle before we both freeze where we stand.”
You didn’t fight with his logic, embarrassed by the moment you’d caught yourself in with the man. Withdrawing from him entirely you made your way back out of the cave, placing your hood back over your head as you awaited him to join you in the journey back to the castle. The awkwardness of the fleeting moment soon passed and the two of you found yourselves in a comfortable conversation once more as you made your way back to Winterfell. Every moment that passed with you he learned something new that made him wish he had connected his lips to yours, and yet, a small dutiful voice in the back of his mind insisted on reminding him of his vows.
He learned of how you’d learned to hunt and exist with the wolves, and how despite your slightly-older twin brother’s skill – you were undoubtedly the best in the family. While your brother had been wed for a couple of years now, one child already running free beneath his legs, you remained uncoupled.
“My betrothed was killed. In the Stepstones,” you explained, no sadness truly found in your voice. “It was years before we were meant to marry, but there have been no…suitable matches offered since. He was the future Lord Bolton, and my father…you met him. He is quite the intense man.”
“It is a shame to the realm if you do not find a suitable husband, m’lady, though I am inclined to agree with your father. Perhaps no man in Westeros deserves you.”
You couldn’t help but giggle at his continued playfulness, the serious moments between the two of you never lasting terribly long. As with most passage of time, the return to your home passed entirely too quickly, and all too soon it would be time for the two of you to part. It was only just before sunrise by the time you two made it back within the gates, taking advantage of the remaining darkness to place horses in their rightful places. You went your separate ways once inside, wishing one another a good night before retreating to a solitude that seemed much lonelier than it ever had before.
The following night, after you had slept most of the day away, gone for a brief hunt with Man Eater, and enjoyed a hot dinner standing in the kitchen alone, and relaxed in a hot bath, you found yourself wandering the halls of the castle in a light dressing gown, a long, elegant robe wrapped around you. The third time you’d entered the hall closest to the room he was staying in he was waiting there for you, full armor minus the helmet as per usual. Tonight, however, he wore a new wrap across his broad shoulders – the pelt of a red wolf. The view of the color set against his skin did nothing to satiate the thoughts you were harboring toward him.
You were not alone in your struggle. Your hair had dried as it naturally did after your hot bath, no braids hiding the locks from his full view. Your dressing gown and robe were black, making it perfect for holding in heat, and yet the sheer fabric left very little out of his sight. It was potentially disastrous of him to show you the appreciation he felt you deserved, and yet he was no longer certain of his normally unwavering self-control.
“I thought I might join you as I take a final look around the castle,” he explained, his eyes meeting yours in a hopeful gaze that was impossible for you to deny. Your lips curled into that beautiful smile once again, a nod of your head giving into him. He joined you at your side as the voice he’d missed across mere hours filled his ears once again.
“You may escort me back to my chambers, Ser Criston.” The smile on his face was unmistakable, a hopeful bubble rolling in his stomach at the mere thought of what you were intending by so clearly seeking him out. Still, he set a casual pace as the two of you walked, falling into your normal ease once again. “That is a fine fur you’ve been gifted with, Ser.”
“From your twin, m’lady,” he smiled, his head turning to meet your gaze momentarily. “While beautiful, I must admit a fox is a less impressive trophy than a large moose.”
You couldn’t help but smile at his flattery, his willingness to build your confidence, his acceptance of how you chose to live your life. While he expressed his unease and worry for your safety and future several times, he never seemed to push, seeming to understand your sense of adventure and that you could, certainly, control yourself. While the conversation flowed easily between the two of you like had become the norm between you, there was still a tension in the air – the tension of a kiss that didn’t happen. You took the longest route possible to return to your room, and once outside the familiar door, the conversation took a serious turn.
“The Princess received a raven this morning and we must begin our return to Kings Landing tomorrow,” he explained, the disappointment evident behind his voice and gaze. The frown that formed on your features immediately pulled at his heart, hating the feeling of being your source of disappointment. “But…she would like to invite you to be a guest of the crown this Spring, when the snow has lifted from Winterfell. Will you join us there for a tournament? I will partake and I would enjoy your favor.”
You blushed again and found a bashful giggle passing your lips, biting at your bottom lip lightly as you nodded in agreement. You turned your gaze to meet his, finding the excitement lightening his normal seriousness behind then, and you felt another moment of bravery, a moment you’d wished you’d had the night before. Reaching behind you you opened the door to your chamber, happy to immediately feel the heat from a recently-lit fireplace radiating from the room.
Stepping inside you beckoned him in, glad to see it didn’t require much convincing as he glanced around himself once more before following, closing the door quietly behind him. He was soon standing before you in front of the fireplace, the glow of the flames illuminating him in the most beautiful fashion.
"The Princess has requested my presence in the Spring..." you began, stepping closer to him as fixing your gaze on his once again. "But what of you, Ser Criston? Do you request my presence in the Spring?"
"I would request it sooner, m'lady," he explained quietly, giving into the feelings he was experiencing around you now that you were behind a closed door. His affectionate reply faltered your normally playful confidence and he found himself stepping forward to close the distance between the two of you. As he spoke next, you were already reaching for him before even being invited. "All the more reason for me to see you tonight."
Gently removing a gauntlet from his right hand, your eyes met his once again, dropping the heavy metal on the fur rug beneath your feet. The soft, cold skin of your hand greeted his in warmth as it soaked in the heat from his own skin, your fingers lacing between the two of you as he fought himself mentally, mind spinning with the possible consequences he could face if he gave into the desires you presented him with. Sensing his apprehension you rose on your toes to reach him, your lips covering his in an encouraging and earnest kiss. All rational thought melted at the softness of your lips against his.
He pulled his other gauntlet off himself then, desperate to cup your rosy cheeks between his hands as he returned your kiss, holding you to him as he fulfilled a waking dream that had clouded his mind for months. A happy sigh released from your chest and onto his lips as you felt him hold you close, the warmth radiating between the two of you as your hands found their way to the back of his head. Once they’d reached their destination your fingers laced into his slightly-curled locks, giving a light tug which you were rewarded for with a quiet, barely audible groan.
It was then he felt a bit too much of his remaining self-control falter, his hands sliding from your cheeks to slide under the thin robe covering your body, landing on your hips. The sheer material did very little to cover you from him and the warmth radiated from his hands against your cool skin, his fingertips digging in deeper as his tongue slipped into your mouth. The deepening kiss was too much for either of you to handle and in perfect synchronization you sank to your knees, following his lead as he pulled you to straddle his lap.
Ser Criston was not always talkative, and now was one of those moments as he focused his attention on enjoying this moment, on savoring what he'd craved since first seeing you all those months ago. Sliding his hands to push your night gown up your legs ever-so-slowly he took in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips, pulling back for a deep breath. As you took advantage of the moment to breathe he recovered quickly, immediately beginning to trail kisses down your neck.
The small whimpers that left your mouth put his mind in a fog, covering any voice within him that may had argued at the moment. Finding himself unable to resist curiosity again he leaned his head back to yours to reclaim your lips, slowly pushing your underwear to the side and running a finger along your slick folds, finding where all of the heat in your body remained. A groan left his lips again at the confirmation of how wet you were for him before he slipped that same finger into you experimentally, enjoying how you gasped against his lips but did not break the kiss.
All-too-soon he removed the singular digit, pulling away from your kiss to slide the finger into his mouth. A deep moan, combined perhaps with a growl, broke free of his chest as his eyes fluttered closed, savoring every drop you'd offered him. You were irresistible, almost as a forbidden fruit — he knew within his logical mind he could not have you and yet, he found it was the only thing he could yearn for. His mind flooded with scolding thoughts about his behavior, and yet he couldn't help but feel the action was worth it - no matter how badly it made him want more.
"You will be the end of me, m'lady," he cooed, leaning upward to press a kiss to your forehead before helping you back to your feet with him, making an obvious attempt to steady your breathing. As he escorted you to your bed he placed gentle kisses against your lips, desperately attempting to bury the thoughts that were begging to burst through again. "I will see you in just a few months' time, m'lady. Until the next."
With his absence, you immediately got to work rebuilding the emotional walls you usually fortified around yourself, unwilling to feel the emptiness and disappointment of him leaving in the morning. You would see Ser Criston again in the Spring.
Spring, 113 A.C., King's Landing
The half-a-year that passed before the Spring tournament in Kings Landing was excruciating, each day bringing a previously unimaginable level of longing forth in two people with weeks between them.
Ser Criston Cole was dutiful, as always, and fulfilled his vow to protect the crown day in and day out, but his duty was no longer the primary occupation of his mind. There was always the thought of you – always a reminder of your radiant smile, the whisper of your voice on the wind, the occasional mention of your House. Often, he wondered if thinking of you so often was his punishment for his temptation for you, because often it was akin to torture to have every moment so full of you, and yet so empty.
You’d never noticed how cold Winterfell truly was until Criston had left, taking with him what seemed like every bit of warmth. It went unnoticed by your family how frozen over you became, blatant and longer excursions into the forest becoming a pattern they were forced to adapt to. Time passed differently in the thick, lonesome darkness of the forest, and not knowing how long it had been since he had kissed you was often preferable. You were often desperate to forget how long you had to wait still to see him again.
It was the sweetest relief you had ever felt when Ser Grandin had announced the pair of you would set off for the journey to King's Landing in three days' time. When the raven arrived in the capital to announce that the young Lady of House Stark had embarked and was eager to join the Princess, Criston was present to hear the news. It was the most peaceful sleep he had been graced with in months to know you would be within his reach again soon enough.
It did anger him initially when the Princess flew on Syrax to a mid-way point to check-in with you and your Knight escort, because all his mind could focus on was the jealousy that filled him. When Rhaenyra returned to the castle and reported you were in good health and had bid her to tell him “Hello,” anger was the last thing on his mind. All he could think about from that day forward was the day he could return your greeting. The day you arrived is the day he knew his life was never going to return to what it had been before the young Prince’s name day.
It was the early hours of the morning when the call came to assemble in the throne room. Knowing what day had finally come made Criston rush through putting on his armor, wishing to get to his position as quickly as possible, unwilling to risk even a moment of missing you.
When your arrival was announced by Ser Grandin, your stomach was bubbling with excitement on the other side of the door, knowing you were about to see him again. When the door swung open for you and you stepped your way into the throne room, you were overjoyed to see that only a small assembly awaited you – with Criston within your sight immediately. It didn’t matter that he was covered by his helmet – it was him, you could run to him in seconds, and that was enough.
He could never forget how beautiful you were but seeing you again now it hit him all over again, the only image of you living in his memory. The familiar tightness in his chest returned as he took in everything about you, thankful his wandering eye was hidden from anyone who may be looking his way. You’d done the best you could in wearing your lightest gown, though your gowns had thus far been reserved exclusively for wear in the North, so even your lightest was too heavy. It trailed behind you, long and black, with your usual silver fox fur wrapped lightly around your shoulders, and your hair freshly washed and un-styled thanks to your travel with only a man. Criston preferred it this way and hoped it would remain such long enough for him to get you alone and run his fingers through it – though he knew it was doubtful.
You managed to resist averting your gaze to the one man you wanted to as you walked closer, ultimately sinking to a knee and bowing your head before the King with a light smile on your face. It made sense that your first smile would be for the King, but the jealous twist of Criston’s stomach was difficult for him to ignore – it should have been for him. When the King instructed you to rise Rhaenyra stepped forward, extending her arms to you for a light embrace. Being a Targaryen and being able to have and do exactly what you wanted was something Criston was finally growing to understand the envy of.
“Ser Criston,” came the familiar low grumble of Ser Grandin beside him, an impressively quiet arrival for such a large man. His voice remained quiet, reserved only for the member of the Kingsguard. “My Lady bids you good morning and wishes you well in the events today.”
Criston, once again glad for his helmet, smiled in content, reminded that no matter how important the people you currently held conversation with were, to you the best thing about being here was being close to him again. Absent-mindedly he took a step forward toward you before remembering himself, stepping back beside the Northern Knight. Instead, he settled on a quiet voice, taking what he could from what was presented to him. “Did she travel well, Ser Grandin?”
A barely-there laugh sounded in the other man, his tone mockingly annoyed. “She traveled well and eager. I could hardly get her to take a day of rest. Without me, she’d have arrived a week ago.”
He wouldn’t get a moment alone with you before the day began, but he was thankful for at least a moment with Rhaenyra, who had expressed that he should request your favor for the tournament. She had insisted on the matter, in fact, stating that it would be an excellent sign of friendship between the Crown and the North. When Ser Criston rode the first round of the tournament and won (naturally), he brought his horse around to where you now sat next to the Princess.
Helmet removed as he approached, he could now look you straight in the eye for the first time in half-a-year, and the simple action knocked the wind from him more than any lance could. A small smile played on his lips as he held your gaze, if only for a moment too long.
“My Lady,” he greeted, bowing his head slightly. The heat had created a layer of sweat over his skin, his hair slickening under his helmet, and the sight caused a blush to creep over your face. “It would be my honor to fight in your name today.”
The blush across your face deepened, a smile spreading just as quickly as you rose to your feet, walking to stand before the railing that separated you from him. Over the crowd, your verbal response was heard only from him. “If you are to fight in my name, Ser, then I should hope you win it all. I would hate for a loss to soil my name.”
The amused smile that spread across his features reached his eyes, a mischievous glimmer playing in the pools there. A stiff nod accompanied his words. “Yes, m’lady. I would not dream of tarnishing your good name with failure.”
As you reached for the longer of the two chains that hung around your neck, the contents at the end of the chain tucked within your dress, your eyes stayed locked with his in silent communication. There were no words to explain the happiness of seeing him once again, of feeling his gaze on you. You pulled the often-hidden necklace from your neck and handed it slowly to him, Criston immediately taking in the large tooth that was attached at the end.
“From my first kill,” was the simple explanation, the four words carrying enough weight for him to understand. This was important to you, and it was a much better token of your favor than any fine piece of fabric could be. Placing it around his own neck he tucked it under his armor, an appreciative smile falling on his features again.
“I will not disappoint, m’lady,” he promised, the glimmer in his eye growing with each second he looked at you. With a final smile he replaced his helmet, riding back to await his next round.
Losing was not an option for Ser Criston Cole during the day’s events. One could make a compelling argument that the man regularly went overboard on his opponents, none of them standing any real chance. The final round showed Ser Criston Cole facing the current Lord Bolton and remembering your former betrothed had belonged to that family, Criston took extra care to embarrass the man. The words he’d spoken to you rang through once more, his point proven – none of them were worthy of you.
Following the excitement was to be a celebratory feast in the castle with you as the guest of honor to the Crown and Ser Criston the winner of the day. As you made your way through the halls of the castle again beside your own escort again, you were soon in front of the door to your borrowed chambers for your time in the Capital. In front of your chambers, however, awaited the winner himself.
“I will take place at the end of the hall, my Lady,” Ser Grandin spoke, immediately turning to walk back to the end of the hall for a moment’s privacy between you and the Knight. As you rushed to close the distance between the two of you his helmet was removed, dropped to the floor with little care of the noise it would create as he welcomed you back into his arms.
The armor that separated him from you fully was an extreme annoyance but feeling held by him would have to be good enough, even if it was against metal. His forehead lowered to meet with yours in a tender gesture, both of you closing your eyes as a moment of peace finally passed over you.
“I have missed you, m’lady. You have haunted my every thought and dream since the moment I left you,” he whispered only for you, his hands sliding to your lower back to pull you closer.
“Each day was a week, and each week an eternity,” came the sweetest reply from you he could have imagined, his lips pressing to yours in a kiss while a quiet hum rang in his throat.
“The pain grew by the day,” he whispered, his lips moving against your skin as he found himself completely unwilling to pull away.
“I did not know a moment of true peace until I saw you this morning,” you admitted, finding sharing emotions with him came as naturally as breathing. Your own lips pressed against his nose gently, the soft action sending his senses alight. He stood there like that with you for so much longer than he should have, holding you and enjoying the mere fact of having you in his grasp again.
Eventually the light kisses to your forehead weren’t enough and he lowered his head to press his lips to yours softly in a chaste kiss, his hands sliding to hold the sides of your head gently. You returned his kiss happily, hands reaching to hold his wrists as a blissful sigh passed through your lips. He smiled into the kiss, pulling you closer momentarily before withdrawing, kissing your forehead once again as he went.
“If the Crown asks me what I would like for my win today, I will name you as my prize, m’lady,” he spoke, masking the honesty and yearning in his words with a lining of humor. “The Treasure of the North, all for myself.”
The laugh that fell from your lips was award enough for his efforts today, the light reaching your eyes as you stood on your toes to kiss him once more. You sank to your knees slowly and quietly, eyes never leaving his as your hand reached to grab the helmet he’d discarded to the ground before standing back up, placing the helmet back in his hand. “I will see you at the feast, Ser Criston.”
With a gentle squeeze to your hand, he fully released you, turning to exit down the hall as you stood in momentary silence before entering your borrowed chambers. After another cool bath to tame your body temperature you were joined by various handmaidens who all doted on perfuming and styling your hair, manicuring your fingernails, and helping you dress in a gown that had been sent by the Princess herself. Once the dress was secured and you were left alone to look at the results, you had to wonder if Rhaenyra had a plot of her own this evening.
The gown was so light and fine it seemed to flow about you almost as a liquid, the white fabric shimmering like snow with every movement you made. The arms and high collar were made up of a separate lace, sewn together by someone with care. Finally, a true sign of your house draped across your shoulders and upper back, the fur of a wolf shielding more of you from eyes that would pry.
“My Lady, the Crown will not thank you if you are late,” Ser Grandin’s rough voice greeted from behind you, his masked face waiting for you as you turned around. With a smile you clasped your hands together in front of you, eyes still shining with their normal mischief.
“Let us walk then, Ser,” you teased, your formal words pulling a laugh from your sworn protector’s chest as he held open the door for you. Once the two of you were well on your way to the gathering outdoors, he opted to voice his concerns with caution.
“You must be careful, my Lady,” he spoke plainly, knowing you would tell him to do so if he had asked permission. You turned your head upward to glance at him before carrying forward, waiting for him to continue. “That boy isn’t a nobody squire running around the halls of Winterfell, with only your father’s wrath to face. He’s a member of the Kingsguard, and Targaryens are not known for their forgiving nature.”
Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth your eyes glanced over to him, taking a deep breath to contemplate your words. “There’s no need to worry yourself. He is just nice company to keep, Ser Grandin.”
“Oh, he seems wonderful, my Lady,” he teased, leading you around the next corner. “The echoing sounds of your kissing in the hall behind me indicate he is very nice company indeed.”
A stifled giggle sounded from your lips as you shot him a pointed look which was met with nothing but the smallest smile as he walked through massive double doors to introduce you to those who had already assembled. When you followed behind you offered a small smile to the royal family, taking a knee and bowing your head slightly. With a delighted smile Rhaenyra invited you to rise and take the seat with her, and thus the feast could properly begin. It wasn’t long before the newest member of the Kingsguard removed his helmet, eyes meeting yours from across the room with a smile.
The feasts in Winterfell were never as lavish as anything the Red Keep could offer, and it was easy to indulge in the food and drink they had to offer to the point where when the dancing started, you were hardly sure if you could join. Rhaenyra insisted, of course, and as she was the heir to the throne it would not be wise to turn her down. Throughout the night you stole several looks at Criston whenever your eyes could find him, only to be pleased to find his eyes sought yours just the same. The stolen glances did not remain unnoticed, though the eyes that saw them did not care.
It was when he noticed the elder Lannister brother ask you for a dance that his fingers curled, hands balling into a fist as he watched you politely oblige the wealthy Lord – the wealthy Lord who could give you gowns, and castles, and children. Feeling the distaste that covered his face he placed his helmet back on, seething into the hot metal and unaware of the Princess as she joined at his side.
“The Lannisters may be wealthy, but they are certainly not graceful,” she joked, her eyes glancing upward toward the taller man. “You have no need to worry, Ser Criston. She seems quite taken with you, as well, I am certain your affections are returned.”
His helmeted eyes turned toward, his head facing her to communicate his seriousness. “I don’t have affections, Princess,” he responded coolly, turning his head forward again to watch your movements in secret. The Princess smiled, shaking her head slightly at his foolishness before facing forward herself.
“You should not lie to the Princess, Ser Criston. I must be able to trust you, after all,” she continued to joke, enjoying the subtle huff that sounded through the metal. The sound pulled a small laugh from her, the mischief glowing in her eyes as she pressed on. “You could just admit it, you know. I am someone who understands that cruelties of obligation.”
He did want to admit it. In his heart and mind, he knew that you were the answer to a question he’d long been asking, the tightening in his chest every time he thought of you confirming you were the woman meant for him. He had fallen for you in just over a year since he’d met you, your simple existence haunting his dreams and tormenting every waking moment of his life with the sheer reminder of you, just out of reach. And here now he wanted to admit it more – to stand on a table and proclaim his love for you; to grasp you away from the Lannister who was stalking around you like prey; to announce to the world that you were his. The woman to his side just served as a reminder as to why he could not.
“It is an honor to serve the Crown, Princess,” he attempted to bury it all again, only managing to pull his eyes away from you for a moment. The longer he dwelled on you, the more his mind strayed to the fact that for the first time since being chosen for his position he wanted to break the most important vow he’d ever made.
“It is a shame, then,” she started, finishing her drink as the Lannister placed his hands on your shoulders in an affectionate gesture. “There is a large bear in the Crownlands that must be handled. I had hoped to send you to address the task…with the assistance of our guests from the North. They are used to animals of its size, and her wolf could prove a worthy hunting companion.”
He was thankful once again for his facial coverings, knowing his mouth fell open slightly as he turned to look at the Princess, who was already facing forward again with that same playful smile on her lips. There was nothing to mask the surprise in his voice. “You would send me away with her and her knight to hunt a bear?”
“Oh, Gods no, Ser Criston,” she replied, the appalled tone to her voice obviously false. “I would hope that he will stay behind and the two of you can handle the beast yourselves. He’d just slow you down.” A proper response evaded him, instead removing his helmet once more so she could see the emotions behind his expressive eyes, silently questioning and thanking simultaneously. “I will take that as a yes. You will leave tomorrow before I can change my mind.”
With that the Princess left his side, removing you from the Lannister’s grasp with the request of joining her for a walk in the gardens with your wolf before turning in for the night. The Lannister was clearly disappointed but bowed his head respectfully to both of you before departing. To Criston’s joy, he caught the way your lips moved in a simple “thank you” to the Princess, presumably for taking you away from the golden-haired man. Criston watched as Ser Grandin joined the two of you from behind and resigned to finishing the events in the hall, content with having his thoughts to himself for a moment. The moments passed quickly with you burned into his mind, and before long his feet had once again carried him to the door of your borrowed bedchamber, the older knight excusing himself at his arrival.
A light knock startled you from where you sat brushing your hair, but assuming something was needed from you from your knight you pulled the thin robe around yourself before walking to the door. Criston’s handsome face was a much more pleasant surprise, and you felt the smile spread across your face immediately. His head bowed slightly in respect, a light smile playing on his lips as his gaze found yours as soon as it could. “M’lady, forgive me for the intrusion so late.”
“Ser Criston, have you come to claim your prize from your win today?” Your playful question was enough to draw him closer to you, his cock beginning to strain slightly under pants and armor at the mere insinuation of your words. His hand found your hip as his eyes glanced the length of the hall again before he leaned forward, placing a small kiss to your lips.
“I have come to ask for your company on a hunt in the Crownlands,” he began, certain he needed to get the question out before the logical side of his mind could take over his decision-making process. “Princess Rhaenyra says there is a large bear that is becoming troublesome, and it is her opinion that you would be valuable to take along…as you are used to large bears in the North.”
The smile on your face softened a bit, your nose brushing against his as you stood on your toes to ensure your closeness to him. He took some of the strain off of you by wrapping an arm around your waist tightly, holding you up and against him as gently as he could. He was certain the expression in your eyes mirrored his own, and somehow the fact made everything significantly harder. “When would you be whisking me away, Ser?”
“It would be nice to leave the city before the sun rises, m’lady,” he started, his free hand sliding to cup your face and hold you closer. “It is my preference that the city is still asleep when we ride through it. I would worry myself sick about you if it were awake.”
A soft kiss from you silenced his anxiety, your gentle lips coaxing him back to calm as he returned it tenderly. You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him, so you spoke your answer against his lips quietly. “I will go with you, Criston. I cannot worry myself over you getting eaten by a bear in your absence.”
Only hours would pass before you would be awoken by Grandin, the disapproval clear in his voice as he told you to get dressed and quietly join him in the hall. As the two of you walked through the castle together, he felt it was his duty to try to persuade you back into reason before he accepted your mind was made up, instead choosing to focus his time on giving you additional hunting pointers. The walk was leisurely in the early morning, and as Criston waited to be reunited with you, he waited in agony. These hours passing without you served as a taste of how it would be when you were taken back to the North, away from him again, and the thought was already plaguing him.
He’d almost convinced himself that you weren’t coming, imagining foolish scenarios where your other suitor from the evening had made his way into your chambers. It was a relief when you approached in the dark, a long and hooded cloak covering your body to conceal who was sneaking about the Red Keep at this hour. It made his stomach warm to think that you’d gone to all the trouble for him.
“Good morning, m’lady,” he greeted softly with a smile, his expression doing nothing to hide how happy he was to see you. Shrouded by the darkness and the stable walls he walked forward to claim your face in his hands, placing a much-needed kiss to your lips while his thumbs brushed over your cheeks. “You’re confident you still want to join me?”
His lips were still so close to yours they brushed yours as he spoke, and he could feel the smile that formed at his questioning. “Yes, Ser Criston. You’re not getting rid of me now.”
“I should hope not,” he relented, reaching to press his lips to your forehead. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks still, and you hoped that soon you’d be alone once more and able to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.
“Grandin left with Man Eater hours ago. They will meet us at the tree line, and he’ll return to the castle to guard my door for a few days…I am terribly ill and should not be disturbed, after all. The Southern heat getting to my delicate Northern self,” you explained, pressing your lips to his nose gently before pulling away. Climbing onto the horse waiting for you, already saddled and loaded with gear thanks to the man before you, you adjusted your hood to cover more of your face and waited for him to join.
The two of you set off before the sun had painted the sky, intent on making your way through the city before its inhabitants began bustling for the day. You were quiet while in the city, silently passing bread, fruits and cheeses back and forth along with your stolen glances. Once free from the clutter of the city and prying eyes, you were able to lower your hood and turn your head to meet his gaze fully with a smile.
“I am relieved to be alone with you again, m’lady,” he admitted, the seriousness that normally laced his tone still present but lighter now that he was removed from his responsibilities. You pulled the horse you sat atop to a slow stop, waiting for him to mimic the action. As he stopped and turned to face you, he was greeted with you removing the thick cloak, revealing the plain white blouse that you’d surely stolen from a brother and tight riding pants that hugged your waist. While the lack of armor showed more of a risk than he was comfortable with when it came to you, he was appreciative to see you how you were the most comfortable in the golden light of the morning sun.
Once you’d met with your trusted protector and reunited with your closest companion, Ser Grandin excused himself back toward the city as the new trio made their way into the trees, disappearing from prying eyes for however long you could get away with. The two of you rode that way for hours, side by side as you discussed your childhoods, your passions, your hatred. Criston found that these conversations only made him fall for you even more, the person hiding far beneath the surface deserving of much more than the world could offer you.
And for you, Criston represented everything you had dreamt of for your life. He had seen so much in his time in combat, already seen far more of Westeros than you probably ever would, and now held the opportunity to live a comfortable life alongside the Crown. He was charming, and consistently attentive to you as you spoke, his eyes giving away how entranced he was by your stories and his smile confirming his growing affection. You were the new center of his world, and he was unsure if he was willing to allow it to be off-balance ever again – he needed you to ground him.
The conversation was effortless as always and it seemed like no time at all before the sky began to redden, the sun beginning to set. As you dismounted your horse to set up camp with Criston in a small clearing you sent Man Eater out to hunt, keen on having him return to camp before it got terribly late. As Criston set in on the tent assembly you excused yourself to hunt for dinner, managing to bring three rabbits and some berries back to the camp in what seemed like no time at all. To your surprise, only one tent was raised – though you didn’t mention it. After nurturing a fire together and finishing a perfectly roasted dinner the two of you sat leaned against a large rock, a thick fur beneath you for comfort as you soaked in the warmth from the fire and one another. Eventually you leaned against him, soothed by the crackling of flames and warmth, only to be pushed away gently.
“I’ll…remove my armor, m’lady,” he stated, his words soft and gentle as his eyes met yours. Your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you shook your head slightly, your hands slowly reaching forward to remove one of his gauntlets as it had already done so many months ago. His eyes stayed transfixed on yours as you began to work the armor free from his body, eventually leaving him clad in only a loose white shirt and black pants.
It was a test of his will to not claim your lips in his once again as those tender moments passed. Your soft hands lingered in too many places he wanted them to stay longer, his mind alight with the possibilities of being alone with you, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to silence his mind forever in this setting.
But it was your eyes – so soft and sincere and content to drink in every new inch of him that was exposed by the discarding of armor – that made him lean down to press a kiss to your lips. With no one else around to hear his words, he whispered against your lips the confession that had tormented him for so many months. “M’lady,” he began, the slight shake to his voice already showing itself despite his best efforts. “I must admit that you have plagued my thoughts all of these many months since we first met. It is causing me much grief; despite the happiness you bring me. I have never before questioned my vow the way I do now with you.”
Your hands found their way to either side of his face, the stubble growing there scratching against your thumbs as you ran them across the expanses of his cheeks. A sympathetic nod encouraged him to continue, his nerves faltering at your gentle demeanor. He swallowed noticeably, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever spoken about his emotions like this with someone before. “I think of you every waking moment, and as if that is not enough torment itself, you also walk through my very dreams every night. Meeting you so many months ago…it has set my heart and soul on a path I fear I can never stray from.”
The smile that grew on your lips and reached your eyes was enough to comfort his busy mind, and when you leaned forward to press your forehead to his in his favorite intimate gesture, any resolve he had left melted away for whatever time the two of you would be allowed to share during the hunt. Tipping his head slightly his nose bumped against yours, eliciting a small laugh from your lips that could soothe even the wildest of dragons. Your voice was all cool and collected, a contrast to the burning fire felt in his chest at the closeness to you, at his untamed desire for you.
“I have heard it said often that one should not travel alone,” you began, choosing your words carefully as his lips gravitated toward yours ever-so-slowly. He was so close that when you spoke next, your lips lightly brushed against his – only coaxing him closer and closer to collapse. “Perhaps it is a good thing I have started down this path with you, as well, Ser Criston.”
It almost pulled a whine from his chest, the tenderness you displayed for him – the continued proving of his suspicion that he was brought into existence to love you. The curve of your lips in a smile was felt against his, your eyes gazing into his and sparkling like something forbidden. He spoke barely above a sigh, his mind more focused on other tasks for his mouth than talking. “You are a temptress, m’lady…”
His lips claimed yours then, swallowing the soft sound of approval that passed in the brief moment before you returned his heated kiss. His hands finally claimed your hips, pulling you against him firmly as goosebumps raised over his arms, the quiet whine now releasing from his lips at the feeling of you against him. Noticing your strain to reach him, he sank back to the ground, pulling you with him until you were straddled in his lap comfortably.
This was the first kiss that had been allowed to grow to this intensity between the two of you and was perhaps the first kiss in your life to leave you as breathless as this with a pounding heart. Sensing your need for air he released your lips, opening his eyes to appreciate the red hue to your cheeks before he began to lower his head, trailing gentle kisses down the soft skin of your neck. One of his hands hesitantly slid to start at the laces of your shirt and when you didn’t stop him, he continued until they had been worked free. His slow movements were soon mirrored by you and eventually snowballed until the only clothing that remained were thin undergarments, most of your skin barred to the cool night air.
He leaned you backward then, taking place between your thighs as he desperately sought your lips again, his tongue taking advantage of the quiet moan that left your lips to slip into your mouth. The heat pooling at your core so intensely it was making you desperate for friction, a sentiment echoed by him. Experimentally he ground his hips down into yours, his throbbing erection growing impossibly harder at just the feeling of rubbing against you. A newfound impatience overtaking him he thrust the black hose you still wore down your legs with one hand, seeking to reconnect his hand with your core immediately. He was encouraged by the soft moan the fell from your lips, your eyes opening to soak in the enamored look he gave you.
Running a thick finger through your drenched folds he ran his tongue over his lips, eyes transfixed on your face as he dipped the same finger into your awaiting hole just slightly. A quiet whimper and the gentle bucking of your hips into his hand encouraged the finger to sink in deeper, the solitary digit welcomed by warm, tight walls that were so sensitive they clenched around him tighter and tighter. When there was nothing more for him to add he curled the finger slightly, seeking to rub against the sensitive patch within you he knew was there from prior experience with women – all while he lowered his head to press gentle kisses across the expanse of your chest.
When he sucked the first of your nipples into his mouth the tip of his finger brushed against the spot, and his name passed through your lips in a reverent moan, a tone that would replay in his mind forever. Suckling the sensitive bud into his mouth he began to pump his finger into you, eyes flickering up to ensure your face displayed no hesitancy still, only to be met with your head thrown back in bliss. He knew, though, that he could do better – that he could bring you to the depths of pleasure that you deserved.
Releasing the hardened nipple from his mouth and moving to place a gentle kiss to the other, his kisses found the perfect trail down your soft skin by way of your stomach before he reached your hips, pressing a light kiss to each of them as well. With one last glance to your face, he lowered his head, almost hesitantly running his flattened tongue through your folds and to your clit and waiting for you to respond. The response he earned by the simple motion was almost a scream, your hands immediately grasping at the back of his head and fingers entangling in his curls. He couldn’t hold back the smile that formed on his face briefly before he continued in his chosen task, removing his finger to carry on how he wanted.
Running his tongue back through your folds he prodded at your tight entrance, licking around the hole to savor every bit of your honey-sweet nectar that had dripped from you for him. His hand slid higher to connect his thumb to your swollen clit, rubbing a gentle circle on the sensitive nub as his tongue fucked into you desperately, no taste of you enough to satiate his hunger. Your moans were readily soaked in by his ears, his quiet groans against you in response sending vibrations to your body that had your walls clenching around his tongue faster than anticipated.
Your thighs came in closer to his head, holding him where you needed him most as they began to shake on either side of him, your fingers clutching his hair tighter. As your breaths shortened and became laced – each one of them – with quiet moans at the end he knew his tongue was bringing you to ecstasy and his cock continued to grow harder in his underpants. His thumb rubbed more intense circles around your clit as his free hand reached to push the restraints down, moaning against you at his throbbing cock finally being free.
Pulling back slightly and reaching to suck your clit into his lips gently he began to jerk his cock hard, uncaring about the act itself and only focused on being able to reach euphoria with you. A whimper from your lips communicated your disappointment and his resolve nearly melted before he spoke. “I…want to finish with you, my love. Please…just hold on for another moment for me.”
Despite the frustration of remaining with one foot off the cliff and wanting to complete the dive, you did your best to hold on for him, fixating your eyes on his and silently communicating all of the thoughts you wished you could speak aloud. He connected his mouth with you again when he felt himself approaching the edge, rubbing your clit once again as his tongue fucked into you, desperate to drink whatever you would offer him for his efforts.
“Criston…I…I can’t…I have to…” you panted, your nails digging into his scalp slightly as you fought hard to remain composure so you could fulfill his desires. He nodded the slightest confirmation he could, glad once again to be alone with you as your moan echoed through the trees for him. Your thighs shaking again, your walls clenched around his tongue as he began to spill his seed into the furs, unbothered by the mess he was creating as he drank every bit of your orgasm from you.
When both of you had finished and exchanged several bashful glances and kisses, an unspoken adoration passing between the two of you, he rose to his feet with you in his arms to carry you toward the tent. It was at that moment Man Eater emerged from the shadows to tuck himself outside of the tent for the night, the sight a comfort as Criston laid you atop the elaborate arrangement of furs he’d laid before you. As you continued to fight for a steady breath, he laid behind you, pulling you back against him and nestling your body into the curve of his. As he had always suspected, your bodies fit together like art, and soon the most peaceful sleep of your memories passed over you both as a final kiss was pressed to your shoulder.
It came as no surprise when it only took a day to be successful in the hunt, the three of you becoming the perfect hunting team and taking down a particularly large and nasty bear with seeming ease. Both of you elected to camp again for the night, using the excuse that it was unsafe to ride through the night – though the truth was soon revealed as the activities from the night before repeated themselves, only changing to include you accepting as much of his cock into your throat as you could take. At that point he already held no doubt that he could never be without you again, but when you’d elected to swallow his seed – holding him to you with your hands on the backs of his thighs – he decided you were with whatever turmoil was going to come his way due to his actions.
The following morning the two of you had set out once again, returning to the Red Keep under the cover of darkness with the bear’s head and pelt carried by your horses, a vibrant glow on both of you covered by armor and cloaks again. Returned to his duties he immediately began to wish he could have prolonged the hunt with you, because from the moment Princess Rhaenyra heard you returned to the castle, he could not get a moment alone with you – and such was the trend for days. The tension began to build in the air around the two of you soon, and you knew that Rhaenyra had to have taken notice of the stolen glances when she would choose to ask you once again if anything interesting had happened on the hunting trip.
“It is treason to lie to the heir to the throne, you know,” she joked one evening over a private dinner with you, her eyes flashing with knowing mischief that matched her smile. With a quiet sigh and a giggle, you shook your head, taking another drink of the rich Southern wine in front of you as you met her gaze.
“I have often heard it said it rude to share ones’ personal…happenings with others, your Grace,” you replied coolly, your eyes meeting hers and communicating your shared playfulness. She raised an eyebrow knowingly and smiled, raising her glass slightly before leaning back in her seat. The words would remain unspoken, and whatever assumption the Princess made may have been wrong – but ultimately, any exaggeration would not remain untrue for long.
When she excused herself to her bedchamber for the evening, she requested for your sworn protector to join her, stating she had begun to feel comfort around the man. Not one to refuse the Crown or a friend you gave in immediately, and though you were believed to set off for your own bedchamber – Rhaenyra called over her shoulder before her exit the directions to get you to your true desired location. Without so much as a second thought you found yourself rushing to Criston’s door, eager to reunite with him privately again.
The light knock against his door pulled him from his bed with a groan, expecting to be forced to return to his duty far sooner than intended and with far less sleep than needed. Bare feet carried him to the door as he pulled a shirt over his head, fingers adjusting his hair into a more presentable state before he swung the door open. Rather than a handmaiden or knight, he was greeted with the face of the one person his chest swelled to see.
Your hair was completely untamed, wild around you in a way that indicated you’d attempted to sleep as well, only to be met with unease. The long gown you’d been gifted to sleep in was more like something from your own home in color – silver – but it was so light and thin it was almost like there wasn’t anything there at all. Seeing your wide, wondrous eyes staring up at him with desire just outside of his door was the final spark needed for the flame that had been forming for over a year now to engulf him.
His hands reached for you before he could give himself the chance to be talked out of it, pulling you into his chambers and against his chest as he connected his lips to yours. Wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you against him he smiled into the kiss as he reached his free hand to lock the door. Your voice was already breathless and light, quiet and unsure in a way he hadn’t heard from you before.
“I couldn’t stay away,” you confessed on his lips, leaning your head back as he began to trail his kisses to your jaw, breathing in the combined smells of florals and furs that was so entirely you.
“I didn’t want you to, m’lady,” he confirmed, sitting on the bed when it hit the backs of his knees and lifting you to sit in his lap. Straddling his thick thighs required the gown to slide up your body, baring your thighs to him once again which were quickly claimed by his hands with a firm squeeze. His hands trailed up, sliding until they cupped your breasts eagerly. “What can I do for you, my treasure? What brings you here at this hour?”
As his thumbs lightly feathered over your hardening nipples you gasped, your eyes wide and dark with lust as they met his gaze again. He brought his lips to yours in a soft kiss, encouraging a response from you, needing to hear the confirmation of your desires. Your voice was already little more than a whimper, the intensity of his gaze alone enough to melt you. “Your tongue is better suited to occupations other than speaking, Ser Criston.”
Your gentle teasing pulled a laugh from him, the words you’d chosen enough. Desperate to be reunited with the taste of you he grasped your hips, lifting you once again to push you down onto the bed on your back, pulling you so your lower half was barely on the soft fabric. He stood for a moment still, pulling his shirt back over his head and tossing it to the side with little regard as to where it landed. Your gown would have to be removed eventually, but for now he was content to roll it up to your waist as he sank to his knees on the hard ground.
Suddenly shy again you kept your legs together, a quiet gasp falling from your lips as he leaned forward to run his warm lips up your right leg, his left hand following suit on the other. When he reached your knee, he gave a light nudge to push them open as he pressed a kiss just above your knee, silently begging for access. When your legs fell open at his bequest he inhaled, running his lips up your thigh as he sought out your already-dripping cunt. Keeping his right hand on its hold at your hip, his left found your core first, his index finger sliding against your folds tenderly to gather up the slick that had begun to pool between your legs.
“All this for me?” he pondered, trailing his kisses higher and higher as his finger barely dipped into you. A quiet moan slipped from your lips at the slight entry, a broken plea spoken into the night. You felt his lips curve into a smile as he placed another kiss tenderly against your thigh before turning his head to flick his tongue across your swollen clit as he buried the remainder of his finger in you.
His name fell from your lips again, louder this time, and was thanked with a groan of his own as he connected his lips around your clit, sucking gently on the sensitive nub as his finger curled within you. His new driving force found in hearing you come undone for him, he set out on his task with insatiable enthusiasm. Adding a second finger to you slowly elicited another gasp from you, his thick fingers beginning to work you open as his lips sucked against your clit gently, his tongue flicking in perfect sync with the movement of his fingers. You’d missed his mouth on you and it took no time with the combination of his fingers to make your thighs begin to shake, your breaths coming breathy as you approached an orgasm.
“C-Criston, please…” you whined, your eyes rolling into your head as he removed his fingers, making your upset at the loss of him known. He moved his hands quickly to flip you over, adjusting your position so you stayed up on your hands and knees while he pushed a pillow under your face.
“Bite, my love,” he instructed, brushing the hair out of your face and ensuring you’d still be able to breathe. “We can’t wake the castle while I drink everything I can from you.”
Any negativity you’d felt at the loss of his fingers was soon buried as he dipped his head again, licking a thick stripe against your folds before fucking his hot tongue into your leaking cunt. His fingers that were still slickened with your arousal reached around to rub your clit as he groaned into you, savoring how sweet you were for him and falling impossibly harder for you knowing that seeing you like this was a privilege all to himself. With his objective in sight, he wasted no time tipping you over the edge, grasping at your thigh as you gave him exactly what he wanted yet again.
His tongue eagerly swept up every bit of your nectar that he could find before he sucked against your clit once more, his eyes seeking to connect with yours as he flipped you over again. Instead of being met by your gaze he was gifted with the look on your face as you glowed with pleasure for him, your eyes closed in euphoria as your chest fought to catch breath. A gently placed trail of kisses to your lips gave you the time you needed, and by the time he reached your lips he was desperate. Your hand reached to find the laces of his pants and instead found his hands already there, untying and working to free himself of the restraints.
As you began to remove yourself from under him, intent on crawling down his body to wrap your lips around him once again, one of his hands reached to still your movements, pushing against your chest lightly to keep you lying back against the bed. His voice was barely above a growl as he gave into the desires he had vowed not to. “It’s not enough.”
Biting at your bottom lip as he stood from the bed to remove his pants your eyes found his again, the gentle affection blossoming in them enough to reaffirm the decision he’d made. Crawling onto the bed and back between your legs he pressed several gentle kisses to your lips as one of his hands cradled the side of your face.
“I would have never taken my vow had I known you were in the world,” he breathed, his forehead leaning against yours in the intimate gesture that was becoming a repeated motion for the two of you. As both of your eyes fluttered closed, he reached to rub the head of his cock against your folds, gathering up enough slick to well lubricate himself.
“Whether you take me or not,” you began, your voice laced with a quiet whine as he continued to rub his cock around your entrance, his breaths becoming heavier as his mind became fogged by you. “I am yours, Criston.”
The vow that fell from your lips shattered any promise he’d made before you, slipping into you without another thought with a quiet groan as his lips connected with yours. You returned his kiss the best you could as you gasped, feeling him stretch your walls as he exercised just a bit more patience to claim each inch of you slowly. Stretching your walls inch by inch he soothed you with soft kisses, quietly muttering praises as he worked his way into your impossibly tight cunt.
“All mine,” he finally confirmed as he bottomed out within you, moving to press his lips to your forehead as he stopped his movements to give you any time you needed to adjust. As one of his hands found your hip the other slid up your body until it rested at the side of your neck, holding you close as he finally fulfilled what he most desired.
It took a moment, but finally your body gave into him and relaxed, one of your legs moving to wrap around your waist to encourage him in just slightly deeper. The simple action brought forth a groan from his chest as he ground his waist against yours, desperate for movement between the two of you. His lips lowered to yours again as he slowly dragged his cock out of you to the head before tenderly sliding back into your wet heat. As his tongue dove into your mouth, he swallowed the moan that came from your chest, his hand on your hip grasping tighter and he repeated the motion again.
After several slow, rhythmic thrusts the head of his cock found the extra sensitive, spongy patch deep within you that elicited his name from your lips. Finding the spot several more times caused your walls to tighten around him slightly, his control faltering as he pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath as he stilled for a moment. His voice was low and breathless as he slowly circled his hips again, grinding down into you rhythmically.
“No one will keep you from me,” he promised, his new vow spoken into the night and followed by a groan as he increased his pace into your dripping cunt again. Sliding the hand that rested on your neck up further and into your hair he pulled you into another kiss, a breathy groan covering your lips as your walls tightened around him again. “Fucking…exquisite,” he breathed out, his other hand sliding to raise one of your legs over his shoulder. The deeper angle pulled a deeper, more primal groan from his chest as he seemed to push in impossibly deeper. “Oh, gods, I could bury myself in you every day…”
You found yourself unable to respond to his praise with adequate words, instead thanking his kindness and showing your appreciation of the new angle by moaning his name and nodding in agreement. Tightening his hold on your ankle and burying his face in your neck he began to thrust into you again, releasing a wanton groan into your neck as his lips curved into a small against your skin. A shaking hand belonging to you raised to push his chin up, claiming his lips in a kiss again before your fingers slid back into his hair. The heat of your kiss melted his smile and was returned with immediate passion, as would every kiss you offered him from there forward.
As your thighs began to shake around him again and your walls squeezed him slightly tighter, your breaths becoming more desperate, he knew the end was approaching for you just as it was for him. As he removed his lips from your kiss to lean his forehead against yours once again, he was greeted with the ethereal sight of you glowing for him, your mouth falling open in bliss as he slid a hand to connect a thumb to your clit and rub leisurely circles.
“Criston…I…”
“Yes, my love,” he moaned, picking his pace up again as he nodded, breathing out heavy onto your lips. His thumb began to work faster circles on your swollen clit as he positioned his cock to slide against the sweet patch within you, pressing gentle kisses to your lips as he coaxed another orgasm from you. He knew it was wrong, completely so, and yet he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering toward a future of possibilities, of the possible consequences of his broken vow; of watching you swell with his child. As your walls clenched him impossibly tighter your orgasm washed over you, your combined moans were swallowed by his kiss as he spilled himself within you, unable to hold himself back.
When he’d finished painting your quivering walls he leaned his forehead down against your shoulder, holding himself up so he didn’t crush you but clearly unwilling to pull away from you. His mind wandered to the possibility of soon seeing you swell with what would be his bastard child, and he immediately felt guilty knowing that you deserved far better than the life of a woman with a bastard child. Even still, he couldn’t deny the truth that was that he wanted to see you birth his child – a thought that had him leaning to press repeated kisses against your lips in adoration.
Though he still fought for completely normal breath, his new vow was spoken with purpose and taken as gospel by the one person he could truly ever devote himself to.
“I will find a way for us to truly be together, my love. I swear it.”
masterlist.
#ser criston cole#criston cole#criston cole x reader#criston cole smut#criston cole fanfiction#house of the dragon smut#house of the dragon fanfiction
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can you please do comforting fernando after a tough race 🤍
HEARTSTRINGS. ❨ fernando alonso x reader ❩
“fuck!”
your head snaps up towards the shout, eyes having only left the screen for a moment when it happens. there’s a lot of technical babble, none of which you understand, expect one line.
“… retire the car.”
a heartstring tugs at your chest, guiltily hoping it’s lance’s car that pulls into the pit lane. but it’s a white number fourteen that flashes on the screen, and then on the entrance to the garage. gripping the chair under you, you wait in anticipation for the storm about to come.
it had been building for days. poor communication from the team, a bad start in qualifying, and now an engine failure. fernando’s patience with alpine was running thin and you feared the string was about to snap.
“‘nando…” you mutter as he climbs from the car, tugging off his helmet to reveal the sour scowl underneath. engineers pull him away, giving a short brief before he’s ushered to his post—race interview, the other cars still whizzing loudly outside.
all you can do is wait. until his commitments are complete, there’s nothing you can do to comfort his sorrow and pain. at most, you wander back to his drivers room and make some tea for you both — it usually calms him down pretty well.
your leg is bouncing against the chair when the door flies open and shuts again, fernando hurrying inside. you watch him silently, hands ripping off his suit until it falls at his waist, tight fireproofs laid underneath.
“i made tea,” you tell him, tentatively, rising from your seat. he glances towards the two mugs, yours already a few gulps emptier. visibly, he sighs. shoulders slump and give in, reaching across to pull your body to his.
“it’s okay. it’s only one race.” it isn’t, you know that, but it feels like the right thing to say.
“how the fuck did they not notice during the pit?” fernando grumbles against your shoulder. you feel his tension rising again, so you squeeze him a little tighter.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, head turning in the embrace to softly kiss his cheek. he turns to meet you, gentle eyes turned so sad when they meet your own. it tugs at you, making you want to give alpine a piece of your own mind — if only it wouldn’t make things worse.
“i really wanted it,” he admits, eyes glistening. you’re the only one to ever see this side. beyond the stoic, big bad wolf. you get to see the hurt and the pain this career causes him, and god you wish you didn’t because it makes you sick to your stomach.
“i know,” you coo, pulling him back in. his face nestled in your neck, your hand cradling the crown of his head. you sway slightly, feeling his emotions subside with each passing moment. “want some tea, now?”
fernando nods against your soft sweater, but it still takes another minute for him to pull back. when he does, he takes both his mug and you back to the small couch with him. balancing the tea in one hand, he tugs you close to his side with the other. it stays there, glued to your leg, rubbing small circles on the skin below your skirt.
“thank you,” he murmurs after a few minutes of quiet. you look over at him and spot the love in his eyes that you’d grown accustomed to noticing. smiling, you lean into him more.
“it’s just some tea,” you muse.
“no,” he shakes his head, managing a small breath of a laugh. “i mean, for everything. for being there for me, no matter what.”
a heat rises in you that you never want to go away. love, adoration, everything good filling every crevice in your body and you’re sure you’d never find something as pure as what you had with fernando had you lived a thousand years.
“i love you, ‘nando. i’m always going to be there.” you grasp at his wrist, the one resting on your leg. nudging forward, you softly kiss his tea—stained lips. he chases after them, even as you smile fondly at him.
“i love you so very much, corazón,” fernando mumbles, accent thick amongst his emotions. “can we go back to the hotel? let’s just order room service and watch those awful movies you like.”
your eyes roll with affection. “please, you like them too.”
his lips pull into a smirk, standing to his feet and taking you with him. he sets both mugs down, taking a few minutes to change into his own clothes. you fold his suit neatly for him, setting it aside as he pulls on his shorts and top. just before you can reach for the door, he grips your waist softly and pulls you flush to his chest.
his lips fall softly on your own, sucking carefully at the swell of your bottom lip. by instinct, his tongue licks into your mouth, dancing lovely past your own. there’s a passion there, but nothing heated or desperate. just wanting to be close.
“thank you, again,” fernando repeats, brushing your hair back from your forehead. you smile, nuzzling against his touch for a slight second, heart squeezing in your chest.
“i’m proud of you, no matter what.”
#🍾 ﹐ becca hits 1k!#🌙 ﹐ drabbles.#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#fernando alonso drabble#fernando alonso blurb#fernando alonso fluff#fernando alonso imagine#fernando alonso#fernando alonso instagram au#fernando alonso x reader
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bittersweet
summary: After being separated for a very long time, two lovers reunite under challenging circumstances on Teth.
pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader
warnings: !SPOILERS!, fluff, angst, no happy ending
words: 1075
a/n: the return of the king (and my writing :)
!!!SPOILERS EPISODE 6 AND 7!!!
MASTERLIST REQUEST RULES
One second the laughter of Echo and Gregor fills the ship, then there is a desperate call for help coming through the comm. It‘s Rex, surrounded by imperial forces. He is with clone force 99 as well as other surviving clones. Right away, Echo turns the ship around and heads back to Teth as quickly as possible. Neither Gregor nor (Y/n) need a direct order to reach for their weapons and prepare for a risky exfiltration.
For a few seconds, (Y/n)s fingers linger on her vibro knife with a significant wolf engraved into it‘s hilt. Her heart burns at bittersweet memories of a certain Commander. Closing her eyes, she can still see him smiling after he gave her the knife. Other people, maybe even some of his brothers, considered him strict and bitter, but (Y/N) could always look behind his cold behaviour. But now, he is out of her reach, and she can‘t admire the glint in his eyes anymore.
“Are you alright?“, Gregor places a hand on (Y/n)s shoulder, tearing her out of her daydreams. There is a single tear running over her cheek and she quickly wipes it away, but the clone saw it. He tries to smile at her reassuringly. The smile on her lips doesn‘t reach her eyes, though.
“Yeah, thanks, Gregor“, (Y/n) tells him with a shaky voice and turns back towards her numerous weapons. The knife slides into the holster on her thigh, and it feels heavier than ever.
As she places her rifle over her shoulder, Echo announces that they are almost at the extraction point. Gregor and (Y/n) walk towards the ramp and get into position. Standing behind Gregor, (Y/n) aims her rifle towards the opening ramp. At first, she can‘t see much because Echo is still landing the ship, but then she catches a glimpse of Rex and other clones surrounded by imperial forces.
Her crosshair moves from the regular troops to a commando and finally to the Commander of this squad. The grey paint on his armor seems familiar and takes away (Y/n)s breath. It looks too familiar, she must be hallucinating. It can‘t be him. But the moment the Commander takes off his helmet, (Y/n) recognises him. It‘s Wolffe.
The rifle falls to the ground with a loud thump, attracting everyone’s attention. (Y/n) has to take a few steps forward to stand next to Gregor and be in view to everyone. To her in this very moment only one person matters. It‘s like everyone else disappears and leaves her reunited with her lost lover.
Wolffe is as baffled as never before. His cybernetic eye must be malfunctioning because how could his cyar‘ika be right here on Teth? She might look a bit different, but so does he. War changes people. In the past year, whenever her imagined her in his mind, he would always remember her carefree in the summer sun of Coruscant. Now she is wearing a heavy protective vest and many weapons, looking almost drained. But it‘s (Y/n), for sure.
“Wolffe“, she whispers his name before approaching him with fleet steps. Running past Rex, who understands the situation unlike the clones around him, (Y/n) reaches Wolffe quickly. Without a second thought, she wraps her arms around his neck and crashes against him, making him stumble a few steps backwards. His helmet falls to the ground, and he engulfs her in a tight hug.
There are smiles and tears as they part a few inches to take a better look at each other. (Y/n) places her hands just under Wolffes scrubby jaw, caressing his cheeks with her thumbs. “You‘re home“, she whispers and leans forward to connect their foreheads in a sweet keldabe kiss without helmets.
“Yes, I‘m home, cyar‘ika“, Wolffe returns and closes his eyes for some time. Then he remembers the situation they are in as his second in command shifts. Softly, he moves (Y/n) to his side but never actually parts from him. He still has to follow orders, right? But with his beloved girl and multiple of his brothers right here, he gets some doubts.
Most of the clones are already inside of the ship, only Rex and Gregor are still outside, waiting for (Y/n). The soldiers under Wolffe’s command are getting unsettled, not knowing what to do and what their orders are.
“Let them go“, their Commander orders and the troopers lower their blasters. A nod from Wolffe tells them to return to their ship. Turning his attention back on (Y/n), Wolffe can feel his heart ache. He pulls her into a tight hug once again, feeling one of her hands buried in his hair. Only when they part does (Y/n) realise this was a way of saying goodbye.
“No, I only just got you back, you can‘t leave me again. Please“, she whines and starts crying at the realisation. Wolffe takes her face in his rough hands and stops her from hiding her face in her own.
“Shh, don‘t cry. This is not a goodbye, we will see each other again. I promise. But I have to take care of a few things before we can see each other again. I have to take care of my squad. I‘m so sorry, cyar‘ika“, Wolffe tries to reassure his girl. He leans his forehead against hers, not caring what the remaining clones around them think. “We found each other once, we can do that a second time, I‘m sure of that.“
The moment Wolffe tries to take a step backwards and part from (Y/n), she presses herself as close to him as possible. Their lips meet in a teary and passionate kiss, showing their raw emotions. “I love you so much, please come back to me“, (Y/n) breathes against her lover’s lips and finally parts from him. He places one last kiss between her brows, strokes a hair strand behind her ear and whispers a declaration of love in Mando’a : Ni kar‘tayli gar darasuum.
Wiping away the tears from her face, (Y/n) approaches Rex and Gregor who look as downcast as her. They enter the ship after her, but only (Y/n) takes a look back and watches Wolffe enter the imperial ship. They get separated by the closing ramp.
But just like Wolffe said: They found each other once, they can do that a second time.
taglist: @gwenebear @skippyhopperwisdom @littlemisscare-all
#commander wolffe x reader#commander wolffe x you#bad batch spoilers#the bad batch spoilers#tbb spoilers#wolffe x reader#wolffe x you
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Hello, hello! I really like your writing so I'll take this chance and for Valentine's Day I'd love if you write some healthy relationships headcanons with Jason Todd. I know this might be super weird, but I just want reader to validate him, to make him feel safe and good enough, strong enough, the poor boy deserves that, his head is a mess so I just want him to rest in reader's arms and be in a healthy space, please 😭 reader can be another vigilante if you don't mind!
Thank you!!
sweet baby boy. physical tank of a man. baby. tank. baby girl.
he doesn't understand why you stay. why you love him. why you care. no amount of words seems to get through his thick skull
so you start doing little things around the apartment
making sure his coffee is ready the way he likes it in the morning, hot and steaming and in his favorite mug
making sure he's set before patrol. you check and double check his equipment and even clean his helmet before the moon rises.
it started as a joke. you always told him a pun or a joke before he left, purposefully leaving off the ending so that he would have to come back and hear it. you crook your finger and he leans down, his helmet pressing against your forehead. you cup the cool metal where his cheek should be and murmur out your joke before kissing the line in the mask where his lips were hidden.
when he comes crawling back in the early hours of the morning, you roll over in bed and greet him with a gentle kiss and the punchline to the joke
he struggles to communicate his feelings sometimes but you never push. you just sit next to him, your fingers tangled in the short hair at the base of his neck as you wait for him to finally speak. his voice cracks as he whispers aloud the nightmare that tore him from sleep last night. "and he was just standing there...Bruce was standing there watching him fucking hit me again and again and-"
you pull him closer, your forehead resting against his temple. tears are building in your eyes because your heart aches when he's in pain. you pepper his cheeks with kisses and pull his head to rest on your chest, whispering assurances that he's no longer in that warehouse.
whenever he's standing in front of you in some form of undress, you're totally complimenting the hell out of him
he's bright red as you wolf whistle
hell, you're fawning over him when he's in full suit as well
you're his best friend. his main supporter. his lover. his confidante. and you know that he is yours. when the memories become too much and he's back in the Pit, drowning against the rage and grief, he looks up and sees your hand extending down to him.
he always clasps it and lets you pull him out.
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