Fickle

OMG CHECK THIS AUTHOR OUT ASAP !!!

𝘚𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘬

Chapter 1 snippet

December 2, Monday morning. The warmth of your bed clings around your body, practically inviting you to rest for another hour, debating whether or not you should accept this proposal, the harsh realisation of reality barely awakens you. Hardly conscious, you bring your attention to the bright window of your bedroom, a pleasant surprise guides your view to the blanket of white powder enveloping your backyard, brightening up the depressing usual mornings of winter. Concentrating on the comforting feeling of safety in your bed, checking your phone sends you back to reality, you’ve woken up 30 minutes late.

‘Fuck.’ you mutter, you’re finally fully awake. You quickly fling aside your baggy band shirt and chaotically get dressed in uniform. Sprinting downstairs, nearly tripping, you snatch your books, shoving them inside your bag. As you mentally prepare yourself for the school day, you quickly grasp a snack and catch hold of your jacket.

Puffs of your breath leaving you in uneven clouds and the cold biting at your skin as you ran outside. Reaching the empty bus stop, your heart drops at the realisation that the bus had left without you.

‘Just kill me at this point.’ You murmured under your breath, words tumbling out before you realise.

‘Would you like me to?’

The voice came from nowhere, it was deep, and said without intention. His voice was the kind that could melt winter’s bitter coldness, designed to be unnerving. He whispered it with an idle confidence, you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or having fun at your expense.

His words hanged in the air like icicles hanging from the roof. Stopping mid in your tracks, your sharply turn your gaze towards him walking towards you. His long chestnut like hair was flowing in the frigid breeze, eyes gleaming, a dark forest green, sharpened. They were unreadable, his intentions unclear.

His warm yet teasing voice started again, ‘You seemed so earnest about the idea? I thought I’d offer what you wanted.’

Your heart pulsed faster and faster by the moment, unsure how to response.

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth faintly curving, ‘What's the matter? –Cat got your tongue?’ letting out a faint chuckle as he approached you.

Author's note:

If you're still here, thank you for reading! This is a short snippet of a fic that I'm writing about a character that I've made. What led me to writing this was my friend deciding to make a little scenario for me with my type after I had just rambled to her about wanting a bf exactly like the character that I'm writing about, after she had made the scenario for me, I went onto Wattpad to check out if there had been any stories similar to what my friend made and to no avail, I didn't find anything. I decided to take matters into my own hands and write the fic myself, since I couldn't find anything. Anyway, if your type is long haired metalheads, then this is for you!! (Also the friend who helped make the scenario is @brownblob credits to her for helping me)

WE DID IT!!!

I have reached my first goal for this blog all thanks to you guys!!! This motivates me to write more in the future!!

Thank you so much everyone!!!

"So many treats to choose from, so many more to come"

-Brownie

Maybe

Rook Hunt x Fem! Reader

TW: Implied sexual themes, implied gore, blood, injuries, stalker-ish behavior from Rook Hunt, obsessive themes, worshipping of reader. Reader is implied to be gender neutral but some parts refer to them in a more "feminine" manner.

Synopsis: Rook was not a sadist, but his actions said otherwise. Was he really to blame when your fear-stricken face was just so endearing? No, Rook was not- he could not be a sadist. At least that's what he told himself. But, was he really so horrible or was there something more to it?

Note: Read at your own risk

Rook was a lot of things but he was not a sadist, he never found pleasure in another's pain- he was not so cruel. Bullshit. Because when it came to you, even the most ghastly wound became a fine piece of art. When you came into the question, Rook took being a hunter quite seriously. After all, would he really be one, if he didn't somewhat enjoy how you writhed in pain?

It was wrong. Rook knew it was wrong yet the pleasure he felt seeing your poor, frail form, all dependent on him- it was enough for him to forget all his morals.

Maybe it was that look of despair in your eyes, or it might have been how you desperately clutched onto his shirt. The way your eyes were wet with tears, heavy breaths leaving your lips as you felt the rip in your flesh.

How could he deny helping this broken beauty? After all, Rook Hunt would never deny a damsel in distress of her knight in shining armor.

The way protests left your mind, how your arms clutched around his neck as he picked you up. He saw it all.

It was beautiful- the lack of defiance, the docility, the obedience. The usual you would make a snarky comment, tell him to "fuck off", and of course he loved that version of you too. Yet, this frail, broken you was so deliciously compliant that he couldn't help but relish in it.

Don't get it wrong, it wasn't exactly your pain that he loved- but your dependence on him. The way you had no choice but to give up and let him take care of you. Wasn't it perfect? He got to care for you and you didn't even have to worry your pretty little head. You could be at peace while he guarded your precious body, so reminiscent of a temple.

It was his dream to serve you, to take care of you, to be in your presence without the mask you put up for others. It was his dream to see the real you, and right now, he got the chance to see a glimpse of it. He had the opportunity to see how you handled pain. Upon witnessing it, he couldn't deny that he wanted to see more.

He was sickening.

The way he had access to your room, the way you trusted him in this moment- it sent the blood rushing to his face.

It felt so right to carry you, to hold you, to embrace you- so endearing you were as you wet his shirt with your warm tears.

You said nothing, only weeped. You were scared, so frightened of the monster in front of you. Yet, you had no choice but to let him in, after all, your injuries were severe and he said he knew how to treat them. And he did treat them, letting his hands wander alongside.

His eyes were locked with the purple of your bruises, so reminiscent of fresh violets. How your crimson blood stained his clothes, the scent of iron engulfing him in a frenzy.

He loved it.

It wasn't as though he was only enjoying the view, no, he would never be so cruel. Still, he relished in the sight for as long as he could before wrapping your wounds in bandages. The feeling of being able to patch you up, bring you back to shape- as one would to a marionette- made him feel as though he was your god. It was this exact devotion he craved, though it may have been a trick his mind played on him for the looks you sent him were everything but welcoming.

He observed you, how you reacted to the burn of medicine seeping into your skin, the way you winced as he caressed your bruises. It brought such a perverse smile on his flushed face.

He was addicted to it.

No, Rook wasn't a sadist but at times the hunter within him just couldn't help but relish in the sickening sight of his beloved fawn. You were beautiful in all forms, yet one of his favorites was when you left yourself in his care, so dependent on him.

He loved you no matter how broken you could be.

He knew he was disgusting, revolting even but the way you called out his name, gruelling in pain was enough to feed his delusions that you didn't mind. How he wished he had snapped a couple photos of you, or maybe even drawn portrait as you lay in bed, so meekly.

He was twisted.

No, Rook was not a sadist, he did not enjoy another's pain but if that pain belonged to you, then even even something so vile could be beautiful. That pain, suffering- it belonged to you so of course he loved it so. It might have been perverse of him, vile, or even cruel but no matter what it was, once it belonged to you it would be the most beautiful of all.

How could he not find it beautiful?

Your body was coiled up, whimpering in such a delightful manner. Your eyes were half-lidded as you wept and your crimson blood seeped through the pristine bandages he'd covered you in. No matter how he perceived you, in that moment, your pain was the most heavenly vision of all.

Nevertheless, it did torment him to see you all bruised and broken- that was why he whispered sweet nothings in your ears, words that were incoherent in the moment. That was why he cradled you in his arms as you struggled to leave- he chose to ignore that. That was why he treated you as one would a lover, his hands crossing boundaries as you fainted.

How sinful you must have felt.

No, Rook was not a sadist- but upon witnessing your agony, he felt nothing but pure bliss. No, Rook did not love this version you because of the pain you felt- he loved it because of how dependent you were on him. No, Rook wasn't cruel, he wasn't twisted either- you were just too heavenly.

Maybe Rook was a sadist.

Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post and reblog! Thank you! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated!

Note 2: I love how Rook's character is a great source for dark material yet he can also be written in a more sweet manner. (I love this man with all my heart)

Note 3: Any unhealthy behavior depicted in this fic is not condoned nor encouraged by me. If you are facing any mental/physical abuse, please seek help immediately!

My New (other) Blog!

Recently took a break from writing and kinda left my blog for a bit. I will be returning writing for twst as soon as I regain my lost motivation.

Anyways, I've been rewatching old sitcoms I used to as a child- the silly ones from Disney, and I've been completely OBSESSED with Max Russo from 'Wizards of Waverly Place'. So much so, I had the motivation to write again- a fanfic at that.

I created anew blog for it, in which I will be writing various stories/fanfics based on my childhood sitcoms. If you guys are interested, check it out!

My new blog: brownieblob

If you wanna jump straight into the fic: Be Careful Not to Mess With the Balance of Things (this is the introductory post and chapter one is linked on it)

Thank you, enjoy!

why has this got me kicking my feet? Excuse me? Floyd what you doin to me!??? AHHHHHHHHHHH

Sweet Dreams

Lilia Vanrouge x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Lilia was certainly strange, visiting you out of the blue- saying things you could easily mistake for something loving. Truly, he was peculiar. Yet, it wasn't yet another prank- he had his reasons. After all, he couldn't see you suffer. Thus, he didn't let you suffer. With a sweet song and a bit of magic, you were lulled into his comforting arms.

TW: None, just fluff! (a little bittersweet at the end though, maybe-)

A serene morning; raven's cawing outside, Grim yawning as he clings to you, and the ghosts chattering outside your room. This was the usual for Ramshackle mornings, well except for the questionable singing outside. You'd just awoken, lashes fluttering open as you tried to pry Grim off of you. You sighed as his form wouldn't budge, sleepy rambles of tuna spilling from his mouth.

You stretched your tired body trying to accommodate to the chilly morning. Still, what was that strange noise- no, singing outside? It wasn't ghastly, quite the opposite actually. it sounded as though someone was singing lullabies- whoever it was must've been confused about the time of day, it was clearly morning.

Raising a brow in confusion you woke grim up who huffed angrily and complained about how lovely his dream was.

"Huh!? My tuna! W-where is my tuna and my servants!?" Grim exclaimed before you picked him up by the scruff.

"It was a dream, Grim. We have stranger things to worry about than tuna and you having servants." You said nonchalantly, a yawn escaping your lips.

"There's someone singing something outside." You spoke to wish Grim's ears twitched as if he was trying to listen.

"Henchman, you're right! But why're they singin' a lullaby in the morning?" Grim asked, his paw's rising up to jab you- commanding you to let him go. You sighed as you released him- he etched towards the nearest window to go peek at who was outside, and yell at them to stop.

"There's nothin' here." he said, to which you responded with a raised brow. You began to march over to the window too, certainly there was someone or something outside- music didn't just spawn without a source.

"What do you mean there's nothing? There has to be someone-" He was right, no one was outside neither was there something that could generate music. You and Grim glanced at each other in confusion then looked outside the window once more, in sync.

Out of the blue, a head popped up in front of you- upside down.

"Good morning, how's the day for you two?" You both only shrieked in response, backing away from the window- you swore your heart thumped three times faster. That is until you realized, that was Lilia and not one of the ghosts playing a prank on you- it didn't make the ache on your bum any better from falling down though.

"Lilia!? Why are you- what are you doing here," You said, quickly pausing to glance at the old clock to check the time before continuing. "at seven in the morning?" You asked with a huff, Grim nodding at your side- both your and Grim's arms crossed in sync, to which Lilia heartily laughed. He quickly got off your roof and began to float outside your window- this wasn't the morning you were expecting and you did mind, sort of.

"Well I merely thought it would be a lovely idea to visit you, isn't that what you do with loved ones?" He said, his tone filled with mischief and a cheeky warmth. At his mention of 'loved ones' your cheeks flared up, a wide-eyed stare following suit. Nevertheless, you brushed it off, realizing that he could very well mean a dear friend.

That stung.

"Not by scaring them first thing when they wake up, anyways-" You began after composing yourself, only to be cut off by Grim.

"Hey, were you the one singin' outside?"

"I certainly was, good ears." He winked before continuing once more. "I thought it would be a lovely gift for the prefect. I've heard that singing for the one you love is a form of endearment, no?" With that, he disappeared with another, cheekier, wink.

Grim simply nodded, still half-asleep- you did too, for a second that is, until you realized what he said. His words played in your mind: 'the one you love'. A soft blush coated your face yet you said nothing. You probably misunderstood him, he meant friend- that was it for sure. You should stop getting these wried thoughts.

Just a friend. Right?

A sigh escaped your lips as you got ready for classes, Grim draped across the couch as he napped for a while.

After your classes, the Adeuce duo's shenanigans, random tasks from Crowley, reminders that overblots could still take place, and Grim's constant yapping about tuna- you were simply tired.

You were ready to go back to ramshackle, climb into bed and not get up till late- mainly because there were no classes tomorrow, you couldn't remember why. With a tired smile you left a talkative Grim at Heartslabyul for the night as you treaded for Ramshackle yourself, ready to plop onto your bed and forget everything that took place around you.

The urge to just disappear from all your problems.

Upon entering Ramshackle, you felt so comfortable- not like you normally didn't, but there was something different. You weren't sure exactly what it was, but your dusty old room- it felt mystic. It was as if someone or something magical has visited your room, blessing it it with a sweet sleep spell. You were tired, yes, but rather than groggily falling asleep, you felt as if you were lulled to sleep.

As if someone was singing you a lullaby, cradling you in comforting arms.

Tired eyes fluttered, struggling to stay awake, scared to miss something- someone. A small yawn escaped your lips as you began to fall from the need to sleep.

Endearing.

Before you could fall on the hard ground, a pair of arms caught you- a cheeky smile etched onto Lilia's lips as he held your sleeping from. A soft sigh released as he continued to sing, only now actually entering your chambers. After all, what kind of lover would let his beloved fall?

A sweet hum left his lips as he finished his song, his arms cradling you one last time before placing you on your bed. A soft kiss was planted on your forehead, a kiss to keep away nightmares.

He'd felt wrong in the past, entering your chambers as he cradled you to sleep- his beloved crying in his arms. It could be immoral to enter someone's room, yet how could he leave? Nightmares plagued you every single night, Grim noticed too- thus clinging to you in desperation to comfort you, when sleeping at Ramshackle.

With no choice left, A sleeping spell was cast in the dorm by Lilia, ever since the day he noticed how these horrid dreams affected you. You'd toss and turn, cry and mumble in sleep. Maybe fear from overblots? Perhaps homesickness? Or maybe it was pure lonlieless.

Whatever it was, Lilia was there- whether you realized it or not. A soft, blessed, tune to sing you to sleep.

As his usual night routine went, tucking you to bed and leaving- he propped himself up from your bed as he prepared to return back to Diasomnia. Yet, a soft tug at his sleeve stopped him; an incoherent mumble from your lips as your brows furrowed- still asleep.

Therefore, a kiss was placed on your lips- a spell.

Now your nightmares were his to keep, a gift in his eyes- for as long as you didn't suffer, he'd remain content.

Before leaving, he sung one last song.

"Sweet dreams"

Note: If you enjoyed this, please interact with this post, my blog, and reblog! Any kind gestures are greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Note 2: Please reblog, even if you don't press like on the post. Reblogs help a ton more!

Note 3: Just realized I spelt his name wrong- fixed it.

can you do malleus x y/n?

Do you?

Malleus Draconia x GN!Reader

TW: None, just fluff!

Malleus Draconia, the stoic Fae prince, and future ruler of the Briar Valley had always been a figure of intimidation. Since he was born, no one had ever dared to go against the prince. It was surely wonderful to be respected as such, even feared.

Yet, he couldn't help but feel so dreadfully lonely.

Everyone saw him as a prince, a man who would one day rule over all faeries, a man who who could kill in just a snap of his fingers.

A boy who was never invited to events, a boy who was feared so much that he never lived like a child. A boy who's name could cause thousands, if not millions, to cower.

Then why were you not scared?

Why was it that whenever you saw him, you smiled? Why was he always greeted as an individual, a friend, whenever he met up with you? Why did you trust him so easily?

Were you foolish or naive? He did not know, but what he did know was that you were endearing, a sort of light amidst his black and white world.

You had opened his eyes to what friendship was, what it was like to be cared for unconditionally.

Yet he was greedy. It was in his nature, after all, he was a dragon. He was a dragon who wanted to hoard this newfound treasure.

That treasure was you.

You weren't like his retainers, you never served under him. Nor were you like his followers, you never worshipped him. Then what were you?

The simple idea of someone so peculiar messed with his brain. He wasn't sure what category you were part of. You started off as "just a human" a very peculiar one, but still a mere human.

"Tsunotarou!" You'd say with that same goofy smile plastered on your face. Did you really not know what he was capable of, or were you just that brave?

Yet, whenever you said that name, reaching your arms out to engulf him in your embrace, he couldn't help but smile. The corners of his lips tugged to a grin, showcasing his sharper teeth as he returned the gesture.

He didn't know when nor did he know how it happened, but soon enough, you weren't just a human anymore.

You were his human, his peculiar human that he wanted more than just a friend.

He wanted to be more than "Tsunotarou".

His greed longed for your love, his greed longed for your touch, his greed longed for you.

"Child of man, what do you see me as..?" He asked, his voice deep as usual, his left hand cupping your face. He leaned down to your height, his lips awfully close to your neck.

"What am I to you?" He asked, his voice a whisper. The room seemed to go silent as you stood there, his free hand snaking around your waist.

What started of as a normal walk in the woods, turned into something more serious, much more intimate. The way his right hand snaked around your waist as the other one cupped your face, it was all so confusing, yet so fitting.

Fireflies seemed to dance around you, illuminating the dark night. The wind made the trees dance, the moon seeming a bit too dreamy than usual, as it made a pond nearby glow. The scene was right out of a fairytale, and it seemed as if he were a prince and you were his fated lover.

This was the first time he'd been so outright blunt with you, and so awfully close. Yet, it felt nice, the way his hands fit against you, the way his breath felt on you neck, and the way the blood rushed to your cheeks.

As he moved away from you neck, you looked up at him, your neck craning a bit. His emerald eyes looked into yours with something you couldn't explain, they were seeking an answer, they were longing for you.

"You're Tsunotarou, my friend..." You replied, your mind running a bit too fast for your liking as your heart skipped a beat. What was happening to you? You weren't sure what he was hinting at, what exactly was he asking, so you stated the obvious.

He wasn't stupid, he already knew this. He wanted to know more, what exactly he meant to you, what the possibilities were.

He pulled you closer, your face buried in his chest as he leaned down a bit so you could hear his words as clearly as possible.

"What if I want to be more than friends?" He asked, as the arm gripped around your waist tightened.

"You've given me the chance to experience friendship, something I am deeply grateful for. Yet, friendship doesn't soothe the longing in my heart." His words were careful, slowly reaching the goal he was aiming for.

"I want to be yours."

He let go of you slightly, allowing his eyes to look into yours. His grip loosened a bit as he waited for you to run off, for he may have made you uncomfortable. Yet you didn't, you simply stood there in his loosened embrace.

Your face was flushed, the usual childlike smile nowhere to be found. Instead, your face was red, an expression he'd never attained from you, an expression that he wished to see more of.

The fireflies still danced in the night, the moon glowing brightly, the trees swayed with delight, as you two stood there, relishing in the serenity.

"Do you long for me as much as I long for you?"

Note: Sorry for leaving at kind of a cliffhanger but I wasn't sure how far I was supposed to go and whether it was supposed to be wholesome or more heated. Please do give me more premises and ideas to write about, it would be greatly appreciated.

If you enjoyed it please interact with this post and.or follow me to support! If you wish to request something please read the pinned post first! Thank you!

LOVE LOVE LOVEEEEEEEE

Feeling rather proud of this one. I offer it as a DTIYS challenge!

I doubt it's original at all but..when I showed another wip of this piece to my qpp.. Prince Riddle AU.?🌹👑

OMG I LOVE THIS IDEAAAAAA

AGHAGHFFFJK AHHHHH OMGGGG WOWOWOWOW

sypnosis. a queen waits for the return of the man who promised he would always come back. her lover, who disappeared years ago chasing an adventure only he could see. the court demands a king, and suitors press in, but she remains unmoved, weaving a shroud of time until he returns. then, a challenge: whoever can string her betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes will claim the throne. the suitors fail, but the beggar steps forward, rook, disguised. the bow bends, the arrow flies true, and rook stands before her, alive, and home at last.

note. i was listening to “the challenge” and thought of rook, stupidly enough cause of the bow & i immediately thought of “rook would love this” but you get it ^^’’ !!! immediate apologies if it may seem ooc, or off grammar (unfortunately, english isn’t my first language)

𝕿He. . . loom stretches before you, a seemingly endless web of threads that twine and twist in complex patterns. It feels like an impossible task, one you can never quite complete. Each morning, your fingers move with purpose, the rhythmic motion of weaving pulling you deeper into the task, a desperate distraction from the ache in your chest. Each night, when the rest of the castle has drifted into slumber, you return to the loom to unravel the threads, as if in some way, that will erase the time that’s passed — the time that you’ve been forced to endure without him. They do not know. The suitors who fill your court like hungry wolves — bright smiles and velvet robes hiding the sharp edges of ambition — believe you are near the end, that soon, you will choose a new king.

But you are still his.

He left you years ago, chasing a challenge that only he could see. The great hunter, the man who had seen beauty in every fleeting moment, had sworn to return. His final words still echo in your memory: “Mon amour,” he had whispered, breath warm against your temple, hands pressing over yours. “I leave not for adventure, but for the promise of coming home to you. What is love, if not the patience to wait?”

But patience is cruel, and faith wears thin when it is constantly tested by the long silence between you. The world does not stop spinning while you wait for a man who might never return. You have held your breath for years, hoping against hope that the promise he left you would hold true, but as the days turn into months, and the months into years, you begin to wonder if perhaps the sea has swallowed him whole.

The kingdom stirs. The whispers grow louder each day. It has been too long. He is gone. A queen cannot rule alone forever, they say. And so they press closer, thousands of men draped in velvet and gold, smiles dripping with false sweetness, eyes gleaming with greed. They speak of duty, of stability. They speak of the future.

But what of the past?

The love you held for Rook is not something fragile that can be traded away. It is not a thing to be bartered like the throne you sit upon. And yet, the court grows impatient, the vultures circling, waiting for their moment to swoop in.

“Your Majesty,” one of them says, his voice smooth as silk, his hand lingering too long on the armrest of your throne. “The throne needs a king.“

“A nation without a ruler is weak,” another murmurs, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous than mere concern. “Choose, and we will grant you peace.”

Peace? How.. humourous. As if the love you hold for Rook could ever be bought, as if it were something to be sacrificed to ease their hunger. As if you are not the woman who has held the kingdom together, the queen who ruled with strength and wisdom while he was lost to the world. But they do not understand. They never have.

Still, they will not stop.

So, you buy yourself time. But, is it for yourself?

“I will choose,” you say, your voice steady, betraying none of the chaos inside. “As soon as I finish weaving this shroud.”

They believe you. And so, the cycle continues.

Day after day, you sit at the loom, hands moving with mechanical precision, the rhythm of the work a small comfort in a world that no longer makes sense. You tell yourself that you will be free once it is finished, that once you have completed the task, you can let go. But every night, you return to unravel the work of the day, pulling the threads free, watching the promise of completion slip away like sand through your fingers.

And unexpectedly, the storm will come by.

Huh, the weather today.. seems peculiar. I wonder.

You thought, the sky today looks unlike anything you have ever seen, dark clouds gathering on the horizon, the sea thrashing wildly as though it too were in mourning. The wind howls, rattling the castle walls, and in the darkness of that night, something shifts in the air, a whisper, a possibility. Could it be—?

No.

But still, there is a flicker of something. Was it hope? Something that makes your pulse quicken, something that stirs in your chest and makes your breath catch in your throat.

You do not sleep that night. The next morning, the court is restless, but you do not care. Another suitor has arrived. You barely glance up at first, prepared for the same hollow flattery, the same empty promises they have all offered. Another face, another man desperate for the throne. And then—

“Your Majesty.”

The voice is low, rich, unmistakably familiar.

Your heart stutters in your chest.

You lift your gaze, and the breath leaves your lungs.

There, standing before you in the grand hall, disguised as nothing more than a beggar? A tattered cloak hanging from his shoulders, boots caked in dust, golden hair hidden beneath a hood, is him.

Rook.

“Mon amour,” he breathes, and it is neither a plea nor a question. It is a vow renewed, a promise fulfilled.

The court does not understand why your fingers clutch the armrests of your throne, why your breath trembles in your throat. They do not understand the weight of this moment, the storm that has raged inside you for years, breaking now into sunlight.

But they will.

“A challenge,” you announce, your voice ringing out through the hall, silencing the murmur of voices. “The one who can string my betrothed’s bow and fire an arrow through twelve battle-axes shall take the throne beside me.”

The suitors laugh. They know the stories of Rook’s war bow — the weapon only he had ever been able to wield.

The bow itself, was a testament to strength, a mark of kingship, a relic of a past only one man could claim. Crafted long before his reign, it was a thing of unyielding power, curved in a perfect arc. Only he can wield.

One by one, they step forward, pride on their faces, convinced that they, too, can master the impossible. One by one, they fail. The bow does not bend to their hands. The string does not yield. Each failure cracks their pride, their frustration mounting as they realize that they are not Rook.

And then, the beggar steps forward. The court erupts into laughter.

“Surely, Your Majesty, you do not mean to let this vagrant attempt—”

But you do not stop him. You do not move, barely even breathe as he steps forward, his hands brushing against the polished wood of the bow, a deep, knowing silence settling over the room.

With a swift movement, the bow bends. The string sings its familiar song as he draws it taut, the echo of it resonating through your very bones. You can feel the air shift, the energy in the room snapping like a taut wire.

The arrow flies.

The sound of it is pure. Sharp and true, slicing through the air with deadly precision. It whistles cleanly through each of the twelve axes, the force of it a declaration. A promise.

Silence.

And then, he lifts his head. The hood falls away.

Rook stands before you, golden-haired and smiling, as if no time at all had passed. As if he had never left.

You take a step forward, your breath catching in your throat, but you do not move too quickly, afraid that he might vanish as suddenly as he appeared.

“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it carries through the silence like a blade.

Rook’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with the same wild fire you remember. “Ah, mon amour,” he breathes. “But I am here.”

And then, he kneels before you.

The years between you crash down like a tidal wave, the weight of everything you’ve endured settling heavily upon your chest. You do not hesitate. You move toward him, your hands trembling as they find his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his cheek. He leans into your touch, eyes closing for a moment, as if memorizing the feel of you, the texture of your skin beneath his fingers.

“I should kill you for making me wait,” you whisper, your voice breaking with the ache of all that has been lost and found again.

“And yet,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your wrist, “you have never looked more beautiful than you do now, in your fury.”

You let out a breath, half a sob, half a laugh. But it is enough. It is everything. You pull him to you, your lips crashing against his, desperate and alive, the years of longing melting into this single, fleeting moment.

The court watches, but you do not care. The suitors recoil, but you do not see them. There is only Rook. his hands in your hair, his arms around you, the warmth of him solid and real after all these years. When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours, and the world is suddenly right again.

“You came back,” you whisper, a question, a plea, a confession.

“Always,” he swears, his voice rough and raw. “I will always find my way back to you.” This time, you believe him.

That night, the castle breathes with a new kind of silence. The suitors have left, some in anger, others in shame, their ambitions shattered like glass beneath the weight of inevitability. The whispers of the court fade into the distant hum of the sea, and for the first time in years, you are alone.

But you are not lonely.

Rook stands before you in your chambers, no longer the beggar who had slipped unnoticed through the doors, but the hunter who had once stolen your heart with laughter and reckless devotion. He is older now —sharper in some places, softened in others — but when he smiles, it is the same as it ever was. Wild and knowing, like he has already mapped out every thought in your head before you can voice it.

And yet, for the first time since his return, he hesitates.

“You are staring, mon amour.” His voice is lighter now, teasing, but underneath it, there is something else. Something unspoken.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “You disappeared for years, Rook. Forgive me if I wish to confirm that you are not merely a ghost come to haunt me.”

His lips twitch. “And if I were?”

“Then I would curse you for eternity,” you say, stepping closer, until only a breath separates you. “And still, I would not let you leave.”

The teasing falters in his expression, giving way to something raw, something that makes your pulse thunder in your ears. His hands, calloused and sure, come up to cradle your face, his thumb ghosting over the curve of your cheek. “I was gone too long,” he admits, a confession, a wound.

“Yes.”

“I have no excuse.”

“No.”

His fingers tighten, the breath in his chest shuddering. “And yet—” He swallows, eyes burning gold in the candlelight. “Would you still have me, knowing that I am a man who loses himself in the hunt?”

Your breath catches. Not because you do not know the answer, but because he would even dare to ask.

You take his hand, pressing his palm flat against your chest, where your heart beats strong and steady. “You left,” you say. “And I waited. And I cursed you. And I wept for you. And still—” You inhale, exhale, let the weight of the years settle between you before crushing them beneath your next words. “Still, my heart knows only your name.”

Rook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, but it is too broken, too relieved to be anything but the unraveling of something long-held. “Then it seems,” he murmurs, leaning in, his forehead pressing against yours, “I have found my way home after all.”

He kisses you, it is not with the desperation of before. It is steady, certain. It is the promise he made you all those years ago, at last fulfilled.

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