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photo1030 · 2 months

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Leather and Lace - Chapter 24: To Know the Winter Darkness

Summary: Arthur's irritation with the gang's situation begins to take its toll on your relationship.

*A/N: Some of this dialogue is not mine, but pulled from the game.

*This fantastic image comes from @arthurs-btch

*Special thank you to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter, but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time

The cold air on your face stirs you from your restless slumber. A heavy silence lingers in the air, smothering you like a wet blanket as you lie sequestered away in the bunkhouse here in Colter. The only sound you can hear is the wind as it whistles through the gaps in the grimy, weather-beaten windows. The sides of the humble structure even shake a bit when a few particularly angry gusts of wind whip against the sides of the cabin.

A groggy moan hisses out of your mouth as your eyes reluctantly crack open, immediately searching for the comfort of the fire in the corner. To your surprise, you are greeted by the beautiful sight of red and orange flames dancing vigorously along freshly replenished logs. Arthur must have gotten up and added more wood at some point. Your eyes slowly blink their way awake as a sleepy smile blossoms across your face, the first to do so in a long time. You roll over in search of him, but you are disappointed to find an empty half of the bed. Last night, Arthur had ridden out with Dutch in search of supplies or something, anything that may help the dire situation (that, or Dutch wanted to avoid the questioning looks of his people) and you were hoping to see him before you fell asleep. But no such luck.

While Arthur and Dutch were out looking for necessities, the rest of the gang made quick work to create a new camp here in the Grizzly Mountains. You had all worked well into the night setting up bedding, arranging supplies and sorting food, and still Arthur had not returned by the time you had drug yourself to your shared space to collapse upon your makeshift bed. Being a partner to a senior member of the gang comes with its privileges and having a room to yourself is one of them. Ms. Grimshaw put Arthur and you, Dutch and Molly, and Hosea together in one building and paired up the others accordingly.

As the morning sun stretches its lazy fingers of light across the dusty floorboards, you bask in the peace and quiet of your and Arthur’s room. Casting your eyes about the space, it is simple and nothing luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s private. And you keep these stolen moments to yourself where you can to try to wrap your nerve-wracked brain around what’s happened since the catastrophic Blackwater job. You are still at a loss on how you all came to be here, how things could go so wrong, so fast. But what is most unsettling to you is that even those who are used to such turmoil are also distraught by it.

But no time for such deep thoughts at the moment. Right now, the only thing you can focus on is Arthur. You want nothing more than to see him, to hear his raspy southern drawl and to put your arms around him and feel his embrace in return. It is like an addiction; you are restless and will not be able to calm yourself until you have what you need. And it is this desire that motivates you out from under the warm cocoon of blankets to get yourself dressed and groomed for the day.

It takes you about an hour to get yourself together before you open the door of the cabin, grimacing as you stumble outside, the biting cold smacking you in the face and the sun blinding you as it reflects off of the snow. Last night’s storm had settled by the early morning hours and draped everything in a thick blanket of white. Bracing yourself against the harsh wind, you rush over to the main building where the smoke plume of an internal fire floats into the brisk winter air. Your eyes dazedly watch it like a beacon as the white vapor dances and sways in a hypnotic motion, offering a sign of life in an otherwise desolate landscape.

You push through the heavy door of the main cabin to find most of the gang already assembled, muttering and conversing in their own little social rings. Scanning over the faces, your eyes immediately seek out Arthur who is speaking with Dutch in the far corner. Relief washes over you like the floodwaters of a swollen river after a thunderstorm when you see that he is safe and sound. Just the sight of his handsome face sets you at ease as you head straight for him before you lose track of him once more.

Arthur notices you out of the corner of his eye, and when his gaze finds yours, a fragile smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. Noticing Arthur’s attention is now elsewhere, Dutch looks over his shoulder to see you heading their way. Thankfully, the man gives you a nod and a quick “G’Morning, Miss Y/L/N” before he excuses himself to leave you and Arthur to yourselves.

Arthur takes in the heavenly sight of you as you glide over to him, leaning yourself into his body as your hands find a place along his ribs. The loving smile you offer him lets Arthur forget the problems facing the group even if just for a brief moment. He doesn’t say anything as he gazes into your adoring face. He looks beyond your ruby cheeks and worried eyes to see the love and devotion that is nestled there just for him. Arthur will often simply stare at you and smile to himself, appreciating everything about you and thanking God above for letting you into his life. For just this one fleeting, fragile moment, Arthur lets himself forget the trouble the gang is in, for you offer him that refuge, that safe haven.

“Did you even come to bed last night?” Your voice floats to his ears with a playful chiding tone.

“Sure did. But you were too busy snorin’ away,” he chuckles tapping your nose playfully. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wish you would’ve,” you pout. “I missed you.”

A sympathetic grin forms on his lips, those cobalt eyes sparking just right. “Thought I’d give you a moment’s peace while you can get it.”

But that thought is ironically short-lived.

“Miss Y/L/N, nice of you to join us.” Ms. Grimshaw’s harpy voice cuts into your brain from across the room. Your heart drops as you watch that spark of happiness on Arthur’s face transform into disappointment and annoyance. All he wanted was one goddamn moment with you. With a sigh, you reluctantly pull your gaze from Arthur to see the matron walking over to you.

“Good morning, Ms. Grimshaw,” you sigh.

“While you were getting your beauty rest, I’ve been tending to things here.” Her arm waves behind her at the shivering group of sad souls. “We have a new arrival that you should probably look after.” She nods her head towards the corner and you follow her sight line to see the woman Arthur and Dutch had brought back last night.

Your eyes settle on the fragile looking figure sitting wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire, staring blankly into the flames.

“Oh my god”, you whisper under your breath as you quickly break away from Arthur’s presence to make your way over to her.

Arthur sighs as he gives up your attention for another once more. But he marvels at how you float across the creaking wooden floorboards, hesitating before you slowly kneel down in front of the broken woman. His heart flutters a bit as he watches you introduce yourself to Mrs. Adler, placing your hand over hers in solidarity, a kind smile sitting upon your face to try to put her at ease. Arthur can’t make out what you are saying to her, but he gives silent thanks when her shoulders relax a bit and Mrs. Adler nods in acceptance of your help as the two of you disappear into another room, presumably for you to examine her for injuries. Your arm wraps around her, cradling her into your side as you walk. Pride swells in Arthur’s chest, knowing Mrs. Adler is in your good hands.

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, someone comes into your life that changes everything. They raise the standards of living, make you laugh, make you see the world in a whole new light, helping you to notice things that you never did before. They make you feel like you again, that person who sometimes seems to get lost in the turmoil of life. From the moment he met you, the only thing Arthur has ever wanted in the universe is to be part of your world.

When Arthur fell in love with you, you became his weakness in a mind of unyielding hardness. When you fell in love with him, he became your strength at a time of unparalleled fragility. It is a powershift that Arthur still struggles with, trying to find his footing to understand it. You provide his foundation, his support, yet somehow leave him weightless and exposed at the same time. It was like magic the way you burst into his life, turning everything that he knew to be real upside down, making everything in life explode in beautiful, vivid color.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

*This image comes from @rosesrdr2photos

By late afternoon, Abigail has become nervous, pacing frantically within the cabin and wringing her hands. John has yet to return to camp since before the snowstorm settled in and no one has seen him.

Arthur lumbers into the cabin from outside, blowing his hot breath over the stiff joints in his hands, and heads over to the fire to get warm as he overhears the group talking about John. He keeps his head down and eyes diverted, though, wanting no part of whatever is brewing.

“He’s strong and he’s smart,” encourages Tilly, trying to calm Abigail's frayed nerves.

“Well, strong at least,” grumbles Abigail. But her head perks up when she notices Arthur has come in.

Arthur catches her out of the corner of his eye as she quickly approaches him where he stands at the fire, knowing full well what she’s about to ask.

“Hello, Arthur. How are you?” she asks tentatively, looking at him with anxious eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, bracing himself for her yet unspoken question. “I’m fine, Abigail,” he says warily. “And you?”

“I…I need you to-”

Arthur rolls his eyes with an irritable sigh, his weight shifting uncomfortably from one hip to the other under her intense stare.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she rambles quickly, her hands still fidgeting. “I hate to ask, but…”

“It’s little John, gone and got himself into a scrape again.” The distemper is evident when the familiar scowl returns to Arthur’s face, his hands slowly clenching open and closed into fists, causing Abigail to recoil slightly, hesitant to plead her case.

“He ain’t been seen in two days!” she cries, her tear-rimmed eyes looking imploringly up at Arthur.

“Your John will be fine. I mean, he may be dumb as rocks and dull as rusted iron, but that ain’t changing because he got caught in some snowstorm.”

“Arthur!” You shoot him a scolding look when you see how Abigail’s face wrinkles painfully at his answer.

“At least go take a look,” pushes Hosea as he, too, joins the conversation. Always the level-headed one, he steps up to Abigail, quick to her defense. “Javier?”

The man looks to Hosea at the sound of his name being called, awaiting instructions. “Yes?”

“Will you ride out with Arthur and take a look for John? You’re the two best fit men we got. We’re all pretty worried.”

Javier nods and is quick to stand. He adjusts his coat, pulling his collar up to his cheeks. “I know if the situation were reversed, he’d look for me.” Resolution set upon his dark features, Javier grabs his gun and heads to the door, shooting Arthur a guilting look on his way out.

With a lofty eye roll, an exasperated sigh puffs out of Arthur’s nose, his mouth set in a hard, angry line. And he slams out the door behind Javier before you can even say good luck. While you can understand his frustration, you know that Arthur is John’s best chance of survival if he is in any sort of trouble. And as time continues to crawl forward in this frigid wasteland, it is becoming more and more apparent that the situation is not looking good.

You quietly cross the room to Abigail, who hangs her head with worry. “Try not to fret about John, Abigail,” you say softly. “Arthur and Javier will find him. If anyone can, it’s them. You’ll see.” You rub your hand along her arm in comfort. But she can only offer you a weak smile in return.

Outside, Javier and Arthur head out into the frigid, unforgiving white once again, this time in search of one of their own. As the winds kick up, they head further up the mountain, up where the air gets thinner and the snow deeper.

As they trot along, Arthur takes this opportunity to privately ask Javier about Blackwater. He has to be careful not to sound like he’s questioning Dutch, but something just doesn’t sit right with Arthur, and the people who were there are acting cagey about it. But if Arthur is to intercept any problems heading their way, he needs to know what he’s up against. Like you had told him before, people in this gang tend to not worry too much about the swirling chaos they get themselves caught-up in as long as he’s the one taking the brunt of things.

“So…you were there, Javier. What really happened on that boat?”

Javier shakes his head in disbelief. “We had the money and it seemed fine. And then suddenly, they were everywhere.”

“Bounty hunters?”

“No, Pinkertons. It was crazy. Raining bullets.” As the snow blows around them, Javier tells Arthur about how their group was swarmed, members were shot or lost, and that Dutch even killed a girl, an innocent bystander in the mayhem.

“That ain’t like him, though,” murmurs Arthur as his eyes dart back and forth in shock.

“I’m surprised we escaped at all. By the time you boys showed up on the other side of town, we were all just barely hanging on.”

Arthur digests all of this information, rolling it around in his mind. “Bad business alright.”

After an hour of trudging through the cold with no sign, they catch sight of tracks in the snow running along a deep crevice in the mountain. Encouraged by the first indication of activity, they follow along for several yards, but the two men eventually stumble upon a grizzly sight. They discover John’s horse lying on the frozen ground, its belly ripped apart. Upon closer inspection, they see tracks scattered all around in the bloody snow.

Wolves. And quite a few of them, judging by the number of prints. It is a grim sight and Javier and Arthur share an uneasy glimpse between each other.

Looking around, there is no sign of John. Everything around them is silent and ominous, with no indications of life. He could be anywhere. He could still be alive, but he could also be dead at this point. Arthur grabs his revolver from his side, aiming it straight up into the air and fires a single shot. He anxiously waits to see if John hears the discharge as it ricochets off of the rocky terrain, alerting him to their presence. Moments pass tensely and agonizingly slow, waiting for any response.

And suddenly, they can hear hollering off in the distance. It’s John's voice. It’s faint, but he’s alive. Relief washes over both Javier and Arthur, as they try to figure out where he’s at. Sound bounces in every direction here and everything is coated in white, hiding any discernible landmarks. They have to be careful not to get lost, themselves.

The men exchange calls, trying to follow John’s desperate, raspy voice, and walk down along the ridgeline until they get to a point that is too narrow and precarious for the horses. They dismount, leaving the animals behind, and proceed on foot in search of their brother. And thankfully, they spot him.

John has himself sequestered onto a ledge, out of reach of the wolves that attacked and maimed him. He’s bloodied and shivering violently, barely conscious. Arthur and Javier make their way to the edge, careful not to slip and fall over the side.

“Quite the scratch you got there,” Arthur teases as he looks down over John.

John gingerly tilts his head up, giving the men a good view of the deep and savage gashes across his face, cutting brutally into his eye. “Never thought I’d say this, but it’s good to see you, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur hops down to the ledge, crouching to eye level to take a moment to get a good look at John. “You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good, neither,” he replies dejectedly.

A humorless chuckle huffs out of Arthur as he takes ahold of John’s arm, helping him to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s get you outta here.”

Javier reaches down, wrapping his cold yet nimble fingers under John’s arms to help pull him off the precarious ledge. It is quickly apparent that John is in no shape to walk, let alone climb down the mountain. Without a word, Arthur slings his brother across his strong shoulder and they begin to head back to the horses. They need to get John back to camp and straight to you as soon as possible for medical attention. He’s been out here in the elements for far too long and his injuries are profound.

“I told Dutch you weren’t the right man for this job.” Arthur mocks as he adjusts John across his shoulder as if he’s hauling a deer carcass.

An exasperated sigh manages to escape John’s cut and bleeding lips. “I’m sure you did.”

The three men don’t make it very far before they spot a cluster of black and gray standing stark against the pristine white snow off in the distance. Drawn by the noise and the scent of John’s blood on the wind, the wolves have returned to finish what they started. They sit perfectly still, silently eyeing up the men, ready to pounce at any moment.

John lifts his head to look past Arthur at the impending threat before hanging back down despondently. They still have a bit of a walk to get back to the horses at this point and outrunning the pack is not an option. “Shit”, he mumbles and his whole body goes limp against Arthur’s broad back. John doesn’t have much fight left in him and what he does have, he needs to stay alive.

Arthur slowly sets John down to his shaky feet, eyes never leaving the fierce pack of predators looming in the distance. “You head for the horses,” he tells Javier as he pulls his gun. “I’ll keep John’s friends off ya til you’re clear.”

Javier gives a sharp nod of understanding to Arthur as he slings John’s arm around his own shoulders and they begin to shuffle away towards their waiting mounts.

The moment Javier and John break off, the wolves lunge. The explosion of motion causes Arthur to immediately fire into the pack, taking down two of the large animals that head straight for Javier and John. Two more wolves go down in rapid fire shortly after that with painful howls echoing into the air, but it’s the last one that gets a little too close for comfort. The remaining animal comes barrelling towards Arthur, galloping at full speed, fangs bared and saliva oozing from its jowls. Arthur’s heartbeat thunders painfully in his ears as he takes aim once more, ignoring the slight tremble in his arms. The solitary wolf hurls itself at Arthur with a terrifying snarl, knocking him backwards into the snow. With a fierce yell of his own, Arthur’s gun rings true into the beast’s chest, dropping it dead atop his legs.

As fast as a lightning strike, the vicious threat is over with, barely giving the three men time to comprehend whether or not they will all survive to make it back to camp.

Lying motionless and staring up into the icy blue sky with his eyes wide with adrenaline, Arthur tries to catch his breath as he lays in the snow, afraid to move lest the wolf still be alive. When the world stops spinning and settles back into reality, he draws the frigid air deep into his lungs, exhaling slowly out of his wind-chapped lips to steady his nerves before cautiously looking down, nudging the heap of fur with the tip of his gun.

Arthur’s gaze drops to the sudden stinging sensation on his arm. A deep gash sits there from the wolf’s claws but it’s nothing that you can’t take care of. If he can just get his ass back to you in one piece, that is. If this is the extent of his injuries from this ordeal, he’ll make out pretty well.

Shoving the carcass off himself with a pained grunt, Arthur rolls himself up and catches up to his companions just in time to help Javier get John situated on his horse behind him and the three of them head back down the mountain side. John slumps against his friend, silently thankful for the man’s body heat.

“Come on, John, you’ll be okay,” asserts Javier. “It’s just like a dog bite.”

“I knew a guy got bit by a dog...died an hour later,” mumbles John as he rests his forehead in between Javier’s shoulder blades.

“You ain’t gonna die,” huffs Arthur. “Not yet.”

The horses begin to lumber their way back through the deep snow. Arthur and Javier push through the cold, trying to get back to Colter in one piece and not get lost in the tundra of the mountains. Javier is desperate to return John to Abigail and Arthur just wants to return back to you. And although they encounter more wolves along the way, fortunately this time it is not a full-on attack as before. Arthur makes quick work of the remaining pack, ensuring their safety for the remainder of the journey back to camp.

Throughout the ride back, Javier is sure to keep talking to John, nervous as he feels his friend growing weaker by the minute, his body resting limply against him in the saddle. “You’re going to be okay, John,” Javier repeats again. “We have some shelter now.”

Despite his exhaustion, John’s mangled lips flash a grin. “Thanks for coming for me.”

“Sure. First the bullet in Blackwater, now this. You’ve had a hell of a time.” Javier nods in empathy for his good friend, thankful he’s found him alive as he’s lost enough companions in this baptism of fire. But from where he sits in his saddle behind them, Arthur carries an air of annoyance as he rides along in brooding silence on his horse. When will he be able to stop looking after ‘Little Johnny’?

“Arthur always says I’m lucky,” John manages a deflated chuckle out of his torn face as he looks behind him to catch Arthur’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Well, none of us are lucky right now,” Arthur retorts coldly. He shrugs his shoulders up around his chin when a particularly blustery gust of wind swirls through the air. “We’re going to need to come up with a better story for that scar.”

If John weren’t half-dead, he’d spin on his brother in a heartbeat with fists raised. His teeth grit together despite the pain in his jaw. “So, freezing, bleeding, starving, damn near getting eaten to death ain’t good enough for you?!” John hurls what little energy he has left coursing through his fragile body in anger towards Arthur, his body shivering and trembling behind Javier. Why the hell does Arthur have to be on John’s ass all the time?

“Come on, let's just keep pushing ahead”, complains Javier, becoming increasingly annoyed at the brothers’ bickering. Jesus, Arthur can be unrelenting sometimes. It’s too damn cold and miserable out, there’s no need to make it even more uncomfortable.

“See those buildings, John? That’s where we’re camped,” offers Javier in an attempt to lighten John’s spirits and distract him from Arthur’s ire.

Thankfully, they ride the remainder of the way to camp in silence.

The three men ride into the middle of the dilapidated structures of the mining town, heading straight for the largest where the smoke floats out of the chimney.

“Can we get some help here?” Arthur’s voice carries out over the snow as they pull the horses to a halt outside the building.

The rickety door is thrown open and Abigail comes running out with you close on her heels. A few others come assembling out as well.

“You’re alive!” The relief is apparent in her face as Abigail reaches up to lay her hands on John, confirming he has indeed come back to her. “Come on, let's get you warm.”

“Careful of his leg,” Arthur warns as John slides off the back of Javier’s horse and into Rev. Swanson’s supportive arms. As you get closer to him, your eyes quickly assess the man’s wounds, your skilled hands flitting about over his body. He’s an absolute mess. You’ll have your work cut out for you once again. But John is, in fact, alive and that is more than enough for you right now.

You and Arthur catch each other’s gaze for a brief moment, a silent thankfulness that your beloved has returned to you as well, before you lead John inside for care.

“Thank you, both,” Abigail says emphatically to Arthur and Javier, but her attention quickly turns to Jonn, angry for the days of worry she’s suffered. Like their whole relationship, the gamut of Abigail’s emotions runs from one pole to the other. “This is a new low, even for your standards,” she hisses into John’s ear.

Hosea walks up next to Arthur as they watch John being half-carried inside.

“Thank you, Arthur,” hums Hosea, knowing full well how irritable his eldest son is right now. Arthur has been moving non stop since the gang left the valley after Blackwater. He’s cold, tired, hungry and just disillusioned altogether.

“You got any other lost maidens need saving?” Arthur retorts, his face devoid of any amusement.

“Not today,” Hosea chuckles, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket.

Arthur lifts his head to look back at you, longing for your attentiveness, willing you to turn around once more to give him that smile of yours. But you’re already off with John. He watches as you help get John inside and the door shuts again, closing your image off from him. Like the sun setting behind the horizon, your warmth, your glow is eclipsed from his view.

With a slow exhale pushed through his nose, Arthur turns his attention back to Hosea.

“You been talkin’ to Dutch about how we’re gonna get outta here?”

“I was just discussing with Herr Strauss,” confirms Hosea, lighting his cigarette and drawing the smoke through his weathered lips. “When weather breaks, we’ll head east.”

Arthur’s face immediately scrunches in disgust. “East? Into all that civilization?”

“The west is where our problems are worse,” Hosea says pointedly.

This is disappointing news. Arthur turns his angry eyes back towards the house where you just took John to get cleaned up. God, how he wants to march in there right now, grab you and head back to your room and forget about all this ugliness for just a bit. He just needs one goddamn moment alone with you to set his mind right again. But now you’re tied up with caring for that idiot.

Deciding he’s had enough for one afternoon, Arthur trudges over to his bunkhouse, hoping that if he’s hidden out of sight, no one will ask any more favors. He sits inside the dreary, depressing cabin, stewing in frustration, his festering anger edging dangerously close to where his precious affections and love reside. He fears that he is beginning to lose that contentment in his heart that he has been working so hard to rebuild over these last few months.

“We’ll be here freezing for weeks, waiting for the thaw to come,” he gripes as he pulls out his journal, flipping it open. “What a goddamn mess of things.”

*This images comes from @rosesrdr2photos

————————————

Over the next two days, Arthur becomes more irritable and distant, not just from the gang, but from you as well. The strain of losing Jenny and Davey and worrying over still-missing Sean and Mac weighs heavily upon his nerves. That, coupled with the constant need for warmth in the freezing cold and fending off the possibility of starvation is leaving you both frazzled.

Dutch is leaning heavily on Arthur, even more so than before, if that is even possible. Sure, you and Arthur have had your arguments, but this is the first time he has been ugly to you. His aggravation is paramount yet he needs your presence to calm the hurricane of thoughts in his mind.

But like Arthur, you are also being pulled in a multitude of directions. John’s injuries are severe and occupy much of your time, and there are plenty of other things to do to keep this gang going amongst the turmoil. Where Arthur is used to having your attention to himself, he now has to share you with the rest. And it is a feeling that does not sit well with him at all.

The tension between the two of you pulls heavy on your heart. You’ve heard the gang speak of how much of an ass Arthur can be. Before you met, Arthur was known to be harsh and often difficult. Whether it was the nature of the jobs he was on or the nightmares of his past, or even his drinking, Arthur could be a son of a bitch to be around. And although you’ve seen him more than angry before, that aggression and ugliness has never been turned on you. Until now, as he is angry about everything.

You try your best to be understanding and patient, but your own nerves are pushed to the limits, as well as his. You’ve never been in a situation such as this before and you so desperately want to turn into Arthur’s arms for him to shield you from it. But Arthur has the weight of the entire gang on his shoulders, leaving little time for comforting just you.

You try to talk to him about it, but being faced with one more issue that he has to deal with, one more person asking something of him, ignites his fury. You’ve gotten yourselves caught up in yet another argument when his negativity rears its ugly head, testing the limits of your patience. He is being overextended by the gang’s needs and neglecting his own, as the gang must always come first. But it is leaving Arthur to be triggered by even the most minor annoyances, leaving him unbalanced and agitated. He has become focused on the continuing obstacles instead of the intended goal.

What started as a simple statement about how your jaw aches from chattering teeth due to the cold sends Arthur into a storm of annoyance.

“I’m sorry things can’t be all butterflies and flowers for you,” he bites back at you with a dismissive wave of his hand as you have elected to take your fight outside and away from prying eyes.

“I never said it had to be,” you snap, trying not to raise your voice and provoke him even more as you can already see the tension in his shoulders, his face set hard as stone. “Things are hard enough right now, Arthur. You don’t need to be adding to it with your constant grumbling and complaining.”

Wrong response.

“Come again?” His eyes shoot open, burning with anger. “You best remember who you’re talkin’ to, woman.” Arthur’s voice settles into a low umber, making your chest tight and your heart race.

Heat spreads through your belly as your spine straightens like an arrow and pulls your proud shoulders back to square up to his. You cross your arms over your chest, slowly inching closer to him. “Or else what?”

Arthur would never hurt you. Ever. But he is still a man who believes in tradition. He loves your spirit, your fire. But you need to know your place. And he doesn’t appreciate your attitude in the slightest. But you won’t back down, either.

Arthur’s jaw clenches tightly at your challenge, desperately trying to keep himself together. He’s used to getting his way when he’s angry, as that’s the very nature of his livelihood. And even though you have worked to tear down those walls that he’s barricaded himself within to see the loving and kind heart hidden there, he still has a bad temper and a mean streak that runs for miles. Arthur doesn’t need this fight right now. His hands slowly lift to settle onto his hips as he looms over you, but instead of being intimidated, you suddenly become distracted when you notice a flash of red. Your face immediately turns from sour to one of outright concern.

“Arthur, are you alright? Your hand is bleeding.” It’s the wound from the wolf from when he brought John back.

Arthur blinks at you, his face twisted up at the sudden turn in the conversation. “It’s fine, leave it.”

With an exasperated sigh, you try to grab his hand to look at it. “But if it isn't cleaned it could get infec-“

“I said leave it!” He barks at you, yanking his hand out of your grasp.

The look of hurt and shock on your face instantly washes him in a wave of shame. Jesus, he can be a right ugly bastard sometimes. Afraid of saying anything else that will make this worse, Arthur abruptly turns, leaving you speechless in the snow as you watch him stalk away from you.

Several yards away, Dutch stands under the awning of the lean-to barn and observes the altercation between you and Arthur play out with a slightly amused grin on his face. When your conversation comes to an abrupt end, he slowly saunters over to you, following your gaze as you watch Arthur slam into your cabin.

“Arthur has obligations, Miss Y/L/N. Responsibilities.” His expression carries a smugness that just rubs you the wrong way as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “He doesn’t have time for romantic nonsense.”

It takes you a second to process what it is that Dutch has just said and you turn a disbelieving expression towards the man, stepping out from under his falsely comforting arm. “I’m not trying to be romantic, Dutch. I’m worried for him.”

“He’s fine,” Dutch says dismissively.

“Is he?”

Your question causes a dark eyebrow raised in your direction, his intense eyes piercing into you like a dagger. Dutch’s dark-haired crown tilts just so before he speaks, the suffocating pause most unsettling.

“You may whisper sweet words in his ear, lay next to him at night battin’ those eyes at him,” he sneers as his lips curl into a falsely sweet smile. “But you don’t know him the way I do, Y/N.”

Time stands still as the argument hangs in the air, right there on the tip of your tongue. And oh, how you’d like to give the man a piece of your mind right now. So many things race through your rattled mind as you stand there pinned under Dutch’s burning scrutiny.

But you need to choose your battles carefully, and now is not the time.

“You are right about that, Dutch.” You lift your chin in slight defiance. “I don’t know him the same way you do.”

You hold Dutch’s gaze for a moment, an unspoken challenge between you. You would never dream of coming between Arthur and his family. But if it means his safety, his well-being, you will sure as hell step-up to take his back.

But the tension is promptly snapped when Mary-Beth’s voice calls to you from across the yard. “Y/N! I think it’s time to change John’s bandages.” She even waves her hand to get your attention, trying to break the spell that Dutch has you under.

The sound of your friend’s voice breaks the precarious trance, causing you to blink and inhale sharply to collect yourself and settle the frustration bubbling deep within your stomach. Your feet remain cemented to the ground as you desperately try to resist the urge to shake the tingling out of your fingertips.

“If you will excuse me, Mr Van der Linde, I need to tend to your other son.”

———————

The hours of the day after your fight with Arthur tick by slowly as the night eventually drapes everything in its path in darkness. Exhausted, you exit the ramshackle building where you’ve spent a good part of the day looking after John. You’ve been painstakingly cleaning his wounds and sitting with him as he rests, keeping vigil over him and only leaving his side now that Ms. Grimshaw relieves you when she comes to sit with him overnight. His vital signs are fair, but it wouldn’t take much for him to take a turn for the worse. A bad fever could easily do him in. And after losing Jenny and Davey, you just don’t want to take any chances leaving John alone for any extended period of time.

The evenings here in the Grizzly Mountains descend into a quiet like none other. No birds, no wildlife, no commotion of people. Tonight, even the howling winds have ceased. Were it not for the freezing cold temperature, it would be beautiful.

Cold air gets drawn into your lungs with a bone-weary sigh, your breath a dancing wisp in front of you. Tucking your arms around yourself in an attempt to stay warm, you roll your eyes upward and the stars above catch your attention. It seems that there’s almost as many stars as there are snowflakes. The inky black vastness of the heavens that cradle the cosmic diamonds is a sharp contrast to the crystal white snow at your feet, illuminated by the moon’s full glow. The pinpricks of light are like a promise of life in the darkness, a sense of warmth springing from the cold that envelops the world. And it humbles you as you try to find your place within it.

With John taken care of and the evening chores settled, your mind relaxes as your hands rub together to create warmth, and begins to drift once again to the issues that you have been trying to avoid thinking about.

Being chased up into these unforgiving mountains by Pinkertons, of all people, is bad enough. But that is not what is troubling to you the most right now. Your mind keeps replaying the arguments and discontent between you and Arthur since you left the valley after Blackwater. Instead of sweet whispers in each other’s ears and breathless sighs against soft skin, you two are hurling bitter, angry words at each other, causing a coldness that you are not used to.

Something feels…broken between you.

Standing out in the cold night, the tender moments that you’re used to sharing with your love seem so far away now. You think back to sitting by the fire, curled up against Arthur’s warm body, his brawny arms secured around you as his lips dance along your neck, making you shiver with anticipation. You recall the delicate conversations of dreams and tender emotions that were whispered as you stared into each other’s eyes after making love. It seems like a whole other life now.

Where is the roguishly charming man that you fell so hard for and so deeply in love with? You have never had any illusions of what sort of man Arthur is. But you had so desperately hoped that you were past the distemperment that perpetually plagues his mind. And a horrifying idea begins to take root in your brain: Maybe Arthur is having second thoughts about you and this whole relationship?

Suddenly, you become short of breath and your heart flutters within your chest like a panicked bird. Tears begin to prick the corners of your eyes at the very thought of possibly losing Arthur, of the thought that the life you had envisioned spending with him could be snuffed out. You bite down on trembling lips as they get pulled into your mouth in an attempt to keep from crying.

Looking up at the silent stars once more, the only witnesses to your pain, you are starting to question if your relationship is even real.

—--------------------

“You comin’ to bed?”

You tense up as Arthur stands behind you where you sit in front of the fire to warm yourself. You just heard him outside yelling about some damn thing or another a few moments ago before he came blustering inside fit to be tied. He looms behind you as anger radiates off of him, making you shift nervously next to Mary-Beth.

“I think maybe I’ll stay here with the girls for a bit longer if you don’t mind,” you say meekly, pulling your shawl up over your shoulders even more as you avoid his eyes burning into you.

Arthur pauses for a moment, lips pulled into a hard frown, his gloved fingers twitching at his sides while he has his internal fight with himself about what to do. He’s getting really sick and tired of this tension between you. And yet, he doesn’t know what to do about it. Old habits of self-damaging thinking and second-guessed opportunities continue to plague Arthur’s mind, constricting his sanity. The words he needs to say to get you to really hear him do not come. And his actions, of course, default to what he knows best: anger.

“Fine,” he huffs out finally as his hand waves dismissively in the air at you before letting it fall haplessly to his side. Arthur storms out of the cabin, kicking over a wooden storage barrel on his way out and letting the door slam loudly in its hinges behind him. Arthur’s exit creates an awkward silence like a vacuum in the room and the eyes of your fellow gang members cautiously shift to you.

“You sure that was a good idea, Y/N?” asks Mary Beth, giving you a skeptical look.

Your thumb and forefinger pull at the corners of your temples in an attempt to quell the pulsing in your head. “My nerves are shot as it is. If I go over to that cabin with him we’ll just get into another fight. And I don’t need that right now. He don’t need that right now.”

The air settles into silence as the fire in the hearth pops and crackles, its heat comforting you as you slowly allow the tension to drain from your shoulders. You nod your head in assertion as the idea solidifies in your mind.

“As angry as he is with me, it’s best I leave him alone. There’s a time to vent and a time to brood. And Arthur needs time to brood right now. He’s got a lot on his plate. Then I’ll let him vent.” You give her a small smile. “We’ll be okay.”

Mary-beth’s eyes sparkle with red and copper as the fire reflects back into her freckled face when she takes you in for a moment. “I think it’s amazing how you understand him, Y/N. Lord knows, Arthur’s a hard nut to crack,” she hums warmly.

“I don’t know what it is, really.” Your eyes settle unfocused on the flames in front of you with a slow blink as you ponder your beloved outlaw. “He’s a pain in my ass, for sure. But I love him just the same. Wouldn’t have him any other way, to be honest. I know he can be a beast. But even the most untamed and savage of animals need to be loved.”

Mary-Beth’s breath catches in her chest, the hopeless romantic that she is, moved by your statement. For what better way is there to surmise, Arthur Morgan, fearsome outlaw of the Van Der Linde gang, than that?

Like the crocus pushing through the cold spring soil, Mary-Beth’s frigid cheeks blossom into a serene smile for you. “I suppose if you can’t explain why you love someone, then you must really love them.”

You lean your shoulder into hers with a contented hum of agreement. It is a bit of a relief to you that someone outside of your relationship with Arthur can see the potential beauty there.

After a few moments, you look about the room and your gaze falls upon the poor woman that Arthur and Dutch had found. You nod to Mary-Beth, affectionately patting her hand, before standing up to move over to sit next to Mrs. Adler, offering her another blanket to cover her legs.

“How are you holding up, Mrs. Adler? You okay?”

The woman lifts her head at the sound of her name, tearing her eyes from the cup of hot coffee in her hands to look at you. “I guess,” she shrugs. “Then again, maybe not.” Her eyes go dark once more, lost in a world of uncertainty. She looks so weak and fragile sitting there wrapped up in a blanket, trying to hold onto some sort of semblance of herself.

“It takes a lot of courage to look past what you’ve been through. Believe me, I know.” You reach out to put your hand along her arm. “You can trust us, Mrs Adler. You can trust that we won’t put you through anything like that again. And we won’t let anything happen to you either.”

“Thank you. You’ll have to be patient with me, I suppose.” While her voice is sweet enough, her vacant eyes carry a sort of detachment to them that makes your heart just ache for her. It’s the type of look that you know just one wrong word would send them pooling with tears once more. “I’m somewhere between losing my mind and finding my soul right now.”

“Aren’t we all?” Your kind eyes glint at her with a playful mischief to them. “You’ll fit in just fine, Mrs Adler. No doubt.”

Mrs. Adler gives you a lopsided grin, the slight tremor of her nervously bouncing leg ceasing as the knot in her abdomen finally begins to loosen its grip.

“Is that your husband?” She lifts her chin towards the door that Arthur just pushed through, as she tries to discreetly change the subject.

“No,” you sigh in confirmation, “we’re not married. But we are together.”

“He seems…gruff.” Mrs. Adler teasingly gives a raised eyebrow with her simple statement, and your head tosses back with a genial cackle erupting out of your throat.

“That’s one word for him.” A bright smile erupts across your face as you think of Arthur. “Arthur can be the devil, for sure. But he can also be as sweet as an angel. When he wants to be. And with people he likes. Which aren’t too many.”

Mrs. Adler replies with a humorless chuckle of her own. “Ain’t that most men?” But sadly, the dark cloud returns to settle over her features once more. “Not my Jake, though. He was a dear to me. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.” Her honey eyes begin to mist again, her lips trembling woefully.

But you are quick to catch her gaze again as if looking right into her very heart. “For what it’s worth, you’ll have us for as long as you need, Mrs. Adler.”

“Sadie. Call me Sadie, I insist.” She gives you a genuine smile, probably the first since the death of her husband. “And, ‘for what it’s worth’, nobody has to understand what is between you and Arthur but you two.”

And you and Sadie wrap your arms around each other, resting in the comfort of the other’s understanding.

But outside in the cold, Arthur trudges through the snow, pouting and sulking as he heads back to the bunkhouse. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Things were finally going well for him. Dutch was starting to think of “retirement”, however that would look. And the gang was making its way away from trouble, but now you are all buried so deep.

And, Arthur has you in his life now and things are going well there, too. Things are going too well. At least they were before this shitstorm descended upon the group. He longs for the blissful moments where he can taste you on his lips and smell you in his clothing. He should have known it couldn’t last.

It’s hard not to let the all-too-familiar bitterness start to creep its way back into his fractured heart. Good things don’t happen to bad men. This is something Arthur has always been adamant about. Like a fool he was starting to believe you when you told him otherwise. When your sweet voice floated into his ears like a feather on the wind, swirling around in his mind and nesting around his heart, Arthur was starting to think he could have a decent life with you at his side, that you could somehow build something really good together. That he could finally mean something to someone. He harbored the thought that maybe, just maybe, you could eventually break away from the gang, just the two of you, after the dust had settled and everyone in the gang was safe and out of harm's way.

Arthur wants Tilly to find the good man she deserves and to start a family of her own; to see Mary-Beth achieve that dream of being a writer and make something of herself. He’d love to see Dutch living his best life, free and wild. Maybe John could finally get his shit together and make an honest woman of Abigail and be a real father to his boy. He prays that Hosea will someday finally be able to rest his weary bones with a roof over his head and a fire at his feet. And for himself, to have you at his side on a little homestead, living the life that only existed in his daydreams before you fell into his life.

But all Arthur ever seems to find is hardship and bloodshed. And now, he has you trapped in the middle of all of it, the very thing that he has wanted to avoid from the beginning. And what’s more terrifying is that he’s not so sure if he can protect you from it. Arthur can’t imagine the sorrow and responsibility you must feel from losing both Davey and Jenny, knowing that you did everything you could, but it wasn’t enough to save them.

He’s not an idiot. Arthur can sense your grief and misgivings about what’s happened. What if you finally come to your senses and decide to leave him, leave the gang at the first opportunity you get to escape the danger all around you? He certainly wouldn’t blame you if you did.

But the thought of you leaving clefts his black heart in two. What would Arthur do if he lost you? He may as well put a bullet through his skull if he did, as there would be no use in living without you. It would be like the color drained from everything in his life. The sun would refuse to shine and air would turn rancid, burning his lungs as he tried to breathe.

When you found each other, Arthur could not get over how your broken pieces fit together so perfectly with his. How wonderous it was that together, you create one person, both halves being fused together to make a whole. And now, he fears you may be slipping away from his ever-strong grasp, losing his other half, his better half.

Arthur stops at the corner of the bunkhouse, leaning against it with his forearm. His other hand comes up to his mouth, trembling as a shaky breath exhales across his lips. His eyes furrow like a canyon with concern.

If he could just hear the sound of your laughter, then he’d be alright.

---------------------------------

*Almost there! More drama to come, but don't worry, some fluffy goodness is coming!

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4 @bimbo-dollz @pine4pple-b0i @redwritr @kuri-chans-blog @queer-sadie-adler @joelmillerswifey @gimmethosedaddymilkers @pcotarelo @delilah-grimes @maemortem @wistfulwisteriawitch @lilacxxdreams @mentallyillfrogs @absolutegeek @spurz @sophiaj650 @uniqueclodzinevoid @lookingformaurice @pawoui @randomidk-123 @yyiikes @eddiemetalheadmunson @twola @kmartkiddieisle @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic @rhehr241 @earwen-x @akariver75 @djennty @nervousmumbling @xliliths @unbotheredbeeeee @onnetonprinsessa @kittiowolf210 @ezrynn @suhiss @arthurmargon @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler @alice-vanderlinde @sweetandstoned21 @j4llyf7sh @spooky631 @m0r4rx @ilovrxats @i-69-urmom @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx @namesaretomainstream @miphy @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @loveheartabby @daisybvck @julialoopeezz @a-court-of-valkyries @oziozzioslo @stargazer-88 @lunawolfclaw

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic

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rvp32 · 1 year

Text

Whisper of uncontrollable desire

4.5K, Omegaverse of sorts, Power dynamics, overstimulation, and a little dirty talk. Overall, it is a pretty fluffy smut. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Hope you guys enjoy it!

"Please, alpha," Chaewon moaned, her voice filled with desperate longing. "I need it. It hurts so much." The stage was set for a magnificent performance, but fate had chosen this precise moment to unleash the torment of her heat upon her.

Chaewon had forgotten her suppressants and her scent was spiraling out of control, a potent aphrodisiac that threatened to shatter the fragile peace around her. In this futuristic world, where dominance and hierarchy determined societal norms, any other alpha catching even a whiff of her scent would ignite a savage frenzy, tearing apart the very fabric of their meticulously built company and tarnishing its reputation forever.

As her dedicated guardian, it was up to you to ensure Chaewon's well-being, to tame the wild storm brewing within her. You knew that for her to perform flawlessly, her primal desires had to be appeased. The weight of responsibility pressed upon your shoulders as you gazed into her pleading eyes.

"Pretty girl," you whispered, your voice tinged with a mix of authority and compassion, "I am going to be quick, but you will face the consequences once we return. Do you understand?" The words hung in the air, a delicate promise of both pleasure and punishment.

Chaewon's mind was clouded with an overwhelming need, her thoughts consumed by a single craving. Unable to resist, she nodded fervently, surrendering herself completely. At this moment, consequences and concerns faded into obscurity, replaced by an all-encompassing yearning.

In the confined space of the washroom cubicle, a labyrinth of desire unfolded, teasing the boundaries of your shared passion. The small enclosure offered little room for maneuvering, especially with your imposing stature, leaving you no choice but to surrender control to Chaewon's graceful movements. A tantalizing prospect danced before your eyes, as anticipation mingled with lust in the charged atmosphere.

With an unyielding hunger, you pulled Chaewon close, your lips crashing together in a kiss that ignited a fierce craving for a deeper connection. The taste of longing lingered upon your tongues, a tantalizing promise of the pleasure yet to come. The world outside the cubicle ceased to exist as your bodies molded together, bound by an insatiable need for more.

Seating yourself on the toilet, you drew Chaewon onto your lap, an electric pulse of desire coursing through your veins. The heat between you intensified, as your mouths remained locked in an intoxicating dance of tongues and teeth. Every touch and graze fueled the fire that consumed both of you, building an uncontainable tension.

"Alpha, please," Chaewon's voice echoed with a plea, her words a seductive melody that seeped into your very core. Her whine, a symphony of desire, tugged at the strings of your self-control. At this moment, inhibitions were discarded, and all that remained was an overwhelming need to quench the ache that enveloped you both.

Giving in to Chaewon's plea, you swiftly strip off your pants, granting her access to what she craves. With a pang of hunger in her eyes, she wastes no time and removes the final barrier between herself and her desires. She's already drenched, and time is of the essence, so she wastes no time in sinking down onto your length, inch by glorious inch until you're completely intertwined.

The sheer stimulation is enough to send Chaewon spiraling into a world of ecstasy, her body trembling and her control slipping away. You instinctively pull her closer, ensuring she doesn't lose her balance amidst the mind-blowing pleasure. Werewolves are known to get ultra-sensitive during their heat, so it's no surprise to witness Chaewon losing her mind from such a simple action.

"Ah, so tight for me, aren't you, my pretty girl," you whisper huskily into Chaewon's ear, relishing the shivers that raced down her spine. A playful bite on her earlobe elicits a deliciously wanton moan from her lips. "But naughty girls like you don't get the satisfaction of me doing all the work."

In the depths of her gaze, you catch a glimmer of vulnerability mingled with untamed desire. Chaewon's eyes glisten with tears, a testament to the intensity of their connection. Yet, the tightening of her body around you reveals her true pleasure, a silent affirmation of her carnal hunger. With a shared understanding, she embraces her role, preparing to take charge of their intimate dance.

As she begins to move, a symphony of moans cascades from her lips, unabashed and unrestrained. It's as if time itself ceases to exist, and the only reality that matters is the intoxicating pleasure that courses through their intertwined bodies. Your mind is clouded with desire, longing to explore further with your free hands, but the constraints of her delicate outfit restrain your primal instincts, adding an exhilarating layer of restraint.

Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open, breaking the spell that has enveloped them. "Chaewon-ah, how long are you going to take?" The voice, unmistakably Sakura's, one of the Betas from your pack, punctures the heated atmosphere. Chaewon, unable to form words in her state of delirious pleasure, sinks her teeth into your shoulder, drawing in your scent, which only intensifies her arousal.

"Sakura, Chaewon will be out soon," you reply, your voice laced with a commanding yet tantalizing authority. With that, Sakura retreats from the washroom, realization dawning upon her. The brief interruption only adds to the charged tension, heightening the forbidden allure of their clandestine encounter.

As Chaewon continues to ride you with unbridled eagerness, the intensity between you reaches a fever pitch. Her mind, now blissfully lost in a haze of pleasure, prevents coherent thoughts from forming. Her eyes roll back, disappearing into a world solely focused on the sensations pulsating through her body. Unrestrained moans escape her lips, filling the air, as her scent wafts around, a fragrant declaration of her desire.

With your free hand, you skillfully tease her swollen bud, sending a surge of electricity through her system. The unexpected jolt causes her to yelp, and a rush of liquid gushes forth, coating both of you in a sweet mixture of satisfaction. Her body trembles, overwhelmed by the cascading waves of pleasure that wash over her.

Caught up in the all-consuming whirlwind of sensation, the boundaries of reality blur, and nothing exists except the searing pleasure shared between your intertwined bodies. The irresistible tightness enveloping you fuel an instinctive rutting motion, deepening the connection and pushing you both toward the brink of ecstasy.

As the climax subsides, Chaewon collapses against you, her body seeking respite from the intense activity. In the aftermath of their passionate union, you find solace in each other's arms, reveling in the intimate aftermath of their wild desires. While the outside world may be a blur, within the sanctuary of their embrace, time stands still, allowing them to bask in the euphoria of their shared experience.

"Hey, Chaewon-ah, you need to get the final touches done on your makeup. The stage is waiting, and we don't have all day," you call out to her, reluctantly untangling yourselves from the embrace. She nods, understanding the urgency, and hops off your lap to fix herself up and look somewhat presentable. But deep down, you both know that this little intermission is just a temporary break from the heat.

Before she leaves the stall, Chaewon turns to you with a mix of guilt and determination etched on her face. "Sorry, Alpha, I should've been more careful. I promise this won't happen again," she says, her voice filled with unwavering loyalty. With that, she heads out, leaving you to deal with the aftermath.

You pull up your pants, only to realize they're damp and clingy from your wild encounter. Letting out a sigh, you reach for your phone and dial your secretary's number, requesting a fresh pair of pants. It's just one of those things you have to deal with when you're in charge, right?

As you change into the new pants, your mind drifts to the seating area in front of the stage. How the hell did you end up in this situation? Well, long story short, you're the Alpha of a kickass werewolf pack. Yeah, that's right. Being an Alpha comes with a truckload of responsibilities, especially when your pack is filled with other alphas. But thanks to your impressive power and leadership skills, they all agreed that you're the top dog.

Werewolves have a longer lifespan than humans, so you've had to adapt to human society over time. And to keep the pack fed and happy, you decided to start an entertainment company in South Korea. Who knew werewolves could rock the stage too, right?

Being an Alpha ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It's a juggling act of power, emotions, and keeping your pack in line. But here you are, taking your seat, ready to witness the magic unfold on the stage.

The electrifying performance of Unforgiven by Lesserafim left the audience in awe, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as they owned the stage. The thunderous applause and standing ovation were well-deserved, and once they made their way backstage, you followed suit.

Entering the room, you were greeted by a chorus of cheerful voices and friendly hugs. The pack members were buzzing with excitement, and Yunjin, the ever-enthusiastic werewolf with a personality like a golden retriever, couldn't contain her excitement. "Alpha, did you see how amazing we were? Was I a good girl?" she exclaimed, practically bouncing with anticipation.

Grinning, you playfully ruffled Yunjin's hair. "You were all fantastic. Of course, you were a good girl, Yunjin-ah," you praised, earning a wag of her metaphorical tail and a beaming smile.

Directing your attention to Chaewon, you couldn't resist a teasing remark. She looked at you with apologetic eyes, seeking solace in the company of Kazuha, a docile alpha who always seemed to defy expectations. Finding amusement in the situation, you couldn't help but say, "Unlike you, Chaewon Unnie," which caused her to hide behind Kazuha, clinging to her for support.

Yunjin, ever the innocent soul, seemed perplexed by the exchange. "But Alpha, Chaewon Unnie did great on stage," she innocently pointed out. Before you could respond, Sakura chimed in with a mischievous laugh, shedding light on the situation. "Chaewon forgot her suppressants, and well, it's that time of the month. That's why Kazuha is covering her nose like someone let out a real stinker," Sakura explained, followed by laughter from the group.

Yunjin's innocent remark unintentionally tugged at Chaewon's heartstrings, her heightened sensitivity due to the heat making her teary-eyed. Stepping away from Yunjin, you approached Chaewon, a tender touch caressing her cheek. "Hey, I was just teasing, princess. No need to be sad," you reassured her, pulling her into a comforting hug. "I'm right here for you, don't worry."

As the day's events concluded and the girls changed out of their stage outfits, you all hopped into the car for the drive back to the pack's mansion. It was a bit of a trek from the city, but you didn't mind the distance. Chaewon and Yunjin nestled close to you, seeking comfort during the ride. Chaewon ended up dozing off on your shoulder, while Yunjin took a nap on the other side. It was a peaceful journey, with Eunchae and Sakura also catching some sleep.

"Kazuha, you look kinda out of it. Everything alright?" you asked, glancing over at her with concern.

She let out a tired sigh. "Just exhausted from the busy schedule, and being near Chaewon during her heat is adding to the mental strain," she replied, rubbing her temples. You understood the struggle of controlling one's urges around an alluring werewolf in heat.

"Well, hang in there, angel. We're almost home, and once we're there, you can relax. No more promotions for a while," you reassured her, hoping to lighten her burden.

The car rolled to a stop at the pack's grand mansion, a place that served as both a residence and a base for operations. You gently woke Chaewon and Yunjin, prompting Yunjin to groggily make her way to her room to continue snoozing. The rest of the pack followed suit, but Chaewon clung to your side, unwilling to part ways.

"Hey, don't you wanna catch some sleep, princess?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. Chaewon shook her head, giving you a puppy-eyed look that was hard to resist. "Can I stay with you, Alpha? Cuddle a bit, maybe?" she requested, her gaze filled with longing.

"Sure thing, let's head on in," you agreed, scooping her up in your arms. Walking together towards your room, you set her down on the bed and took a moment to change out of your suit. When you returned, Chaewon was zoned out, staring at the doorway.

"You wanna change, princess? It's gonna be tough to sleep in those clothes," you suggested, motioning to her attire. However, you held onto her hand before she could step out, stopping her. "No need to go all the way to your room. Just grab something from my closet," you offered, a playful grin on your face.

With a shy nod, Chaewon disappeared into the walk-in closet while you settled onto the bed, scrolling through your phone. Moments later, she emerged wearing nothing but your shirt, which practically swallowed her up. She looked incredibly cute in it, tempting you to pull her close and steal a kiss. Chaewon padded over to the bed and settled down beside you, cuddling up. It was a relaxed and cozy atmosphere, the perfect end to a long day.

*****

You were awoken by a sudden wet feeling, wondering what happened. You down to notice that the source of the wet feeling was none other than Chaewon. When she noticed you, she met your eyes with such innocent ones, like she wasn’t doing anything wrong. With how cute she looked, you didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop and it wasn’t like you weren’t enjoying what she was doing. She was exceptional at giving head, playing with her hair you throw your head back in pleasure. “Oh yeah, that’s it, Princess, keep going deeper.”

Following your instructions Chaewon goes deeper, reaching the back of her throat, to increase the pleasure you push her head toward your crotch but stop when you feel Chaewon tap your thighs, letting fo she takes a deep breath.

“Princess, come here and give me a kiss,” Chaewon obeys, her thighs on each side of your body, she leans down and kisses you. The kiss was full of lust and longing, Chaewon’s hands exploring every inch of you while your hands explored every inch of her.

Their lips parted, leaving a trail of desire and aching need. The air crackled with anticipation as Chaewon's gaze locked with yours, her eyes smoldering with a fiery passion.

“What is it that you want princess?” you tease, though you know exactly what it is. Chaewon turns away from you and mumbles “I need you, alpha.”

Holding her chin you turn her toward you, “You have to be more clear, princess, what exactly do you want your alpha to do you.” “Alpha, I need you to fuck me, use me how you want! Break my mind with pleasure, make sure that the only thing I can think about is your huge alpha cock,” Chaewon said her voice getting louder and harsher.

You smile at her and slowly insert 1 finger into her sloppy pussy, earning a moan from her which soon turns into a whine, “Alpha, don’t tease please, I don’t want your fingers! Please fuck me with your cock I beg you!”

"Princess," you whispered huskily, your voice laced with desire. " I want to taste every inch of you, feel your body surrendering to mine."

Chaewon's breath hitched, and her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. Her hands trembled as they traced the contours of your chest, leaving a trail of electrifying sensations in their wake.

"Alpha," she murmured, her voice a mere whisper. "Take me. Make me yours."

You couldn't deny the plea in her voice, the urgent longing that mirrored your own. The hunger between you intensified, an unspoken promise of ecstasy waiting to be fulfilled.

With a swift motion, you flipped her onto her back, positioning yourself above her. The world around you faded into oblivion as you leaned in, your lips hungrily seeking hers once more. The taste of her was intoxicating, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume everything in its path.

Your hands roamed freely, exploring every curve and dip of her body, igniting sparks of pleasure with each touch. Chaewon's moans mingled with your own as the boundaries of time and space blurred, lost in the dance of passion and desire.

In that moment, there was only the two of you, entwined in a symphony of raw emotion and unspoken promises. Every touch, every caress, sent shivers down your spine, building the tension to unbearable heights.

"Master," she gasped, her voice filled with a mixture of longing and urgency. "I need you now."

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips, savoring the anticipation that hung in the air. You positioned yourself, slowly inserting it, her moans got louder, and her nails clawed at your back to help deal with the pain. “Oh my god, it feels so good, alpha,” Chaewon manages to say in between her moans. As you bottomed out in her, you let her adjust, leaning down to kiss her.

Once you felt her relax a little, you began moving slowly, making sure to not hurt her but that changed when Chaewon said “Is this the best you can do, alpha,” this flipped a switch in your mind. Picking up the pace, you pounded into her like a battering ram, Chaewon’s moans turned into screams of pleasure. Her pussy tightened around you, signaling that she was close to her orgasm.

“I-i am going to c-cum, yes! Right there alpha, fuck! It feels so fucking good,” Chaewon’s back curved in anticipation of an orgasm but you denied her of it when you pulled out.

“No-no, alpha put it back please I need to cum, please let me cum, Alpha I beg you!” Chaewon pleaded with you, her mind and body were going desperate for pleasure.

“Only good girls get to cum and princess you have been a very bad girl,” you tease her, using your dick to flick her clit.

“Please please please alpha, I will be a good girl, I will do anything that you want, so I beg you please make me cum” Chaewon screams, getting more and more desperate. Knowing she can’t hold on any longer you put it back in one go without a warning causing her to yelp and start pounding.

“Oh my fucking god, it feels so amazing to be filled by your cock alpha,” Chaewon continued to mumble incoherent things, her brain melting from pleasure. “Alpha, going to cum, can princess cum please!”

“Go ahead princess, cum all over my cock like the fucking slut you are,” with your permission, she lets go and cums, her pussy gushes all over your cock, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her legs trembling.

Chaewon looked completely spent but you decided that it wasn’t over, before she can calm down from the brain-shattering orgasm she just had, you stimulate her clit and start pounding her again, the pleasure now multiplied.

“No, Alpha, no, too much, please… stop. YOU WILL BREAK ME, PLEASE NOO,” she was responding very well to the overstimulation her pussy was clamping down around you like there was no tomorrow. The tightness drove you closer to your orgasm.

“Chaewon-ah, I am going to cum, where do you want it?” You ask as the pounding continues. “Inside- do it inside please, cum inside me. I need your cum inside me alpha,” Chaewon manages to say.

Her permission was all you needed, after a few more thrusts you unload your seed deep inside Chaewon. “Fuck! Take all of it, Princess, don’t waste a single drop,” after coming down from the high of your orgasm, you lie down next to Chaewon. She is still recovering from the overstimulation. Pulling her into a tight embrace you whisper “Such a good girl, you did an amazing job, Princess, I am so proud of you.”

As the night embraced the lovers, a sense of tranquility settled upon their intertwined bodies. Chaewon, nestled in your arms, radiated an ethereal beauty even in her slumber. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow upon her peaceful face.

With gentle strokes, you caressed her back, tracing the contours of her delicate form. The touch of your fingertips against her warm skin elicited a subtle shiver, awakening a dormant desire within you.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you leaned in and placed a tender kiss upon her forehead, a gesture laced with unspoken affection and adoration. Chaewon stirred slightly, a contented sigh escaping her parted lips.

"Sleep well, Princess," you whispered your voice a soothing melody in the hushed darkness.

As the night deepened, the rhythmic rise and fall of Chaewon's breathing serenaded your senses, creating a symphony of intimacy that resonated within your very core. Her slumber was a testament to the trust she placed in your arms, an unwavering surrender.

*****

As the morning light filtered through the office windows, you found yourself buried in a mountain of paperwork. It was a never-ending battle against the endless forms and contracts that seemed to multiply overnight. Sighing, you longed for a brief respite from the monotony.

Just when you thought the day couldn't get any duller, a soft knock on the door startled you. Chaewon stood there, her eyes filled with a mix of innocence and mischief. She had a way of brightening up even the dullest moments.

"Hey, princess, what brings you here?" you greeted her, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

With a shy smile, she stepped into the room, and before you knew it, she had settled herself on your lap. The unexpected closeness sent a jolt of excitement through you, breaking the monotony of the office.

As you tried to focus on the task at hand, Eunbi barged in, ready to spill some important info. But her alpha instincts kicked in, and she couldn't help but catch a whiff of Chaewon's pheromones.

"You didn't take your suppressants, did you, Chaewon?" Eunbi asked her tone a mix of concern and authority.

Chaewon's voice wavered as she confessed, "I forgot, Eunbi-unnie."

Eunbi's gaze bore into Chaewon, her words carrying a warning. You knew the pack's rules all too well, and consequences were a part of the deal. It was a delicate balance between love and discipline.

Chaewon's grip on your arm tightened, and you couldn't help but feel protective. Eunbi handed her the suppressants, a tangible reminder of the responsibility she held as an omega within the pack.

With a mixture of resignation and determination, Chaewon obediently took the offered suppressants, her eyes never leaving yours. It was a silent promise, a commitment to control the wild flames that burned within her.

The office fell into a hushed pause, the air thick with unspoken tension. But amidst the lingering scent of desire, you remained a beacon of support and understanding.

As the day continued, the mundane tasks blurred into the background, and you found solace in Chaewon's presence on your lap.

The rest of the day goes by with you getting work done and Chaewon clinging to you, and from the looks of it, Chaewon’s heat might end tomorrow because of the suppressants.

****

Chaewon had fallen asleep in your arms again, but this time there weren’t any extracurricular activities. Both your slumber was interrupted by none other than Kwon Eunbi, she barged into the room. “Eunbi-ah, what are you doing here so early,” you questioned.

“Oppa, first of all, it's noon, I woke you up because Chaewon needs to be punished today, her heat ended and she needs to be taught a lesson,” Eunbi said with a smirk and winks at you. You always found it funny how Eunbi loved punishing I*zone girls when they broke the rules.

“Alright, let’s get this done with,” You say, picking up Chaewon to take her to the basement where the punishment room is located.

You followed Eunbi as she weaved through the halls until you ended up in front of the punishment room. This was going to be Chaewon’s first time in the punishment room.

he heavy metal door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit punishment room. Its cold, sterile atmosphere sent a shiver down Chaewon's spine, her eyes widening in both anticipation and trepidation. She clutched onto you, seeking solace in your presence, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and pleading.

"Alpha, please be gentle," she implored, her eyes filled with an undeniable mix of innocence and desire. "I won't break the rules ever again."

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in her voice, your protective instincts kicking in. With a nod, you tried to convey a sense of reassurance, hoping to temper her fears. But all reassurance faded into thin air as Chaewon's gaze fell upon Eunbi's face—the face of the one who delighted in enforcing discipline upon the I*zone girls.

Eunbi's smirk widened, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. She thrived on these moments, relishing the power and control she wielded. It was a game they played, a dance of dominance and submission. And in this twisted ballet of pleasure and discipline, Chaewon was about to take her first steps.

Taking a deep breath, you carried Chaewon further into the room, its cold air wrapping around you like a sinister embrace. Eunbi followed close behind, her presence a constant reminder of the impending punishment.

The room was adorned with various restraints and devices, each designed to both heighten sensations and test limits. It was a place where boundaries were pushed, where pleasure and pain intertwined. As you settled Chaewon onto a padded surface, her eyes darted nervously around the room, taking in the tools that would soon be employed upon her.

Eunbi's voice cut through the silence, her tone dripping with calculated dominance. "Chaewon, my sweet, you will learn the consequences of breaking the rules," she purred, her gaze locking onto Chaewon's with an intensity that sent a shiver down both your spines.

Chaewon's breath hitched, her body tense with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. But amidst it all, there was a flicker of something else—excitement, a desire to surrender to the sweet agony that awaited her.

With a steady hand, you reached out to caress Chaewon's cheek, your touch both comforting and electrifying. "Princess, trust me," you whispered, your voice laced with a blend of tenderness and authority. "This is a lesson you won't forget."

To Be Continued

#izone chaewon #kim chaewon #miyawaki sakura #kwon eunbi

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froggibus · 3 months

Note

SUMMER SUNTACULAR AND THINKING ABOUT LUCIO’S GOLDEN WET SKIN IN THE BEACH DRIVES ME CRAZY RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

one shot. smut. please im thirsty.

thanks your existing i love you 🥰

- Lucio’s simp

Sex On The Beach - Lucio

Pairing: Lucio Correia dos Santos x fem! reader (uses fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/nsfw

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: a beach day with your boyfriend turns steamier than expected

CW: public sex, Lucio humour, sex on the beach, unprotected sex, nipple play, creampie

sgfdhskskl I was so so so excited to write this. idk if its cause of the summer games event or lucioball or what but whenever its summer, i always think about our froggi boy. this was sm fun to write and i hope you like it! also thanks sm for your support & participating in the event <3

this is part of our Summer Suntacular event! come check it out!

The sweltering sun overhead gleams across your boyfriend's chest, his tanned skin turning golden in the sunlight. He flashes you a bright smile and gives you a wave from where he stands knee deep in the shimmering, blue water.

The thinly strewn muscles in his arm flex with the motion, the rippling, golden skin enough to make you drool. You’re grateful for the distance, partly so he can’t see you salivating over something as simple as him shirtless, and partly so you don’t pounce on him in such a public place.

You take a deep breath—though it does nothing to sate the heat washing across your skin—and cross your legs. You return his wave, cupping your hand over your eyes so you can see him better.

Grabbing the melted remnants of your mai tai, you settle into your towel in the warm sand and look around. Despite being such a gorgeous, hot day, hardly anyone is around. The family that had been set up about twenty metres away from you have long since packed up, leaving the two of you in almost complete isolation.

You sip back the rest of your drink and go back to watching your boyfriend do the backstroke. Each wave of his arm in the water is followed with water rolling down his muscles—all you can think is how badly you want to rub your hands down his skin and lick the water as it drips down.

“Earth to y/n, hello?”

You flinch, your heart beating a thousand times a second. You glance up at your boyfriend and offer a sheepish smile. “Hey baby.”

“Whatcha looking at?” He asks, but judging by the grin on his face, he knows damn well what you were looking at.

You dig your hands into the sand and push yourself up. “Just you.” You grin at him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. “What about me, hm?”

You slide your hands down his neck, to his shoulder blades and the muscles that live there. His skin is warm to the touch with the occasional cold drop of water relieving your palms. You plant another kiss on his lips.

“You’re just so sexy,” you admit, suddenly feeling a little hot. “You look like a demigod.”

He laughs. “More like a music god.”

You roll your eyes at his stupid joke, letting out a snort. He slides his hands to your waist, digging the pads of his fingers into your sides and tugging you towards him.

He kisses you again, intensely, desperately. You press your body closer to his, drawing him in as close as you can. You can feel every crevice of his body, feel the flexing of his abs and arms with every little motion he makes.

He slips his tongue into your mouth, eliciting a gasp from you. He laughs against your lips, the vibrations tickling your sensitive skin.

Just as he slides his lips to the edge of your collarbone, you gently push him away. He offers you a puzzled look, his dark brows raised.

“We’re in public. What if someone sees?”

He gestures towards the miles long empty beach. “Yeah, look at this crazy audience. I wish I had a turn out like this at my shows.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You lightly slap his shoulder. “Jerk.”

“You love it,” he beams and tugs you in for another kiss.

It’s needier than before, pure desire following in the wake of each sloppy motion. His hands trail down your body, running down the curves of your bathing suit and settling on the spot where the waistband of your bikini bottoms rest on your skin.

He slides his fingers across the band, dipping them just inside and stopping. His lips trail down from yours to your collarbone, planting sloppy kisses as he makes his way down from your neck to your chest.

You gasp when his lips wrap around your clothed nipple, the warmth of his mouth teasing at your sensitive skin. You slide your hand through his hair, twirling his locks around your fingers.

His other hand slides into your bottoms and cups your heat. You can feel him smirk against your nipple, the sudden motion forcing a moan from your mouth.

The pads of his fingers rub at your clit, drawing lazy circles while his mouth makes quick work of your nipples. He slowly drags his finger down your slit, collecting your juices before slowly pushing his index finger inside of you.

You clench around him, your knees suddenly feeling wobbly and threatening to send you face first into the sand. Lucio braces you against him, kneeling down until both of you are awkwardly laying on the towel together.

The towel is warm on your back from the sand underneath it, but it’s a welcome warmth. On instinct, you spread your legs, trying to silently tell him you want more.

Lucio obliges—always reading your body language even better than sheet music—slipping another finger inside of you. You throw your head back, a puff of sand flying up on either side of you, and arch your back to give him better access.

He curls his fingers inside of you, the soft pads digging into that spot inside of you that drives you crazy. Just as you get used to the rhythm of his pumping fingers, he pulls out.

“Babe!” You cry, looking at him through your lashes. “Why’d you stop?”

He pulls back, propping himself up on his knees so he can slowly tug down his board shorts. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

Lucio swears drool leaks out of the corner of your mouth as he tugs his shorts down just enough to free his thick, throbbing cock. He was already half hard just from seeing you in your bathing suit, but when he stuck his hands in your cunt and felt just how wet you are for him, his cock almost hurt from how hard it got.

He reaches his hand towards your core, pulling your bikini bottoms to the side to make room for his cock. He leans into you, lining his cock up with your entrance, and slowly pushes in.

The stretch makes you whine, fisting your hands in the sand and clenching your eyes shut. Lucio digs his hands into the meat of your hips, using it to push himself even deeper. It feels like forever until he bottoms out, until his cock scrapes that spot deep inside of you that only he can hit.

He strokes your cheek gently, prompting you to open your eyes. “How’re we doing, baby?”

“G—good,” you stutter out.

The sun behind his silhouette casts a godly glow to his skin, making him look ethereal. You wrap your arms around his neck and slowly bounce your hips against his.

He smiles at your eagerness, taking the hint and starting to meet you halfway. His thrusts slowly pick up the pace as he finds his rhythm, his skin making loud slapping noises as his balls smack against your thighs.

Beads of sweat roll down his neck and arms, making his muscles glisten. Soft grunts and groans escape his lips in tandem with the thrust of his hips against yours. He rolls his cock inside of you, the tip just gently brushing your cervix.

You tug him closer, burying your face into his neck so you can whine even louder while he fucks you. Lucio mimics you, lips pressed so deep into your collarbone that you can feel the vibrations of his moans in your chest.

The knot in your stomach build with every motion, coiling tighter and tighter and threatening to snap with each drag of his cock. You clench around him, desperate for more. More of what, you’re not sure.

“If you keep clenching me like that,” he grunts, “I’m not gonna be able to pull out.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper inside of you. “I d-don’t want you to.”

Lucio cums almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, thrusting sloppily as he shoots rope after rope of white hot cum inside of you. The heat and the motion and his sexy fucking moans send you spiraling, the knot in your stomach bursting open and pushing you over the edge.

All the muscles in your body contract, the heat in your body reaching a nearly unbearable temperature. Your eyes flutter open and shut, tears pricking the corners and threatening to spill through the waves of your orgasm.

Lucio strokes your head weakly while you cum, still winding down from his own high, and whispers praise in your ears.

You blink at him a few times when the aftershocks of your orgasm finally subside. The world around you comes back into view and suddenly you remember exactly where you are.

“How are you feeling?” He asks and rolls off of you.

“Good, good.” You say, pulling your bottoms back into place before his cum can fully leak out. “Hey babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go home? I need to shower.” You swallow back a laugh, “I have sand in places you should never have sand.”

summer suntacular | masterlist | overwatch masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #ow2 #overwatch x reader #ow #overwatch x you #overwatch fic #lucio #lucio x reader #lucio smut #lucio correia dos santos #lucio correia dos santos x reader #lucio overwatch #overwatch smut

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 8 months

Text

Kissed by Moonlight (Alucard x Witch! Reader) 8

A/N: So sorry this chapter is coming so late into January. I hope everyone is doing well. Let's get this chapter rolling!

Summary: Love comes with many sacrifices.

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Chapter 8

He’s up all night as if consumed by grief all over again.

Adrian is familiar with the feeling, the ache within his chest, which devours him whole.

It stings in his body and mind when he rises with the sun, clouded and forgetting the previous night’s memories. He tells himself he will never be vulnerable with another, over and over, but his time spent with you draws that closeness he needs. He was craving more and more of your closeness and it grew easier and easier to feel it with you.

He was sure that if the consumption of wine continued, he would’ve done something he regretted, unravelling all the work to form an attachment and friendship that took so long to create.

It was the wine, he told himself. It causes anyone to do stupid things.

But it’s not the wine, he knows it. He knows it’s an excuse – a poor one to use when facing something far more lethal than a friendship on the line. He knew it had to be wrong, to put you in a position that made you downright uncomfortable, and the soft touches the two of you shared brought him far bigger feelings than he’d ever felt before.

It wasn’t far from trusting someone anyone, he knew it was something that could’ve been done long ago to betray him. And despite it, Adrian fears it could come any day, no matter how much his emotions grow.

He feels like a boy with a childish crush, not fully understanding the entire complexity of it all. It feels far more real than a simple crush: Adrian yearns for it, begs for its stay, to flourish and build into something much more. It’s a desire, a wish to anyone who would listen.

No, it would never happen. He told himself over and over again, cold in the bed as if there had been another beside him. It was far different to that fateful night, and the ghost of arms around him felt more tender than they had ever been. She is my friend, my closest friend.

Adrian had never felt colder.

When the sun reached his eyes, he squinted, as if its heat would finally put him out and catch him ablaze. Anything to end my misery. He wondered if more wine had been left, but it would’ve started a routine he dared not start again. Not with you around.

He said he would never return to that, not when you stayed.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered into the chill of the air, awareness hitting him like a blow to the face. If he was truly wanting to remain sober for you, something was deathly wrong. “I truly am becoming a Belmont.”

He rises with the rest of the day, telling himself he will apologise if you’re still stiff with him, but he will continue as if all the previous days had been the same. Nothing to hide, except for muddled emotions.

It’s the reminder to himself when he looked over the fireplace mantel, sitting cosy above with its pretty dark curls he made by uncoiling dark thread, and brown buttons for eyes, the skin tone as close to yours as possible, that he cannot have you finding this of all things.

“Are you ready?”

You draw your eyes over to the blond, readying a chestnut mare, the two of you standing in the castle stables. Adrian tells you that the town is not too far, it may take a bit longer to get back with such a large supply he hopes for. The castle’s food supply was dwindling, and Adrian kept a list of what needed to be restocked.

Adrian was kind in giving you some spare clothes, simply because you didn’t want to get your pretty dresses dirty: simple dark pants with a pair of riding boots, a dark green vest and a white tunic shirt that was too big and you had to cinch in with a belt. You also carried on you a small satchel, a cloak and gloves in case of the cold.

“Yes,” you shuffle closer to him, wary of the large beast in front of you, its beady black eyes staring right into your soul, “it’s a beautiful creature.”

“Indeed,” Adrian answers, soothing the horse by scratching just behind the back of its neck, behind its ears, “she is a gentle soul. She will not be frightened by you.”

You warily stare ‘her’ up and down, inquisitively, “What is her name?”

“Oh,” the Dhampir seems understandably abashed for not giving her one, “I did not think that far.”

“Really?” You stare between him and the beast, surprise blooming in your voice. It only makes sense for you to give her a name now! “How about… Lady? No, no—or maybe—”

“Luna?”

His voice catches you by surprise, but it is a wonderful idea. “Luna?”

“It’s a pretty name,” Adrian strokes her snout affectionately, “I like the other name too.”

“No, I like Luna more.” You follow with a guide of Adrian’s hand in knowing where to stroke Luna; just above her snout, his hands lingering longer than you both expected in this subtle affection before he pulls back. His touch still lingers, and it comforts you the size of his hand compared to yours.

“Shall we get going?”

“Indeed.”

It takes some minutes of humbling yourself to get onto a horse- with Adrian’s help- but you’re far more ashamed of how you embarrassed yourself in front of him. It’s not graceful how you straddle, the discomfort that comes from your legs so far apart and how you’re already dreading when it moves.

Adrian is quicker than you, almost leaping on with ease as he sits behind you, his hands coming from behind to grab at the reigns.

“Easy,” you think he’s telling the horse to be at ease, but you realise it’s directed to you, his hands reassuring you, “You’re not going anywhere, little witch.”

You’re thankful he can’t see the way your face heats, the way you wish he would do what he said, but you have to stop those thoughts from occurring.

The laugh that comes from you is more of a wheeze, and you correct yourself before you can embarrass yourself further. “Are you talking to the horse or me, Adrian?”

Adrian chuckles lightly at your jab but knows it is all a tease. He guides the horse out from the stable, and almost immediately begins a sprint. The castle seems like a speck in the distance the further you travel, trees whipping past like shadows of figures you thought were human.

Animals could be heard within the trees as if they surrounded you, but instead of fear, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and across your face. You imagined this was what it felt like to be a bird, or the fastest horse free in a field. It was in some way what you imagined what a vampire felt like hidden and part of wildlife.

With the speed and wind on your side, you arrived in the town by the time the sun was highest in the sky. You forgot how lively a town could be: bustling with life. People of all ages, genders and skin tones wandered the market. Mothers with their babes and young children playing around her skirts. Those who came to sell and trade within the markets. Couples of old and young fill the streets with tender displays of affection for one another.

It made you blush when you looked around, realising that some could maybe say the same about you and Adrian looking like a couple. Would Adrian notice this too? Would he feel ashamed to be associated with you?

You didn’t realise you had been distracted by your thoughts when you felt a tender hand shaking you gently out of your thoughts. Blinking owlishly, Adrian stood before you, his golden eyes were wrought with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Overwhelmed, but I’ll survive,” you told him, puffing your chest out to show you weren’t feeling all sorts of worries. “Have you got the list?”

Adrian doesn’t want to shake away his concerns for you, but he unravels the crumpled note from inside his coat pocket to hand to you. You scan over it quickly before you nod. “See you back at the carriage?”

“I must hire one first,” Adrian chortles, “but yes, I shall see you then… be safe.”

Be safe.

It’s enough to make your heart swoon, and you nod, fleeing like a lovesick teenager who just said hi to her crush. You absorb yourself by finding the necessary things, trying your best to not get engrossed by the things around you.

You get mostly through your list before something catches your gaze.

An array of jewels of different sizes and colours greet you: some attached to bracelets, necklaces and brooches, others gaudy and lavish and sitting for all to see. It doesn’t take you long to fully stop and be standing in front of the older woman’s stall, looking over them carefully.

If only I had enough money.

“The peridot would suit you nicely, young lady,” you look up to catch the warm gaze of the woman, her crow’s eyes wrinkled. “Or alexandrite. Very pretty, will catch anyone’s eye.”

“They are very pretty,” you muse, though you already know you won’t be buying anything from her, it is always nice to look around. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Light colours would suit your skin tone,” she begins as she points to different items, holding them as if for you to compare until the next thing to come from her mouth leaves you practically gasping, “I’m sure your husband would agree.”

“Husband?”

“There you are.”

The first thing you notice is the arm that snakes its way around your waist, a body leaning in closely to you as you feel your body freeze on the spot. Adrian is looking over the jewels with you with interest, softly musing to himself, “I knew I’d find you here.”

You’re gawking now, no words are coming to you and it’s only when the old woman brings up impatiently that you’re buying anything that Adrian pulls a bag from his pocket, casually handing the woman the change as if it's nothing. “The peridot I think would look lovely on you.”

He’s moving away, back to the wagon with you following behind like a lost puppy.

“What was that?” You whisper when it’s just the two of you, watching the world go by.

“What do you mean?” He asks as he pulls out the necklace to inspect himself. “I thought this colour would look nice on you.”

“Yes,” you replied, fiddling with the hem of your gloves. “It’s just—”

Adrian seems to read you easily, and he knows when you’re showing some discomfort. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“Far from it,” you laugh it off, though your heart hammers to great lengths, “She had been the one to say I had a husband.”

Your laugh leaves Adrian silent, quieter than he normally is, and it leaves you spiralling. What was he thinking? Was he too uncomfortable with the choice of words?

“Turn round for me?”

You blink thoughtlessly at the question, slowly following as you turn your back on him. You have to stop yourself from gasping aloud when his gloved fingers graze over the back of your neck, pulling back your curls to give him a proper view.

You’re shivering, and you realise what state you’re in, crumbling just from a singular touch, but you try your best to keep your cool. Adrian steps close behind you, his scent is strong in your nostrils as he collects the links of the necklace, putting it around your neck before securing it.

“It suits you.” He quips, knowing that his words are having an impact on you, before he turns away to the cart, you follow hot on his heels to nag him for making you feel so unsteady.

It's sometime later on the cart on your way back when Adrian suddenly touches your hand.

Even when he wears his leather gloves, you can feel the warmth that resonates within him, the raw strength and power that comes from him. He’s a killer, a killer who could’ve overpowered you a long time ago, but who you put your undying trust in.

Your shock freezes you as you look over at him, his gaze on the road ahead, but you know for a fact, that he’s aware you’re staring. “Is something the matter?” He draws softly, looking at you through his peripheral.

“You’re…” You can’t find the right words, but you direct your gaze to his free hand occupied in holding yours, and he follows. “My hand,” he states coolly, though you feel as if there is a hidden motive to this. “You were cold.”

Right, you tell yourself that, and a harsh chill bristles through you before you have time to think it through. He’s smart, too smart.

“Oh." You don’t consider he’s telling the whole truth, but you don’t shake away the way he’s holding your hand. It brings a great comfort to you. You’re still side-eyeing him as he continues on the road, the silence that envelops you is calming and quaint.

You’re very aware that your heart is hammering, the necklace wrapped around your neck is being twirled as you think heavily with your thoughts. Shall you tell him now how you feel? Would that break everything you built with him? It’s only a matter of time before your feelings are split accidentally and your friendship is cursed.

You squeeze his fingers to get his attention, “Adrian, there is something I wish to tell you-”

You’re lurched forward from your seat at the front of the cart, the suddenness of it is all to not still your nerves. The horses snorted in anxiousness, and all around you stood still as if holding their breath. Adrian’s eyes were deadest on something within the trees, and you couldn’t help but feel even more nervous at what could be out there.

“Night creatures?” You whisper to Adrian, but he only gives a glance your way, a way to tell you it was way, way worse.

It was still far too early for creatures of the night to be out, but with the fading sun passing over the horizon of the trees, that was when you spotted them.

They blended with the trees at first, but you could see their silhouettes, standing as rigid as statues, ready as soldiers for war, staring down at you like vultures. They can’t be just human bandits on the road, their presence alone gave off a bad omen. You don’t know how many you count, their clothes blend as one with the growing darkness as the sun settles.

Adrian’s voice is already speaking to you, cutting the silence with a knife.

“Y/N, get to the back of the cart, do not come out until I tell you so,” it’s not a warning, but an order, and you don’t want to waste his time by stalling. His voice is serious, eyes stone cold as he glares down at the figures not far and lurking around the trees.

Adrian easily hops down from his spot as he flicks the scabbard off his longsword. You watch in a mix of wonder and dread at the scene that unfolds.

The figures draw in closer, watching and snarling as Adrian holds a solid line, almost unfazed as he holds the sword close to his face.

His sword glows suddenly as if imbued with holy light, a shocking flow of blue flames engulfs it, glowing and hissing with life. The flames flicker close to Adrian’s face as he readies his action, changing his stance before he is on the closest one.

He’s quicker than your eyes can register, a shadow of crimson shifts as he moves at lightning pace, soon in front of the hooded creature as his sword moves as one with him. He is no longer holding it, rather, the two of them move as if it is a dance, fluid and graceful.

A hiss of a cry lurches into the darkening skies, one is down on the ground, its skin hissing and bubbling as it disintegrates.

Two more are on him with a flash, but Adrian fights with valour and dances around him, swords crashing against the sound of their taloned nails. You’ve not stuck around to know what was happening, having crawled through to the back of the cart for safety.

Once huddled in a spot surrounded by crates, you can only rely on sound: clashes of silver clang loudly around you, bodies fall and you have no clue if Adrian is winning or not. You can only assume he is, from the way you can still hear the glow of his magic sword, twirling around as silent as he is.

Another noise resonates from just outside, creeping behind you and you freeze, before the sound of splattering blood and a gargled choke dies down. You look just to your left to see that the material of the cart is splattered in the thick, viscous liquid, and you shudder that Adrian is here to protect you.

You don’t know how many of them are left, and you can only think that the best thing for you to do is protect yourself if one finds you inside. You scramble to your feet, clumsily looking for any blade that could be of use. You find only a flimsy dagger, and you clutch it close to your chest as you settle in the back of the cart, trying to calm your racing heart.

Something draws in close and you stutter a gasp before you realise it’s too late. The figure pauses almost dramatically, inching closer to the back of the cart, their movement deliberately slow, trying to edge as much fear out from you.

You pray it’s Adrian coming to your rescue, to tell you the area has been cleared, but as the face emerges through the curtains of the entrance to the cart, it’s not those golden eyes you’ve grown to love staring back at you.

They’re red, crimson as the blood that will soon spill from you.

Your screams fall silent as the face erupts into a smile, wide and fanged as the rest of its vampiric kind. The dagger in your grasp feels more like a twig as you stare down, wide-eyed the vampire in front of you.

“What a pretty little thing you are,” his voice is soft yet hoarse, and his red eyes seemed unblinking as he seemed to taunt you from the entrance, blocking one of the ways you could escape. “What a delicacy you’ll be.”

Your fight or flight had kicked in and instead of either of them, you had become frozen in your spot, dreading that this would be the way you died, dying in a smelling cart as a vampire ripped at your throat.

“Don’t worry,” he coos, inching closer, a clawed hand bracing the inside of the cart as he further draws inside, “I’ll make sure I’m quick with you.”

Adrian's POV

Blood soaks through the leather of his clothing, but he is thankful it is there’s and not his.

The last of the creatures die within an inch of him, sizzling into nothingness as he stares down what remains. Ash of their bones and the burnt clothes remain, the reminder to anyone who crossed him he would do it a hundred times over.

All in the name of love.

He had once didn’t understand the meaning of love, the way it would pull at his heart and lurch within him. He needed it as if it was necessary like water or food, a hunger that he yearned for in the waking hours of the day to the late hours of twilight.

He is his father's son after all.

Dracula did it in the name of love, and he found he was killing his kind all to keep you safe.

“Y/N, it’s safe.” He calls you to, and he listens for any sound except for the sounds of nature surrounding him. It’s startling how quiet the outside world could be, and how quickly his heart could plummet in knowing something was deeply, deeply wrong.

His heightened senses could not smell blood, not the blood that came from you but what had fizzled and dried. It seemed almost deathly quiet, but Adrian’s mind was racing, the pulling of his heart meant you were not here, or worse, he had failed to keep you safe.

A scream brings his attention, and he wastes no time in hurtling towards the back of the cart, his heart racing.

No, no, no, if he's failed in doing the one thing, he's failed you and himself.

He hasn't even got his face an inch through the gap before he senses something telling him to move out of the way, an object being flung just where his face would be. His head snaps to see a dagger clatter to the dirt just behind him before it turns to what stands before him, a snarl leaving his curled lips.

You were safe, for now, though the vampire he failed to miss had his disgusting fangs inches from the base of his neck, his clawed hands wrapped around you, keeping your body locked to his chest.

“Son of Dracula, the Messiah,” the vampire greets him, observing him with a lazy smile. You continue to squirm in his grasp, eyes locked onto Adrian for any semblance of safety. “Care to take a bite of your pet first or shall I do the honour?”

His venom is bitter and his anger is boiling at the words he uses for you. How dare he call you a pet!

“Unhand her now,” his voice resonates inside him and he channels his father, the voice he would use and boom across the castle grounds, “I will not ask you again.”

“Ah, ah, one step and I spill her neck open.” The hooded vampire fusses, his movements almost consoling to Y/N as he runs a hand down her cheek, tears drying on her skin. “This one is a waste if you keep it.”

He laughs easily as he stares Adrian down, his next words bringing Adrian close to lopping his head clean off. “Though it is no surprise, you are Dracula’s son, keeping human women around as your pets. It was Dracula’s weakness,” he leant close into Y/N, drinking up her tears as he licked his tongue up the side of her face, “and it will be your undoing.”

Adrian is hunched as if ready to pounce to get him off you, but his golden eyes are never leaving you. A cry leaves your lips when his tongue licks up the side of your face, and you’re shivering, hands clutched around the tightened grip of his forearm.

There is a silent connection that only he can feel when you are close, and it comes from your eyes that stare back at him. They don’t seem as frightened as they did before, and he believes he knows you want him to be calm and not quick to action. Your eyes calm him like a storm approaching, ready to destroy all in its wake.

The vampire holding you runs a hand through the links of your necklace, the hands glimmer in the low light inside and it’s the only thing Adrian sees, trying to not imagine it coated in blood. “Such sweet, sweet blood.” The vampire says, his face drawing into your neck, but you stop him from doing anything further.

With your hands clutching his forearms tightly, Adrian watches how you shut your eyes tight, before shouting the words that resonate through you:

“Ardeo!”

It amazes him every time when you speak that spell, the way flames spill from your hands as easily as water flowing. The endless cycle of nature flows through you, and the power within your hands cries with a mighty scream that neither Adrian nor you know who it’s coming from.

The flames roar as they lick up the clothes of the vampire, and his screams join in fright as they clutch around his arm, a grip in itself that never lets him go. They take and they take, scorching the fabric as they bury deep into the skin.

The vampire is held in place as if something within an endless cycle of life and death ties him to his spot, scorched by your touch as he squirms and screams. He sounds like a pig, Adrian notes, but the sound is as annoying as the actual animal dying.

The vampire is quick though, and though his arm is distorted, blackened and charred, he shoves you away from him, his nails catching you by the skin of your arm, nicking it as you collide with the side of the cart.

Adrian is there in a flash to end it all, to end its misery, to end its hellish torment. He does it for you when his sword is a flash of lightning, quick to the bite and cold as a kiss to the vampire’s neck, coming out the other end before anyone could realise.

Your breath is caught in your throat as you’re unaware you’ve been cut, though the adrenaline dies down as quickly as the body slumps in front of you, turning to ash before your very eyes.

Adrian is beside you, a hand tending to your arm before the sting catches up with you. You hiss in pain, realising what had happened and how deep the wound is. Three long scratches reach down to your elbow, bleeding freely.

“Careful.” He’s quiet with his words, delicate as if treating you like the fine China you are. He rips part of your shirt, wrapping the open wound to stop the flow of blood. He reminds himself he needs to clean it when you return to the castle.

You’re staring at him as he does so, your eyes glazed over as if in a daze, and before he has time to register if you’re okay, he feels something press against his cheek, and he realises it’s your warm lips, chaste and sweet.

“Thank you,” you murmur, leaning into him as the silence fills the cart. Adrian is silent for what feels like forever, but his mind is screaming. You kissed him, and he’s gaping like a dead fish. You kissed him and he feels like a boy all over again.

He shakes out of his thoughts to collect himself, to calm the rush of blood that goes straight to his head, and he feels lightheaded, but he gladly accepts your embrace, cradling you to his chest.

“No... thank you.”

Latin Translation:

Ardeo - (I) burn

#castlevania alucard x reader #castlevania fanfic #alucard castlevania #alucard x reader #adrian tepes #adrian tepes x reader #reader x alucard #itstheendofthegoddamnworld writes #reader is a witch #mixed race witch #half black reader #part 8 #witch! reader #alternate universe

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cyn-write · 4 months

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The Little Cecelia - Chapter 3: A Change in Tides

Summary - Every 100 years, the spirits of the Great Seven and their Rivals return. Sometimes, they attempt to right the wrongs of the past, get revenge, or relive the same story, but it all is the same - only one spirit gets their Happily Ever After. Azul has always been fascinated with the human world, which only intensified once he met a human girl, Grace Trien. He desires to become a Great Mage of both Land and Sea and to explore the human world and all its wonders with the Tweels and Grace by his side, but Prince Rielle is willing to do whatever it takes to stop the little Cecelia from getting his Happy Ending.

Chapter 3- After Seven years, a lot of things have changed. Azul has become the "Merchant of the Deep" and Grace has become a Lady of High Society, and their feelings have grown as well. Upon Grace's return, Azul is determined to confess his feelings but his plans change when Grace shares troubling news with the trio.

Prev - Master List

Pairing - Azul Ashengrotto x F!Oc (Grace Trein)

Tags/Warning - Pinning, Scheming, and Childhood Friends to Lovers!

Notes - After a long (unplanned) break, I've finally returned! Thank you everyone for your patience! This chapter took a long time to write but I hope you enjoy it as things start to heat up. Just an FYI: Grace Trein is based on my Oc Grace Wilde so if you want to learn more about her click the link, but you can replace her name when reading if you want to read it as Yuu or another name. This is only the third chapter of 11, so if you enjoy this and want to be tagged or have questions, please let me know! This is also on Ao3 if you want to follow it over there. Comments, likes, and Reblogs are appreciated!

Seven summers come and go like the shifting tides.

Azul spent his days and nights perfecting himself and his magic. He swore to become a powerful Mage and that he did. Every waking moment was spent studying every book in the grotto. From potions to spells, he had mastered his craft. In the midst of the magic books were books on business and trade which he poured over every night. In a few short summers, Azul had become a master merchant, selling potions and restored treasures.

The twins became Azul’s partners in crime and aided in growing his business. They helped him gather information and ingredients to use to his advantage. They found mermaids, mermen, and some truly desperate humans who had no one else to turn to and led them to his doors. In seven years, Azul had gone from being a whimpering no one to the mysterious and powerful “Merchant of the Deep.”

Despite his growing business, he still set aside time each night to talk to Grace. It was the part of his day he treasured most as he would put down his work and simply talk to the person he treasured most. Her voice would take him out of his business guise and remind him why he was doing all of this. She also became a business asset as she had a good understanding of finance and trade due to her schooling and training under her father. Azul often found himself running his plans by Grace and she would provide honest feedback or return the next day with information that would aid him.

Beyond business, the two would talk about anything under the sea. From books they read to random musings, these simple moments brought both out of their heads and let them just be. For a few moments they were not “The Merchant of the Deep” or “Lady Trein of High Society,” they could simply be Azul and Grace, two teens dreaming of a better future.

One conversation that would often lull them to sleep was the conversation of “what if…”

“I wish you could be here Azul,” Grace mused, “You would have loved it…”

“The more we talk the more I wish I was born human.” He would hum.

“Being human isn’t all its cracked up to be,” She would say, “If you’re born into the right station and gender, your fine. Honestly, I feel more like a bird than a person at times. All I’m supposed to do is sit pretty, speak when I’m spoken too… smile and nod as people talk about my worth... To be honest I wish I could have been born a mermaid, then I could swim away with you and the tweels.” She sounded like she was dreaming again, but they did that often.

“If you are born the right mer maybe… the sea is a dangerous place, and if you’re not the right kind of mer or swim into the wrong places… you could end up shark bait.” Azul had a dark tone to his voice, as much as he enjoyed picturing Grace as a Mer, he didn’t want her to face the monsters larking in the sea. “Besides, I think we can do better… We could run things. Create something that last centuries after we’re gone.”

“And what would that be? A potions business? Trade business?” Grace pondered, “I would love to create something, but sadly women of my status are not usually able to… We usually have to marry for wealth or diplomatic reasons and run our husband’s estate, birth heirs, and raise them to do the same… But I’m hoping to be different. Mama and Papa promised me when I was little that I would have a say in my hand and my future. They even promised that I would get the villa and part of the estate once he retires.”

“I hope so to…” Azul looked at the bracelet on his wrist and dream that the hand she would choose was his. “Do you ever wish you could just... run away from everything? Start somewhere new where no one knew who you were and could just…be?”

Grace was quiet for a moment. Azul thought he scared her away, but when she spoke again, it sent all three heart a flutter, “I would, if you would go with me.��

Ever since that conversation, Azul made it his mission to become human and be with her as more than a friend, but a partner.

Grace kept her promise and returned to the grotto each summer. The three short months she spent with them each year were filled with joy and fun. She showed them everything she learned at school and brought them a variety of land treasures (much to Floyd’s delight). She also taught them everything she could about life on land from human etiquette to fashion to food. By the time she left for her final year of schooling, the trio had a good grasp on the ins and outs of high land culture.

When the day came for Grace to finally return to the grotto, the three were anxious for her return for different reasons and Jade found it entertaining.

Floyd was impatiently waiting for Grace as he anticipated the gifts she promised to bring. How did he cope with the impatience and boredom? He messed with Azul who was a nervous wreck.

Azul was always a nervous wreck when Grace returned from boarding school, but this year it was amplified for a singular reason. Azul (after relentless Bullying from the Tweels) made a bet with the twins that was finally going to confess his feelings to Grace and present her with the human transformation potion he made. This “bet” amplified his nerves and the tweels found it entertaining to tease him about it.

By the time mid-day came around, Azul was pacing in the water and Floyd was trying to catch his tentacles as he passed. “Why isn’t she here yet?” Azul muttered, “She said she would be here by high noon. What if shes- AK! FLOYD!”

“hehehe~ I got Zuuul!” Floyd waved Azul’s captured tentacle around until Azul used that tentacle to slap him in the back of the head. “Owwie!”

“Azul you’re overthinking this, her Father is probably just keeping her.” Jade sat in the back corner of the cave re-reading one of the books Grace had given him years ago.

“I know. I know.” Azul muttered and returned to pacing, “But what if-“

“What if, What if, that’s all you’ve been saying for WEEKS.” Floyd dramatically flopped over Jade’s rock, “She’s a strong Shrimpy and any fish with eyes can see she’s liked you for YEARS!”

Jade nodded as he pushed his brother off his rock, “Besides, if you don’t tell her. We will. That’s the deal~”

Azul shook his head at the brothers’ antics. He knew they were right, but his hearts were still beating rapidly. Before Floyd could launch himself at Jade, the three heard the fast shifting of sand, shifting of fabric, and the signal whistle of their dear human.

Floyd shifted his launch towards the caves shore and bolted towards the entrance. Azul tried to calm his beating hearts as Grace entered the cave.

She certainly has grown over the years, but she has changed a lot over the last nine months. Her features had refined, her hair darkened to a golden hue, and her figure was no longer “boyish” (a term her brothers used to torment her) but full. She was even dressed differently from last summer. Instead of the flowing dresses and bows in her hair, she entered the cave in a structured summer dress, gloves, and woven sun hat.

“SHRIMPY!” Floyd launched himself onto the beach and into Grace’s outstretched arms.

“Floyd!” Grace kneeled so Floyd could give her his signature hug properly. “Oh, I’ve missed your squeezes!”

As she welcomed Floyd, Jade took his time crawling up the beach and was more gentlemanly in his greeting… until he pulled Floyd’s tail.

“Floyd, it’s rude to hog attention.” He reprimanded his brother with a teasing smile.

“Hey!” Floyd lost his balance and fell back, loosening his grip on Grace just in time for Jade to steal her.

“Ahh! Jade!” Grace laughed as she fell into his embrace. “I’ve missed you too!”

“Welcome Home, Grace,” Jade said, helping Grace steady herself as she stood up.

Azul never felt more self-conscious then when he made his way onto the shore to greet Grace. His arms felt weighted, his stomach felt bloated, he could feel all his imperfections highlighted on his body. The guppies in his stomach swam rapidly as she finally stood and looked his way. She set down her basket and walked over to Azul with arms open and bright smile.

Azul felt his lips turn up as he wrapped his arms around her and she returned his embrace, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” She gave him a quick squeeze before stepping back, hands in his. Her bright eyes scanned his figure and she looked at him in awe, “You’ve certainly changed though! Look at you!” She smiled so brightly. “You look wonderful, Azul, truly you hard work has paid off!”

Azul felt the guppies settle and his cheeks warm, “You’ve changed a lot yourself. This is certainly a new look.”

“Thank you,” Grace smiled. He lifted a hand for her to spin and she did with a laugh, “Ever since my birthday, Father has insisted I dress ‘properly.’ Honestly, I never thought I would say this but father has been exhausting.” She shook her head. “Actually, that’s why I’m late.”

Azul’s worry resurfaced and he squeezed her hand still in his. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a long story,” Grace’s smile returned, and she said, “We should get settled first before I get into that mess. Why don’t I give you your gifts first before Floyd tares my basket?”

“Too late,” Azul nodded over to Floyd and Jade already shuffling through her discarded basket. Her blanket, snacks, and some books were already spread around them with Jade placing the objects to the side before Floyd threw them in his search for the gifts.

Grace just shook her head at the two and chuckled, “What am I going to do with you two?”

Floyd’s head shot up from his search and said, “Hand over the shinnies!”

Azul let himself genuinely laugh for the first time in what felt like years. He followed Grace as she spread out her picnic blanket and settled on it. Floyd had all of her attention as she reached into her skirt pockets and brought out three wrapped items. “I guess, I guess.” Floyd reached for them but Grace quickly moved them out of reach. “Na-ah-ah! Patience Floyd! You’d think you would’ve learned after last year!”

“How many times do I have say sorry!” Floyd whined as Jade held his brother back.

“Once more as always.” Jade gave Floyd the stink eye. Last year Grace got Jade a terrarium with small figurines of woodland creatures and Floyd ended up breaking it in his search for his gift. She got Jade another and Floyd felt terrible, but Jade still holds it over his head whenever he can.

Grace handed the objects to them one at a time starting with Jade. She gave him a small jar shaped object which he delicately unwrapped to Floyd’s dismay, “There was a small shop in town that finds these, I described your fascinations to him and the shopkeep assured me you would like this!” Inside the package was a clear glass jar terrarium with rotting wood inside dotted with small white umbrellas, “He said since they are already growing, as long as you keep them in dark, moist places they should keep growing.”

Jade’s eyes sparkled as he looked at the jar. He looked like a child given a seabunny during Winterfest. He gingerly placed the jar down before giving Grace a hug. “Thank you.” He said softly, letting a few happy trills slip through. “It’s perfect.”

“Ya, ya, you got plants gimmie mine!!” Floyd pouted and his tail twitched in annoyance. Grace giggled at his childlike annoyance.

“Alright, hold your horses,” Grace said as she picked up a small rectangular object. The moment it grazed Floyd’s skin, he snatched it and shredded the wrapping paper. “I saw this in a traveling shop and had to get it for you!” The rectangular object was a case and inside the case was a small instrument, “It’s called a harmonica! You blow into this side and it makes music!”

Floyd picked up the instrument and smiled wide, “A LAND SNARFLUCS!” He put it to his lips and blew a few notes, rolling his tail in glee. After sliding it across his lip a few times, Floyd put the harmonica down and wrapped Grace in a big squeeze. “THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU! Mom never let me keep these!”

“Ya. Thanks a lot.” Azul sighed knowing he will never know peace again.

“Don’t worry, I got you and Jade earplugs too.” Grace said, patting Floyds back as she returned the squeeze.

Once Floyd let Grace go so he could admire his new shiny, she finally turned to Azul. Azul way always the last to receive his gift, and he was fine with it. He liked to think it was because she was saving the best for last. Grace took out a slim case and handed it to him.

“I know you don’t need these, but when I saw them I couldn’t help but think of you.” Grace said as Azul took the wrapped case. He unwrapped it and felt the smooth leather of the case on his fingers, tracing the Bell logo imprinted lid. When he opened the case and saw a pair of round spectacles. The golden frames were decorated simply with a white chain connecting the two ends so the seer my put them down for a moment without losing them. They were a simple, sleek, ordinary pair of frames, but the fact that she thought of him when she saw them made his hearts beat faster.

“Go ahead, put them on! I want to see how you look!” Grace said as she reached into her pocket for her hand mirror.

Azul did as she asked and put on the spectacles. There were clear lenses so he could see his image in the mirror clearly. He looked… older, more sophisticated, like the merchants in stories. It felt odd to look at the reflection, his reflection. The person staring back looked like him, but with confidence and charm.

He looked up to ask her thoughts and Grace was blushing. Her mouth was slightly ajar and she was flush. When their eyes met, she held his gaze. That is one thing Azul always admired, she always looked him in the eyes.

“S-see. I knew they would look good on you,” She said softly as she put the mirror away.

Azul smirked at her remark, “You’ve always had impeccable taste.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Grace chuckled and shook her head, “that’s a rare opinion according to my brothers and their wives. They’ve criticized my every move since I’ve returned.”

“Speaking of, why don’t we return to the subject of your tardiness?” Azul said, settling beside Grace, spectacles still on. “What happened?”

She sighed and picked at her gloves, removing them as she spoke, “The short explanation is… a lot happened while I was gone leading to father pushing my debut.” Azul felt his hearts stop. Her Debut? Doesn’t that mean… no. Grace continued as she picked at her dress. “The Long of it is… complicated.”

Azul’s tentacle moved its way to her mid-back and his hand covered hers, “I can take complicated.”

Grace sighed and the tweels turned their attentions away from their gifts as she spoke. “While I was at school, apparently my brothers and their wives decided to squander their portion of the family fortune and their dowries. Against my advisement, Father has housebound them and limited their spending ability, but by that point they had already made a sizable dent in the coffers. He doesn’t want to strain our people more than he has to so Father has turned to other methods of regaining funds.” She squeezed Azul’s hand for reassurance as she continued, “He is holding my debut ball the Friday. The invitations were sent out already, and this morning while I was getting my gown tailored, Father gave me the rundown of the ‘most suitable candidates’ attending. Apparently, I must choose a husband at this ball or else.” She laced her fingers through his, holding it close as tears threatened her eyes, “When I reminded him of the promise, he said I did have a choice, but it must be made by the end of the ball or else its moot…” She started shaking.

There was a thick silence between the four. Azul’s tentacle wrapped around her midsection in a comforting hug. “So, you’ll be engaged by Saturday?”

She placed her free hand on top of the tentacle and rubbed her thumb along his skin, “According to father I should be… but it is still my choice. A-and who knows, I could meet the one. A plethora of fairytale romances happen that way…” She looked him in the eyes as she said this. She was looking for reassurance, to convince herself that everything will be okay. “Maybe… my Prince Charming will come sweep me off my feet.”

That’s when it hit him. A plan. A glorious, beautiful plan. His tentacles slithered as it formed and Grace caught on to him.

“What?” She asked, “I know that twinkle in your eye, you’re scheming.”

“I certainly am,” Azul ran the rudimentary plan in his mind and there were some kinks, but it should work. “It’s risky, but it just might work.”

“Ooooo! This is gonna be fun,” Floyd said chuckling.

“Mind sharing?” Jade asked slithering to the water.

Azul’s tentacle’s started drawing out a plan in the sand, “Your Father said you just had to chose a suitor correct? He never said it had to be from his list, correct?”

“Technically, yes. Where are you going with this?” Grace asked, curiosity twinkling in her eyes.

“Well, if you already had a suitor with wealth. You could hold off your father for a while until you decide to marry.” Azul offered up.

“That would be wonderful, except father would want to meet the mysterious suitor and know why it is being delayed.” Grace said.

Azul had to take a deep breath before he said the next part, “Didn’t you say you wanted us to meet him one day?”

“You mean-”

“Around 11 o’clock on the night of the party. You will introduce your father to me as your…Chosen Fiancé. I have enough gold and treasure to appease him for a long time. The excuse will be we are waiting till I finish a human transformation potion so I can be with you on land. If your father is the man you say he is, then that should hold him for at least a season. Enough time for you to truly chose someone to marry.” He took both her hands in his and squeezed them, “As I said, its risky, but it just might work. But I won’t do anything without your approval.”

Grace returned the squeeze and looked at him with those lovely green eyes, “Are you sure? This could put you and the tweels in so much danger. And I-”

“I-we care about you and your happiness. There is no need to worry about us. We can handle the danger.” Azul’s tentacle came up and caressed her cheek, “You mean the world to us, and we will do anything for your happiness.” Azul felt his face heat up and he turned away to look at the tweels smirking at him, “isn’t that right?”

Thankfully, the tweels played along. “Ya! We’d do anything for our shrimpy!”

“We are happy to help a dear friend~”

Grace looked at the tweels then turned back to Azul, “Promise me you’ll keep me in the loop, and stay safe?”

Azul nodded, “I promise.”

She sighed and a sly smile grew on her face, “Well then, I guess we should flesh out this plan then, shouldn’t we?”

The rest of the evening, Grace, Azul, Jade, and Floyd developed the plan down to the minute. Every move was plotted out and obstacles considered. By the time the sun touched the sea, they had a foolproof plan prepared for the ball.

After Grace left, Jade approached Azul whispered, “What are you truly planning Azul? I’ve never seen you make a one-sided deal like this before.”

“Oh, that’s where your wrong, Jade.” Azul smirked as one tentacle brought up a golden glowing potion to his eyes, “Once this deal is done, not only will I have won our bet, but I will have everything I’ve ever wanted in my grasp.” He turned to Floyd trying out his harmonica, “Floyd, I think its time we pay Sam a visit. I’m going to need a suit for Friday’s ball.”

“Hehehe, I knew this was gonna be fun~” Floyd’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“It certainly will,” Azul peaked around the cave and gazed at the manor lights. There his dearest pearl was having dinner with her family, unbeknownst to her that her Prince Charming would sweep her off her feet at the ball, and right into his tentacles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: @twistedcece @thisisafish123 @coffee-or-hot-cocoa

Note: Please Like, Reblog, and Follow for more! If you are interested in seeing more or want to get tagged, please let me know! Comments, likes, and Reblogs are appreciated! (Do not Steal)

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estiebestieban · 2 months

Text

A Dance with Bulls

Charles can’t tear his eyes away from the display before him as Carlos’ hand runs across the flank of the bull one final time before he retrieves his sword from the flesh. It comes back red, stained with fresh blood as it glistens underneath the light of the sun.

A 8.6k Charlos fic on AO3. Prince! Charles x Matador! Carlos. Vaguely set in a regency setting. Rated E. With incredible art by @4rseneart HERE

READ AN EXCERPT HERE, AND THE REST ON AO3.

“It seems that you possess witchcraft, Your Highness.”

Charles spins around on his heels in the middle of the lavish garden in bloom just outside the Arión estate, facing the man speaking to him from the shadows of the setting sun. Had this been his own residence, a place where Charles was comfortable, he would have scolded the man away. But the house and its halls do not belong to him, and he is all too aware of the fact that he is a guest in an unfamiliar country “How so, Mister Sainz. You must delight me with an answer.”

The matador makes his way to Charles, invading his space until they are nearly chest to chest. An improper position to be found in, that much was certain. Yet, Charles does not step back to create more distance between the both of them. He stands his ground, meeting Carlos’ gaze head-on as he delights in the fact that even if they appear to be the same height, he is slightly taller than the Spaniard.

“Well, if you will forgive me for my bluntness — I see you in the ring, and you steal the breath right out of my lungs. What other force on earth could do such a thing, if not witchcraft?”

Carlos’ words are charming, and it is not hard for Charles to imagine the flock of women so surely eager to throw themselves at the man’s feet. Still, he is the second prince of Monaco, and he is destined by his birthright to stand above such a display of suave charm. “Perhaps you have simply forgotten the fine art of breathing, good sir. It must be difficult, to keep your footing as light and your body as flexible as I have seen from you today and still remember to take a breath every so often.”

It comes naturally, the teasing. He is eager to see a smirk return on Carlos’ features, even more so to see the spark of joy lighting up those rich brown eyes. Charles does not long to please anyone, for such is the desire of the masses below him, but he finds himself hoping to do just that in the presence of the matador.

As swiftly as he appeared in Charles’ space, Carlos stepped out of it just as quickly. The ghost of laughter lingered in his absence. Charles is no better than the bull, for he takes one firm step towards the other, before remembering himself and noticing the absence of a red cloth for him to follow.

“Your Highness, I am not a man prone to begging, you can tell, no?” Carlos gestures with his hand to nowhere in particular. Charles’ eyes follow the motion eagerly as if all the secrets of the universe would be revealed to him by the simple act. “But perhaps I am made so by your presence. Seize the use of your magic. A man cannot live long without his breath after all.”

Charles had never seen other men die, but he had overheard the stories of men coming back from battle haunted by the things they had seen. When whispering to one another to recall the exact sounds of dying men, none had accounted for a young prince to be hiding behind his father’s legs. He does not know what it is like, to choke on his own blood, but he finds himself growing far more familiar with the act of choking on his own words in Carlos’ presence.

“Nor can he live without a heart?” Charles retorts as he watches Carlos walk away from him into the direction beyond the world of the Arión estate. Carlos does not give him an answer, for he is not a subject that answers to the royal blood in Charles’ veins. He gets to offer his silence to the prince who would so eagerly leap after the man. All Charles gets is the vision of a light step and the confusion left behind with the parting of the man in question.

#pls i have a family to feed -#charlos #my writing #I'm soooo stupidly proud of this fic you have no idea

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rinstaro · 1 year

Note

I want big daddy fierces face between my legs<33

mmmmm gentleman tongue fucking me till I cry

Yummy.

-💫

oh bestie same !!!!! tmi but its been like,,,,,,,, a week and a half since i got my coochie ate !!!! THATS TOO LONG !!!!!!!!!!!

i feel like fierce would be sooooooooo good at it <33 i make the rules and it’s completely true

cw: mostly just thirsting 😵‍💫 coochie eating obvi, overstim but u tell him to this time!!! he's just,,,,,, meow, reader has a vagina no pronouns!! short and sweet cause i’m getting back into The Groove Of Writing

minors do not interact.

you didn’t have to beg him, just a ‘please’ would suffice. he’d do anything you asked of him. so why were you so needy? well, it was simple in your eyes. your boyfriend is fine as fuck.

he didn’t even have to do anything and you were drooling over him. he was tall, strong, and unbearably handsome. though, those weren’t his strongest points.

no, your favorite thing about him is how gently he treated you. his touches were delicate as if he was scared you’d shatter beneath him. when he held you, he’d repeatedly ask if it was okay, if he was hurting you in any way. your absolute favorite was the way he spoke to you and only you, that special tone of voice he had reserved just for his darling.

fierce held strength beyond comprehension, and wouldn’t dare hurt a hair on your head. of course, unless you asked.

“i want it til i cry. pretty please?”

“you shouldn’t even have to ask. come here, beloved.”

oh, and it was easy to get him between your legs. it was his second favorite place, only coming second to being in your arms. though having your hands in his hair was more than fine, for now.

he adored how you sounded when he had his tongue in your cunt. sweet little cries of his name, telling him how good it felt. his hands rested at your waist, helping you grind into his mouth as he tongue fucked you. you were drooling, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. “f-fuh— oh my— more! please!”

he groaned softly. your pussy tasted like heaven to him, and you were letting him eat it for as long as he wanted. it sounded lewd, your moans mixed with the sounds of him devouring your cunt, but it didn’t embarrass you much when you were on your third orgasm and still begging for more.

your lover doesn’t care how much you tug and pull, boss him around and tell him to go faster. you asked him to give it to you til you cried, and his desire to serve you came before everything else. even his own… needs. little did he know, you had planned to return the favor later on.

fierce lets you card your fingers through his hair, pull his hair, grind onto his tongue, all of it. all he asks is that you don’t hold back when you cum. he wants it all over his face, all over the sheets— yeah. because to him, nothing beats the feeling of your creamy cum dripping down his chin.

#link x reader #link smut #link x reader smut #star.anon #loz x reader #loz x reader smut #legend of zelda smut #legend of zelda x reader #kore.writes #kores.blurbs

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lonelylonelyghost · 2 months

Text

Re-watch of The Spirealm. Episode 36

Everything is great, nothing bad is happening with anybody, everything is finefinefinefinefinefinefi

"Who asked you to save me?"

"Ge, I have nothing left for you. I'll leave you the hope to live."

That is... a lot to ask of someone whose soul has just been broken in two

"Go ahead, put anything." What on earth am I supposed to put here?! Fuck you

Remember when this show was fun?

"From mother: Can we meet up?"

Oh please no...

There's nothing worse than still have a hope for them to change

He was so giddy and full of tentative excitement when meeting his mother, even after all that she'd done to him. But then...

"Qiushi, when I came down here, I told my family that I was talking out the trash."

And you see all that light slowly draining from his face.

"A few days ago, did you and a good-looking young man come to sneak a peak at me and your sister? Thank you for not coming up to us. If your little sister had seen you, her father would've been angry."

Just... so casually cruel.

Before, all those villains were despicable, but you kinda understand them - they're driven by greed, power or just simple desire to survive and see another day. It's selfish, and it's human.

But this - like, how can a person, any living being, be like this?

And to hammer the last nail in the coffin, she does not return the bag of cash that Nanzhu gave, but gives Qiushi his childhood drawings, as if it doesn't have any value anymore.

"I thought this could be my chance to give you these."

"Were you about to throw them away?"

"No! I thought they'd be useful to you. (even though we saw that she definitely was going to throw them into the bin). After all, these preserve your childhood memories."

"Aren't those also your memories too? Don't you want them anymore?"

"Don't worry. I won't come here again. Your trash has all been cleared."

REMEMBER WHEN THIS DRAMA WAS FUN????

And now he discovers that his boyfriend is not even real

"What is the clue to the 11th Door? Please, answer me, NPC!"

Just loss, after loss, after loss...

"That's right. Yes, I am the NPC who will purify this game. Only when I enter the last Door can this game return to its original state."

"You're the NPC in this game."

"Well, that's a simplified way of putting it. The reality is a bit more complex."

"It's OK. Go ahead. I can understand."

"Lin Qiushi."

"Tell me."

"Lin Qiushi."

"You've been deceiving me for so long, I should be able to understand, right?"

"Lin Qiushi, listen to me!"

"I don't know what I can explain to you. Do you want me to tell you that I'm just a programming? That once the mission is over, I'll cease to exist forever? I was created for you, and for you I'll disappear."

"Lu Yanxue once asked me what love is. I could answer that love is between Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, but I can never experience the anticipation before transformation, because I am not real.

Chen Fei asked me what friendship is. The search engine told me that however deep the Lake of Peach Blossom may be, it's not as deep as the love Wang Lun has for me. But I can never understand why friendship is deeper than the lake, because I am not real.

So, I felt confused. I felt indifferent. Until I met you."

"I'm grateful to you for gradually making me feel real, for making me feel like I can at least be perceived as a person. So I could feel sad for Li Dongyuan, I could make sacrifices for Tan Zaozao, I could feel heartbroken for Cheng Qianli.

You can take your time to think about it and make your choice."

"What choice? Is it to save someone dear to me or to save a group of people I don't know instead? What kind of bullshit choice is this? Let me ask you again. What is the clue to the 11th Door?"

"Two leave, one returns."

"Whichever one of us goes will die. Isn't it obvious? Do I have a choice? Do I have any choice in this situation? Was it ever up to me?"

"I have never had a choice. From my creation to my death."

"I'm sorry. But I can't let you die. I won't enter the 11th Door."

"Even if you don't go, my end will still be the same."

"But it won't be the same for me."

Somebody shoot me.

#spiraling into the Spirealm (again)#the spirealm #kaleidoscope of death #cdrama #the spirealm spoilers #ghost.fm

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csainz5 · 1 year

Text

THE AFTERPARTY

pairing: carlos sainz jr x reader

word count: 0.8k

summary: you and carlos have a rendezvous after his win at the spanish grand prix. who knows what would happen when youre so close to each other? as the drinks keep pouring you may just find out. ( this can be read as a part 2 to “smooth operator: emphasis on the smooth” as well as by itself)

author notes: im overwhelmed by the response to my first ever tumblr post!! i hope you enjoy this as much as the first one, maybe even more so 🫣

The crowd erupted with cheers as he stepped out of his car, a broad smile plastered across his handsome face. As the evening sun cast its golden glow over the racetrack, the celebrations had began.

The after party was a glamorous affair, filled with champagne, laughter, and the pulsating rhythm of music. The atmosphere was electric, charged with the thrill of the race and the presence of the Formula 1 stars. Among the many revelers was you, standing apart although in a simple black slip-on dress with rhinestones on the sleeves. Your heart skipped a beat when you caught sight of Carlos across the room. He looked even more breathtaking under the glow of the red lights, his dark hair tousled and his eyes sparkling with mischief. He moved with a natural grace, drawing the attention of everyone around him.

Gathering your courage, you approach him, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Carlos noticed the shy smile on your face and returned it warmly. "Hola," he greeted, his voice smooth and filled with genuine warmth. "Hi," you reply, voice slightly breathless. "Congratulations on the race, Carlos. You were amazing out there."

Carlos's grin widened, revealing his contentment with the compliment. "Gracias, I'm glad you enjoyed it. It means a lot to hear that from you rather than anyone else here." He raised his glass, offering a toast. "Shall we celebrate together, then?" You nod, your hand trembling slightly as it clinked against Carlos's champagne flute. Carlos's words seemed to flow effortlessly, making you feel as though you were the only two people in the room.

As the night wore on, the conversation became more intimate. Carlos leaned in closer, his voice becoming a husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the magnetic pull between the both of you, a simmering tension that made your hearts race. Lost in the moment, you found yourself drawn into Carlos's orbit. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony on the dance floor, the rhythm of the music mirroring the connection you felt. The touch of Carlos's hand on your waist sent sparks of desire coursing through your veins. “Carlos” you whimper, breathless.

Unable to resist your voice, Carlos leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss. It was a passionate embrace, filled with longing, as if he had been thinking about doing this to you since the instant he saw you. Your bodies pressed against each other, fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

In that moment, the two of you forgot about the world around you. You were consumed by the intensity of your desire, the electric chemistry that sizzled between you both. Carlos's hands explored your body with a reverence and hunger that left you weak in the knees. His hand pulled you in by the waist as he settled himself against the railing of the balcony. The fiery passion between the two of you was apparent in the way you held each other close, breathing heavily but at the same time, barely breathing. The intensity of his desire seemingly knocked the wind out of you. You place a hand against his chest, pulling apart from his embrace, “Not here Carlos, there’s people around”

For a moment, Carlos finds himself unable to answer, trying his best to be rational as thoughts plague his mind. Thoughts of you, and how you would look as he— Focus Carlos, Focus. he thought to himself, trying to regain his composure. “Yes, of course”, he brings himself to answer. “Perhaps we should go get ourselves a drink by the bar” you suggest, “Yes, perhaps we should.” he replied. His eyes follow you as you lead him through the crowd to the bar. “two white rums, on the rocks” You order. “I hope you don’t mind i ordered on your behalf, i just had a feeling you would enjoy it.” “No worries, i look forward to trying it out.”

The booming sound of the music, the lights and the drinks set a mood in the club, a mood that was eating the two of you inside out. It became harder and harder to remain rational. It all drowned into a blur of stolen kisses and whispered promises in a drunken haze. You and Carlos had found solace in each other's arms, bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. The connection was undeniable, like a flame that burned brighter with every touch.

Carlos held you close, your bodies still humming with desire. His hands brushed your hair out of your eyes, settling along your face, cupping your cheek. He looked into your eyes, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and longing. "Mi vida," he murmured, his voice husky, "I don't want this night to end. Will you stay with me?"

#carlos sainz 55 #carlos sainz blurb #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x reader #suggestive #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fanfiction #smooth operator

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yiga-hellhole · 10 months

Text

TFTK: CHAPTER 14

the siege for the triforce of power is at hand. two co-lieutenants are assigned to guard their flanks while their master claims his shard of destiny. one way or the other, death mountain will fall.

ao3 mirror

hiiii long time no see on the main work. it's out! lots of new (and old) characters in this one. it's been a real trip. i'm just going to let this one speak for itself because, well... it speaks a lot! 14k words under the cut. enjoy everyone!

The announcement of Cia’s demise and the subsequent establishment of Sorceress Lana as the Guardian of Time brought immediate chaos to the palace. Their path was cleared, their forces supplied — all there was left to do was take the Valley of Seers, and with it, return the Triforce of Power to its rightful pedestal on the Demon King’s hand. All tension that had been building up among Ganondorf’s forces over the past few weeks burst apart into shrapnels. That very night, troops took to their saddles and set out to march for the Eldin Border, to join their compatriots in the vast sea of tents.

With Cia’s defeat also came the potential of new allies… Not that Ghirahim was particularly enthused about those arrivals. Volga and Wizzro, his previous co-lieutenants when still under the Sorceress’ command. He had only followed her through the thrall she’d placed on him, though her promise of the revival of his True Master… It was fascinating enough, at the time. But those two, they’d had no motives but their own corruption, or the simple desire to serve the strongest. With her out of the picture, all that was left was to find whatever scraps were left of the disgraced commanders and beat them into submission.

It was easy enough to find Wizzro. He had lingered in the witch’s library, idly combing through her literature like there wasn’t a war raging mere miles away. All Master Ganondorf had to do was step into the threshold, and the wretched creature had all but thrown himself at his feet, begging to be worn. It was a despicable sight, despite its parallels. At least Ghirahim’d had the dignity to put up a fight.

Volga, in the meantime, was posing more of a challenge. Whatever happened during the Hyruleans’ siege on the Valley, it had not done its favors for Volga’s composure. They encountered him skulking in Eldin, cornered and snarling like a wounded animal. He’d rejected their Master fiercely, vehemently, until the rule of beasts decreed he submit. Ghirahim had marveled at the sight, how the Demon King seized the dragon by his horns and threw him to the ground. The crunching of bone and carapace was only barely drowned out by the beast’s yowls and roars; Master was beating him until he turned man again. Once he did, he’d been pinned to the dirt with his neck between the twines of Ganondorf’s trident. The loyalty he swore then was stained with the blood that poured between his gritted teeth, but it was one, nonetheless. What other choice did he have? It shouldn’t have taken that much violence for the oaf to clear his head. The Princess certainly wouldn’t grant him forgiveness, and he ought to have realized by the second strike to his boney jaw that Ganondorf was no enemy to make light of.

Ghirahim wondered idly, with them all standing at the sidelines and forbidden from interfering, why Ganondorf had taken his lieutenants along for these recruitments. Perhaps to set an example, of what they would expect were they to betray him? Curious, but intriguing. Or perhaps, to grant them an excuse to voyeur? Well, even if it were the former, Ghirahim found him taking all that much more fulfillment in the latter. At least, he was treating it as such.

Now, the six of them stood at the forefront of the war table. The innermost layer of the congregation, directly circling the table, was occupied by them, the highest commanders. Around them, nearly huffing down their necks, were the others: Gerudo captains, darknuts, moblins, and lizalfos, flanked by the stallords and bulblins they had recruited from rogue bands. With the events of the past days still splaying out fresh wounds on the lands of Hyrule, it was perhaps their most chaotic meeting yet. The death of a warlord, and the subsequent disbanding of her entire army, meant far too much territory was suddenly up for grabs. Nigh every minute, some panting messenger would burst through the tent flaps to relay the status of a camp either relinquished to Master Ganondorf’s forces or annexed by opportunistic Hyruleans.

That was the problem with monsters, Ghirahim thought to himself with a disdainful grimace tainting his features. Without a powerful overlord to tell them what to do, the undead were just that — aimless souls, seeking a way to unleash their vengeance. For all the trouble the Hyruleans put them through, at least they had pride, and wouldn’t simply lose all sense of self to mere disorganization.

Zant stood at Ganondorf’s side, croupier stick in hand. With contemplative silence, he moved pawns on their map to their rightful places, scattering its ink-blotted landscape with blues and reds. The commander tended to the war table as one would prune a garden; through all the bustle in the room, filled with the murmur of men and hurried scuffle of feet, the rake in the hands of that lunatic provided the sole bit of meditative tranquility in the middle of war. With the fate of Hyrule resting on its yellowed surface, this table was the eye of the storm.

Even as the frequency of messengers diminished, in the short term of their plans, very little had changed their plans. From the Gerudo Desert to the Valley, their path was clear. They could march unimpeded, and the siege of the Triforce of Power was within reach. One problem remained: in the time that their rivaling force had fallen, they hadn’t yet dealt with their… Pest problem. Goron City still threatened their flanks, and such a powerful enemy could not be left unattended to. Their forces would have to split.

“Master, if I may volunteer myself,” Volga stated, hands folded behind his back. “My people took Death Mountain as our home, millennia ago. Not only am I well-adapted to the mountain’s harsh conditions, but reclaiming it would restore our hatching grounds. Dragonkind would be indebted to you.”

Ghirahim found himself somewhat unsettled by how quickly Volga regained his stoic coldness. Something about a mortal man acting like a blade unnerved him.

Ganondorf narrowed his eyes at the man before he glanced back at the table with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “Dragonkind would bend to my will one way or the other, Volga. You are among their paragons, and yet, here you stand at my table.”

Volga’s shoulders stiffened, subtly but easy to spot from the side.

Gold-tipped claws tapped on the map, and Ganondorf continued. “Nevertheless, your assessment is fair. Having you as a commander in the siege of Death would greatly improve our chances. I have already considered stationing you there for this very reason.”

Lightly, that massive hand dragged across the map as he walked from his spot. Ghirahim’s eyes trailed it hungrily. “Yet, you have other motives, do you not?” the Demon King said as he made his way to him, his cape brushing by the ankles of the commanders he passed along the way. “If I recall correctly, a relative of yours was slain on that very mountain.”

Volga fell silent. Something pulled at the sharp folds of his nose, darkening his expression. He nodded, lowering his head. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

Ganondorf grinned, moving a single pawn on the map to the base of the Eldin volcano. “I do not mind personal stakes, Volga. I need passionate, driven warriors on my side, that will lay their lives on the line to conquer our territory. But do not use our siege as an excuse for a mere revenge plot. It clouds the judgment of my warriors, and risks far too much carelessness than I will tolerate.”

“Of course, King Dragmire,” Volga answered curtly, instantly raising his chin with newfound confidence.

Ganondorf fell silent, staring thoughtfully at the map, his smile at once fading. “Ghirahim, Zant,” he called to their attention.

They faced him at once.

“You will join Volga in the siege of Death Mountain. The Gorons are at an advantageous position at the Mountain’s summit, thus I propose we split our efforts in half. Zant is most familiar with our plans for the siege, and I trust your synergy to carry you both to victory.”

Where Zant nodded curtly and continued moving his little pawns, Ghirahim clawed together every shred of composure he had to stop his expression from falling. What?

The words that followed only chipped away at him further. “Yuga and Wizzro, you will accompany me to reclaim the Triforce. Your recent involvements with the Sorceress will give us an advantage in navigating the Valley.”

The rest of that briefing may as well have been a blur.

Stations assigned and resources allocated, gradually the crowd inside the tent began to thin. The lower-ranking officers were the first to leave. Beast after beast passed after him, leaving only those who sought counsel with their superiors, until finally, only their handful of lieutenants remained. All that time, Ghirahim merely stood waiting, eyes glued to the map. Even on this miniature, the distance between Death Mountain and the Valley seemed insurmountable, agonizingly great. Standing across the table from the Demon King, those gauntlets mere golden smudges in his peripheral… Ghirahim refused to let it be an omen. He wasn’t forged for such loneliness. At least, not again.

Ganondorf was presently engaged, but he didn’t care. With a clear of his throat, he captured the attention of the men standing at the other side of the table. "I cannot help but express my displeasure, Milord,” he stated with a bow of his head. “The past months we have fought tirelessly to ensure your advance. I do hope you can forgive me for my desire to see you conquer the valley in all your glory, my Master."

The Demon King chuckled. Arms folded behind his back, he strode his way around the table. Warmth and buzzing arcane power radiated from the massive presence now next to him, almost enough to make his knees buckle and cling to the man's furred breeches. Almost.

"Lord Ghirahim," Ganondorf rumbled. "Your fluency in the realm of flattery assures me of your loyalty, your enthusiasm."

In an instant, he was aflutter. Craning his head up to look at him, he felt pierced by the gaze of those golden eyes. "It is not flattery, Milord. It is my most genuine praise and admiration of your strength." He needed Ganondorf to know he would give him anything. Void deep eyes pleaded. Put your trust in me.

Suddenly, warm, calloused fingers found their way to his chin, tipping his head gently upward to keep him in place. Oh, look at me more! See how I adore you!

"I see," Ganondorf said, a smile creasing his bronze cheeks. "... Nevertheless, I must remind you of your place. You are here to be my warrior, not to lick at my heels. I entrust to you this duty, to guard our most sensitive mission, and I will accept no insubordination to this decision."

Ghirahim sucked in a breath but suppressed the sigh that would follow. He could never disobey him, never truly, but his stubbornness certainly got him close. That Ganondorf refused to wield him as intended was the first jagged nail that drove into him. Heart bleeding, he decided then that simply being by his side and following his command would sate him. But now, to be denied even that simple shred of proximity, to be miles away when he should be fighting alongside him… He lived to serve, but first and foremost he was a weapon. To be sent out as any other lieutenant would be to rid himself of what had kept him so close to Demise for all those eons.

What made him special. What made him His.

His instinct prevailed over the meek cry of his soul. “Of course, Master,” he responded, though his face could only have conveyed the contrary. Ganondorf grunted, averting his gaze first, and retracting his hand after. Behind the curtain of his pearlescent hair, the slightest token of the Demon King’s affection remained hidden, a secret between them both. Before he could fully withdraw himself, swiping right under the diamond scar upon his cheek, the pad of Ganondorf’s thumb gently caressed his cheek. It was a tenderness that could only ever be known to the two of them. An apologetic gesture, to lay there shattered, only for Ganondorf to pick up one of his shards and kiss it.

Ghirahim’s eyes followed him all the way through the tent until he could no longer be seen.

A bony hand found its way around his arm, tugging him closer to enter a half embrace. Whatever rosy, yet downtrodden trance he was in promptly snapped and vanished from sight.

Yuga’s voice crooned mawkishly, tutting at him ever so slightly. “You really are a bit of a spoiled boy, aren’t you, Ghirahim?”

Ghirahim hissed and spat in response. “Spoiled! You will know to watch your tone, Yuga. Your familiarity with our feudal system should tell you that I outrank you.”

Yuga cackled flightily at his snapping. To his dismay, his attempts to shake the Lorian off only made him cling to him harder, jingling his various jewelry in their motion. “Perhaps so! Yet, you’ll forgive me for being so amused by your pouting face. To speak against our Master’s wishes!” he murmured, clawed fingers finding his chin. “Well, it can’t be helped now, can it?”

“No, it cannot,” he groaned, head drooping away from the man with a sigh. “Of course, I will carry out any task our King gives me, but I just can’t help but feel duped. To be miles away, during such a paramount battle..! What an unprecedented tizzy to find myself in.”

Yuga hummed piteously. “I do so know your adoration for him,” he said, emphasized by an empathetic pat on his shoulder. “You needn’t worry, Ghirahim. I will ensure no harm befalls our precious Master in your absence.”

That was precisely the problem! His fondness for Yuga was a mere speck in comparison to his dedication to his Master, and it similarly could not outweigh the jealousy he felt. Envy gnawed at him, like stripping flesh away from ribs with snarling teeth, laying bare the bleeding heart that lay beneath. He’d outmatched Yuga in battle multiple times now, and had at least several months more to prove his loyalty than the sorcerer had. Every siege he’d won, he’d dropped into the Demon King’s lap, bloodstained and with love. What sleepless nights he’d accompanied him through, and how he’d managed to crack through his shell and win his smile! His gentle affections! Such gestures that Demise would grant him as scarce rewards, rare but precious all the same. They came just so tantalizingly easily when he pushed the right buttons on this mighty man. Could Yuga have attained the same, in such little time? He doubted it, and yet! There would that wicked sorcerer be, joining his side in his moment of glory! The urge to rip his cloak to shreds with his teeth was only tempered by his sense of decorum, and the cold, gentle hand, that despite his bubbling rage for the man, continued to pet him affectionately.

He brushed him off with a dejected sigh and made his leave without looking back.

—

A loud clang, a screech. The impact of blade on blade sent a shock of vibration from Ghirahim’s hands to his shoulders, snapping him out of a train of thought he now couldn’t remember. Bright orange eyes called to his attention.

“I cannot believe I am the one saying this, Ghirahim, but you are distracted.”

“So I am,” Ghirahim bit back coldly, lunging forward with a thrust that could only be responded to by a sidestep, and a slice to his armpit. The way Zant read his mind was starting to perturb him, but not so much as his annoyance. He would now have to mend his suit there.

Zant stepped back, sword back at the ready. “It is unlike you to be nervous before battle.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I am not nervous,” he grimaced, before coming at him again with an overhead strike. Zant parried it, catching sharp edges together, but Ghirahim was quicker. One bit too much force and he caught him off balance, slipping his blade past his arms and heading straight for his helmet. Its tip stabbed right into the chameleon’s facsimile tongue before he stepped back out of range again. “I’m merely peeved.”

Zant similarly stepped back, nodding quietly. “You are upset with our stationing.”

“By Demise, yes!” he spat sonorously, relinquishing one hand from the grip of his sword to throw it in the air in exasperation. “Millennia I have spent, working tirelessly to fight by my Master’s side! Not to speak of this past campaign. I’ve done nothing but prove my worth to Lord Ganondorf, and now that the battle that we had been working towards has finally arrived, he casts me aside for newcomers? It’s humiliating!”

Zant hummed. Having stood at ease during his soliloquy, he now readied his stance again. “It does not particularly please me either, but Death Mountain is an important siege. Master needs capable lieutenants to carry it, lieutenants who can hold their own without his presence.”

Ghirahim sighed but didn’t have enough time to dramatize before Zant lunged at him again. Steel clashed together, but false edge slipped on, and the Twili had broken past and into his shoulder. But not without Ghirahim’s blade tearing through the tough fabric of his sleeve, and jabbing into his forearm.

“I know, I simply,” Ghirahim muttered, but then paused. How long had it been since he’d last confided in the man, and genuinely so? He supposed this languid tale was harmless enough; his dedication to the Demon King was no secret. Still, since his talk with the Arch-Demon, he’d been constantly vigilant of sharing even the slightest sliver of truth with Zant. It disturbed him to know that the Twili had an acute sense of when he was lying, but despite all this time, he hadn’t been able to spot the slightest tells on him.

He’d been silent enough. Zant had stepped away, uncrossing their blades. So Ghirahim continued. “I wanted to be there with him. I so wished to share the glory I’ve worked this hard towards.”

Zant nodded again, before lowering his blade to inspect his arm. The tip of Ghirahim’s sword had jabbed right above where his leather armor stopped, but not broken it. It would bruise, not bleed.

“I understand, Ghirahim. Yet, you must understand its practicality. Our very sparring sessions here have given us far greater synergy than with our other lieutenants,” he began, raising his blade again. His stance was wide and immaculate. “We simply work best when we are in the same field. The same, I’ve observed, goes for the Master and Yuga.”

Ghirahim pondered his words, before a smirk cut through his face, and he came at him with an underhand strike. “I’d wager there is far more going on between them than mere synergy.”

Fearing for his sore elbow, Zant locked their blades and stepped in, sliding forward until their crossguards kissed. “You say that as if the very same does not count for us, Demon Lord,” he murmured, a smile audible in his voice as he leaned in.

But before Ghirahim could open his mouth in retort, the ground shook. Death Mountain was making itself known, causing dust and gravel to rain down from the ceiling of their training cave.

The two paused, standing there shoulder to shoulder in silence, before each lowering their swords, leaving this match unfinished.

“I believe the Mountain tires of our presence at her feet, Zant,” Ghirahim remarked with an hollow chuckle.

“We will see her again soon enough. I am quite content with our session today, either way.”

The rumbling of the mountain loosened yet more of the cave, its stalactites shivering ominously. A mosaic of crackles formed against the ceiling, bit by bit flaking away. It chipped, rumbled, and clattered, before losing its hold altogether. Pebbles fell and scattered on empty soil.

—

The climb to Goron City had begun. Wind soared through the mountain path as their troops marched ever higher. Without the shelter of trees or rock outcroppings, every step was dangerous even with a flat path to tread. Soles braced into the coursing sands and cloaks billowed in the gust, but nature alone could not deter them. They had been trekking for several hours now, and had long passed the signs of struggle beaten into the rock surface by Zant’s fake-out siege from mere weeks earlier. In the valley to the south, they could still see the battalions in the south moving to the Eldin border. The Demon King’s forces split off from their own at almost equal numbers, but would soon join the expanse of monsters that stood at ease just at the horizon’s edge. From this height, the battle camp's brown and red tents were like a bloodstain on the scorched and barren sands in the distance. Oh, how Ghirahim longed to have witnessed that very camp come to life at their arrival, to hear the rallying cries of infernal forces that lusted for nothing but slaughter and victory. So far away now, the marching of his troops drowned out the distant beating drums and pounding feet of those chasing after the Demon King. It brought him as much misery as it grounded him. He had to focus.

Focus so much, in fact, that it started to irk him how eerily silent the mountains were. For their entire trek up, not so much as a single Goron had reared their head, much less attempted to stop their advance. Such were the troubles of leading an advance to highly guarded territory on even higher grounds — they could only be walking right into an ambush. The tension was palpable among the pair of familiar lieutenants, yet somehow, marching upfront and shoulders squared, Volga did not seem deterred. Either he truly had confidence in his own abilities, or he was plainly a fearless idiot. Ghirahim was betting on both.

The mountain path split in two here, a tall rock outcropping forming the partition of the two roads. To the east, there was what appeared to be a now-empty mine, though their true objective branched north. Not wanting to risk getting flanked by an ambush from those treacherous caves, Zant appointed a platoon to keep watch there and set up a makeshift base in the event they had to fall back. He was being cautious; perhaps the only one of the three.

They could only march onward for their first units to pass the intersection until the sounds of explosions and panicked yelps of Lizalfos echoed from that back-up platoon.

Ghirahim whipped around back east, only to find a massive shape eclipsing the sun. Something was cutting through the skies above, and making their way straight to them.

Whistling as it came down, a shadow dropped and hit the ground with an explosion. Rock and dust flew into the air, sending shrapnel carving through armor like paper to the forces that managed to stay outside of its blast range. Those that were not so lucky were either dead upon impact or would find their end soon, dragging themselves away from the crater with whatever limbs they retained.

The claw-like blades of Zant’s swords drove through the skull of one such unfortunate fallen, putting the whimpering barbarian out of his gut-spilled misery.

“Cease your sniveling,” he boomed, claiming his sword back from his mercy-kill with a sickening squelch. “Archers to the front! Shoot this eyesore down!”

Only now did the backlighting of the sun let up, and the true appearance of the baffling object became clear. Hovering above them all was what could only be described as a giant balloon, clad in red and green stripes, and forced into a round shape by a woven net. Dangling below it was what appeared to be a small wooden boat, steered by propeller in the hands of a small, stocky man who fearfully peered over the edge of his craft. Said man began hastily cutting down bags of sand dangling at the edge of his craft and pulling at the cords above him at the soonest mention of ‘archers’. Just like that, the balloon flew out of reach. The coward! Drawstrings creaked around him as Ghirahim rallied his central archers, but found them too late. The volley of arrows, save for a few stray ones that stuck to the bottom of the boat with a thunk, soared past and into the mountain walls.

The balloon continued moving above them, casting an ominous shadow at Ghirahim’s fifth and last battalion, the one between himself and Zant’s brigade. A sudden realization made him bark the command to clear the way below, breaking up that last formation as they scrambled to get out of the way of yet another dropping bomb.

The path was too tight, too narrow, and their formations packed together too much to make way for all of the fleeing men. They panicked, they pushed, they tumbled and skidded off the edges, if they managed to get out of the way at all. Ghirahim gritted his teeth, shoving the crowd out of the way if only to keep his eyes on that balloon. A second assault fell soon after, but instead of a single bomb, the miscreant had thrown a whole bag’s worth down.

A deluge of rubble, dust, and boulders cascaded down the mountain, burying those that failed to get out the way of the previous assault. The sand plume was blinding, but the impact couldn’t knock him off his feet. The tremors alone threw most of the smaller monsters to the ground. So quickly, their careful formation had fallen into chaos! They braced themselves, hoping that the unseen rocks that rumbled past them like a stampede would spare them, and waited for the dust to clear.

When the ground finally settled, and the wind whipped the dust away, Ghirahim winced at the sight behind him. Cutting through their path and separating his brigade from Zant’s troops altogether was a massive fan of rubble, spotted with the mangled bodies crushed by the debris.

The balloon continued to soar. Another bomb dropped, one after the other. Once again the archers attempted to intercept, but still they could not reach. They were being decimated!

Pushing through the crowd, Ghirahim came across Volga, who had ordered his men to continue their march as fast as they could manage. The man himself stood there snarling, embers pouring from his lips with every snarling breath.

“This is a waste of time,” Volga growled, his fists flexing into claws. “I’ll handle this.”

Ghirahim looked to his side in shock. Steel and bone on the man beside him began to crackle and groan under the beginnings of his transformation, and he knew what would follow. He quickly struck him in the chest with the flat of his palm, startling him out of his focus. “No, you buffoon! That waste of skin has laced himself with explosives. You’ll set them off and bury us all!”

Yet, the lack of interference was proving itself to be quite adept at burying the lot of them, too. The aeronaut above them hauled another bomb bag over the edge of his basket and sent it plummeting down, blowing another hole in the side of the mountain. The rubble that broke free rushed toward them in a mighty cloud, but Ghirahim was quicker. With a raise of his hand and a snap of his fingers, a great wall of diamonds formed itself at the edge of the path. He winced as the tons upon tons of rock pressed against his magic, the very extension of himself, but it held. Even so, he could not block all of it, and the mountain path by far didn’t have enough space for the troops to flee to safety. Squeals and cries from panicked bokoblins rang out behind him as the landslide claimed them. Those that weren’t doomed to an untimely grave were dragged down the edge of the path with the dust and stones, and met their end falling down.

Not another minute of this would do. He realized it just as well as the half-morphed, bulging heap of plating and muscle beside him, but Volga couldn’t be the one to fix it. Ghirahim’s eyes narrowed to a squint, his core chiming painfully under the crushing weight pressed against his magic and the ringing in his ears.

They couldn’t dedicate all of their forces to this floating buffoon alone. They had to make progress! “Leave the bomber to me,” he yelled. “You have to clear our path up ahead!”

Volga’s flaming gaze turned northward, to find his rogue troops organizing themselves into formation. The nature of this ambush became clear; either blast them off the mountain or funnel them onward to walk into another trap. A shower of arrows up ahead had already taken the dragon’s frontlines, and his lower commanders were trying their damndest to prevent them from losing any more.

Sulfuric bile dripping from between his fangs, Volga snarled in affirmation and promptly doubled over. He crawled, stomped, and hissed his way through the troops before them, all the while growing in size. Armor turned to scales, fingers turned to claws, and his helmet lengthened into a snout. With the unfolding of his wings and the climactic beating of his wings, Volga’s transformation was complete. Whoever was laying in ambush further up the mountain had better hope to be fire-proof.

With their biggest flying asset now occupied, Ghirahim was left with a conundrum nonetheless. Their archers couldn’t reach, and his knives were dragged down by their own weight before they could even make it halfway. A smirk crept up on his face as he realized that, once again, he had to take matters into his own hands. And how deliciously he could crush it between his fingers…

He snapped his fingers once and blinked from existence in a diamond shroud. Swift like a javelin, he darted into the air through the space between spaces. How long it has been since he’d flown like this! Yes, he could see now, in that split second of lingering — he would fit up here with this bumbling idiot just fine. Whether he wanted to be up close and personal with such a tasteless little man…

He had to set his gripes aside. Lounging on the edge of the great balloon’s basket, he poofed back into existence, prompting a startled shriek from the tubby cretin that tugged at the cords that presumably piloted the strange vehicle.

Laughter shook his shoulders as he watched the green-and-red-clad fashion disaster scramble away from him, pressing himself against the edge of his vehicle with a heartbeat pounding hard enough to taste it. “What’s the matter,” Ghirahim purred. “Didn’t expect the sword to get within close range?”

“Don’t come any closer!” shrieked the figure. “The whole balloon is riddled with explosives. One wrong step and we both blow sky-high!”

Ghirahim’s eyes darted to the floor of the craft, and found, indeed, bags upon bags of bombs propped up against its edges. Luckily for the both of them, the Demon Lord wasn’t known for misstepping. His lips split into a grin, tongue darting out between them treacherously, and he lurched forward.

At least, until he stared down the barrel end of some kind of steel crossbow.

“Hands off your sword,” the little man barked, pointing his little pocket-sized blunderbuss at him far more insistently, and clicking some switch or other at its top.

Ghirahim raised his hands, fingers wiggling in a deft motion as he held them above his head. He wasn’t particularly afraid of this glorified stableboy, but he could not be fully certain what manner of weapon he held in his hands, nor did he like the way it pointed straight at his chest.

The corners of the lips on the man across him began to tug. In realizing he had just, in some measure, pacified a demon, it seemed like his confidence began to swell to sickening levels. “Well, Lord Ghirahim. Tingle must say, when he got the orders to separate you and your fellow commander, Tingle didn’t expect it to work quite so well!”

This ‘Tingle’ figure lapped at his chapped lips after the stretch of his idiotic grin had cracked them. “Word between the fairies travels quick, oh, yes! And Tingle hears it all!”

Ghirahim frowned at his nonsensical babbling, until realization dropped into his gut like a lead ball. Fairies! There had been two accompanying Majora! Whatever he’d told the Arch-Demon, then, must also have leached its way into whatever network of sparkly little bugs roamed these lands. Then somehow, those words must have reached this airborne court jester, and possibly landed in the hands of… Oh, this wouldn’t stand. Quickly, he broke eye contact with his makeshift hostage-keeper just long enough for him to notice and eyed the cords that he saw him pilot this ship with lustre. “Now, then. In that case, I suppose I ought to make sure the gossip ring ends with you.”

“No!” he shouted, grasping the grip of the weapon in both hands to stop himself from shaking. “You stay right where you are.”

“… You know, ‘Tingle’,” he chuckled, rolling the name in his mouth as if tasting it. “I think you’re not fully certain if that little toy of yours is going to actually hurt me, or if it’s just going to piss me off.”

The gun nearly rattled in the fairy-man’s hands as he shook. The crinkle in his brow, his mousey whimpers, the sweat that beaded down his cheek… His fear was delectable!

Ghirahim had called his bluff. A wicked, skin-crawling laugh escaped his lips. “Well, I have some news for you. It already has!”

In an instant, he lunged for the cords that piloted this gaudy monstrosity. Some seemed to activate the burner above them, causing it to cough and sputter with bright blue flames until it sighed its last breath. The man panicked and finally pulled the trigger on his silly little device. The bullet that bounced off his shoulder did, in fact, hurt him, leaving an ugly scrape that peeled away the layers of his false skin in a small groove. But it wasn’t enough to deter him.

The balloon jerked left and right at the mercy of its new puppeteer, all the while it gradually sunk. The ominous jingling and clanking of the explosives around them made the man next to him whimper and shiver in his boots, but Ghirahim only howled laughter at his plight. Finally, he’d found the right cord, and hung from it with all his weight.

In an instant, the captain went against all maritime rules and abandoned ship. Well, he supposed they were in the air, after all. The balloon veered south, its cargo spilling from their bags, but before the first of them could blow apart, Ghirahim had snapped his fingers and disappeared from the deck.

Perched upon a rock, hands proudly propped in his waist, he looked on as the balloon caught aflame. The burning fabric was whipped along with the wind, now far off-course and plummeting down the side of the mountain. His hard work reached its beautiful climax when finally, the cargo inside the airship had been jostled enough and engulfed it all in a shower of explosions. Burning tatters whipped around in the wind like flower petals in the spring, but before he could fully come to appreciate the sight, another explosion to the north caught his attention.

An indignant, shocked groan burst out from him when up in the sky, once again, there was that leather-clad idiot, suspended high in the air by a balloon coming up from his rucksack. Somehow, in his escape, he’d not only survived to keep himself floating, but armed himself with a final bag of bombs, and gleefully continued pelting their forces with them.

But before Ghirahim could give the command to fire, a second rumble came from down the path, behind the fan of stone. A second shadow now blotted out the skies, growing ever more prominent. The conical chameleon helmet of Twilit King Zant, now ten times his original size, rose above their forces like a colossus. Raising his knee, he planted his draconic shoe atop the rubble. The sound alone was enough to bounce every man that stood on the path an inch upward, rattling bones and teeth and sending a hollow reverberation through their chests. At once, all on the mountain was quiet.

“You dare mock us?” Zant’s voice boomed forth from his helmet, bringing the defaced rock wall to further ruin. “This is funny to you? Very well. I will give you something to giggle about!”

Zant raised his hand, his sleeve nearly long enough to bridge the gap between himself and the floating bomber. The man adrift yelped, audible even from that high up, and yanked frantically at the cords on his backpack. Yet, to no avail. A ball of crackling energy shot from the Twili’s outstretched hand, and tore a devastating hole into the side of the balloon. No amount of aerial skill could prevent the bomber’s literal downfall. The last bit of wind that kept him in the skies veered him southwards, until the whole thing sank, and plummeted down the side of the mountain.

Normally, such a sight would reduce the Twili to a fit of laughter, but now, there was only fury. The massive shape of Zant bent down, digging his fingers into the fan of debris like it were all mere pebbles. An uproar of men dove away from the wreckage as they all realized just what he was doing. With a roar and a tense sweep of his arms, he pushed, and sent a rain of rocks and boulders cascading down the mountain beside them.

All Ghirahim, much less their troops could do, was stare in awe and perturbation at the massive man striding his way past them, his brigade behind him. A wicked snarl from the echoing helmet prompted a rallying cry as they all followed him, trailing the shielding of trunk-sized legs.

The path turned to a funnel before them. Any other time, with any other lieutenants, this stretch would have likely proven fatal, but the Hyruleans would not be so fortunate. Volga had already scorched the place, burning most catapults to a crisp and chasing off their archers. Still, Gorons were as crafty as they were strong, and before long, the first boulders came sailing through the sky and rolling down the incline that led to the upper mountain. Zant hissed, staggering back as one hit him square in the chest, threatening to flatten their front row under his massive heels. Such injuries only appeared to enrage him further — the very next rock that came rolling down the hill was promptly punted back with an accompanied shriek, shattering it to dust and pebbles.

Zant broke into a sprint to the top of the rock tunnel, but the Gorons held fast, refusing to leave their post unless ripped away from it. Thundering footsteps threatened another landslide, and their men hurried down the corridor behind him in droves. Yet, the Gorons continued sending down their boulders, flattening battalions left and right where Zant didn’t crush them under his soles.

Courage morphed more and more into stupidity when, despite the gargantuan threat drawing ever closer, the Gorons continued loading their catapults. As if their contraptions could shield them from Zant’s wrath, they ducked behind their makeshift barriers when the massive man was mere steps away. Those that didn’t turn tail sailed into the air along with their siege weaponry. With one two-footed stomp, like a child jumping into a puddle, Zant leaped forward and landed in a shockwave of dark magic, launching every last obstacle that still stood in their way out of sight.

“I will take the Western pathway,” Zant growled, his voice alone resonant enough to crack the walls. “We meet again at the city borders.”

And so, with just a few paces down the forked pathway with his brigade behind him, Zant shrunk back down to his original size, shrieking and cackling all the while. Still, the stumble in his gait, and the rasp of his voice… Ghirahim couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d exerted far too much of himself at the first beat.

Ghirahim stood at the intersection of upper Death Mountain, the scorching volcano air clinging to him like maternal fires of the forge. To the west, Zant was marching onward, flattening everything that dared cross him. Soaring high above was Volga, undeterred by any projectile the Gorons would throw at him. Blades in hand, Ghirahim strode onward. His troops had long run ahead of him, swarming the Goron keeps like rats. Still, he couldn’t let his co-lieutenants have all the fun. Behind him, now, Volga swooped down, tearing through a squad of Gorons that tried to slither into their flanks. Almost longingly, Ghirahim gazed at the scorch marks, the deep gashes those claws left in the stone floors. How he yearned to leave such hickeys on enemy territory! No, for the time being, he had to focus. While the small fry was taking care of the chores, he had his eyes set on the prize. He was heading straight for the City, and whoever he’d carve down on his way there, was a mere bonus.

The rumbling and roaring of rolling boulders that launched down the central corridor were of no concern to him. He’d dodged every single one that attempted to impede his advance to the city, and by now, he’d outran every catapult and funnel that was to spit them out down the slope. All he had to do was make it to the city and get his pot-shots in at their sad excuse of a King.

Yet, something was amiss. The last time Zant arrived here, he’d reported the city gates to be firmly shut, but this time, they were wide open, and not a soul lingered inside. What’s more, the rumbling behind him was persistent. He had seen no more funnels up ahead, and yet, it seemed the Gorons continued trying to squish him with their endless supply of rocks.

A second too late, he pinpointed just what irked him so about this particular sound.

It was coming uphill!

Before he could fully turn, a terrifying force had rammed him straight in the back. Clothing tore under the friction, false skin cracked under the impact, and all air that once found its way inside him was forced out in one ragged groan. He was launched forward, rolling and tumbling. Fingers dug into the stone floor of the city plaza as he anchored himself down, and forcefully came to a skidding halt. Gloves worn down shamefully, but the carved tile floors suffering far worse damage, he righted himself, glaring at the source of this humiliation.

One of the stone-skin Gorons, and a particularly massive one at that, sped towards him curled up in a ball, and unrolled himself at the gate. A wide grin on his bearded face, King Darunia strode toward him, rolling his shoulder with athletic nonchalance.

“Demon Lord Ghirahim! Thought I’d give you a warm welcome. Oho!”

Oh, so the lout wanted to play coy? Two could play at that game. His scowl melted into a bright smile, though his glare never lost its venom. “Salutations, King Darunia, Chief of the Goron Tribes. Truly, your hospitality is rivaled by none,” Ghirahim sang canorously, bowing with a flourish. “Allow me to procure my own visitation gift.”

Rapier extended, he launched himself forward. His sword carved through the bristles of the Goron’s straw-like beard, but could only leave a small nick on his chest before a large, meaty hand shoved him out of his trajectory. Had he any bones and joints to crack, Darunia would have shattered them all with that strike alone. He landed on his feet, shook off his stumble, and instantly twirled back around, blade at the ready. The Lord Ghirahim, exemplary of demonkind, swatted from the air like a mere fly!

He had to be more careful. Darunia was far quicker than he looked, and this had been his one and only warning. Eyes narrowed, he braced himself for a follow-up attack as Darunia grinned at him, as playful as he was vicious. A pillar of fire gathered in the man’s dust-yellow palm, twisting like serpents as they grew into shape. He then clenched his fist around it, and in an instant, the melting flames solidified. Now before him, Darunia stood armed, a giant, smoldering warhammer slung over his shoulder.

Even with the chaos boiling outside the city gates, Ghirahim heard nothing but the sounds of their combat. His sword carved through the air with a nearly imperceptible whistle, contrasted drastically by the crackling and roaring of Darunia’s warhammer as he swung it to and fro.

The massive chunk of leaded steel twirled in Goron hands like it weighed nothing at all, though the blackened craters it left on the ground said otherwise. The very thought stung his pride, but Ghirahim had the creeping suspicion that he was in a spot of trouble. Strikes that should have severed tendons and rendered him immobile didn’t deter the hulking figure whatsoever. Darunia was too quick, his weapon too large, and his arm span too long for him to win this battle with anything but well-placed nicks that would otherwise topple giants. The goron bled, sending red droplets splattering around him in arcs with each wild swing, but he didn’t so much as wince. Ghirahim couldn’t stand around and wait for this goliath to bleed out; there had to be an opening.

And if he couldn’t find one, he would make one.

He snapped his fingers. Daggers appeared around his head in a spinning, whistling line, thirsting for the heated blood of their to-be target. With a second snap, they sped towards his opponent.

As he’d expected, a single strike with the warhammer knocked most of his projectiles out of the air, but fortunately for him, Darunia lacked the precision to deter them all. One struck him clean in the face, carving through his cheek and nicking his ear, and sent him staggering. The sight alone was enough to send an arduous shiver down his spine. Once again, he had defaced a king in the honor of his own. Oh, but the distance between the pair simply agonized him. He had to get closer, witness the wounds he’d left up close, and preferably leave a few more.

Ghirahim seized the opportunity with a laugh. He once again lunged for him, both blades outstretched, and carved a taunting cross into his chest. Flesh tore like paper; even such a leathery hide didn’t stand a chance against his perfectly sharpened swords. A second longer within this range, and he would have dug the tips of his blades into him, tongue lolling madly from his mouth to savor that rare, mortal blood. But much to his displeasure, Darunia thrust the pole of his hammer forward, slamming it into his chest and launching him backward. He only barely regained his balance before Darunia attempted to whack him into the wall for good measure. Wind whipped through his hair as the hammer swung mere inches away from his face, which surely would have knocked his head clean off had he not thrown himself out of the way.

Darunia’s once so confident grin now faded, as if his newfound glare had been cut into him by the dagger just at his face. Adding insult to injury, Ghirahim decided to lap his blades clean, now that he’d so thoroughly captured his attention. To taint that brutish king’s pride was a victory in and of itself.

Blood trickled into the Goron Chief’s mouth from the wound on his cheek. He spat the red-stained spit out onto the floor at his feet. “Can’t win the fair-and-square way, I see. If you want to play tricks, I’ve got a couple!”

Darunia reared back, and Ghirahim braced himself. Whatever he was about to throw at him, he had to think quickly — every spell he knew flitted through his mind, but before he could fully finish his index, a new presence alerted him.

Stood at the gate, spear at the ready, was Volga. Clearly, he was as healthily enraged by the presence of the man who’d slain his ancestor, as he was agitated by Ghirahim beating him to his kill.

Ghirahim could think of many strategic excuses for his next actions, but truly, they would have been afterthoughts. It could be his concern for Volga fighting with a clear head when faced against a vengeful foil, or the dragon’s greater capability for mass destruction. But really, he simply wanted to be the one to report the slaying of the Goron King. After all, he remained the beast’s superior. He could do as he wished.

And so, he took to barking commands. “Volga! They’re thinning out our troops. Go, take to the skies! Lay waste to their rock keeps!”

Darunia, holding his hammer out like a shield, burst into hearty laughter. “Lay waste? Bahaha! I’d like to see him try! Goron steel can withstand the fires of Death Mountain herself — Woah!”

Ghirahim didn’t let him finish that sentence before lunging at him again, this time driving his sword right into his inner elbow, piercing into his rock-hard bicep like a syringe needle. This had to at least slow those fearsome swings!

“And here I was, thinking you were more of a talker,” the Goron King murmured in reply, now steeling himself.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Volga yet linger. A nasty expression pulled at the corners of his lips, but as he watched the pair again lock in combat, he turned and ran. The guttural roar that followed soon after confirmed that he took quite well to following orders.

That was about as many distractions as Ghirahim could afford. A smudge of burning grey flew toward him and he leapt back. Darunia’s weapon was enchanted, and he wasn’t going to risk to see if it could crack him. The massive warhammer struck the ground next to him, but his missed shot seemed to bother the Goron none. Wrenching the hammer from the ground, he brought it back down in the very same crater. Nigh instantly, the ground fissured before him, forcing him once again to jump to safety. The searing heat of molten stone smoldered from the yawning crack now splitting the ground, its embers burning pin-prick holes in his tights. Whether up close or at a distance, Darunia had a few too many tricks up his sleeve. Ghirahim realized soon enough that his greater speed was not enough to knock this brute off his feet. He was outclassed, not in skill, but in size.

In this form, at least, he realized with a grin. It was time to level the playing field a bit.

With a grin, he vanished inside a shroud of diamonds and reappeared behind the Goron enshrined in even more. A barrier formed around him as he cloaked himself in magic, and once again reverted to his true form.

Diamonds whipped around him like a sand devil, swirling and trailing around his feet as they slowly dissipated the higher up they went. He embraced himself behind its tantalizing veil, basking in the weight that lifted from him as he shed his skin. All pretense of appearances, of theatrics, and his masquerade among mortals was lifted, though he loved to flirt with them so. His custom shell was dear to him still, but like this, he fulfilled his purpose. Like this, he knew all he had to do was kill. Following that raising shroud of magic, his fingers trailed up from his hips to his waist, to finally grasp his chest, head tossed back with a reveling sigh. The illusion faded, disrobed of his tunic. With it, the crystalline bits of arcane at once surged towards his now exposed core and began to glow at its facets.

He plunged his hands inside, took hold of what he sheltered within, and pulled.

To his dismay, it didn’t seem to faze Darunia whatsoever. Now, the King of Death Mountain was showcasing just how strong he was. The claw of the warhammer pointed forward, he began beating at the translucent barrier with nearly frightful strength. After a mere three strikes, his magic was already starting to crack.

Well, not that it mattered much. The grip of his trump card was already in his hand.

The last few inches of his colossal greatsword surfaced just barely from his chest when the barrier gave way, shattering into a shower of magic shards that dissipated the second they hit the ground. Darunia stepped into its radius and past the rain of them, hammer proudly slung over his shoulder.

Before him, Ghirahim stood a full head taller than he was before, his metal skin a glittering black, and in his hands, a sword as tall and broad as himself.

Darunia let out a low whistle at the massive blade. “More of a heap of steel than a sword, isn’t it?”

The nerve! Ghirahim clicked his tongue with a frown, the grip of his sword creaking in his tightening grip. “Your own weapon isn’t much more elegant.”

His catty remarks are met with only another bellowing laugh, before once again, Darunia throws himself at him. Sword raised like a shield, he caught Darunia’s hammer on the flat of his blade. It was dizzying – the impact resonated from his sword to his arms, and conducted down into the ground as it shuddered through his body, pushing him backward with his soles digging into the stone.

But he could withstand it. Once again, the battlefield would be his playground. Now mere inches away from the giant man, who now looked at him with a single sting of worry, he broke into laughter and drove his heel into his gut.

Darunia stumbled backward but brought his hammer back up to shield himself just in time to block the sword spirit from slicing him clean in half. Ghirahim’s tongue drooped from his mouth as if hoping to catch the groans of exertion and savor them. Gone was that happy-go-lucky, confident bolstering of that oversized pebble. Darunia was getting scared.

They hacked, pounded, and jabbed at each other. Darunia’s wheat-golden skin only barely managed to peek past the blood that he’d coated him in, and a vile carve through his knee left him with a limp. But these injuries did not go unpunished. The flat of that blasted hammer struck Ghirahim twice: once in his shoulder, and once square on the top of his head. He did not dent, by Demise, did not crack, but the foreboding ringing in his chest told him he preferred not to be struck a third time.

Ghirahim wouldn’t tire; after all, a sword could only ever be rejuvenated in fulfilling its purpose, but his one-on-one with Darunia went on far too long undisturbed. Either Volga had cleared his side of the field, or he’d neglected the Eastern front in favor of his kill, but at least he’d shown his face. Zant, however, had yet to break through. Something was distracting him.

The worry that bubbled up in him was swiftly smothered. Were he to break away from this crucial goal just to babysit his co-lieutenant, that softness could cost them far more than their victory.

After having frowned and groaned for however long they’d been at each other, Darunia seemed to find his wit again, though that thought had been charitable. Even past his exhaustion, he managed a chuckle. “What’s wrong, peeling knife? Missing one of your allies, huh?”

His expression shattered like glass, his aloof and mocking grimace cracking into a teeth-baring snarl. Almost, the fury of being insulted, much less being predicted, distracted him. The massive hammer soared at him from the side, but not fast enough to catch him off guard. Ghirahim stepped in and caught its shaft on his blade, locking the two together. “Speak, you rock-hide buffoon, before I find a more creative way to get the words out of you.”

Darunia’s smirk only widened. “Hit the tink in your armor, did I?”

Ghirahim hissed in response, once again driving his heel into the Goron’s iron gut to send him off balance. Darunia stumbled, fell through his bad knee, and Ghirahim lunged for that second of weakness sword-first. Against all reason, his opponent still found the will to toy with him and smacked his blade off course. His only solace in the frustrating affair was that it prompted Darunia to continue babbling.

The Goron Chief once again swung his hammer, using its heavy momentum to throw himself back up on his feet. “I didn’t even have to worry about him none. The young lady took off after ‘em right when the lot of you split up. From the look of it, she’s holding her ground mighty well!”

A laugh rolled forth from bleeding lips. Ghirahim ought to have known better, but he felt taunted and swung his blade down with one decisive strike. Darunia caught it on the pole of his hammer, held above his head. Close enough to feel the earthy breath fog on his metallic skin, Ghirahim pushed down, but the wretch’s mirth would not cease.

Instead, with one decisive heave, Darunia managed to push him off. “Now all I have to worry about is you — and that dragon!”

Darunia had only just uttered the words before the entire city shook. Death Mountain was no stranger to quakes, but this was no mere explosion, nor an eruption. This impact was almost soundless, save for a deep droning sound that left Ghirahim’s core buzzing with vile dread. The world around them turned just a little bleaker, for what could only have been seconds. Risking it all, he glanced over his shoulder, only to find a massive cloud of muted amber twilight overtaking the mountain in the west as if the fabric of reality itself had torn.

The thrum felt different. This wasn’t Zant’s doing.

Midna.

Steel struck steel harshly when he turned back to his opponent, nearly smacking his greatsword out of his hands. With that one, resounding clang, Ghirahim was shaken out of the thrill of his private battle. It wasn’t just that Zant and his entire brigade appeared to be held up in the west. His troops, too, had failed to break past the blockades. The sounds of battle, of catapults and explosives continued, even with the dragon at their side tirelessly attempting to tear it all down. With each swing, Darunia was driving Ghirahim back out the city gate, and into the chaos.

With the boulders, arrows, and burning embers flying over his head, Ghirahim came to the haunting realization of just what dire straits they were in. Even now, the Gorons retained the high ground, and with it, had perfect control over far too many distractions than they could keep up with. They were fighting a losing battle; they’d been led into a death trap.

The Gorons were planning on eliminating them one by one, starting with their most fearsome commander. If he didn’t hurry to his aid, Zant might breathe his last that very day. In an instant, the hairline cracks and tears that crumbled their bond seemed to glaze over.

One shining beacon stood out among it all. Perhaps they couldn’t win, but they could ruin these worms beyond repair. He saw it already in the spirit of the Goron Chief — he remained vigilant, proud, and radiated power, but even he was gradually wearing thin. Whatever strength reserve he was relying on to bite through those injuries was going to wear out sooner or later. Ghirahim could only hope it was soon.

To his surprise, the sounds of boulders to the south had ceased. A massive shadow soared above them, and Ghirahim disappeared as soon as it passed by.

He appeared spot between the shoulders of the red dragon, forgoing his trademark refined lounge. “I’ve no time for bickering. Listen.”

As startled as he was enraged by the sudden presence on his back, Volga snarled but was soon silenced by a sobering punch to the plating of his neck. “Make it worth my while, Demon.”

Ghirahim sighed frustratedly, fingers clutching the edge of the plating below him. The idea alone injured his pride, but he saw no other way than to swallow its broken shards. “It brings me no joy to say this, but this battle is doomed for failure,” he sneered, gesturing with wide arms to the chaos below. “Just look around you!”

volga snarled as soon as he registered his words, but beyond their glow, he saw bright green pupils survey the battlefield. Their numbers were now halved, if not far worse, and the Gorons appeared to be sending out more and more traps faster than they could tear them down.

Volga grunted bitterly, prompting him to continue. “I leave Darunia to you. Cause as much destruction as you can, and I will join Zant in taking down their remaining commander. Once I’ve recovered him, we flee.”

A displeased growl sounded from gnarled maw, but not in protest. Volga didn’t linger on his thoughts too long. Perhaps that was one of his only virtues. “Very well. I promise you carnage, Demon Lord. Now get off of me, so I can tear that stone-hide menace limb from limb.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. Ghirahim happily removed himself from the ashen, blood, and grease-stained scales of the dragon’s back, and reappeared with both feet safely on the ground.

His soles pounded into the desecrated stone paths of Death Mountain, barreling his way down West as fast as the wind would carry him. He cursed himself for how easily the thought alone of the Twili had swayed him, distracted him so thoroughly from what he’d been appointed to do. With every step, his core grew heavier, buckling under the two outcomes that were disturbingly equal in weight. Either he displeased his Master’s orders, or Zant could very well end up dead. As broken as his trust may have been, the sharp edges on those shards only seemed to dig the Twili’s presence into him deeper. Instead of simple contentment, playful affection, and guilty pleasures, there were now questions. Burning ones, that left his already sleepless mind far more restless, and would haunt him till the day he shattered were they left unanswered. His shame would enrage him far before it could make him falter. And so, eyes on the gurgling and chiming haze of Twilight before him, he ran onward.

What he saw on the other end of that veil stopped him in his tracks. Stood facing Zant was not the child-sized imp he remembered blemishing so carefully mere months before. Rather, a tall, graceful woman, radiating the power of a monarch, stanced fiercely in the middle of the haze. A sheer black cloak shrouded the armor around her hips and torso, billowing outward with outstanding familiarity. The second he surfaced into her realm, she whipped her head around to scowl at her intruder — though he could only guess it was a scowl. Obscuring her face was a great, mirror-polished mask, that shamefully covered the features he would so have loved to see.

The distraction he delivered alone almost proved fatal to her. Zant lunged for her in an instant but was warded off by the massive stone slab she wielded.

As before, Ghirahim bowed, baring his teeth with a grin. “I see you have recovered, in more ways than one, Princess Midna,” he taunted. “Though, I do so wish you’d let me see that little mark I left on you.”

“Not a chance, Demon,” she growled, her voice much more ripened and deep in this form. “You will not gang up on me again!”

With a swirl of her hand, the Mirror of Twilight spun around her as if suspended from a string like a flail. Zant jumped back, forced out of her range in an instant, but not fully deterred. Tassels floated from the ends of his sleeves, fluttering from a festering current that could only be described as pure malice. He stood in wait and needed only an opening to let himself truly boil over.

Midna turned to the demon behind her, in that split second he was distracted. And what a sight she was! A familiar handprint had been left on her chest-plate, right where her heart would sit. The mark scorched, ate into the metal like acid, with a sickly bloom and crackle in tyrian purple. How kind of the Twilight King, to give him such an easy opening. Like a moth to a flame, the spot of weakness intoxicated him, drew him closer. Greatsword clutched in his hands, he ran for her.

But within mere paces, she had already raised her other arm, and with it, brought upon a deep feeling of dread. It was a flash, a mere blink of light, if light could be pitch black at all. Liquid shadow formed like a puddle at her feet, rising from the ground in a spontaneous tar pit. Sparks crackled forth, pulsing through the shadows once, twice, rippling its inky surface, until it all burst from her like a tidal wave.

Pure discombobulation, that’s what it was. The second the ancient magic reached him, it felt like chains had been tied to his ankles, dragging him down with weights that could pull the very mountain through the ground. Only by the time the shadows rose to his knees did he fully register just what surged through him. He was being electrocuted, restrained, and dismantled, all at once.

Yet, she was so close. He refused to fall so quickly to this wretched woman’s hands! The tide rose ever further, now weakening the grip he held on its sword, but he grit his teeth and bore it. The momentum he’d built before had to make up for the trudge he’d been reduced to, he decided, dragging the tip of his blade across the ground.

A breath reflexively sucked in through his teeth. Midna’s magic was all-encompassing now, drowning the miniature realm in what may have been the night sky itself. It smelled of ozone, rang in his ears, and made his gem rattle in his chest. But even as the foreboding amber runes of Twilight climbed up his legs, his arms, and crackling forth from the corners of his eyes and reducing him to stone, he wouldn’t stop. Instead, he reared back his sword and swung.

Midna clicked her tongue, catching the blade’s edge on the ever-whirling Mirror. Even in this state, he mustered a laugh. No, perhaps he couldn’t overpower her, though the rattling and groaning of metal against stone came close. But he could distract her.

Zant found his opening. He soared towards her in an instant, his mere approach sparking a primal thrill that should only be known to the likes of prey. Twilight enveloped his blades like a flame as he swung their razor edge right for the back of her tantalizingly unguarded neck, but Midna was quicker. The Mirror swung back around, ripping Ghirahim’s sword from his shivering hands along with it, and rammed into the Usurper with blinding speeds.

Something cracked, and Zant was thrown to the ground with a painful yelp.

A sight that would normally fill Ghirahim with wicked glee now only alarmed him, not just in piteous disdain but more akin to fury. Even without the weight of his sword in his hands, his arms felt unbearably heavy, but he refused to stand down.

It was juvenile, and with his current waning strength by all means pathetic, but he still balled his fist. Summoning every inch of strength he could, from every link and every fiber, he tensed what he could of his body and threw a punch.

His fist didn’t connect. Midna’s did.

Instead of thwacking him with the Mirror itself as she did for his compatriot, she brought it up before his face, and from it, launched a teal-runed fist directly into him. He was launched, back skidding against the floor, and felt his control over his limbs leave him with each dizzying second. Were it not for the burning will of duty that shoveled the coals onto him, perhaps even he would have given up. As it stood, both men had fallen to but one pompous young girl and the thought infuriated him far too much to let it go untested. Ghirahim squinted his eyes shut, forcing his will to move one static-filled, necrotic finger, before the other, until stubbornness alone made him for a split second unaware of his encumbering and threw him to his feet.

She didn’t even look at him and clicked her tongue nonetheless. “You’re far too persistent for your own good,” Midna sneered. With the curl of a single rune-spotted finger, a crushing force pulled at every inch of his body. Ghirahim cried out as each of his limbs suddenly seemed to close their gates from him completely, and denied him his command.

He took one agonizing, wobbly step towards her before the crushing pressure of twilight magic brought right back him to his knees. Every rune on him glowed violently, he noticed now with his head drooped down. He couldn’t even claw together enough strength to clench his hands in rage.

A little whimper caught him off guard. With how long Zant had been laying there unmoving, he would have thought him unconscious. Instead, as Midna made her way to deliver the killing blow, he twisted himself in violent convulsion. A gasp; a crack; a dribbling, euphoric little giggle. Of course, only a man like Zant could try to pop his shoulder back into its socket in the midst of battle and succeed. The Twili rose, bit by bit like a long-dead corpse rising from its grave, and threw himself at her with a shrill cry.

The rest of that battle was a haze. Twin stone hands, one glowing blue and one bright red flew above the pair of rivals like dueling birds. Each attempted to swipe the other’s master clean off the mountain but was swiftly halted by its counterpart swooping in to shield their puppeteer. Below them was a vicious scene that could hardly be perceived, blurred out by bursts of dark magic and the lightning-fast movement of swinging weapons.

Ghirahim clenched his jaw as he realized just who was winning. Only he could recognize the smell of that blood so intimately.

He cried out when that red-runed hand was just a split second too late. Within an instant, Zant was trapped between stoned fingers, and thrown harshly to the ground.

Midna laughed, sniffed, shook her hair free from her hood, as she delivered a spiteful kick to the legs that stuck out from under the death grip of her automaton. She tossed the Mirror in her hand almost playfully, toying with inspirations of suitable punishment.

It was nothing but coyness. Midna had decided what to do with him the second she set foot on this mountain. “I ought to send you back to where you came from, wretch!”

Horror dawned on Ghirahim. With the Mirror of Twilight now under Midna’s command, if Zant crossed over now, she would never permit him to return. Their King would lose one of their most powerful commanders.

Ghirahim would lose him.

Zant was pinned to the floor, joints creaking and popping under the squeezing force of giant stone hands. He couldn’t move, there wasn’t a way in Hell, struggle as he may. The mirror floated over him, its gates whirling open in gentle white light, and projected on the floor below him. The droning hum in the air announced their eleventh hour — it was opening, and ready to drag him in.

And yet, Ghirahim couldn’t move. Any attempt to move as much as a finger was met with numbness and a painful crackle, as the muted amber of pure, twilight magic consumed more and more of him. Yet he shuffled forward, knee before knee.

It gained him mere inches before he fell to the ground.

Another dooming sound rang. The edge of his field of vision glowed blindingly, halving his sight entirely. Ghirahim felt himself shake, though he couldn’t tell if it was with fear or rage when feeble sounds of protest babbled out before him. Those whimpers reached their crescendo with a bloodcurdling scream, and the glow grew brighter. Ghirahim clenched his eyes shut as if it would somehow prevent him from hearing it. Those were the last sounds he’d hear from the man, and he’d refused them.

Or so he thought.

Zant’s scream turned throat-rending, ear-splitting, and the pale white glow was replaced with something else. Something vaguely golden. Ghirahim heard a strained yelp come from Midna, before out came a resounding crack.

A magnificent, yet horrifyingly powerful force suddenly sent him rolling across the floor like a tumbleweed, and it sent a frightened Midna flying back in the other direction. Dust and volcanic ash shrouded him, but even through it, he could see a brilliant light. He came to a sudden halt when he bounced against the rock wall, and to his fortune, landed on his side. Paralyzed he may still have been, but blinded he was not. Past his daze, he saw him; upright, hovering above the ground, and shrouded in a menacing, purple force, that in itself radiated the faintest golden aura.

Midna had risen to her feet some distance away and weighed her options. A violent crack formed itself on the Mirror in her hands, and her grip on her magic was fading. Were the situation not so dire for him, Ghirahim would almost have smiled. Arrogant girl, he thought, you let him get any closer to you, and he’ll stop at nothing to tear you limb from limb.

Then, his eye fell on a curious sight before him. The little pebbles right before his eyes were vibrating on the ground. Not long after, a powerful explosion shook the ground. Volga had surely fulfilled his promise of carnage. Pity he wasn’t there to help.

Midna looked at the both of them. Ghirahim still lay prone, though he felt slowly the grip of her magic lose its grip through the tingle and twitching of his fingers. Zant, on the other hand, had not ceased his advance. Stumbling, yet steadfast, liquid shadows nearly dripped from him as he set his sights on Midna. All intent of decorum, of an honorable vengeance, had left him. All that was left in the cold, empty eyes of his helmet was the ravenous desire to rip her to shreds.

And so, she fled, off to where the Goron Chief presumably just breathed his last.

Zant did not pursue her. Rather, his malicious aura faded in an instant, and he fell to his knees.

That left just the two of them on the side of the mountain, each beaten and prone. And despite his dwindling strength and the blood trail he left behind, there was a King on his knees, crawling his way on all fours towards him. Like a dog.

Zant’s visor raised, and Ghirahim had to take a second to confirm he wasn’t going blind. Where there usually was a faint orange and teal glow coming from his eyes and markings, there was now none at all.

Zant paused, hands outstretched yet hesitant to touch him. “Ghirahim, can you stand?”

Stand? What a joke. He could barely raise his head to look at him. “Not quite yet.”

He huffed once through his nose, gray hands hovering over him as if assessing him, but he felt no force intrude. “I could use the last of my powers to return your strength, somewhat, but… It pains me to say this, Ghirahim, I find it better spent taking us back to the Eldin keep. We are in no state to keep fighting.”

Ghirahim sighed, unenthused to relay such a shameful plan a second time. Still, with his limbs refusing the slightest action, and Zant trapping him in his gaze even with his eyes shielded, he hardly had a choice. “I’d long planned for our retreat, unfortunately. I told Volga to leave our calling card so we can turn tail with slightly more dignity, and, ah,” he nodded his head north, drawing his attention to what could only be a scene of total chaos. “I believe he’s taken care of it already.”

Zant craned his head to Goron City, the dented edges of his helmet groaning with the movement. He grinned weakly and let out a scoffing laugh. “A creative solution, indeed. The Gorons will need quite some time repairing the damages, victory or not.”

His response was painfully typical. Whatever bounced so erratically in the Shadow King’s mind once again landed in a thoroughly practical corner and nestled there. Yet, how disturbingly quickly he shook off his frustrations, much less the burning rage the true face of his nemesis must have brought him… There was something off about him. Really, there had been something off ever since they set foot on this mountain. Where he would normally fall to his own volatility, kicking and screaming to tear down every witness to his dishonor, there was now only icy cold.

And so, he prodded at the sore spot. “What about Midna? She’s managed to slip away from you yet again.”

Zant’s expression stiffened, yet his composure held. “We will meet again. For the time being, I will have to be content with giving her second thoughts about attempting to banish me to my own home.” Those last words were spoken with their expected bitterness, like a smoldering fire persisting under a buried campfire.

Its embers were quickly snuffed with a handful of sand. Finally, a gray hand reached to lay upon his shoulder. “What of you, Ghirahim? You are not the kind of man to leave unfinished business at the battlefield.”

So he refused to answer. That made two of them. “Zant,” he hissed, interrupting the Twili and his own screaming thoughts all the same. “Just get me out of here before I get second thoughts.”

Lips that once stiffened in solemnity now parted gently, revealing the tips of sheathed teeth. Zant nodded and extended his hand, suspending it just between the two of them. Ghirahim glanced at the sickly gray thing, tainted as it was with dried blood and the grime of battle, and then back up at the Twili’s face. Instinctively he reached to take his hand, or at least drove himself to do so, as his body would not yet listen to his mind’s commands. The burnt golden circuitry that had sunk into his form was retracting, slowly but surely, yet it still glowed softly. That very glow persistently sapped him of every bit of strength he put into his arm. He couldn’t falter now, he had to pour every bit of focus and dedication into this so-simple act. It could not have been more straightforward. Reach out. Take his hand. Flee.

Flee? Did the illustrious Lord Ghirahim flee? Lower himself to the realm of vermin?

He would have to. Reach out. Take his hand.

There was no time. Reach out. No space in his mind left to contemplate his pride, or the distrust he still felt for his co-lieutenant. Reach out. Every little spark in his core that managed to slip away from Midna’s draining magic was dedicated to his quivering hand, to keep it from falling into the dirt. He had made up his mind, he couldn’t do anything else. Reach out. He couldn’t think about how he’d abandoned his objective with the risk of rejection from his Master. All just to make sure the very man that was trying to save him hadn’t been slaughtered. How he prepared to witness him gored on the side of the mountain, blood seeping into the soil to nourish it with something other than volcanic ash, for a change. How, now that he’d found him, the Twili was just sitting there, face and hand unmoving, and watching him as he shook so desperately to touch him.

Reach out.

Their fingertips nearly brushed when his strength faltered. Take his hand!

Before his palm could fall to the ground, Zant swooped in and caught his hand in his. Within an instant, the world winked out of sight.

They appeared again, and Ghirahim found himself cradled in dusty black sleeves. His head lay in the nook of Zant’s elbow, facing the skies. Even outside of the clutches of twilight, the daylit skies did not blind him. Pillars of smoke rose from the volcano and billowed into veritable clouds, blotting out the light of the sun with their foreboding gray. Zant panted above him, chest rising and caving with each heaving breath. Spot in the middle of the dirt, a few empty tents around them. Their teleportation appeared to have missed its mark but brought them to safety nonetheless.

It worried him. Even with Zant’s chaotic penchant for casting, his omnipotence had never failed him before. Just how much had he exhausted himself? For his sake, supposedly, he’d once again stooped to cowardice. Why did he, time and time again, throw himself down the pits of such humiliation? Why insist he drag him down with him? What moved a mortal man so, to rip him from his purpose, and set him beside him as if he, too, were made of flesh, and not killing steel? It made not a lick of sense. That impulsive fool infuriated him as much as he enthralled him.

Ghirahim wanted to inquire, to reach out for that pallid face, but found himself too paralyzed. His limbs remained unfathomably heavy and crackled painfully with every twitch. As he laid there, staring up at him, he found he didn’t quite care enough to force himself. Once again, Zant had in his sentimentality removed him from the battlefield, this time in a definitive retreat. He’d hurt his pride, his sense of duty, but most of all, swayed his loyalty right under his nose. How many more times was he going to tolerate this?

Even as he laid there, held in those warm, shaking arms though he weighed far more than any man could carry, he could only meet the unavoidable pounding it brought to his core with resentment.

In that moment, they shared nothing but silence. Ghirahim avoided his gaze, his head instead dropping to look to the north. Another battle was being fought there, keeping them safe yet separate from the King that started it all. The demon despised this safety. Had he the strength, he would have ripped himself from the Twili’s arms and ran the whole way there to meet his Master. Even if it meant admitting to his defeat, even if it meant disobeying orders. Even if it meant he would be shattered by his hand. He was prepared to face it all.

A laugh tore through him when he realized he needn’t wait long. Smoke was no longer the only haze that shielded Hyrule from its sun. With a ground-shaking, droning hum, a purple, smoking beam shot into the sky, shaking every god and dragon that resided there out of their seat. Such power, such a display of earth-splitting darkness could only mean one thing. Master Ganondorf had won, and the Triforce of Power was in his hands.

A pulse of malicious energy washed over everything in sight, but where it would buckle anyone else with dread, it only filled Ghirahim with zealous elation. As soon as the shockwave that tore through the lands brushed into them, Zant clutched him just a little tighter.

#beararts #bearwrites #zant #ghirahim #ghirazant #ganondorf #yuga #yuga loz #darunia #midna #tftk

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swampstew · 2 years

Text

The Aftermath

KAJFASJASSALSKFJ I ended up making a sequel. This is part 2 of "The Heist," a spicy fic that details how you and Captain Kid met. Or rather, how Captain Kid found you...

Special thank you to @goldenandhappy for beta reading when I was out of my mind with stress at work.

WC: 3.5K Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, Eustass Kid X AFAB Reader, sexy times, creamy pies, cockwarming, cursing. Minors DNI - you will be blocked

Y/N was in shock.

She certainly hadn't expected Captain Kid to find her, and definitely not right after she finished masturbating to the thought of him. Her core fluttered from the recent memory of being three-fingers deep inside herself, imagining it to be his cock. Now here he was! Offering to fuck her stupid. Y/N was cautious, weighing her options. A one-night stand wouldn't be a terrible idea...right? Just one and done, then she could go on her merry way.

Sure.

"Sure, come in," Y/N said with more confidence than she currently felt. She could handle this situation. It's just sex, nothing more.

Wide grin still on his face, Kid sauntered inside as if he owned the place and made himself comfortable on the...worn down excuse of a couch in the big room. Eyebrow twitching, "short term rental?"

"Yep, including the furniture. Sorry its..." she pointed to it, "well that."

"You think the bed can hold us? Or maybe the walls?" Kid spoke aloud as he examined the interior, trying to get creative with the situation. "Course," he slowly turned to look in her eyes, "we could always move this party to my place."

Stay in control Y/N!

"The bed will do for now," she hated the way her voice cracked as she spoke.

Kid raised his hands in surrender, "ok, offers still on the table if you change your mind."

Y/N nodded, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. Clearing her voice, "so you said you came here to fuck me stupid. Gonna keep me waiting?"

Kid cocked an eyebrow at her before he let out a laugh. In the blink of an eye, he was towering over her, shit eating grin back on his face as he held her chin in his massive hand while his metal hand grasped her hip, pulling her flush against his body. He enjoyed the heat radiating off her skin from the bath, the way her plush body felt against his hard frame. A pleased growl rumbled in his throat, metal fingers reaching to squeeze her ass gently.

"Famous last words," he chuckled again before smashing his ruby painted lips against hers hungrily.

Y/N's eyes flew wide open from the sudden kiss before she let them close, returning Kid's fire as she kissed him back. Fighting for dominance over one another, teeth clashing, lips bitten, tongues dancing against each other. She let out a mewl as Kid tilted her head upwards, thrusting his tongue deep in her mouth forcing her to take him, to melt under his touch as he took control.

The redhead walked them backwards until the backs of Y/N's knees hit the bed's edge. She made a noise of surprise. With a wicked smile on his face as he kissed her, he harshly shoved her down. Her long shirt fluttered over her thighs as she bounced on the bed, Y/E/C irises blew open from the action, watching his every move carefully.

She began crawling away from him as he climbed the bed, teasingly stalking for her like an apex predator playing with his meal. Kid wasn't sure if he was smelling pheromones or what, but he suddenly felt a deep desire within himself. Not just to dominate the woman in front of him, no nothing as simple as that. He felt the urge to...devour her. Snatch her right up. Make her bend and twist to all of his whims.

He pounced.

Kid pulled her arms above her head, gripped tightly together in his metal hand. His knees straddled her waist as he hovered over her, licking his sharp canines as he considered where he wanted to start. Having decided, he swiftly dropped his head down and nipped her jawline down to her throat, licking the artery on the side of her neck before pursing his lips over it and biting down.

"FUCK!" Y/N squealed and squirmed underneath him.

The bite wasn't overly aggressive but it shocked her all the same. The pain quickly morphed into something else as he licked the mark he made, trailing messy, open-mouth kisses all over her neck smearing his lipstick on Y/S/C.

Y/N began to lean into his mouth as he sucked her flesh, eyes turning to meet his burning ones as he watched her reactions like a hawk. Smirking as he left another mark at the junction where shoulder met neck, his flesh fingers squeezed her inner thigh flesh. The action made Y/N instinctively squeeze her legs shut, that only served to make Kid laugh.

"Shy all of a sudden eh?" he cackled, strong fingers deftly digging into her soft flesh until he felt the heat of her core within in his reach. Using a thick knee, he pushed it down between her thighs, forcing them wide open. Kid pulled back from her neck to take a look.

"Mmmmm fuck, look at that. I can literally smell your arousal but to see it like this..." he husked, "shiiiiiittt. You could bring a lesser man to his knees with how much honey you're dripping."

His metal hand tightened his hold on her arms, his flesh hand began a slow, agonizing trail of soft touches up her thigh, intentionally avoiding her slick core, teasing every parcel of flesh except the one they both desired.

"But I'm not like any man you've ever seen or known," he growled lowly.

Kid finally dragged his palm up Y/N's slit, making her body shudder and face flush. He rubbed flat circles on her clit, leering as her hole clenched around nothing while he teased. Watching her face scrunch in pleasure, her teeth biting down on her lower lip to prevent any noises from coming out, eyes screwed shut as he kept palming her center.

Tutting, "no no, none of that shit," and he pulled his palm away.

Instead - with intentionally slow motions - he began to unbuckle his pants, pushing them down mid-thigh. He pulled his boxers down the same, watching Y/N's eyes widen as his cock was freed, slapping against his abdomen.

"You're not gonna hold back on me. I wanna hear every depraved noise that comes out of your slutty mouth," he grinned like a lunatic. Watching her watch him slowly stroke his length with hungry eyes.

"If you wanna hear me, you gotta do shit worth making noises for," she finally responded, lust filled eyes holding his amber one’s hostage as he processed her words.

Feisty woman, he chuckled. He loved that kind of brattiness in a fling. Lived for putting a pretty doll in their place.

Y/N may only know of his reputation through what she read in the papers and while she was cautious of him, she'd refused to let him hold all the power over her. Giant cock be damned. Although she really, really wanted it. Splitting her open, convulsing on it. She shuddered at the thought.

“Guess I have no choice but to split you open with my huge cock. Don’t act like you’re not into me, like you didn't want to ask me to bang you when you laid eyes on me in the shop." He stopped his teasing and ripped her shirt off, exposing her perky tits and he shifted up her body to place his cock between the two peaks of flesh. Before he could fuck them—

"Ask you? I-- gasp were you watching me take a bath?!"

The red patches that bloomed on his face answered the question for her.

"You little pervert!" she squawked, trying to pull an arm from his grasp to smack him.

Kid couldn't help but laugh, as if she should be affronted when she was the one with nasty little fantasies about him.

"I'm not a little pervert," he let out a low hum, salacious smile stretching across his face. "I'm a big one."

He spat on her tits, rutting his cock between the two mounds. Kid released her arms to drag them down to either side of her breasts, pushing them together as he kept fucking between her tits. The added pressure of flesh covering his sensitive member was enough to make him let out a pathetic groan.

Y/N would be lying to herself that the actions weren't hot to watch. To have Kid's weight trapping her in place, to feel how heavy his cock sat above her stammering heart as he used her tits to jerk himself, watching his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth twist as he let the pleasure take over him. She could feel her core overflowing with desire. His flesh hand reaching down to tweak her nipples as he kept bucking down on her made her keen out a moan. He did it again. And again. Reaching over to tweak her other nipple. Y/N let out a louder squeal.

“Hmm yer tits feel nice and all but I do wonder, what’s that mouth do?”

Y/N became dizzy for a moment as he moved off her and brought her up quickly, manipulating her body and hands until she was on her knees in front of him. He stood on the worn, wooden floors as he stroked his thick, veiny shaft in front of her.

“Open up, doll,” he purred, rubbing his leaking tip on her mouth, coating her lips.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, humming at his taste. She flicked it out and lightly teased his engorged head, making him grunt. A giant bead of precum swelled from his slit, Y/N reached out to slide it down his shaft, rubbing her thumb over his pulsing veins; Kid’s hips bucked forward and his wet tip hit her cheek, dragging down to her jaw. She finally opened her mouth, a small ‘O’ shape and without wasting a single second more, Kid shoved his needy cock in her mouth.

Groaning obscenely as her hot, wet cavern closed around him, Kid did not give her a chance to adjust before he started pushing deeper in her mouth. Tip pushing past her uvula caused her to gag around his thickness, making him moan. He pushed deeper and deeper until he could feel her throat closing around his length.

“Ohhh fuuuuuuck your mouth is…” he sighed. “Mmm that’s good, so so good,” he spoke through his thrusting.

Y/N’s nails dug into his thighs to anchor herself as he fucked her mouth. Barely allowing her a few gasps of air, Kid’s hand clutched at her crown, fingers tangled in Y/H/C locks as he pushed her face into his pelvis. He pulled out, drool coating him and dripping down his balls and thighs. He dragged his flesh hand on his cock and with a few snaps of his wrist, flicked away the drool.

“So you can feel every inch of me better,” he winked, gently massing her throat as he pushed her to lay back on the bed.

His fingers twirled around her clit, pushing her outer lips open and probing her entrance with all his digits. Dragging ragged breaths from Y/N’s throat as she shuddered. A coil in her gut tightened, vibrating even as he built her up, her lower half shifting to meet his pace. Her legs quaking the more he played with her, Y/N couldn’t hold back the high pitched squealing as her body was wracked with pleasure.

A quick pinch here, a curl of his fingers there and she gushed as the orgasm hit her. Letting out whimpering whines as she rocked her hips against his hand, riding the waves of ecstasy for as long as she could.

Kid took a few moments to marvel at how wet the sheets underneath Y/N were before he retracted his hand. Licking a few fingers before using the rest of her wetness to stroke himself, watching her get control of her breathing.

As the hazy clouds lifted from her eyes, she tilted her head at him, “that wasn’t bad, pirate. Wasn’t bad at all,” she sighed.

“You’ll be calling me Kid by the time I’m through with you,” lining his throbbing, red tip to her core.

It was so hot, almost blazing hot, and it felt so fucking good on him. Puffed head pushing her entrance open, forced her core to expand to let him in. Sliding against her lubricated, ribbed walls as he thrusted in fully. The sound of her broken moans enough to make his eyes roll back as he felt overwhelmed by her body enveloping his. His fingers gripped her plush thighs leaving indents as he rolled his hips, making sure to fully stuff Y/N with all of him before he could start.

“Oh fuck, oh fuuuck,” Y/N moaned, rocking her hips in response. “You-you feel—” she stuttered through her panting, “oh my goOOdd!” she yelped as Kid rocked his hips harshly, feeling her lower belly clench then ripple with pleasure and it made her keen more. He grinned; she was ready to take him.

The Supernova pulled his impressive girth out of the woman beneath him, watching in satisfaction as her hole pulsed and closed repeatedly. Impatiently. Hungrily. His cock throbbed with primal desire to flood her core with his milky seed. He let out a low growl at the thought as he watched the squirming mess below him, looking so debauched and starved for more of him.

Yeah.

With a sharp tug, Kid lifted her thighs and pushed them down, not all the way to her chest just yet. Spreading them wider just an inch, Kid lowered his body over hers and pressed his cock head against her core once more. Her entrance fluttered on instinct, tried to pull him in, teasing him with the promise of her warm tightness. He felt his balls rise.

Kid’s hips snapped sharply as he entered Y/N again, ripping a pleasured cry from her throat as his pelvis smacked into hers; his balls followed up with an aftershock slap. Grin on his face, Kid began a fast and rough pace, in and out of her as he pressed down on the sides of her hips, trying to tighten the pressure on everything.

“FUUCK!” he rasped.

“FUUUUUCK!!” her moan was broken with high pitched keens.

Y/N’s thighs were pushed down to her chest as Kid pistoned into her, panting wildly over her face, steeling his knees firmly against the mattress as he slammed into her; the mattress springs protesting loudly.

“OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIIIIIIIIITTTT!!!” she screamed, feeling the white heat that had simmered in her explode, cumming on his twitching cock.

Kid’s flushed face pressed against her forehead as his thrusting grew erratic and with a few final pumps, came inside her with a growl. Filling her to the brim, he snapped his hips a few more times, and on the third snap—

C R A C K

The bed frame collapsed, Kid and Y/N yelping in surprise as they tumbled. They looked at each other with shocked eyes for a moment before Kid’s head jerked backwards as he roared with laughter.

“OH SHIT! Haven’t broken a bed in a long ass time,” he sneered in pride.

“My…bed,” Y/N frowned. “It wasn’t particularly great but fucking shit dude I still needed that for a bit.”

“Quit whining it was just the frame. The mattress can lay on the floor and you’ll be fine,” he chuckled. Turning his eyes back to her, “Are you hurt? I didn’t crush you, did I?”

Y/N’s colored eyes widened at the consideration, “Oh um yeah I’m ok, thanks.” Silence for a few moments, “aces job there pirate. Great orgasm, I rate it a 10/10.”

“I told you, my name is Kid,” his eyes narrowed as he brought her legs down in favor of caging her between his hands as he hunched over her. Cock still buried to the hilt, a line of cum dribbled from Y/N from Kid’s movements.

“Great job, Kid. I’d give you a gold star if I had one.”

The pirate scoffed at her, deciding to cross his arms on her chest and rest his head over them. Y/N’s body pressed into the mattress; Kid heard a stream of air hissing between her lips as she deflated a bit.

“Opportune timing for it to break. You said you were looking to get off this piece of shit island?”

“Yeah, surprised you remembered. No point staying here, I’ve exhausted my resources and I’m not looking to find another temp job,” she managed to get out before sucking in air. “You’re heavy.”

“So I’ve heard. Any destination you got in mind?”

Y/N regarded him closely for a moment before, “No not quite. I know the general heading but I don’t have a specific destination yet.”

Kid cocked an eyebrow at her, “you gonna explain?”

“Hmmm…I’m looking for some people. Who stole things very precious to me. I won’t stop hunting them down until I get back what once was mine.”

Grunting at her, “I see. What’s your heading? We’re travelling around but we stop and explore every island we discover.”

“The last information I was able to confirm was that I needed to head deep into the New World. Due East.”

A grin began to spread on his face, “Is that so? Just so happens that’s the direction we’re going. And seeing as you’re not looking to stay here longer than necessary, how about it doll? Wanna join my crew?”

Y/N’s eyebrows knit together, “I…just told you I’m on a mission of my own. I won’t really have time for your agenda.”

Not letting that stop him, “Ok then we’ll give you a ride. You pay us when you get to where you want to be. If it’s not the place that has what you’re looking for, you can keep sailing with us. All you’d have to do is contribute to ship duties, help keep it running smoothly in exchange for room and food.”

Y/N regarded him suspiciously, “This seems a little too good to be true....”

Kid lifted his upper body up, his actions eliciting a moan from her as his semi-hard cock shifted inside her.

“Despite what you may have heard about me, which is all completely true by the way…I’m not that bad of a guy.”

“So to be clear, you’re offering me a travel pass with the expectation I contribute to ship duties, and all you want from me is gold for passage?”

“Yep. Some more of this too if you can’t get enough of me,” he winked and she became acutely aware of his hardening length inside her. Her walls fluttered.

“And how do I know you won’t turn this into some perversion and keep me hostage on your ship or something?”

“Jesus Christ I have better shit to do than hold someone against their will.”

Y/N and Kid’s eyes sized each other up several times. Finally, “Fine, I’ll take your deal, pira—ah I mean, Kid.”

He smiled at her; it even looked genuine. “Wanna seal the deal?” he rutted his hips.

Her head fell back as she groaned out in affirmation.

------------------------

“OI! This here’s Y/N. She’ll be travelling with us for a while. If anyone has a problem with that, tough shit.”

No one responded, wearily regarding the newcomer.

Y/N’s eyes swept the deck of the Victoria Punk, gazing at the eccentric faces that made up the Kid Pirates. Masked faces, dramatic makeup and hairstyles, gothic fashion style, and a sick ass dinosaur head at the bow of the ship.

“’Sup?” she nodded her head at them. “Cool ship.”

“Thanks,” the blonde with a blue and white striped mask said cooly. “I’m Killer, First Mate of the Kid Pirates. Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Y/N. Currently a transient, orphan child of war, looking for certain people and personal things. I have experience in sailing and badassery.”

An amused smile pulled on Kid’s face, “the badassery was mostly me since the old coward ran away from me technically. Your quick thinking was impressive though. Here,” he pulled out the satchel of jewels Y/N had given him at the shop.

“You can have more, what you took from the register was so pitiful I felt bad for you,” pouring out a generous mound of jewels, tinkling in her palms.

“Ahh sick, thanks Kid!”

“Dive, take Y/N to the women’s quarters and show her around. Everyone else, ready the sails and let’s get the fuck outta here.”

The crew set into motion immediately, Killer walking swiftly to Kid, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Since when do we sell rides for coin?”

“What? Said she was trynna get out of here and she has a sharp mind. Could prove useful. If not, we part ways when she finds what she’s looking for.”

“And what IS she looking for?”

Kid shot him a look, “Haah? Who cares? She’s hot and she needs a ride. Bang her and relax if you need too but get over it. She’s cool, I got a good feeling about her.” He grinned, glancing in the direction Y/N went.

“But I won’t share her with everyone else so don’t go running yer mouth,” the Captain growled.

Killer scoffed. He tilted his head to follow Kid’s gaze, allowing himself to properly appraise Y’N’s figure. He clicked his tongue before walking away in the opposite direction.

“Fuck you Kid.”

#eustass kid #swampstew bedtime stories #eustass kid x reader #swampstew #eustass kid x y/n #eustasscaptainkid #eustass kid x you #swampstew stories #one piece eustass kid #one piece kid #op kid #eustass kid smut #one piece fanfiction #kid pirates #massacre soldier killer #one piece killer #im having fun with the polls if you cant tell

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