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sunncutter · 1 month

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dead reckoning

✧ dead reckoning: finding yourself bothered by somebody's death more than you would have expected, even if they were only an abstract presence in your life.

The mountain path was gorgeous in the late autumn, crisp air dense with the sicksweet scent of leaves fallen to the earth. They crunched beneath her horse's hooves, painting the trail behind her with a waving, patterned blanket of golds, yellows, of red.

She had not thought that she would have found herself in Bern again so soon after the end of it all, after the battle with the dragon, after putting down Nergal. There had been such immense relief, the tight joy that squeezed at all of their hearts – as though they could not have believed their good fortune, to make it through to see the other side.

It was still so surreal to her, the dizzying course that her life had taken, shuttling her forth to experiences and lands so foreign that she had almost forgotten what had set her on her path to begin with.

Dismounting stirred the leaves at her feet, snapping the twigs that lay just underneath with a crackle that raked across the silence of the little hamlet she had come across.

No. Come across not by happenstance, but sought out.

It was...empty. She had known that it would be, but there was a part of her that wanted to see for herself, to set her own eyes upon the waste that had been laid upon her behalf. If either of these facts confirmed – that it had been done, and that it had been done for her – was supposed to calm her heart, then it failed.

Lyn's fingers trembled, curling into fists the farther her footsteps took her into Taliver territory. There was a part of her, the vicious, snarling beast in her heart that so few had the stalworthy spirit to face and acknowledge, that flickered images of their final moments before her eyes, the shock rimming their eyes in white and the screams trembling upward in the air, heard by none but each other and their mighty intruder.

The crunch beneath her foot came more delicate to her ears, brought her up short as she drew her step back, knelt down to brush aside the carnage of leaves to find a small, crumpled doll, the length of its tiny blade snapped beneath her step.

Lyn traced her fingertips thoughtfully over the shape of the thing, uncertain of the tug of her heartstrings – had they children? Had they families, children borne of the women stolen for generations of their brutality? Had Wallace - ?

Brow furrowed as she lifted the little toy up, the prick of rattan against her fingers, and she felt the lick of flames course through her breast anew.

No. This was no Taliver child's toy. This was the craftsmanship of Sacae – it may or may not have been Lorca, but it was kin to her all the same.

When her footsteps drew her to what seemed to be the center of their hamlet, she knelt – no town and no camp, somehow, but clearly an area theirs and lived in; however disgusting she found the notion, this was their home. It took her a moment of steady breathing to quiet her mind, enough to set her hands to practiced tasks – digging incense and bundles of pine and sage from her pack, the wineskin, small carved figurines, and arranging them before her. She considered each with a heavy sincerity, not speaking the words of rite as she had when she had buried the bodies of her people, but with an intensity that tightened her throat as she lit the incense, the pine and the sage, and scattered them to ash before her.

Gently, Lyn doled out portions of the wine into small puddles amongst the ash, taking a careful, thoughtful swig from the skin herself before setting it down, her heartbeat pounding a baleful drum melody in her gut as she, with finality she laid the souls of her people to rest.

Her hands shook as she retrieved the vial from where it had rested, secured and heavy in her satchel, radiating such intent that she had been afraid it might have eaten through the glass, through the cloth and leather of her pack, even the flesh of her horse's haunches.

She wasn't sure what had been in it, could scarcely recall when she had asked Canas for it and had not thought to listen when he had begun to detail every ounce of darkness that he had allowed to seep into it – did not know if it was magical, or if it was merely the corrosive forces of Mother Earth herself, or if it was some unholy marriage of the two.

It was, he had assured her, as vile as he could fathom to make it.

Her eyes flicked over the liquid inside, creeping up and down the sides of the vial with the motion of her hand before she broke the seal, the acrid stink burning her nose as the air rushed in and met with the waiting malintent of the poison's surface.

A quick breath – in, out – and she raised her arm parallel to the earth.

"I come to you in challenge, as leader of the Lorca, the people who you have so wronged," she announced to the open air, her breath curling in mist at the chill in the air. "I come to you with my blade and my heart bared, and I will not leave until I have satisfaction."

The challenge was never meant to be metaphor, and she grit her teeth around the final word, jerking her chin up.

"For what you have done, you will never know the kind hand of Father Sky, never wrap in the warm embrace of Mother Earth, and your spirits will be condemned to wander in perpetuity," she continued, fighting as her throat tightened, a tremulous vein weaving its way into her voice. "I do not have the offerings of the noble dead for you, only the shame that you have brought – to yourselves, to your families, and to those who carry your blood forward. A thousand curses upon you, those who haunt this land, the Taliver!"

Briefly, she saw the broad, whiskery smile of her father, his proud leathery face creasing with his kindness for her – she saw flickering before her the vibrancy of her mother's eyes, those eyes that she carried herself, the eyes that she had carried forward from her father...

Her hand tipped, the offering she had brought to the fallen Taliver sloshing to the side -

"Lady Lyndis. If you truly wished revenge upon them, you should be happy. Hatred can be strength. On the plains, you needed that strength to survive. But left too long, hatred can twist and consume you."

And, unbidden, she saw her granduncle's face. Proud, in his way, long and bearing the noble features of the royal family of Caelin – so alike his brother in structure, but their hearts polar opposites. She had not been there, when Lundgren had cursed his brother to a long, slow death, but she felt the burn of indignation as it was happening, the visceral hate that charred her innards.

When she blinked, the world misted, her hand shaking terribly now, wracked with the sob that she could not voice – whether out of pride, or out of pain, she could not decide.

But she could not bring herself to do it, to salt this field with the cruelty that had been shown to her – to her people, those closest to her heart, once and again.

"There is no kindness left in this world for you - !" The rapidity that the strength of her voice deteriorated shocked her, and Lyn ground her jaw tighter, willing the conviction of her rage to carry her forward as it always had, but...

"You do not deserve this - !"

She could not decide who she spoke to, then, her voice warping around the words until she brought the vial close to her chest and crumpled forward into weeping, her tears dripping down her face to speckle the ground, to mingle with the wine and the ash that she had scattered there, that evaporated into the air and seeped into the earth.

Was it they, those who had earned the hatred of the peoples who they had burnt and pillaged, who did not deserve her kindness – or was it she, last borne of those peoples, whose heart still beat in her chest in spite of all those who had challenged her, who had seen the fallen of her loved ones and decided that she would be the final punctuation on Caelin, on the Lorca?

She who did not deserve to bear the weight of a revenge unattainable?

#in character #ask memes #obscure sorrows ask meme #drabbles #please let it be known how obsessed i am with the wallace support chain okay thanks for listening bye #thank yooooouuuuu for sending in serena this was very fun to write

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laurasimonsdaughter · 3 years

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Even deep under the dark water of the loch the sound of chattering voices and thumping footsteps is unmistakable. Three sets of footsteps. Two stout and heavy and one light and dawdling, lagging behind… Getting further and further removed from the others…

There is barely a ripple on the water as the kelpie rises to the surface, not a sound as their hooves find purchase on the shore. They can smell the human child stomping around on the grass.

A moment ago their manes were wet and their back slick with water but no sooner has the sunlight touched them or they are dry and as glossy as a currycombed steed. Their hooves no longer soundless, they tread merrily, straight towards the bored little whistle coming from just beyond their line of sight.

There is no need to even whinny, the brightly clad girl is already turning around to face them. The gasp of delight that follows is completely expected. The kelpie bows their head, hiding their sharpened teeth. Foolish child, already starry-eyed at the sight of them. They bow their head lower, bracing for hands grabbing at their manes and little heels digging into their flanks.

But nothing came.

The kelpie looks up and there is the girl, still where she was a moment ago, feet planted firmly in the grass, one arm slack and one…one arm reached out invitingly towards them. Without grabbing or touching, but with her whole face shining with brilliant conviction.

“Good horse.” Her voice is lower than it was before, low and calm and oddly soothing. “Good, beautiful, beautiful horse.”

The kelpie stares, and stares, and blinks.

---

“Kayleigh!” Robert repeats, going back down the path with his husband on his heels. “Kayleigh, come on.”

“If she’d agreed to wear the hiking shoes instead of the damn riding boots,” David mutters beside him.

Robert sighs and calls out again: “I know it’s a longer walk than we planned, sweetie, but you- you…” His voice trails off in bewilderment, just in time for David’s to take over.

“What the—”

Kayleigh is briskly trotting up the path, full of renewed enthusiasm, and beside her, without leaving a single hoof print in its wake, is a—

“Kayleigh did you catch a wild horse??”

“No.” Kayleigh bristles with indignation. “You can’t just catch a horse. Can’t ride horses that haven’t been broken in neither. Everyone knows that.” She sticks her nose up in triumphant determination. “But he trusts me, see?” She holds out a hand to the hulking beast of a horse, and the creature, against all reason, slowly lowers its head and nudges its nose against her hand.

“David…”

“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Kayleigh’s eyes are like glittering stars, brilliant and wholly inattentive to the growing parental distress around her.

“Well, he’s certainly…” The horse moves and two large, soulless eyes stare straight back at him. He swallows. “…something.”

“He’s perfect,” Kayleigh coos and if it was possible for anything to instil greater dread in a man than the endless depth of that wild, equine stare, his daughter is making a valiant attempt.

Because he knows that tone of voice, they both kown that tone of voice. It’s the tone of voice that had gotten her the riding lessons, and the pony camps, and the stacks upon stacks of books and magazines.

So the two of them stand, frozen in fatherly terror, as Kayleigh raises herself up on her very tiptoes to pet the enormous horse between its ears.

“You’re gonna love California.”

#kelpie #kelpies #laura drabbles #mlm romance #american horse girl vs kelpie who's gonna come out on top #the answer is both of them it's everyone she ever competes against in riding competitions that loses #urban fantasy #family

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theshelbyclan · 4 years

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Happy Birthday!

Summary: It’s your birthday! And the Shelby brothers refuse to let another one of their baby sister’s birthday go by without some proper celebrating.

(Gif by @benson-shelby) A/N: It’s actually my birthday today, but due to quarantine I can’t really celebrate it with anyone. So I decided to celebrate with the Shelby’s! Via this little fic, purely self-indulgent, to cheer myself up and to remember some great birthdays I had in the past ;) Set in season 1, you’re just a few years younger than John. Words: 1710 *** “John, get her tea.” “I thought you had the tea.” “Well, then get the milk!” urgent whispers sounded in the hallway.

“I’m not your bloody maid, am I, Ada,” John spat not so quietly in return.

You were lying in bed, awake for hours already. This was the day you’d become a woman, or so Ada had said, but still, your siblings were bickering like little children. It brought a smile to your face. Another annoyed grumble, “Shhh, you’re going to wake her up!” “Am not,” he hissed, “I got your fucking milk, didn’t I!” “Oi!” another low voice joined in, “Ada, you really need to take a look at the toast.” “What about the toast, Arthur?” “Burned it,” he mumbled and you could hear John giggle softly in the dark. Ada sighed deeply, “For fucks sake, fine, I’ll do it. Wait here.” As the least subtle brothers in the world shuffled about in the hallway, you thought of your other birthdays. When you were little, they were celebrated with mum and everyone gathered. During the war, no one paid attention to birthdays any longer. And now, after the war, people tried to get their lives back on track. Only last week you’d made sure Finn had gotten a birthday he’d never forget. And now they tried to return the favour, obviously. Another few minutes and about a thousands curses passed, when they finally tiptoed into the room. Closing your eyes, you decided to play along. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Slowly you sat up and put on a groggy voice, “What are you doing in here?” “You are the worst actor ever, Y/N,” John grinned. “Am I?” you feigned innocence. Ada handed you a cup of tea as John plopped down onto bed next to you, “Did you hear about Arthur burning the toast then?” “I didn’t burn it,” he protested, “Only… blackened it a little.” Ada sent her eldest brother a look, “Polly’s making some more.” “Thanks for the tea,” you smiled and took a sip. Frowning, you narrowed your eyes at John. “You’re not a child anymore, Y/N!” he explained happily. “Move over,” Arthur shoved his brother aside and hugged you, “Happy birthday, sweetheart. This is for you, go on, open it.” Wrapped clumsily in some brown paper, he’d given you a revolver. And just as you were staring at it, Aunt Polly walked in with toast in a lovely shade of light brown. “A gun,” she demanded at once, “For fucks sake, Arthur.” “She needs it to protect herself, Pol,” he returned, and with pride in his voice he added, “And look: it’s a lady’s gun!” You turned the weapon over and saw it was small, delicate and laid in. Still, deadly as any weapon it was. “My turn,” John said, bouncing up and down in excitement almost. He handed Polly your tea and when she sniffed it, she said strictly, “Alright, who put whiskey in her morning tea?” No one answered. Quickly John handed you his present, hardly wrapped at all. Inside, you found a peaky cap, razorblades included. “Honestly, John…” Ada sighed, “She’s not a bloody Blinder!” “It’s all she’s ever wanted!” John called out, “Ever since she could walk, she tried to steal our caps, forever talking about wanting to join us wherever we went. Now she’s got her own!” “I love it,” you beamed up at him, “All I ever wanted.” “Alright,” Ada interrupted, “Clearly Y/N has too many brothers so it’s up to me to turn her into a lady.” “Please do,” Polly sighed, “Or the only interest she’ll ever have is weapons.” She knew her niece well, “That and gambling…” Your sister combed a few rebellious strands of hair behind your ear and planted a kiss on your cheek, “My darling little sister, soon you’ll learn you have more than one way of getting a man to do what you want.” You blinked a few times. This had always been more of Ada’s area of expertise. “She has no idea what you’re on about,” Polly smirked. “Thank God,” Arthur and John said in unison. “Sit still,” Ada demanded and she started applying the lipstick, “Sit. Still.” You furrowed your brows at the unfamiliar feeling, “Just your colour,” Ada commented happily, “As I thought.” “Not bad, that,” Arthur commented as he tilted his head. John leaned back and examined you as well, “Yeah, well, it’s red, isn’t it? I like red...” “Lipstick, a gun and razors,” Ada commented matter-of-factly, “the most deadly Shelby as of yet, Pol!” Aunt Polly rolled her eyes. “Happy birthday, Y/N!” eleven-year-old Finn came running to the room and jumped up into your arms, “You can have mine!” And he thrust his homemade catapult into your hands by form of a gift. “Another weapon, Pol,” Arthur eyed her, “Whatever will become of our innocent little sister?” Aunt Polly rubbed her nose and stammered a little, “Well, you know I don’t agree with you joining the family business… And God knows I’ve tried to rein you in just a little…” “But,” you interrupted, eyes glittering mischievously. “But…” she looked down, “I got you something for your shoes.” “Shoes?” you looked at the little black package she’d handed you. John suddenly burst out laughing in realisation, Arthur tried to hide his face in his hands and Ada commented dryly, “So, no better than us, eh, Pol.” Slowly you opened the package. Inside, you found a small black butterfly knife. *** A few hours had passed, with the regular nonsense that you cherished more than anything in the world. The family was gathered in the kitchen, everyone argued and life seemed perfect. But, one thing was missing. “Where’s Tommy?” you finally asked. “He had business,” Polly answered shortly, “No idea when he’ll be back.” You eyed John carefully, the brother you always turned to, “You think he forgot?” “Nah,” he tried cheering you up, “And you’re doing alright with us, right? Don’t need grumpy here…” You smiled, but still it hurt a little. And then, unexpectedly, Tommy waltzed into the house like it was any other day. “Y/N,” he announced himself coldly, “I need you to come with me.” “Why?” you challenged, “We’re just celebra-“ “I said now, Y/N. Family business.” Tommy interrupted in a low voice. “Thomas…” Aunt Polly started, but he held up a hand to silence her. Then he turned to you and repeated, “Come with me.” Begrudgingly, you got up and followed your brother. Looking back, Arthur motioned you to move it, which made you all the more suspicious. Without moving a muscle in his face, Tommy opened the door and said, “Go on.” You stepped outside and the second you did, applause resounded through the streets. In front of every house, people had gathered and they cheered like you were royalty. You couldn’t believe your eyes. “Tommy, did you…” you started. “He’s been at it all morning,” John explained as he crossed you in the doorway. A few moments later, the sound of hooves echoed in the streets. “What the hell is this,” you said at once. “This,” Tommy made a broad hand gesture, “Is a gypsy on a horse.” “And what, pray tell, is he doing in the middle of town?” You recognised Johnny Dogs now, who called out, “Little Y/N Shelby! Happy birthday, love! How the hell are you!” “I’m grand, Johnny,” you said numbly, “What’s with the horse?” He got off the horse and patted her flank, “She was a lovely filly as first. Sweet, but could never quite be tamed. Third filly out of Shadow, gorgeous beast.” “So, we decided,” Tommy mumbled as he lit a cigarette slowly, “she needed a rider who’d understand.” “What? Being a gorgeous beast?” your cynical reply came. Tommy rolled his eyes, “ ‘could never be tamed’ “. “Well, go on,” Johnny urged, smiling from ear to ear, “Up you get, little one!” Gingerly, you walked over to the horse. As you stroked her nose, Tommy handed you his cigarette and said softly, “What do you think of her?” “She’s an absolute beauty.” Tommy nodded, “Just like you,” but before you could send him a thankful look, he’d walked off again. And with the whole of Small Heath watching on, you climbed up on the horse. *** It was almost midnight when you woke up on a hard cold bench. A splitting headache washed over you as you tried to lift your head. You touched your temple and noticed some blood on your knuckles. Vaguely, you remembered being in the Garrison only a few hours before. You remembered Tommy had closed the betting den and the pub being packed with people, all celebrating your birthday. Memories of card games, songs and laughs came back to you. And the whiskey, so much whiskey. Slowly, you hoisted yourself up. As you looked around, you recognised the inside of the police cell. And you felt at your laced up boots: the knife was still safe inside. A sigh of relief escaped you. “How’s the head, eh?” Recognising your brother’s voice, you looked up without meeting his eye. “What did I do?” you asked finally. After a pause, Tommy replied, “Well, you celebrated your birthday alright.” “Did I have fun?” “Yes, I’d say so.” You frowned, “Why am I in here?” He cleared his throat, “It started with the barmaid and ended with you head-butting a policeman. Quite the Shelby night…” “Is that pride I hear?” Tommy didn’t answer, so you send him your best innocent smile. Eventually he asked, “Was it worth it?” “Hell yes,” you replied in a flash. “Little devil, celebrating her fucking birthday, eh?” “Admit it!” you pointed at him, “you areproud!”

And Thomas Shelby actually smiled through the bars, “Fucking right I am.” When he started to walk away, you shouted, “Oi! What about my bail?” “Paid it!” he called from a distance. “How am I supposed to get home?” you raised your voice even more. Tommy’s reply echoed, “Take your horse. She’s outside.” Myhorse? And just as a policeman with a head in bandages opened the door of your cell, you smiled to yourself: Best birthday ever.

Tommy left the station before you were released, but before he’d gone, he finally said:

“Happy birthday, Y/N.”

***

Masterlist

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absurdthirst · 3 years

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Best View {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, Max being a shit, soft feelings

Part of @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday 7/21/21 tagging @clydesducktape

Have you ever seen such a beautiful sight? Sitting and staring at the view, you are surprised that the companion next to you is so quiet. Looking over you see the way his eyes are narrowed, taking in his view from under the wide brim of his brand new cowboy hat.

In fact most of his outfit is new. It might be the only time that you have seen Max Phillips in a pair of jeans, even if they were designer. Stiff and obviously new, you had to admit that the denim and the light button down shirt that covered his chest looked good on him.

“Remind me why we are in the middle of the fucking desert?” He grumps, making you grin as you turn back to the red clay view, the rocky monuments and the awe inspiring view of nature.

“Because it’s gorgeous.” You tell him again for the thousandth time. It wasn’t like you forced him to come with you, you hadn’t. You hadn’t even expected him to come when you told him about wanting to go, but that hadn’t stopped him from packing his bag and complaining the entire time.

“It’s hot.” He corrects you, his hands in the leather gloves gripping the reins of his horse a bit tighter. It was amazing he knew how to ride a horse at all. You hadn’t expected that either. Even though the horse had shied away from him at first, eventually the beast had calmed down enough to let the vampire on his back

“And it’s bright.” His petulant tone makes you grin at him. His eyes probably should be covered by sunglasses, as bright as the sun is but he had managed to drop them and another horse had crushed the expensive shades under their hooves. You had to bite you lip to stifle your laughter as he cursed the horse, you, the desert and the Godforsaken sun.

“Poor baby, you didn’t have to come.” You remind him again. “You could have stayed in our room and watched porn.” He wrinkles his nose and waves his hand dismissively. “Not any fun if you aren’t there to be disgusted by it.” He pouts, making your chuckle. He would never admit that he did things, said things just to get a rise out of people. You had noticed it and when you stopped letting the shock value get to you, Max inner soft side had slowly started peeling back for you to see.

It was amazing that a vampire could be such a softy, but he was. He had claimed that he wasn’t losing his portable heater and food truck, but he hadn’t fed from you once. Although the cuddles had been pretty consistent, curled up around you to suck up your warmth and affection. It was fun to see the man to seemingly live for business and sales snuggle into your body like a happy puppy.

“Why are you here?” You ask him looking back out over the amazing scenery and imagining what it must have been like to live out here in the days of the Wild West. Where the horses you were on weren’t sweet and docile for tourists, but the main means of transportation.

Max scoffs. “Are you serious?” He asks you, but you just hum, absorbing the moment and the sounds of the families behind you, kids laughing an playing fading from your consciousness until it felt like you and Max were the only ones out here.

“You don’t like the sun, you don’t like the heat, you don’t really like being outside.” You shrug and finally look back over at him with a curious expression. “So why come?”

Moving gently, he motions the horse closer to yours, leaning and and giving you a small smirk. “The blinding view of course.” He tells you, making you roll your eyes and sigh. “You.”

That surprises you, quickly searching his eyes and finding that he’s being truthful, you soften. “Me?”

If he weren’t a vampire, you would swear he was blushing but he nods. “Baby, I want to be here with you.” He tells you, reaching out and taking your hand. “Even if it means horrendous headaches because of the sun and having to wear more sunscreen than Evan’s white ass.”

You snort and he grins at you, giving you a trademark Max Phillips wink. “I didn’t have to come to the middle of the desert to find the view I like most.” You could even ignore the way that his eyes drift down to your chest and then back up to your eyes. He hadn’t really meant your tits and both of you know. “I get the best view every day when I see you.”

@agirllovespancakes

#writer wednesday #7daysnosmutchallenge #max phillips #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips x reader #max phillips imagine #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x you #max phillips bloodsucking bastards

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ppersonna · 4 years

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the sheriff - knj | m

↳ summary- you’ve always had a soft spot for Kim Namjoon, the local sheriff. seems like he’s had one for you, too.

↳ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

↳ pairing- kim namjoon x reader

↳ word count- 6.8k (THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE I...)

↳ genre- smut, fluff

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), cowboy dirty talk, unprotected sex, aftercare, namjoon is a whole gentleman, we love to see it, period-typical gender roles, sex in a saloon, severe overuse of the word Darlin, artistic liberties on language used in the old west lol

↳ a/n- hello! welcome to my first (not so) drabble for Bangtan Rodeo! this was requested by my angel dani @minloop who requested “ Howdy partner, Namjoon + saloon + sheriff 🤠” i hope you enjoy it love! thank you to my soulmate @mindays for the amazing banner omg i c ry every time i look at it. and thank you to @hobiance for making up this fun game, and for @mindays for beta-reading it!! i also wanna shoutout my crew @ladyartemesia @xjoonchildx @taetaewonderland @kookiesjoonies who i would never write again if it werent for their constant hype. I LOVE YOU ALLLLLL.

What had started out as a pleasant ride through town on your father’s horse, Bang, turned into an absolute nightmare.

The horse had gotten spooked by some unknown creature, and reared up high, before taking off at a break-neck pace. Your screams were drowned out by the thunderous beat of the stallion’s hooves and the wind rushing by as the horse ran erratically out of the town and into the wilderness.

“Help!” You screamed, hoping someone would hear you. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you clung to the reins, skirt billowing behind you.

Bang the horse reared up again in a clearing, and this time it was no match for your delicate strength. You slid off the horse and landed hard on your back with an ‘oof’ before your vision went black.

“Hey, you hear me? Little lady?”

The voice wakes you, and you blink a few times. Sitting up, you wince at the stabbing pain that radiates through your body and hiss.

“Hey now, be careful,” the gentle voice speaks again. “Don’t get up too fast. Here, lay back down.”

Something soft touches the back of your head and you realize the kind stranger must have balled up some clothing for you to rest on.

The sun is still high in the sky and your vision is slowly coming back to normal, when you focus on the face of your savior—before nearly passing out again.

It’s the town Sheriff, Kim Namjoon. The very man you’ve harbored a secret crush on for years.

You’ve watched him become a deputy and work his way up the ranks. He was a gentleman, and the bravest man in town. He battled some of the fiercest bank robbers and thieves in the county and always came back victorious. He was prime husband material.

That is, if you had ever spoken a more than a single word to him.

He’d work for your father on your ranch often, helping with mending fences or shoeing horses. He’d sit at your dinner table and graciously eat the soup, dumplings and pie you’d make special for him and thank you with a tip of his hat—then be off, back to saving the town, before you could even build up the courage to tell him ‘good evening’.

“How you feelin’?” He asks tenderly, cupping your cheek and pushing your mused hair behind your ear as best as he could.

It’s hard to speak—equal parts in pain from the fall and stunned from the beautiful man staring you down.

“H-hurts,” you whisper, licking your lips.

Namjoon’s eyes follow where your tongue trails over your chapped lips and swallows hard.

“I bet. You took quite the fall there.”

You close your eyes, remembering the terrifying moment you fell off. The horse had been so frightened, so ablaze...

Suddenly, you remember your father’s prize stallion. He had likely run off while you laid unconscious in the dirt.

“Oh, no!” Your eyes fly open. “Bang!” You try to sit up, but Namjoon shushes you and gently guides you back down.

“He’s all right, miss. He’s eating an apple, as happy as can be.”

“Oh, praise the lord,” you sigh. “Papa would tan my hide.”

Namjoon chuckles and nods.

“Brave of you to take that beast out for a ride. You think you can sit up?”

You nod, and with his strong, gorgeous hands assisting you, you sit up straight.

He offers you the waterskin in his hands. “Here, have some water. You’ll need it for that headache.”

“What headache—owww,” you groan as the sudden pounding in your head echoes the pounding of the horses’ hooves galloping out of town. Namjoon chuckles and pats down your hair—picking out dirt and leaves.

“Once you feel back to sorts, I’ll wrangle Bang up to my horse so you can ride with me, and I’ll take you home.”

The water from the skin is cool and you sigh as it coats your dry throat, eyes closing in bliss. Namjoon keeps his eyes on you for a moment, watching the way you drink. He nearly groans as a bit falls from your lips, trails your neck and down onto your pretty chest. It slips past your clothes, where his eyes can no longer follow it, and he shakes himself back to propriety.

“Thank you,” you speak as you swallow the water and hand back the skin. “I needed that.”

Namjoon nods solemnly, tucking the skin back to his holster belt before standing up.

“You stay there and rest while I get Bang tied up, alright?”

You’re hopeless to deny any request from the handsome sheriff, and you’re nodding your assent before you try to fight back on feeling better.

Instead, you watch as the tall man stands and strides over to Bang, cooing gently at the enormous beast and patting his nose for a moment to calm any lingering nerves the horse may have.

Your mind wanders and you suddenly envision a future with the sheriff—watching him tend to your horses while you cook dinner and mind the children. You imagine him herding you into your bedroom and pushing you deep into your featherbed, dripping cock aching to slide into your warmth as he whispers how much he loves you into your ear.

You’re only snapped out of your fantasy when the man of your dreams approaches once more, a bridled horse at his side as he slips the reins through his own horse’s saddle to guide him back to town.

“You all right there, little lady? You looked a little dazed.”

Your cheeks heat and you nod, quickly trying to dispel the embarrassment.

He sticks his hand out and you watch as your small hand fits in perfectly to his grip, and he tugs you up with ease; the momentum of the pull has you being pulled directly into his chest.

“T-thank you,” you murmur breathlessly. The sheriff stares down at you, eyes fixed on your own before they glance at your lips as if it’s his last wish to press his own there.

He’s silent for a moment as he holds you against his chest, then rights himself and backs away.

“You’re welcome, ma’am. Glad to help.”

Namjoon lifts you onto his own horse and your heart stutters at the feel of his hands gripping your waist. It’s warm where he touches and you wonder what his hands would feel like touching you everywhere. You imagine his hands would feel like a dying campfire on your bare skin, deceivingly scorching hot.

He saddles up behind you and wraps his arms around you, gripping the reins as he clicks his tongue at his horse to start a slow trot back towards town.

The gentle trot of the horse makes your chest heave and fall, bouncing with each step the horse takes. Namjoon glances down and can see the way your breasts jiggle and bites his tongue. You look enchanting—dirty skirt and ripped blouse from the fall. Namjoon only wishes he had been the one to dirty you and rip your clothes. His cock hardens against his will and he prays to god you don’t feel his arousal poking you in the back and prays he can get you to town before you realize and slap him into the next county.

And you definitely notice.

Your cheeks heat to hotter than the summer sun and you swallow hard to dispel some ache in your chest. Your core suddenly feels desperate for attention and you can almost imagine the way his hands would feel rubbing at your needy clit, whispering filth into your ear as he coaxed orgasm after sobbing orgasm from within you.

“Are you goin’ to the square dance tomorrow night?” Namjoon suddenly asks you, attempting to distract himself away from his rising cock.

In the chaos of your frightful ride out of town, and the bliss of being pressed up against the handsome sheriff, you had forgotten all about the annual square dance held at the town saloon. Drinks, dancing, and fiddlin’ festivities were always bound to happen.

“Oh, it must have slipped my mind,” you say. “But, I suppose I could get Papa out of the house. He has an eye on that new schoolteacher.”

Namjoon laughs, and it warms your heart. He’s taken special care of your father as much as you have ever since your mother died years ago.

“I think she has her eye on him, too.”

You hum, deep in thought of your lonely father, and Namjoon squeezes your hip with his free hand.

“Well, I hope to see you there.”

The blush returns right as Namjoon’s horse strides up to your homestead. Your father must have seen you coming and runs out of the house and down the steps to collect you.

“Oh, thank the good lord!” He breathes as he pulls you into his chest. You smile and return your father's warm embrace, suddenly feeling comforted.

“Sheriff Kim, I owe you a lifetime for rescuing my little girl.”

Namjoon smiles at you and winks, before looking back at your father and pulling his hat off tenderly.

“Just doing my duty, sir.”

Something twinges in your heart, as you’re reminded Namjoon saved you out of dedication to the badge than any memorable feelings towards you.

“Plus,” he continues. “It’s already a reward when the little lady is as pretty as this one.”

There’s that stupid blush again. Your father claps Namjoon on the shoulder and then brings the sheriff in for a hug, with a cheerful laugh.

“Now, you best be careful how you speak, son. I can’t threaten the sheriff with my .22 when he’s courtin’ my daughter.” His demeanor radiates his joking manner with Namjoon, but the sheriff’s eyes still widen like he’s a teenager again.

Your cheeks, already pink, flame red with embarrassment.

“Papa!” You admonish. “Leave Namjoon alone! He didn’t mean nothin’ by it!”

Namjoon’s smile fades back to a solemn and stoic look as he unhooks the stallion still attached to his own.

“Here you go,” he murmurs as he hands the reins to your father. “He’s just fine, too.”

Papa nods, and Namjoon replaces his hat and bows his head in acknowledgment.

“Good evening, sir,” he motions to your father. “And to you, miss. I reckon I’ll see you at the dance tomorrow.”

You nod, licking your lips again without knowing it. Namjoon begs his cock to behave, especially in front of your father.

“Thank you, Sheriff. And I reckon you will.”

He saddles up, and rides off into the sunset. Your eyes remain on his disappearing silhouette and your father fondly flicks your ear.

“That fellow likes you,” he nods at the retreating man. “And you just had to hold a candle for the goddamn sheriff.”

He ‘tsks’ jokingly, before slinging his arm around your shoulder and guiding you up towards the house.

“How the hell am I supposed to scare a boy off my daughter when he’s got more guns than me!”

You snort under your breath and lean into your father's hold.

“Oh, Papa.”

You can hear the music pouring from the saloon the moment you walk up. Papa stands next to you outside and anxiously fixes his hair.

“You think Ms. Lainey will be here tonight?” He asks. He tries not to look worried, but you can read him like a book.

Your hands smooth out his crisp, dress shirt and adjust his handsome bowtie.

“Yes, Papa. I reckon she will, lookin’ prettier than a sunflower.”

His eyes lock on yours, full of gentle emotion that you haven’t seen since your mother passed.

“You think this is fine?”

He looks concerned—worries he’s perhaps moving on too soon from your mother when she’s been gone and buried for years now. You can’t help but feel a bullet through your heart for the older man. He raised you to an adult, tended to an entire ranch, and maintained his sanity in the depths of his depression.

“Yes, Papa,” you soothe. “Mama would want you to be happy. I think Ms. Lainey is the perfect person to help you with that. Plus, I hear she makes a killer cornbread.”

Papa smiles and pinches your cheek gently.

“You’re just like your Mama,” he muses with a fond smile. “A smart ass. But a beautiful one.”

“Papa!”

“Hey,” he grins as he holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m not a liar. Now, let’s go in there and find that handsome sheriff, shall we?”

“Papa, please. Don’t embarrass me!”

“Well, too damn bad. That’s my job as your father.”

He pushes past you and through the swinging doors of the saloon.

Damn that old man.

Namjoon spies you the second you walk into the wooden saloon. You look like a princess, if he’s ever seen one.

Your blue dress hugs your curves just right and sweeps to the floor. It looks soft and Namjoon wonders what it would feel like under his fingertips. Tender, gentle, just like you.

He sets his bottle of beer down—he’s been nursing it for half an hour now, unwilling to get drunk or even tipsy tonight. Not out of some sense of duty—he had plenty of deputies around to keep the peace, but out of hope that you would come. He didn’t want to be drunk around you.

He watches as you whisper into your father’s ear and gesture towards one corner of the room. Namjoon tracks your gaze and sees you’re both looking at the new schoolteacher, Ms. Lainey who wears a pink blush that matches her pretty, pink dress. Your father kisses your cheek softly, before leaving your side and making his way towards the teacher.

Namjoon shoves the barely touched bottle of beer towards the barkeep, Jungkook.

“The hell you want me to do with it?” He asks incredulously to the sheriff.

Namjoon sends a look to his longtime friend.

“Fuck if I care, Kook. I’m busy!”

Jungkook grumbles under his breath as Namjoon turns away.

He weaves through the crowd towards you, keeping you locked in his vision. He hopes to keep you all to himself tonight, especially with you looking as ravaging as you do in that gown.

He nearly makes it to you when Jackson Wang slides in and wraps an arm around your waist. He can see your face fall when you realize who it is. Jackson is your ex-boyfriend, and a shitty one at that.

“Come on, pretty baby,” he attempts to woo. “Let me have just one dance.”

“I said I’m not interested, Jackson.”

“Oh, I know you said that, but I don’t think you meant it.”

Namjoon clears his throat from where he stands behind you. You both turn in surprise towards the officer.

“I think the lady said what she meant.”

Jackson narrows his eyes at Namjoon and grips you tighter.

“And who the hell do you think you are!”

Namjoon opens the coat of his suit, giving Jackson an eye-full of the loaded revolver clipped to his side.

Jackson seems to get the picture and shoves you off him—Namjoon is quick to steady your uneven gait from the assault.

Namjoon whistles for Jimin, his deputy, and instructs the eager young officer to escort Jackson off the premises.

“You’re lucky I’m not having him take you to the Big House tonight.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and spits on the floor at your feet.

“Fuck you, Sheriff.”

Jimin shoves Jackson out the door and follows him out to ensure the man stays well-away from the dance tonight.

Your eyes are downcast when Namjoon returns his glance at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

The sheriff hushes you and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, just as he did before when he found you lying on the ground.

“Now, now,” he whispers as he steps closer. “I don’t want to hear none of that talk. You didn’t do nothin’.”

He slips a finger under your chin and brings your face to peer at his own. The violins change their tune from carefree to a soft ballad.

“Care to dance?” He offers.

You smile and nod after a beat of silence, taking his proffered hand and slipping your other to hold on to his firm shoulder. He looks handsome in his suit, much different from the Wranglers he wears to work. This suit is cream, and feels like fine silk under your fingertips. You wonder if he ordered it from the general store or if he rode his horse to the big city for it. It fits him like a glove and you silently thank the town tailor for his work, allowing you a tease of the man’s brilliant muscles and toned body under his clothing.

Namjoon’s hand slides around your waist—attempting to remain as proper as he can. He doesn’t want to give the town anything to gossip about, but the way your dress and waist feel underneath his palm make him nearly forget all his manners. His mother would kill him if she saw the way he continued to press in close to the woman, hoping to feel her bountiful chest press against his own.

“I’m glad you came,” Namjoon breathes as your feet move in time with his. “I was worried you weren’t gonna show.”

Your cheeks tickle a rosy hue, and Namjoon nearly melts.

“I’m sure you would have found another lucky lady to dance with.”

Namjoon hums as he spins you around, grip tightening on your waist.

“Maybe so,” he agrees. “But they wouldn’t be the girl I was hopin’ to dance with.”

Your throat feels tight.

“And who might that be?”

“The girl I’m dancing with right now.”

Something within you burns like a roaring flame, and you push forward to press your lips to his own. It stuns Namjoon; he doesn’t move until his brain finally catches up and he’s kissing you in return, deep and passionate. He pulls his hand out of yours to wrap around your waist completely, bringing you up to his chest as his tongue prods for entrance at your mouth.

You eagerly accept him, allowing his tongue purchase in the hot cavern of your lips, and you whine needily against him as you feel a bulge grow between his legs.

“Sheriff,” you whisper, pulling away from his lips.

“Namjoon,” he breathes desperately. “Please, call me Namjoon.”

“Okay, Namjoon.” He smiles and dives in to kiss you again when you pull away.

“Please, Namjoon, can we go somewhere else? Papa’s here…”

Your cheeks are red-hot and Namjoon chuckles, glancing around. Your father is busy enough as it is, dancing with the schoolteacher but he nods.

He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the bar, getting Jungkook’s attention.

“You back for that beer?” He asks with a grunt.

“Nah, gimme the key to a room upstairs.”

Jungkook eyes you standing behind the sheriff, bashful.

“Can’t even wait to get her home, now? Ain’t that the rancher’s daughter? He’s right over there! You’re really going to--”

“Jungkook! The key, please!”

The barkeep rolls his eyes as he digs under the countertop for a large skeleton key and slides it to Namjoon.

“Down the hallway, first door on the left. The presidential suite.”

He winks at the sheriff who rolls his eyes and drags you up the stairs. You pray to any god listening that your father remains distracted with the schoolteacher.

Namjoon unlocks the door and allows you to enter first, giving you a chance to glance around the spacious room. There’s a copper bathtub, a fireplace, and a large feather-bed that looks divine.

“Wow,” you whisper. “Never been in a saloon bedroom before.”

Namjoon chuckles as he sets the heavy key on the dresser, loosening his tie.

Suddenly, you’re nervous. The implications of being here have your hands trembling and body feeling flustered. You’re not the kind of girl who fools around, nor are you the kind to simply open her legs for the first handsome officer who looks her way. You hadn’t even gone all the way with Jackson when you were with him. Now that it’s happening, you wonder if you’ve gotten far too ahead of yourself.

Namjoon notices the look on your face and crosses the floor easily to cup your face between his palms.

“Hey now, why the long face?”

Your eyes peer into his, shame washing over you. You want so badly to lie with the man in bed, in every sense, but you’re terrified.

“I’ve…” you swallow hard. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

The sheriff smiles and rubs under your eyes with the pad of his thumb. It’s comforting and having him this close to you makes your body feel like you’re close to the hearth of a fireplace. Warm, soothed.

“And you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do, little lady. Thought we should just get out of the crowd.”

Your heart feels like it may just beat out of your chest completely. Namjoon is holding you, staring at you like you’re a treasure.

“I want you, Namjoon. I’ve wanted you my whole damn life.”

Namjoon brings his face right up to yours, lips a mere breath away.

“And I want you.”

You close the space between your lips, finally re-acquainting yourself with his taste and the feel of his plushy mouth against yours. He tastes like hops and sweet mint. Your hands slide down to claw at his sides, gripping the fabric of his coat jacket in your balled-up hands.

The kiss doesn’t remain chaste for long. You’re soon pushing off his coat, tugging down his suspenders and unbuckling his pants.

“Easy there,” he whispers as your hand tugs at his boxers. “We have all night.”

Inhaling through your nose, you nod. He’s right. There’s no reason to rush into this.

“Plus,” he adds. “It’s not very fair that I’m nearly stark naked and you’re still in this pretty little number.”

Namjoon kneels down, thick fingers untying the laces of your heeled boot, and holding your ankles stable as he slips them off your feet.

He kisses your soft ankles, presses his lips to your shins and calves as if he’s worshiping you. He thinks this is better than Sunday service, anyway.

The sheriff stands back up and his fingers move around to the back of your dress, easily finding the zipper and tugging down ever-so-softly. The fabric comes off your shoulders without issue, and soon pools at your bare feet. His eyes are soft as they travel over your body, left in only your silk panties and brassiere.

“There.” He whispers it like a prayer. “You’re so beautiful.”

The tone of his voice makes your body feel like it’s blazing—like the fire of whiskey as it pours down your throat. It burns, but it warms every single inch of you from the inside out.

“Namjoon, I don’t just want you for one night.”

Your anxieties pour out of your mouth with little thought. You wish you could hold back, just enjoy the moment. Your stomach twists and turns as he unbuttons the dress shirt and keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“That’s good,” he nods. “Because I don’t want you for one night, neither.”

Your hands slip onto his bare stomach, pushing the sleeves of his shirt off. His skin is hot, and firm. He feels like a dream. The shirt comes off easily and you gape at the artwork that is his chiseled chest.

“Oh my,” you gasp. Namjoon preens, enjoying your shameless gaze.

“All of this is for you,” he murmurs gently, watching the heated stare pull from his pecs to his eyes.

“M-me?”

He nods again and fingers the strap of your bra.

“I want you to be my girl,” he says. “I want to come home from a hard day and see my lovely little wife in our home. I’ll even get you a horse.”

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face.

“One that won’t buck me off in the middle of nowhere?”

He nods, slipping the strap down your shoulder.

“And if he does, your strong and handsome husband will be there to rescue you, every time.”

Your tongue soothes over your kiss-swollen lips as you listen to him and allow him to slowly remove your remaining articles of clothing. The bra straps fall off your arms easily and you let him work his hands around your back to undo the clasp.

“I want to make love to you every night,” he breathes. “Maybe get you nice and pregnant with my child.”

Your bra falls to the floor and his warm hands rub at your stomach, where a swell could be.

“Would you still help Papa?” You ask, hazy and dreamily.

“Every day, darlin’. I’d be the best son-in-law. Give him grandbabies to spoil rotten.”

He doesn’t say anymore—he couldn’t if he tried. Your lips are smashing against his and you’re pressing your soft, bare breasts to his firm chest and his mind is actively shutting down. All he can think of is you, your body, your hands, your mouth, and most of all, that sweet cunt. It’s still hidden behind a layer of silk, but he knows it will be the dreamiest place he’ll ever be, and one he doesn’t intend to leave often.

“Will you take me home tonight? To your home?” Your eyes are hopeful as you pull away to question him. Something about it all makes you want to make love to him all night long, in his bed. You want to wake up with him in the morning and cook together, only to get distracted and make love again on the kitchen table.

“I would love to.”

Your hands push down his pants and you’re gasping as his hard cock springs free from the slacks. It’s thick, and it slaps at his stomach once, leaving a smear of slick wetness where it hit.

“Lay down, princess,” he murmurs into your ear, tucking a piece of hair behind. It seems to be his trademark, and it sends shivers down your spine.

You obey wordlessly, laying back onto the bed and resting your head on the fluffy pillows.

Namjoon stands above you and gazes at your form, allows himself to breathe in the vision of you, nearly naked and waiting for him.

He crawls onto the bed and hovers over you, fingers trailing up your soft legs before rubbing at your clothed core. There's a patch of wetness there, and your trembling whimper tells Namjoon you’re just as eager as he is.

He settles himself in between your legs and inhales the scent of your pussy. It smells of fine silk, and of your arousal. You’re embarrassed, he can tell as your legs threaten to close, but he moves his hands to your thighs and holds them down as he licks a fat stripe up your soaked panties.

“Mmm,” he breathes. “Delicious.”

Your legs are trembling now and he flickers his eyes up to yours, gauging your reaction. Your head tips back in bliss, hands cupping your breasts.

“Do you like that, darlin’?” He asks.

Your head tips back down to stare at him, heat shining in your shimmery orbs.

“Is this okay?” He wants to know you’re just as eager as he is and has no interest in taking advantage.

You nod pathetically, legs spreading open further for him.

“I want you.”

Namjoon lets his fingers run up to the top of your panties and keeps his gaze on yours as he peels them down and off your legs. They’re drenched, and he whines when he uses two fingers to open your lips further and expose your soaked hole.

“Shit,” he grunts, tentatively kitten licking your sensitive clit.

It sends radiating static and shock through you. No one’s ever touched you there—no one but yourself on lonely nights with dreams of the handsome sheriff.

Namjoon catches your hitched breath, your shuddering sighs, and continues gently. His tongue licks tiny stripes up and down your quaking clit and enjoys the way your arousal seeps out of you. He knows you’re a virgin, knows he needs to take his time to open you up for him. And he plans on making it an experience you never forget.

“That’s right,” he breathes as he pulls away and licks his lips. “My girl doing so well. You like it when I lick your pretty clit? Does it feel good?”

You nod your agreement and open your mouth to respond, but Namjoon quickly places his lips over the sensitive nub and suckles gently. Your words turn into a throaty scream, back arching impossibly at the sensation.

He brings a hand up and teases your slit with a finger as he introduces you to a new world of sexual awakening. His tongue roves over your clit as he keeps a constant vacuum seal around it with his lips. Ever so gently, his finger prods past your folds and slips inside the wet heat of your channel.

His cock leaps at the sensation on his finger. You’re impossibly tight and drooling with juices and Namjoon’s tongue moves from your clit to lap at the slick. You taste so sweet. He can’t wait to acquaint himself with every inch of your body, especially the sweet spot here between your thighs.

“Oh! Oh, God!” You scream as your tug at your nipples. Namjoon can tell by the tightening of your channel you’re near the edge. He slides another finger in and fucks you gently with them, spreading open your heat ever so slightly so the stretch of his cock isn’t so hard to take.

“Cum for me, baby,” he coaxes. “Fall apart for your sheriff.”

Your eyes squeeze shut tight, stomach flexing hard as the band within you coils tighter and tighter until it blissfully snaps and your core is pulsating around his fingers like a grip.

Namjoon groans with your pretty cries of pleasure, watching the way your cunt milks his fingers and drools juice.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers as he gently pulls his fingers from within you. “You did so well.”

Your blush on your cheeks matches the rosy hue on your chest as you pant—attempting to bring yourself back to earth and right your breathing.

“That—, that was amazing.”

Namjoon presses one solid kiss to your thigh.

“You, my love, are amazing.”

You’re lifting yourself up on your elbows to peer down at him, whining gently for his attention.

“Will you kiss me, Namjoon?”

“I’ve got you all over my lips,” he says but you shake your head.

“Kiss me.”

Namjoon nods and crawls up your body, eagerly pressing his mouth to yours in a heated kiss. It’s intimate, and fiery as much as it is gentle and exploratory. Namjoon kisses you like he found the girl of his dreams—because he has.

After long, blissful minutes of rolling around in the bed with his lips attached to yours, you pull away and glance at his hardened cock.

“I’ve never,” you swallow as you allow your fingertips to graze the tip. “I’ve never put one in my mouth before.”

Namjoon’s sensitive glaze over his eyes returns.

“You don’t have to, darlin’.”

“But I want to. Will you let me know if I do something wrong?”

He nods once, and you adjust him to sit at the head of the bed, back against the headboard while you crawl down between his legs.

You allow yourself a few, long moments to simply stare at his length. It’s hard, flushed with excitement, and drooling a substance from his head that makes your mouth salivate. It has a soft, gentle curve to it you can only imagine will feel like heaven inside of you.

“You like it?” Namjoon asks gently, without pride. He looks sincere, like your opinion on his cock matters to him.

“I love it.”

You mouth at it gently, before opening wide to accept him in.

“C-careful, darlin’,” Namjoon warns. “It’s big—might not fit in your throat.”

Your eyes simper up at him for a moment, before you continue your plight and accept his length into your mouth.

You take it slow, torturously slow to him. You take your time to get acquainted with the feeling of his cock filling your mouth before you continue to take more and more until all at once he’s at the back of your throat and your nose is pressed to his toned abdomen.

Namjoon whines out loud, feels his brain turn to mush and his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

“Good lord,” he whispers. Your eyes are watering with tears and your gag reflex protests against the intrusion, so you quickly pull back out.

“Did I do okay?” You ask.

Namjoon’s cock throbs where it sits, right at the tip of your lips.

“You did fucking perfect, baby.”

It’s easy to see the pride flash across your face and you move to accept him all at once but he stops you.

“Don’t hurt yourself, doll. You can just move your mouth on it.” He grips the back of your head ever so gently and helps you descend, taking just enough to fill your mouth before he assists you in pulling back out. “Mmm, yeah, like that. Hollow those cheeks—shit, you’re a natural.”

You preen and bob on his length without the guidance of his hand. He drops his hands to push the hair from your face and as you work his cock in your mouth with surprising finesse. A groan builds deep in his chest and he can feel his balls tighten and threaten to empty onto your pretty lips. But, he can’t have that.

He taps your cheeks gently, forcing you to look back at him. He nearly cums from the sight alone. Your big, beautiful eyes staring into his soul as if he’s lasso’d the stars just for you. Your mouth is full of his cock like it’s your home and Namjoon knows that it’s everywhere he wants you to be.

“I wanna cum inside that sweet pussy of yours, darlin’.”

You pull off with a pop, eyes widening at the sound and Namjoon thinks you look prettiest with a dusty blush across your cheeks—a color that matches the pink of your perky nipples.

“Lay down for me, baby,” he encourages, moving from the spot on the bed and allowing you to rest your pretty head on the down pillow.

He kisses over your neck and breasts sweetly, imprinting his adoration for you with each press of his lips. He laves over your nipples gently as he situates himself between your thighs. His hand grasps his cock and lines it up at your entrance, but doesn’t push in yet. He allows your dripping slick to coat the head of his cock as he warms your body up with his lips.

“You’re the prettiest girl in town. Hell, even the whole county.”

You whimper gently as he takes a nipple into his mouth and grazes it with his teeth.

“You wanna be my girl? You wanna be the Sheriff’s little wife?”

You nod and Namjoon peers up at you, eyes expectant for a verbal answer.

"Please” you whisper. “I’ve been sweet on you since I first met you, years ago.”

The sheriff licks your nipples gently.

“My pretty wife,” he coos. “You ready?”

Your legs tremble—a mixture of nerves and excitement as the man lifts himself up and kneels between your parted folds. His cock feels thick and hot at the entrance of your heated core and you’re gasping for more.

Namjoon presses forward and takes his time as he enters you, knowing the stretch will be new for you. He leans down to kiss your lips gently as he moves in, hoping the sweetness of the embrace will soften the sting of his cock.

It feels like heaven and hell. The sting burns you, but it easily simmers down to a low flame of desire, of pleasure. Namjoon licks into your mouth and you eagerly accept him, arms wrapping around his neck to bring him closer. His tongue explores and seeks purchase—you’re loath to deny the handsome officer as you return the actions easily.

He pulls his lips away as he bottoms out inside you, panting. He needs the stillness, himself. Your cunt is so tight, so hot and accepting of his hard cock that he feels near the edge of his sanity already.

“You all right, love?” He asks, eyes checking yours for any signs of trouble.

The burn quickly ebbs away to nothing more than a slight smolder. He fills you completely, and it feels like he’s making a home for himself within you—one you’re welcome to him constructing again and again.

“Yes,” your voice is deep and husky. Your eyes are ablaze with a sudden passionate need for more. “Please, show me how it’s done, cowboy.”

Namjoon needs no more—he pulls his hips back gently and thrusts back into you with ease. You’re soaked, and the slide is tight, but slick. He moans gently as he drops his head to your ear to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin there and to whisper his sweet nothings as he sets a pace.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispers. “God, I’ve dreamed of the way you would feel underneath me.”

Your legs open even further to allow more of him and his pace eagerly picks up speed. The sound of skin slapping on skin soon fills the room and Namjoon continues his litany of love.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby, so fuckin’ good. You’re the perfect little wife for me. This cunt was meant for me, wasn’t it, my sweet?”

Speaking coherently is not a task you can handle now. Namjoon’s cock is fucking into you with a depth and speed that feels like fucking paradise and all your brain can comprehend are his sweet epithets he whispers to you and the way your core burns and sizzles with need. You can feel the tightness return in your belly, the tight coil that pulls tight, tight, tighter. You’re nearly at the end.

“I wanna fill you up, my love.” His pace is becoming erratic, with less finesse as he charges towards his own finish line. “Going to fuck a baby into you, darlin’. Get you nice and full—fuuuuck, cum for me, please. Let me feel that hot cunt cum around my cock.”

His words burn your ears with depravity, but it only forces that tight coil even further. It pulls until it nearly steals all the breath in your lungs as it throws you over the edge. Your walls pulse and constrict around him, making him whine out loud to match the crying whimpers of your climax.

“That’s my girl, oh god, I’m gonna cum.”

It’s all the warning you get before the hot stripes of his seed plaster your walls, coating each inch of you with a warmth that pools deep inside you. Your whines silence as he presses his lips to yours while his cock continues to shudder within you. He kisses you hard, deeper than you’ve ever been kissed before and you hold him so close to you, you fear you may never separate again. Not that it would be a bad thing.

“Shit,” Namjoon sighs as he finally feels his climax subside. His cock finishes its weak pulses, and he gently pulls out of your spent hole, watching his seed drool out of you.

“Mm, I think your little pussy needs to look like this every single night, don’t you?”

You peer down, leaning up on your elbows to watch as his white cum dribbles out of you and onto the feather bed.

“Yes, Sheriff.” Your smile is coy and sweet, a hint of humor in your worn out voice.

He scurries to the bathroom to get a warm, wet flannel and returns to your legs to clean you carefully. Your heart feels like it may burst. He cares for you so sweetly, wants you comfortable—wants you to feel loved.

“Take me home, cowboy,” you whisper as he presses his lips to your legs after he finishes cleaning you.

Namjoon assists you in dressing, kisses all over your bare skin as he laces you back into your dress. You both can’t stop staring at each other, eyes filled with promise and a future full of each other and no one else.

He guides you down the stairs, back towards the dance and you try to fight the blush that blooms on your cheeks. You’re sure your mused hair tells everyone in the room what you got up to upstairs, and you pray your father has left early.

Namjoon slides the key back to Jungkook once they reach the bar, his other hand tightly laced with your own. Jungkook gives you both a look, then smirks.

“Your Papa asked your whereabouts,” he muses as he dries a glass with a rag.

His smirk grows wider.

“Told him you were shining the Sheriff's gun. Looks like I was right.”

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amymel86 · 4 years

Text

Sooo.... I’m gonna share the first part of my ‘Jon was raised in Essos’ au because a) @vivilove-jonsa made me this gorgeous pci set (thank you so much, my lovely) and b) I cannot help myself....

(translations at the end)

(things may get changed)

Sansa sat straight-backed on her steed as she, Lord Royce and a few of her Valemen watch the bloody battle below. From their vantage point, up here, high on the ridge, the men look like warring insects - a scurry of territorial ants defending their nests. The noises though – that doesn’t seem insect-like at all. Battle-cries, bellowed commands, the screams of the dying – they all made their way up to them on the breeze.

Horridly human noises.

Sansa’s mare, Jonquil shifts her hind quarters, whether sensing her mistress’s emotions or simply spooked by the songs of battle, one could not be sure.

“He will live to see you again, my lady,” Lord Royce comments beside her.

No doubt he is speaking of his liege lord, her husband of seven moons, Harrold Hardyng. Sansa gives Yohn Royce a tight smile. Gently tightening Jonquil’s reigns, she urges the horse to calm her jitters and be still. “I am sure he will, Gods be willing.”

A murmuring chorus of “Gods be willing,” echoes through their little group as they continue to watch the battle unfold.

Truth be told, it had not been her husband’s face that had flit into her mind when fearing the lives of those little ants down there. It had been her brother’s. Robb’s war for a free and independent North had started against the Lannisters, sparked by the rolling of their father’s head, but now it continues after the invasion of dragons.

A newcomer on a dark gelding approaches Sansa’s right, coming to a standstill to view the chaos below. “We shall see if your invention saves us all, Sam,” Sansa smiles at the black brother beside her. Samwell Tarly had travelled to The Vale at the behest of The Night’s Watch with instructions to negotiate for supplies from their rich and fertile lands. Clear that the large man was not keen on the thought of his return, Sansa had grown fond of him and insisted on extending his stay. His fellow Nightswatchmen were not under any urgency to welcome him back.

“W-we can only hope, my lady.” His pale face was clammy as wide eyes took in the fighting below. The shouts, cries and screams met their ears making his horse even more skittish than her Jonquil.

Samwell was a very learned man, that was immediately clear. Sansa had appreciated his love of book, songs and arts but once she realised that within his fantastic mind there lay an idea that could finally get her husband to join her brother’s fight against the Targaryens, she had been even more pleased to have kept him close.

Oh, Harry had been keen on taking up arms – as keen as any young lord is to prove his skills on the battlefield and emerge victorious. He- of course – was most taken by the idea of winning The Vale its independence and ruling as King of Mountain and Vale. His kingdom may have warred against the Kings of Winter for a thousand years but together, he and Robb Stark might work together against the dragons yet.

But that had been his advisors main objection; how exactly does one win a battle against dragons?

Sansa still thanks The Old Gods and the New for sending Sam to her. Without his invention, she’s sure she would still be awaiting any and all news of her brother’s war from ravens and travellers in her high towers at the Eerie. Sam had no enjoyment for weaponry and warfare but he very much liked to solve problems and his huge Scorpion crossbows could be the answer to how it is they can kill a dragon.

Once she’d had that – once Sam had drawn up his plans and they were sent with a trustworthy messenger to Robb, then Harry’s advisors thought the scales may very well tip in their favour.

Sam takes a big gulp beside her. The leather of Sansa’s gloves creaks as she squeezes her fingers around the reigns. All eyes are affixed to the conflict below where tiny bodies mingle and crash against one another. A direwolf on a waving flag falls to the ground as its bearer screams and gurgles. Horses hooves thunder around the far outer edge, both cavalries clashing with shouts and whinnies. Jonquil whickers and claws her hoof into the soft peat earth. Sansa leans down to pat at her neck. “Shh, girl. It’ll all be over soo-“

A piercing screech comes from behind their ridge and beats from a monster’s wings stir the air enough to whip Sansa’s braid along with it. The men duck their heads, some horses rear and bolt. A huge, grey dragon flies directly over them, swooping down, heading toward the battle.

Sansa’s heart is trying to escape her body. “Which one is that?” she asks, head turning this way and that. Sam looks too shaken to form words and –along with most of the men – was trying to keep his steed under control.

“The-the grey one,” he finally says as they watch below, “there’s been no accounts of it breathing fire, my lady. S-some say it-it cannot.”

Yohn Royce pulls closer. “No accounts of it breathing fire yet,” he says, giving her a pointed look. Very true. A dragon cannot be trusted. And still – she squints her eyes, trying to focus in this grey autumn sun – it has a rider. What will he or she command of their beast?

Below, she sees their forces rolling out the three hefty Scorpions that had been hastily made. “Time to see if Tarly has saved us all or condemned us,” Royce mutters. Beside her, what little colour left in Sam’s round face drains completely. He looks as though he may well fall from him horse and empty his stomach. Two more dragons join the fray from the opposite end of the battlefield – the golden and the red, both bigger than the original grey, and both more deadly from all accounts. They screech at one another as if in excitement.

“Which is the king’s?” Sansa asks. If they can kill that one at least, surely their plight for independence will be taken seriously? Or it shall enrage him further and they shall be punished for it.

“It is not known for sure, my lady,” Lord Royce answers, eyes following the beating of great monstrous wings as they circle. “The golden is without a rider,” he tells her, narrowing his eyes and watching the others. “The rider on the red has a head of silver-white hair. I would surmise that to be Viserys while his sister-queen is safe at the Red Keep.”

“And the dark-haired rider on the grey?”

“Their War General; some bastard nephew loyal to Viserys’s crown.”

Jonquil shifts her weight and stomps at the soft earth again. “Another Targeryen?” Sansa asks. “Do they sprout up like mushrooms after hard rainfall?”

Sansa’s eyes follow the rider on the smaller grey dragon. Together they swoop low over the black troops of the Targaryen army. The War General bellows some command and the dragon forces scream their battle-cries with renewed vigour. A bolt from one of the Scorpions flies just to the left of the dragon’s head. It rears up, unfortunately unscathed. Sansa’s breath is held captive in her lungs as she continues to watch. A second bolt is loosed just as suddenly as the first, this time seeming to tear through one of the golden dragon’s wings. It crashes devastatingly to the battleground below, skidding to a halt and taking hundreds of lives with it. Valemen behind her cheer. But it is not dead. The beast lifts his great head and screeches into the mournful sky – a sound so loud and abrasive it makes Sansa wince. The rider of the grey doubles back towards the fallen monster and circles above – round and around he goes. They are too far to be able to hear, but Sansa wonders if this bastard dragon lord of theirs is commanding the animal to move. The golden beats his wings – once, twice, thrice, then screeches again for good measure. It does not seem to comfortably fold up its injured wing against its body as it holds it outstretched, somewhat awkwardly-looking. Another bolt speeds past them both. The rider of the grey bellows something very loudly, finally making the golden take action. It leaps forward, back toward the Targaryen line of defence, turns its head and belches out a huge hiss of flame that engulfs all it touches. Sansa can hear the screams from where she sits high on the ridge. Finally, the gold dragon leaps into the air, clumsily flapping its wings. It does not get far, only managing to land on a nearby rocky outcrop, out of reach of the Scorpion’s range.

“That one won’t be in battle for quite some time,” Royce comments beside Sansa, bringing her back to herself.

“We need to kill, not maim,” she reminds him. “If it still breathes there’s a chance it will heal.” She looks to him and he nods reluctantly. None of them have warred against dragons. They know not what to expect.

Sansa’s eyes return to the grey – the War General. Perhaps his is the one they need to eliminate?

Currently, it is circling with the giant crimson winged beast – they seem to be engaged in some sort of push and pull. The red screeches and pulls forward, spitting flame with every exhale – but the grey looks to Sansa to be trying to calm its companion – or the one rider is trying to dissuade the other. The scarlet dragon pushes forward heedless of the grey’s protests and Sansa watches in horror as it heads swiftly with every beat of its wings towards their weapons – towards the Scorpions, burning a path of flame as it goes. A bolt is losed, skimming passed the monster’s shoulder, but judging by the way it shrieks and pulls up, up, up until it disappears into the clouds, they had succeeded in injuring it at least.

Too busy staring at the sky to try and see where the red dragon went, Sansa’s attention is suddenly drawn back down to the battle when the grey dragon screams. It hovers where it is, clearly in distress. “What happened?”

“We-we shot at it but it swerved,” Sam tells her, “I think the rider fell off.”

***

Sansa and her retinue made their way down from their ridge when it was clear the Targaryen’s were retreating for now. It took a good while to manoeuvre the terrain and by the time they’d reached Robb’s and Harry’s battle line, many of the injured were being cared for and the dead being mourned. Perhaps she should have moved toward the tent heralding the falcon on blue as well as the red and white diamonds of her husband’s house. Instead, she urged Jonquil’s hooves toward the one beneath the wolf. Every now and again, the grey dragon screeched from above. Sansa told herself to be brave and found comfort in the thought that the other winged beasts seem to have left the battleground completely – leaving their fireless sibling behind.

Robb’s war tent is dark as Sansa enters. It takes a second or two for her eyes to adjust to the dim. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, mud and the metallic bite of blood. “You’ve seen what we are capable of now, at least,” Sansa hears her brother’s voice before he turns to see who had entered.

She runs to him, arms outstretched, not caring for the muck coating his armour. “Robb!”

“Sansa!” he is surprised to see her. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“They have retreated, have they not?”

“We do not know for how long,” he says, pulling away from her embrace. He smells sweet – too sweet – sweet and earthy and... wrong. Her brother gives Lord Royce a scolding glare over her shoulder and as if to serve as a reminder, a guttural shriek is heard from above. “And there’s a dragon still hanging around. Go on – go.”

Then came a gruff and unexpected voice. “Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon aōha Vesterozia jaesa morgho naejot sagon sīr gevie.” The Valyrian was spoken by a man that Sansa had not noticed before – a man wincing in pain as he spoke. He was bloody and bound to the central tent pole. Sat with his arms tied behind him, his legs stretched out before him – one looking rather injured and shoddily seen to with a crude sort of splint at his shin. Sansa steps back and takes in Robb’s prisoner. His hair was raven black, his skin had known the sun. His face was handsome, yet scarred and he wore a patch over one eye – the uncovered one, as grey as a winter’s day and very interested in Sansa. He sits up straighter, staring at her. “Lo ēdan, nyke would emagon pȳdan hen ñuha zaldrīzes hae aderī hae īlon jiōraton kesīr,” he says as though talking to her alone. It has been many a year since Luwin’s teachings on High Valyrian and Sansa did not catch the meaning.

“Who is this?”

“The Targaryen War General,” Robb answers. “The rider who fell from the dragon.”

Fascinated, Sansa crouches to the prisoner’s level. He looks so... ordinary. Granted, he’s a handsome man, but all tales of Targaryens speak of their unnerving, otherworldly beauty – of fair skin, of silver hair or violet eyes. Leaning closer, there are a few flecks of violet she thinks, in that one eye of his.

“Drējī gevie,” the man whispers almost in reverence and Sansa only now realises how close she has gotten from how his breath stirs strands of her hair.

“Can you speak the common tongue?” she asks.

The man’s lips twitch upward. “Aye, I can.”

Sansa stands, taking a step back. The prisoner’s eye follows her. “You sound northern.”

He nods. “My mother.”

“He claims to be the bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen and our Aunt Lyanna,” Robb supplies.

“Aunt Lyanna?” Sansa’s mind felt like a snow storm. She looks to Robb. “Can it be true?” Her brother only shrugs. Crouching down again she assesses this Targaryen War General with a gloved hand beneath his chin, turning his face this way and that to better see his features.

He looks like father.

“Hae skoros ao ūndegon, dārilaros?” he says, voice low and it takes Sansa a moment or two with his face in her hand for her to translate. Like what you see, Princess?

“Speak the common tongue!” Robb commands, giving his prisoner a swift boot to the thigh, making the man wince.

Sansa stands again. “Robb, if this is true then he is family.” If this is true then perhaps his loyalties can be swayed. With a dragon on their side, they may be able to get Viserys Targaryen to concede the North and the Vale yet. “What is your name?” she asks this would-be cousin of theirs.

“I have many,” he grunts, trying to shift his painful leg. “My mother wanted to name me a Stark but that could never be. Am I a Sand? A Snow? Viserys used to refer to me as Nādrēsy when we were boys. Many of my men call me Morghe Vala.”

Nādrēsy... Bastard.

Morghe Vala?... Dead Man.

“And what should we call you, cousin?” Sansa asks.

Before their Targaryen prisoner gets the chance to answer, the tent’s entrance is a flurry as more come to join them. Around four or five Stark men enter and amidst them is the most welcome sight of her mother.

“Sansa!” she greets, reaching her quickly, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Sansa, I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. Sansa is not sure what the apology is for but does not question it straight away, too glad to be in her mother’s arms.

Theon Greyjoy comes to her side, putting a gentle hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “My condolences, Lady Sansa.”

“Condolences?” She says, retreating from her mother’s warmth. She looks to Theon in askance, and then to the other eyes on her from around the tent. Oh. “...Harry?”

The quiet was deafening. She should have thought of him... why had she not thought to check on him?

“His wounds look deep and clean,” Theon tells her. “His death would have been swift.”

Sansa feels a little numb as her mother cradles her face with both hands. “The Stranger has him now, child. He is not in any pain.”

She blinks – feels like she should cry. Why is she not weeping? There was no great love between them yet but he was her husband and there was at least a companionship of sorts between them. Should she not be feeling the gnarled fingers of grief creeping up her throat?

The grey dragon screeches high above them making everyone look skyward as if they could see through the canvas of the tent. Sansa’s hand goes to her stomach. Harry had bedded her last night and she had washed him off of her as she’d bathed afterward. If she hadn’t – perhaps there would be more chance of a babe. They’d been trying for one for the entirety of their marriage with barely a glimmer of success throughout.

Is she callous to feel more melancholic over an empty womb than a dead husband? There is no time to ponder it and it is something Sansa does not wish to look too closely at.

When she looks to their Targaryen cousin he is already staring at her intently with his one eye, still sat there, bound on the floor. “Robb, untie him. Let him up.” Her brother glowers at her. “He is surrounded and unarmed, what harm can he do?” Sansa reasons.

“Theon,” Robb instructs with a nod of his head towards the prisoner.

Sansa steps closer to Robb as Greyjoy moves to sever the War General’s bonds. She ducks her head and lowers her voice. “If he is family, perhaps he can be swayed? If he joins us, we will have his dragon.”

“He is loyal to his kin,” Robb murmurs. “And besides, what use would his fireless dragon be to us?”

“We are his kin. Robb, if we can-“

“She is almost blind, too,” the deep voice of their prisoner says, interrupting. Sansa turns to see him now standing uneasily on his injured leg, rubbing at his wrists and still staring at her as though no one were here.

“Pardon?”

“Zokla,” he says, “my dragon. She is almost blind. It is why she’s still circling. She needs me.”

“Zokla?” Greyjoy repeats.

Sansa is quick to realise. “It means wolf.” She looks to Robb. Surely that must mean something? Surely, this cousin’s loyalties can be pressed upon? Surely, he wants to honour his mother’s family?

She’s about to say as such when their new cousin closes his one uncovered eye. “Issa jēda,” he says quietly, calmly.

‘It is time?’

Time for what?

The answer comes with another almighty shriek and a ground shaking thud making men shout and clamour. Outside the tent, a dragon roars for her master.

Robb draws his sword, his men follow. All weapons point at their captive who stands there with a small but defiant smile on his lips. “Call your beast off!” Robb commands.

“Let me go,” he counters.

“Call the dragon off or we’ll see to the thing ourselves!” Greyjoy demands, shoving his sword forward, the point of his blade lifting the man’s bearded chin. Their supposed cousin does not answer. A menacing growl vibrates through Sansa’s ribs from outside. “Send it away!” Greyjoy bellows while some of their men outside shout and holler for their King and others flee.

“She may not breathe flame, my lords, but how much damage do you think she could do to you and your camp before you manage to load those dragon killing weapons of yours? ....Let me go.”

Robb’s jaw tenses. The air is thick and waiting. He lowers his sword with a reluctant grunt. “Let him go.”

“And I’ll be taking her with me,” the Targaryen juts his chin in her direction. Sansa’s eyes go wide.

“No, you won’t!” her mother growls beside her, her cold finger slipping around Sansa’s wrist like and anchor. Their cousin watches the movement. He watches everything.

“Zokla,” he says and moments later a huge grey snout clumsily emerges through the tent’s entrance making the men closest to it leap away and cower. Her mother’s hand tightens on her wrist. The beast almost looks as though it smiles with that monstrous mouth and its forest of dagger teeth. It inhales, sniffing at the air within the tent, its snout taking up the whole space of the entrance. Maybe it can scent the tension or the blood still plastered to the armour of the men and slicking their swords. She growls. Low and dangerous.

Their new cousin moves closer to his beast, limping a little on his injury. “Easy, girl. Easy,” he coos, smoothing a palm between the dragon’s flared nostrils. She nudges into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He chuckles. “Hello, bump,” the man murmurs warmly to his monster. He then turns back to face the rest of the tent, uncovered eye finding her instantly. “Lady Sansa,” he addresses, voice low and honeysuckle-sweet “you will come with me.”

“Take me instead.”

“Robb, no!” her mother gasps beside her, fingers slipping from around her wrist. “If they have you then all is lost.”

Sansa knows her mother means their bid for independence. Robb has been the figurehead for this plight and the cause has been rallied behind in his and father’s name.

She must be brave.

Glancing at the Targaryen, it is the first time she finds him with his eye not affixed to her in some fashion. He seems to weigh and measure Robb’s desperate offer. He is a War General, he knows capturing Robb Stark, King in the North would surely spell victory for his uncle, she can see it written on his otherwise stony face in the way his brow creases momentarily before looking to her again, his gaze burning straight through her bones. “No,” he declares gruffly. “Jaelan ao.” I want you.

She must be brave.

The captive-turned-potential-captor offers Sansa an outstretched arm and open palm. “Māzigon, Dārilaros.” Come, Princess.

His expression is so earnest and resolute. As though nothing would sway him from taking her. Not even certain victory. Not even cutting short a war.

She can be brave.

Maybe he can be swayed yet? Maybe she is the one to do it?

“I will go,” she says.

“No!” her mother cries. “No, Sansa not again. They won’t take you from me again!”

Clutching her hands, Sansa barely notices as the dragon’s snout disappears and her Targaryen cousin waits in the entranceway, illuminated by the cold light from outside. “It is alright mother,” she whispers, “It will be alright.” Reaching over she takes Robb’s hand too. “I will bring him to our cause.”

“Sansa-“

“I will do it, Robb. Trust me.” She has been known to tame other beasts – why not a dragon?

She does not wait for her brother’s reluctant agreement, nor more of her mother’s pleading, instead she walks out with her spine straight, ignoring her new cousin’s offer of his arm as she goes. He chuckles darkly at that. “What am I to call you?” She asks as he follows close behind her. Sansa would rather engage in conversation than show her fear as they approached his dragon – his Zokla.

“You may call me whatever you wish,” he says. “Though most call me Jon.”

Jon? Such an ordinary name for a man who rides on the back of a dragon. The animal in question turns her huge head towards them, those smiling teeth and her hot breath a truly terrifying sight to behold. Sansa’s boots come to a halt and refuse to move. A warm hand is placed at the dip of her spine and suddenly she is alight at the touch. “She will not harm you, cousin,” Jon whispers in her ear. “Kostas ivestragon jaelan ao ȳgha.”

She’s trembling. Too focussed on the slow blink of the dragon’s golden eyes to try to translate. ‘Safe’? He said something about safe.

Jon says another command to his animal and it lowers its neck and shoulder in invitation. Her cousin helps her up. The beast’s scales are the size of her palms and warm to the touch. Sansa does not quite know how one seats themselves upon a dragon but she finds herself gripping onto two huge thorn-like scales that ridge along Zokla’s neck.

Even with his injured leg, Jon seems nimble enough to climb his mount. He settles alarmingly close behind her and slips a strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer still. Everyone has vacated the tent to watch them go. Her mother has tears in her eyes. Robb looks unsure and set-jawed.

I can be brave.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights, Princess?” Jon murmurs low at the shell of her ear. The downy hairs on the back of her neck prickle. He holds her even tighter. “Zokla, sōvegon!”

Fly!

***

Valyrian sections translated:

Then came a gruff and unexpected voice. “Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon aōha Vesterozia jaesa morgho naejot sagon sīr gevie.” (I did not know your Westerosi goddess of death to be so beautiful)The Valyrian was spoken by a man that Sansa had not noticed before – a man wincing in pain as he spoke. He was bloody and bound to the central tent pole. Sat with his arms tied behind him, his legs stretched out before him – one looking rather injured and shoddily seen to with a crude sort of splint at his shin. Sansa steps back and takes in Robb’s prisoner. His hair was raven black, his skin had known the sun. His face was handsome, yet scarred and he wore a patch over one eye – the uncovered one, as grey as a winter’s day and very interested in Sansa. He sits up straighter, staring at her. “Lo ēdan, nyke would emagon pȳdan hen ñuha zaldrīzes hae aderī hae īlon jiōraton kesīr” (If I had, I would have jumped from my dragon as soon as we got here,) he says as though talking to her alone. It has been many a year since Luwin’s teachings on High Valyrian and Sansa did not catch the meaning.

***

“Drējī gevie,” (truly beautiful) the man whispers almost in reverence and Sansa only now realises how close she has gotten from how his breath stirs strands of her hair.

***

The animal in question turns her huge head towards them, those smiling teeth and her hot breath a truly terrifying sight to behold. Sansa’s boots come to a halt and refuse to move. A warm hand is placed at the dip of her spine and suddenly she is alight at the touch. “She will not harm you, cousin,” Jon whispers in her ear. “Nyke ivestretan zirȳla naejot gaomagon ao ȳgha.” (I told her to keep you safe.)

#jonsa #jon x sansa #wip wednesday #zokla

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peachbear88 · 3 years

Text

Tale as Old as Time

A/N: Yes, it's basically Beauty and the Beast. I LOVE DISNEY MOVIES OKAY?

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

You shiver on the cold stone of the jail cell, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. How did you end up in the jail cell? A series of long, unfortunate events.

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

The door to your shabby home swings close as you prance down the cobble streets, book in hand.

"Little town,"

"It's a quiet village."

"Every day,"

"Like the one before."

"Little town,"

"Full of little people,"

"Waking up to say."

Windows are flung upon as the townspeople peer down at you.

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour."

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!

"Bonjour."

A man with a long white apron proffers a tray of fresh, steaming buns towards you and you snatch one, nodding your thanks.

"There goes the baker with his tray like always,"

"The same old bread and rolls to sell."

He opens his mouth to protest but thinks better of it.

"Every morning just the same,"

"Since the morning that we came,"

"To this poor provincial town."

A man approaches you, tipping his hat.

"Good morning Y/N." You smile at his kind, pudgy face.

"Good morning Monsieur Hogan. Have you lost something?"

"Well, I believe I have. Problem is I can't remember what." He scratches his chin. "Oh well. I'm sure it'll turn up somewhere." His eyes float down to the book clutched in your hand. "Where you off to?"

"To return this book to Monsieur T'Challa. It's about 2 lovers in fair Verona." He snorts.

"Sounds boring."

You shrug and continue down the stone path towards the small town library.

"Look there she goes, that girl is strange no question."

A small band of boys watch you as you walk down the street.

"Dazed and distracted can't you tell?"

"Never part of any crowd,"

"'Cause her head's stuck on some cloud."

"No denying she's a funny girl that Y/N.”

The marketplace is bustling as usual as you slip through the many stalls. The familiar buzz of conversation fills your ears.

"Bonjour, good day, how is your family?"

"Bonjour, good day, how is your wife?"

"I need, 6 eggs."

"That's too expensive."

You sigh, spinning around.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

You fling the door of the library open to find your second favorite person in the world, T'Challa, dusting the shelves.

"Ah, if it isn't the only bookworm in town! Where did you run off to this week?" He waves the duster at you, making you cough.

"Two cities in Northern Italy. I didn't want to come back. D'you have any new books?" You inquire, leaning over the small collection piled in the corner.

"I'm afraid not," He sighs. "But you may read any of the old ones you'd like."

You pick out your personal favorite.

"Your library makes our small corner of the world feel big." T’Challa smiles.

"Bon voyage!" He shouts as you close the door behind yourself.

"Look there she goes, that girl is so peculiar,"

"I wonder if she's feeling well." A scholar mused as you passed.

"With a dreamy far-off look,"

"And her nose stuck in a book."

"What a puzzle to the rest of us is Y/N."

You hop onto the stone wall of the well, still reading the book, nearly stepping on the hands of the laundresses cleaning on the edge of the well.

"Oh, isn't this amazing?" You twirl around on the stone wall, earning many disgruntled looks from the laundresses. "It's my favorite part because, you'll see." You hop off the stone wall, continuing down the path back to your home. "Here's where she meets Prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him, till chapter 3."

"Now it's no wonder that her nickname is Beauty,"

"Her looks have got no parallel."

A disgruntled mother says, her fair daughters standing behind her, glaring daggers at you.

"But behind that fair facade,"

"I'm afraid she's rather odd."

"Very different from the rest of us,"

"She's nothing like the rest of us,"

"Yes, different from the rest of is Y/N!"

Peering through his golden telescope at you, Steve Rogers sighs from atop his handsome horse.

"Look at her Sam. My future wife." He hands Sam the telescope who accepts it rather reluctantly. "Belle is the most beautiful girl in the village. Makes her the best." He whispers confidentially, waggling his eyebrows. Sam cringes.

"But she's so... well-read. And you're so..." He looks Steve up and down. "Athletically-inclined." Steve waves him off, setting his horse at a healthy trot towards the town.

"Yes, ever since the war, I felt like I've been missing something. She's the only girl that has ever given me that sense of..."

"Je ne sais quoi?" Sam proffers. Steve scoffs, entering the village.

"I don't know what that means."

"Right from the moment when I met her, saw her,"

"I said she's gorgeous and I fell."

"Here is town there's only she,"

"Who is beautiful as me."

"So I'm making plans to woo and marry Y/N."

The fair girls from before swoon as Steve walks by, who only has eyes for you.

"Look there he goes,"

"Isn't he dreamy?"

"Monsieur Rogers!"

"Oh he's so cute!"

"Be still my heart,"

"I'm hardly breathing,"

"He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!"

They shriek in disgust as Steve hops off his horse, splattering them with mud. Sam hops off his horse as well.

"It's never going to happen ladies." He whispers as they whimper in distress.

"Bonjour!"

"Pardon!" Steve attempts to push through the crowds to get to you.

"Good day!"

"Mais oui!"

"You call this bacon?"

"What lovely flowers!"

"Some cheese, ten yards, one pound-"

"Please let me through!" He grabs a bouquet of flowers from a nearby stall.

"This bread."

"Those fish!"

"It's stale!"

"They smell."

"Madame's mistaken!"

"Well maybe so-"

You burst through the masses of people, twirling as you reach your home.

"There must be more than this provincial life!"

Steve slicks back his hair, approaching you at a smart pace.

"Just watch, I'm going to make Y/N my wife!"

The town resumes their unashamed staring at you.

"Look there she goes the girl is strange but special,"

"A most peculiar mademoiselle!"

"It's a pity and a sin,"

"She doesn't quite fit in."

"'Cause she really is a funny girl,"

"A beauty but a funny girl,"

"She really is a funny girl,"

"That Y/N."

The townsfolk resume their normal quarrel and haggling as you slip through the flimsy gate and through your cabbage patch. Steve follows.

"Y/N!" You turn to find Steve flashing you what he thinks is a dashing smile. You recoil in disgust, instantly speeding up your pace, hoping to get inside before he can get to you. A flood of hope grips you as your hand wraps around the door handle but a strong arm grips your other wrist and you deflate.

Sighing, you turn to face Steve.

"Yes Monsieur Rogers?" He flashes a greasy smile your way and shoves the flowers into your face.

"For your dinner table! May I join you tonight?"

At least he has the manners to ask, you think.

"Not tonight, no." He deflates slightly.

"Oh. Busy?" You wince, prying his fingers off your wrist.

"Not exactly."

"Oh. Then why not-" You cut him off.

"Listen, I really have to go. Books to read, places to explore, people to ignore." You open the door, sliding in and closing it before he can follow you. "Good bye."

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

You sigh with relief, taking a moment to catch your breath before continuing further into your home. A drawing pinned to the drawing board catches your eye. A charcoal sketch of you. Well, baby you to be exact. A smile graces your lips as you tear your eyes away from the sketch and to your father, Tony Stark. He hums a small tune as he tinkers with an elegant music box.

"How does a moment last forever?"

"How can a story never die?"

"It is love we must hold onto,"

"Never easy, but we try."

"Sometimes our happiness is captured,"

"Somehow our time and place stand still."

"Love lives on inside our hearts,"

"And always will."

You wrap your arms around him and he smiles.

"Hello papa."

"Hello Y/N. D'you think you could pass me the-" You roll your eyes, handing him the tool before he finishes his sentence. "-tweezers- Oh. Thank you." He pulls a broken cog from the music box. "And now, something long and thin-" You pull the hairpin from your hair and hand it to him. He glances at it and a smirk grows on his face. "No, no, not quite-" He glances at the machine again. "Actually, yes, exactly."

With a final prod, the music box comes to life once again. The two of you share a small smile before he shoves it into his leather satchel and hauls it outside. You follow him, watching as he loads it into a rickety wooden cart along with a few other items. Your horse, Elm scuffs the cobbled pathways with his hooves, eager to get a move on.

"Well, I'm off to the market dear. Anything you'd like me to get for you?" You smile, leaning against the horse as Tony swings his leg over the horse to straddle it.

"A rose." He scoffs, tipping his hat down to you.

"You ask for that every year!"

"And you bring it ever year." You retort and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the forehead.

"Very well. A rose you shall receive. I'll see you in a few days!" With a flick of his wrists, Elm starts off at a trot and Tony waves goodbye one more time.

"Be careful," You whisper as he disappears from your sight. With a sigh, you return to the house.

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

You throw your dirty clothes into a barrel, adding some soap rinds into the mix before carrying it to the town well and rigging it to a horse which marches around the well. You smile proudly at your handy work. Self sufficient laundry machine.

Leaning against the wooden support beam with a sigh, you pull out your book and start reading. A small voice next to you grabs your attention.

"What are you doing?" You smile at her.

"Laundry. Come, come!" You pat the spot next to you encouragingly. Tentatively, she sits next to you and you hand her the book.

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

The pastor storms towards you and the little girl.

"Teaching another girl to read? Isn't one enough?" He sneers. You glare back at him, snapping your book closed indignantly.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to know more."

"We've got to do something about this." His wife mutters.

Before you can comprehend the meaning of her words, a man pulls your barrel of clothes out of the well and throws them to the ground, spilling the contents everywhere. You fall to your knees, scrambling to pick up the clothes as others laugh at you.

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

"Wow. You are so beautiful. No wonder everyone wants to marry you. So dashing." Steve whispers seductively, flexing in front of the mirror. Sam clears his throat causing Steve to jump. "What do you want Sam?"

"A certain damsel in distress awaits you." He quirks an eyebrow, gesturing with his head to where you crouch, gathering your sopping wet garments. He turns back to the mirror, slicking his hair back.

"It's hero time. I'm not done with you yet." He winks at the mirror before rushing to you. Sam leans into the frame of the mirror.

"Me neither."

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

From the corner of your eye, you spot Steve approaching rapidly. Gathering the last of your clothes, you scurry away.

"Ah Y/N!" You groan at your luck. "I heard you got in trouble with the pastor. S'all right. He never liked me anyways."

You groan in frustration.

"I was just teaching a child to read!" He smirks, sliding closer. You step back.

"The only children you should be concerning yourself with are..." He gestures between the two of you. You arch an eyebrow. "Your own!" You scoff, slipping through the gate and into the cabbage patch. He jumps over the flimsy gate and stomps towards you, squashing at least 4 cabbages. You watch him with barely disguised disgust.

"Look, you know what happens to girls when their fathers die? They end up like poor Agatha, forced to beg for scraps!" He points at Agatha, a rather kind but unlucky woman.

"Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it." You reply coldly.

"Look, let me make it simpler for your tiny female brain." He growls. You arch an eyebrow at his choice of words. "Marry me and you will never have to deal with that." You scoff.

"Marry you? I'd rather marry a rock." You slam the door in his face. He sighs, rubbing his face with a calloused hand. Dejected, he walks back to where Sam stands. You glare at him from where you stand on the balcony.

"Can you imagine, me, the wife of that boorish, brainless..."

"Madame Rogers,"

"Can't you just see it?"

"Madame Rogers,"

"His little wife."

You groan in disgust.

"No sir, not me,"

"I guarantee it,"

"I want much more than this provincial life!"

You sprint towards the green hills a good distance from the walls of the village.

"I want adventure in the great wide somewhere,"

"I want it more than I can tell."

"And for once it might be grand,"

"To have someone understand,"

"I want so much more than they've got planned..."

You sigh, running a grime covered hand through your hair before returning to your home.

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

You're pulling the ripe cabbages from the ground when it all comes crashing down.

A panicked whine comes from beside you. Your head shoots up to find Elm, pawing at the gate nervously.

"Elm? Where is papa?" Elm rears back, clearly skittish. "Take me to him!

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

You arrive at a monstrous looking castle, stone gargoyles with vicious fangs guarding the doors. You gulp, brandishing a large stick. The door handle is cool to the touch, sending shivers down your spine. You enter to find a well lit entrance hall, adorned with brilliant paintings and sculptures, although in the dark, they appear much more menacing.

With a gulp, you continue on, bringing the massive stick a little closer.

"Look Doctor Strange! A girl!" A voice whispers from the shadows.

"Yes I know it's a girl! I can see." A second, older voice snaps.

You whirl around but all you see is a flash of misty blue. Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself to investigate the blue wisps when a rough cough sounds out from above.

"Papa!" You race up the winding stairs into a much more sinister looking tower. Laying there on the cold stone floor is your father, his face pale and body shaking with each cough. The cold sunlight illuminates his face and he jumps up, grabbing the metal bars of his cell.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" You shake out of stupor, smacking the iron bars in a futile attempt to free him.

"I'm here to rescue you." Fear floods his features.

"No! You must get out of here! I'm old and my days are numbered. But you, you're young and you have so much to live for. Go, get out of here before she comes back!" You scrunch your face.

"She?" Massive footsteps echo from further up the stairwell. You raise the stick in front of you. A tall shadow appears on the stone walls of the tower. You gulp, inching forward but the figure stays in the shadows.

"You should not have come," A heavily accented voice rings out and your throat dries up.

"I had to. He's my father. Please, let him go." You call back but the figure scoffs.

"Your father is a thief!"

"Liar!" You cry.

"He stole a rose."

"I asked for that rose!"

An idea forms in your head and you slowly lower the stick. "Wait. What if you let him go and I take his place?"

"No! She means forever!" Your eyes widen.

"You monster! A life sentence for a rose?"

The woman laughs humorlessly.

"I was given a life sentence when I was little. Do you think I deserved it? You may call me a monster but trust me, I've been called much worse." You sigh, the gears in your brain whirring.

"Can I at least have a moment to say goodbye to my father?" The voice grunts and the shadow recedes. "Are you so cruel you won't even allow a daughter to kiss her father goodbye?" The figure pauses but slowly comes back down and into the light. Your throat dries up at the sight.

A beautiful girl in a blood red cape with auburn hair that burned in the torchlight, you felt your ears flush bright red. With a flick of her fingers, a red mist surrounds them and the metal gate swings open.

Your eyes grow wide at the display.

Magic.

You don't have time to think about it however as a strong set of arms wrap around you.

"Y/N!"

"Papa!" The two of you embrace as you discreetly waddle around so that his back is to the cell door.

"Y/N, listen to me. You have so much to live for. I lost your mother already and I can not lose you too. Live your life! Forget about me." He whispers into your hair and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

"I will never forget you Papa. And don't worry. I will find a way out of here." His eyes widen before you push him through the threshold of the cell and slam the door behind him. He stumbles, falling onto his back, betrayal clear in his eyes.

"Y/N!" The woman stares at you for a moment, disbelief glimmering in her eyes before it disappears.

"You fool." She spits. Your father watches you with wide, horrified eyes. The woman grabs him roughly and drags him down the stairwell, his screams echoing off the walls.

"Papa! Don't hurt him!" A sob escapes your throat as you curl into a ball, wrapping your cloak further around yourself to preserve the warmth.

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

You sigh, shivering as a cool gust of wind hits your back.

'Forever damned to freeze in a cell. Some adventurous life this is' You think to yourself as sleep claims you.

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

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff

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darklydeliciousdesires · 4 years

Text

Fire and Honey - An Eskel/Reader One Shot Story.

I have no idea who might be interested in this, so I have included my regular Geralt taglist (apologies if you’re not!) plus those who expressed interest when I teased this one shot a few days ago. I would absolutely love to know what you think of it, if readers would be so kind as to leave a comment!

NB - Making no claims towards the picture used. He’s just a hot cosplayer who serves as inspo for my visual representation of Eskel :)

Tag list - @breakmeaswitchson @madbaddic7ed @ruelf-emedam@brexfrix @ xxphoenixflyerxx @geekyweed @holyhumorliteraturelight @jinaaaannnnn @alliyjane @notso-fetch @zoe-rachel-crisp @glowien @tranquility-or-chaos @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @shileen91 @boiled-onionrings@helloitsmeaime203 @cheritzie @hm-fck @mary-ann84 @skylarmorgan1899 @alwayshave-faith @alliyjane @shyen18@shadesofarrogance @justjulie1105 @soulmatelove96@agniavateira @stormnightsong @xmother-mortemx @gamingaquarius @pansexualpancakeslife @ jesseswartzwelder @elixasays @ayamenimthiriel @winchwm @romanoffs-heart @sasusakubae @jennfisher @somethinginthewayiam @snowbellexx @ohjules @debonaire-princess @notyourtypicalrose @hell1129-blog @living-in-the-darkness @romantic-freya @agniavateira @speakerforthedead0-blog @radaofrivia @hcfavoritegal @justaboringadult @serenitybloodmoon @thethirstyarchive @somethinginthewayiam @omgkatinka @sweetybuzz25 @saintvirgo @bloodyinspiredfuck @sofiebstar @summersong69 @michellemybelles-world @always-singhal @kinbhot4henners @ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan @thealmightybitchgoddess @camilleisback @saltysharkeaglecowboy @stepheny-stoker @titaniafire @cliffsecord

Through the open window, the pounding of hooves growing ever nearer becomes audible, the big, bay steed your lover rides propelling him over the terrain and closer to you. At last, your wait is over.

His trip away has been lengthy, which of course you’re used to by now, but perhaps a certain part of you never will be. You always miss him, but your cunt longs for him more. It’s his magnetism, his magic, everything that makes your tall, dark, gorgeous witcher him.

Anticipation creeps over your wet skin, lying there in the large, iron bathtub next to the open window, the roaring fire crackling close by as you hear rain beginning to patter, a cool breeze flickering the flames of the many candles dotted around the room. He’s home.

You await him patiently, soaping yourself down with a sudsy sponge while he sees to his horse, your nipples hardening and making you giggle at such a reaction when you hear him enter your homestead.

“Let me guess. You’re in the bath?” he calls.

“I’m naked and wet!” You confirm, his deep laugh rumbling through the house. You hear his heavy boots echoing off the floor before he stops to pull them off, the sound of his swords being placed upon the kitchen table audible before suddenly, the door opens and there he stands.

“There she is,” he begins, his fiery amber eyes twinkling almost copper in the firelight. “How’s my love?”

“Positively burning for you. Come here.” You beckon to him, watching him raise a scarred eyebrow at you as you lift your leg from the water, placing your foot on the edge of the tub. It makes a shudder run through him as he removes his shirt, remembering how those legs feel tightening around him as he’s fucking you voraciously.

You take him in as he undresses, his rippling muscles a feast for your eyes, all mouth-watering, lean bulk. He’s tall and strong, powerful enough to be incredible at what he does as well as thorough in having his way with you.

His skin, littered with scars, cover that muscular physique in a blanket that tells the story you know so well, the beasts he’s slain, even a few you’ve left behind too. His baby beast, as he often calls you when you bite and scratch at him in the throes of passion, something he enjoys greatly and makes no secret of that. He likes you wild.

“So, does my baby beast wish for a bath friend, or am I to throw you over my shoulder and smack that soaking wet arse all the way to the bedroom?” He teases, a smile playing his lips.

“Bath friend first, the rest later.”

“As you wish.” You’re joined by him in a flash, opening your legs to receive him between them, Eskel pausing briefly to circle his neck with a series of loud cracks, looking satisfied before he kisses you with immediate, burning want.

He pauses again after welcoming you into his embrace, his hand reaching out for the bottle of honey mead you’ve been sipping from, taking a few gulps while you stare at him a little incredulously. “Oh, stop looking at me in that tone of voice, woman. I’ve scarcely stopped over the last four days in order to get back to you. Let your man imbibe a little good alcohol before he devotes himself solely to your pleasure for the next few hours.”

“Who am I to argue with that?” You reply, shrugging and then opening your mouth to receive a pour from the bottle he aims perfectly, swallowing the mouthful back and feeling its warmth radiate in your chest as he places the bottle down, the next warm thing to enter your mouth being his tongue. Gods, how you’ve ached for him.

He devours you with his sensual kisses, hands stroking your arms, familiarising himself with you there in the rising steam. His big hands skim the surface of the water before submerging, grasping your curves, his mouth moving to bury itself against your neck as you gasp, your yearning spiralling as you feel him hardening against your thigh.

Hot breaths flutter across your collarbone, his long stubble scratching over the tops of your breasts as he scatters kisses over your chest, your body arching into him as his hands grip your waist and mouth finds your nipples, sucking them hard in turn, an animalistic growl rumbling through his throat.

His mouth returns to yours, hunger surging through you, your kisses all teeth and tongues as you pant against one another, his broad chest heaving as you stroke him, your hands sliding down to grasp the hardness poking your stomach.

His hands circle your wrists and move them away, Eskel laughing quietly as you frown. “No, my little snap dragon. Not yet.” He murmurs, placing your hands down either side of the tub before he grasps your waist, lifting you with ease from the water and seating you on the lip. “Firstly, I must occupy my mouth. I’m hungry.”

His gaze, burning amber framed by long, dark lashes, never leaves you as he spreads your legs wide, your skin cold against the stone wall at your back, tilting your head to watch him lay kisses to your inner thigh.

His teeth graze you, a gentle bite administered to make you shake and squeak, his fingers kneading at your hips as his mouth nears your heat. You wonder for the briefest of moments whether he’ll tease you, make the haze between you build, but no. His need is to devour, his tongue pressing a flat lick against your pink heat, tasting you, dragging your folds thoroughly.

You keen against his mouth, your hands stroking his neck before they become lost in the silken, deep mahogany of his hair, tugging gently as he rolls his tongue over your clit in a slow, gentle circle.

He watches you as he licks at you with aplomb, your body trembling with a series of lustful quakes, soft sighs escaping your mouth as you tug at his hair, your other hand reaching for the mead bottle to take a few sips before you pour it down between your breasts.

He exits the water only to lick the sweet alcohol from your wet skin, tongue travelling the reverse path the mead just took, kissing you fervently before he sinks back into the water once more, mouth latching onto your folds and sucking hungrily.

Your clit hardens against his mouth, his tongue bathing it in wet heat even further when he thumbs the hood, pulling it back gently to reveal more of your potent little pink bud to him, his precise circles continuing, pleasure rocketing through you.

“Too much?” He inquires, your body almost spasming against him.

“No, just enough. Please, Eskel. Don’t stop,” you plead, your voice almost strangled, you’re so deliriously aroused.

“Shant, promise. Not even when you cum.” He winks at you before his dark lashes flutter shut, cheeks hollowing as he sucks at you again, the coil within your groin twisting violently in response. You gasp, beginning to pant hard, the suction at your nub increasing steadily, a deep groan vibrating through it and making you yowl in bliss.

His hands press into your thighs, opening them again after they’d begun to close around his head, one moving to grip your waist, steadying you against the onslaught to come as the other slips down to join his mouth.

He strokes your folds with the backs of his fingers, adding to the extremely rigorous stimulation of his tongue as it lashes your clit with wild licks, his middle digit then pushing against your sodden entrance, sinking into your slick cunt fully to curl around and rake against the sweetest of spots.

Firm, precise strokes have you reeling, your breasts heaving as you cry out, sparks glittering through you. You begin to shake, the finger within you joined by a second, then a third, circling through your plush heat as they drive in and out, so deft and skilled.

Your wails are helpless, your nails grazing his thick shoulders as you feel your nerves buzz, his tongue igniting you to your bones as you begin to clench around him fiercely. “Mmmm, that’s it, baby beast. Cum all over my tongue.” he encourages you with, his voice thick and gravelly.

Every pant is replaced with a soft, helpless cry, your voice breaking as you yell out, your entire body shaking as white-hot heat jumps with the lightning from strike point to strike point, sharp and uncontained as you feel yourself flooding against his fingers.

He chases your release with ardent beats of his tongue, making you see stars before removing his hand to suck at you instead, your orgasmic nectar bathing his mouth, his groan guttural. Just as he promised you too, he doesn’t cease.

It’s too much, but he is too far gone from asking or caring, instead focused on living up to his word and grasping your waist, keeping you steady in his powerful grasp as your overstimulated body jolts against his mouth, his tongue circling your aching bud once more.

He eats you like a bear devouring fresh honey, hungry and without pause or reserve as your sweet slick bathes his eager tongue. His moans, so carnivorous, so wanton, you wager he can barely wait to be inside of you, the thought of how hard he must be beneath the water driving you to distraction.

It doesn’t take long for the blade of his tongue sliding over your folds and wiggling back and forth across your clit to have you cresting once again, trembling with ebullience.

Before you know it, he’s standing before you, lifting you with ease and throwing you over his shoulder, his hand meeting your backside in the hardest of smacks.

You squeal, giggling with mirth as he does it again and again, stepping out of the bathtub and stopping to blow out all the candles before exiting the room, carrying you across the hallway to your bedroom.

You’re deposited on the bed a little unceremoniously, Eskel apologising through his chuckles as you swing yourself back up to a seated position, grasping his hips and pulling him close.

With his rigid cock right there before you, you can’t resist taking it into your mouth and sucking deftly, feeling him twitch against your lips, a grunt escaping his mouth as the washboard of his abs juddeer.

The thick veins flood further as you open your mouth as wide as you possibly can, accommodating his immense girth as your mouth slides all the way to the base of his thick, heavy phallus. His pubes tickle your nose, you have him nestled so deeply, dragging back up again slowly while pushing your tongue against the thick vein running under his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grits, hands losing themselves in your hair as you open your eyes and stare up into the fiery honey of his eyes, appreciating how exquisitely beautiful he is to you. Some would find the fact his face is marked with long scars off putting, but you’ve never felt that. To you, he’s utterly sublime.

Your hands dance across the hard muscle ridges of his torso, delighting in the feel of him. His cock, thick and swollen in your mouth, spills precum onto your tongue as his hips gently sway, the sound of faint moans spilling from his mouth as he pants causing your centre to clench with want.

The moment you take to pause, his cock slipping from your mouth with a pop and your tongue licking the line of hair running down the centre of his stomach, is the moment he pushes you back on the bed, parting your legs wide as he lowers himself to you.

His hands smooth your thighs, his mouth trailing kisses from your sternum upwards, his hardness pushing for entrance before spreading you, knocking the breath from your lungs, a whimper of gratification bubbling in your throat as you stroke his stubbly face. Your fingertips glide over his cupid’s bow, Eskel sucking your fingers before kissing you with force.

You swallow back his moans as your tongues swirl, your groin prickling pleasantly, nerve endings singing their bliss against the thick swell of his manhood as he drags your walls. You’re all wet velvet around his hot steel, your veins warming, feeling him burying himself within you again and again.

With his mouth at your neck, consuming you with such all-encompassing force, all that exists is him, this moment, the sound of his groans in your ear as his tongue glides across the column of your throat.

You tremble already, the lightning bouncing beneath your skin, the weight of him centring, driving himself into your plush wetness causing moans you barely recognise to be yours. It’s always like this when he’s been absent for months.

His hips arrow down purposefully, giving way to a slight rotation that has you seeing stars, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arch up against him, teeth nipping his thick shoulder as your nails graze his back, digging in and clawing when he begins to gain momentum.

You are molten beneath him, singed by his heat, his weight, him. All of him. He turns then, lying on his side and not losing the tangency between you, raising your leg to rest over his hip, his hand grasping your waist as he fucks you hard, yet at a pace that is nothing more than languid, for this moment at least.

Your hands bracket his face, your thumb stroking his scars as your stare into the amber orbs looking back at you with matched intensity, the exchange so fiercely erotic, the intimacy unmatched. No other man masters your undoing like your witcher.

“Fuck...fuck!” You breathe hard, your eyes closing tightly as tingles crackle through your groin, your embers stoked by him, cunt fluttering around the solid girth of him furiously, the heat burning ever brighter as you clutch at one another, losing any control as your bodies shunt together urgently.

Sweat beads you, salty beneath your tongue as you suck a purple welt onto his neck, your teeth prickling at him, your lips tingling as you kiss the stubble flecking his flesh, Eskel taking a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back with a yank, your throat bared to him, branding you with his teeth.

Pushing your palms against his chest, you manage to rock him over onto his back, straddling him, driving yourself down on his cock, your hot cunt arrowed deeply as you begin to ride him with force, wanting to break apart against him.

“Baby beast.” He whispers, winking at you as he laughs softly, amused at your forcefulness. You couldn’t have moved him if he didn’t want to be moved, of course.

His hands cup your breasts before slipping down your clammy body, one resting at your hip, the other moving to begin circling at your clit with his thumb, making you wail.

Your hands clutch his powerful forearms, tightening around him with each downward movement as he begins to fuck up into you with delicious rhythm, groaning almost animalistically as you spur his release. At the moment your waves crash at his shore, he shatters within you, streams of cum pulsing from his fat cock deep in your fluttering heat.

You both stare at each other with nothing less than the blinding love you share, panting hard, fighting for air, your jittery legs eventually giving way and leading to your collapse forward into his arms.

A blanket of contentment swathes you as he slides from within you, pulling the covers up over you both and holding you against his chest. Soft linen, bear pelts and him are all you need as you lie and stoke one another. You smile happily to have your bed warmed by his body once more, his fingers lifting your chin to plant a kiss upon your lips.

“Rest for now, love. For I’m nowhere near done yet,” he pledges, your mouth curling into a smile.

“Rest? Oh no. Not yet.” You purr, returning the kiss, your body glowing for him again already. The fire in the bedroom might be dying out, but the inferno he has lit within you has only just begun to burn.

#eskel #eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel smut #eskel fandom #eskel fanfiction #eskel fanfic #eskel fic #eskel imagine #eskel the witcher #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher smut #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #the witcher netflix #the witcher fandom

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alpaca-writes · 3 years

Text

Mystics, Chapter 32

Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, and everything seems to be going well. In fact, their life nearly becomes perfection; no more bullies, better grades, and a lot less stress. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems and that Lyrem has been hiding a very dark, and troubling secret…

Oooh I have to say I’m pretty proud of this chapter. I had to wrestle with a thousand and one plot-holes to make it work and it’s almost 2:30am but it was all worth it. Enjoy!

MasterList

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror & @livingforthewhump

CW: Gore, body horror, creepy whumper, swearing, there’s one bad pun this time. I lol’d about it for arguably too long.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: CURTAINS

Paimon whistled an old tune through his lips as he stepped across the hall. The knives had been placed away, and in speaking with Apollo, he had come to a startling revelation about himself and his goals.

It was Arthur’s turn to be strapped down to the table and this time, it wouldn’t be in a dining hall. Before long, Paimon had the room transformed into a stage, with dining chairs to line the one and only audience row. There was no need for a large gathering. Paimon had a very limited guest list. He had sent invitations with some poorly thought puns just for the fun of it, and had no intention of being stood up. This would be a performance of a lifetime and as director, Paimon wouldn’t dare to have a single aspect go awry.

He clucked his hooves down the darkest hallway by-passing Apollo’s chamber for the one with the two sorry humans. It seemed they were cut off from a sour discussion when they heard his steps through the corridor.

“-it really shouldn’t take too much effort”-

“How would you know?” Lyrem hissed.

Paimon smiled, glad that the two prisoners were making nice with each other.

“Big plans, my boys?” he sauntered through, making eye contact with Arthur, who rolled his eyes away from the creature to avoid looking at him fully. “No? Not a fishing trip or some good old mountaineering? I hear Colorado is gorgeous this time of year.”

Paimon tapped a chain with a fingernail to produce a clinking sound near Arthur’s wrist. The chains began lowering themselves down at the behest of an invisible, magical force. The moment he had slack, Arthur wrapped a loop of chain around Paimon’s neck and pulled it taut against his forearm. He had the upper hand, and there was nothing that Paimon could do to affect him.

“Agree to let Arch out of this deal right now, you”-

Paimon grinned and vanished into a plume of black smoke. Arthur stumbled from the release of pressure against the beast.

Paimon stalked up behind him, enjoying the little act of defiance, but he had to be stern. He wagged a finger at the human and tutted.

“You know better than that,” Paimon exclaimed. “I may not be able to hurt you with magic, but I can certainly still use it to get myself out of a sticky situation.”

He kept himself to a distance as not to get tied up twice, and glanced toward Lyrem, who seemed to be keeping to himself and was intentionally avoiding eye contact by turning his head away.

“So emotional… Don’t worry old friend, you’ll get your chance as well,” Paimon noted. He returned to Arthur with a renewed interest in his eyes. “Now, you listen. We have quite the performance ahead of us and you’re already busted up enough as it is. I don’t want to make it any worse. That’s for Arch to do.”

Arthur glanced from Paimon to his way out into the hall and then back again.

“Clear terms,” Arthur began, “Arch is given five minutes to carve out my heart, and if they fail, they are free from all bonds, any agreements, including any signed ones they had with you. And if you use even one ounce of your power to force them”-

Paimon nodded, “I don’t know why you need to specify it, Arty, truly. Arch will do splendidly and you’ll never see the light of day again. It’s a winning situation all around.”

“If you try to force them into doing anything at all,” Arthur insisted. “Then Arch is released, agreed?”

Paimon scoffed, and nodded, “Agreed! For goodness sakes, were you a lawyer in a past life? Clearly not, I think. The lawyers I know wouldn’t come to an agreement like this unless it was in writing- they’d also think of themselves first. Do you have any clue what will happen to you, Arty? What will become of you if Arch is released?”

As Paimon rambled, he tapped the shackles again, and this time with severe discipline, Arthur refrained from trying to strike at Paimon a second time. His shackles were joined now; morphed from a joint in the wall to linking together from his wrists and his ankles with hardly a sound to it.

“I don’t care what happens to me,” Arthur declared, “as long as Arch is free from you.”

“Such a sweet thing, caring about your Arch so much. I doubt that feeling will last for very much longer.” Paimon ushered Arthur forward. He was unable to teleport him anyway. The Abysmal Flame prevented Arthur from being controlled by any force placed upon him that was not physical in nature. “Move along now, we don’t have all day. Our guests will be arriving shortly.”

With a final glance to Lyrem from across the room, Arthur followed Paimon out the door and through the halls.

The hall lit itself as Paimon took his hoof-steps through, avoiding the empty souls lurking between shadowed pillars. Arthur moved slowly, feeling tired and sick from his lacking energy.

“What guests?” Arthur inquired.

“Did I not tell you earlier that it was a performance? I invited several guests to have front row seats… my uncle Hades, my half-sister, and oh, of course, your dear sister Charlotte as well.”

Arthur’s blood ran frigid. The tense, shaky breath that followed made Paimon smirk with delight.

“Ah yes, I’ll be sure she is there to watch her child to carve out the heart of her dear little brother. I couldn’t pass up that opportunity.”

“But you’re also releasing Hades? And Persephone?” Arthur asked with a puzzled look as they ascended the stairs.

“You mistake me for a fool?” Paimon challenged. “They will be bound to obeying me and my laws the moment they enter through the door I’ve created for them. Don’t think they’ll be there to do anything more than watch you suffer.”

Paimon led Arthur up to a small door that opened to the dining hall- now a stage with some seating and a table for Arthur to lie on.

Arthur stood at the head of the table as Paimon motioned for him to climb up. Shaking his head regretfully, he pulled his hand from his pocket, hoisted himself up and spun onto its surface. His chains were tapped again, and obeyed Paimon perfectly. They fastened themselves into the table until Arthur’s arms were taut to his side and his hands had just a little wiggle room near his hips.

Arthur stared up at the satyr, feeling more vulnerable than he ever did before, and watched Paimon lean over eagerly. His pointed beard draped across Arthur’s shoulder and touched the tabletop.

“This is a good look for you,” he mentioned with a deadly grin.

Feeling humble, Arthur looked away, seeing the chairs that would soon be filled with spectators; one of which would be his sister. Suddenly, he wasn’t so concerned for himself anymore.

“Don’t make Charlotte watch.”

“Hmm?”

Arthur blinked slowly, knowing that Paimon had heard him clear as day and yet pretended not to. This was all part of the fun. There was no point in repeating himself.

From the back wall, behind the chairs, a bright light glowed where three outlines stood, waiting to make their entrance.

“Ah, here they come.” Paimon smiled and offered Arthur a wink. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

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

Earlier,

“What are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to create another portal.”

Lyrem sighed. Arthur’s efforts were admirable at least.

“The chains will prevent you from crossing through,” he said. “Besides, I’ve already explained to you once that the only way out of this is to go through with the deal you made”-

“I’m not trying to make a portal for me,” Arthur spoke exasperated. “I’m trying to create one for you. I know how these things go down, alright? You get into a deal with someone and then they change the rules, they raise the price because they know what you need from them. Once Arch is out of their deal, Paimon will use them against me. Arch might end up back at square one if we don’t have a significant amount of leverage.”

“Life as a junkie has certainly prepared you for this moment, hasn’t it?”

Arthur stared at the old man incredulously at the sudden unloading of baggage, and shook his head.

“My apologies” Lyrem corrected himself and cleared his throat. “You hope to release me, which won’t work, and then expect me to… do what?”

“Release Apollo. Find your friend Hekate… I assume you are resourceful enough to figure something out so that we can finally end this nightmare. It really shouldn’t take too much effort.”

“How would you know?” Lyrem hissed.

Falling to a sudden silence, Lyrem made a quick glance to Arthur as Paimon entered. Paimon addressed Arthur first.

Arthur was in no condition to create portals. Lyrem could see that he was in pain enough already as it was, but even so, Arthur’s eyes locked with his for the briefest of seconds when the chains became loose. Arthur had directed his eyes to Lyrem and then nodded toward his left hand.

The smallest of voids had formed behind his hand and into the metal piece that held his wrist up. Before Paimon could pay any significant attention to Lyrem, Arthur had wrapped a chain around his neck and started to threaten him.

Perhaps Lyrem had misjudged Arthur’s capacity to be clever, but it was still only one small portal; a gap in space and time where his wrist could pass through. It wasn’t quite enough to set Lyrem free; not yet, anyhow. Lyrem took the distraction as an opportunity to recite a mantra respecting the sacred geometry; one that would hopefully allow him to multiply one portal into four.

“Ek mein do, do mein chaar,” he whispered. The power flowed through him like water; out of earshot from Paimon, who hadn’t even realized that Lyrem was reciting ancient magic that no one had any claim over.

“So emotional… Don’t worry old friend, you’ll get your chance as well.”

Lyrem ignored Paimon’s words, still concentrating on himself instead. Soon, the other two exited the room, and Lyrem recited his words one final time before falling completely forward onto his hands and knees.

“Even as a dead man, I still feel pain,” he muttered bitterly. “How is that fair?”

He grunted, lifting himself to his feet and turned around, noticing the shackles were still intact and the voids still existing on their metal cuffs. In a spark of light, the four voids collapsed into themselves and left nothing behind.

“Must learn how to do that one day…” Remembering the task at hand, he rubbed his hands together and made his way through to the hall. “Now, to find our… leverage.”

Paimon and Arthur were gone from the hall, and it was left in darkness. The decrepit beings that roamed the halls there ignored him as he followed the corridor down to where he knew Apollo would be kept as a prisoner. The light still poured from beneath, leaking out into the hall. Lyrem took a quick glance from side to side and opened the door.

Lyrem forced himself forward towards the Sun God with his eyes squinting through the brightness. The light dimmed as the god awoke, exhausted from his half-brother’s brief visit. Lyrem started on one of the shackles holding Apollo in place around a wrist but realized soon that they were clearly the same as the ones he had only just escaped from, one room over and wouldn’t be able to get through them without help.

“Shit,” Lyrem muttered. Apollo did not look surprised or like he cared.

“Controlled by Pan, for Pan, I’m afraid,” he managed. “Did you, a silly little mortal, really believe that you could release me? There was a good reason why I sent that call through to you. I wanted to reach Persephone, or Hades.

You are useless.”

Lyrem backed off from Apollo, put on edge from the insulting remark.

“I’ll have you know I contained a great amount of magical prowess before I met your brother! Now, help me find a way to release you before”-

Apollo chuckled tiredly.

“What? What is so funny?”

“You,” Apollo answered. “You are a fool! The reason I am here at all is because Pan convinced you to tear out your father’s heart. I couldn’t give him what he wanted when I lost. I bet on the wrong horse’s conscience, didn’t I? And now, you are here, trying to right all the wrong you’ve done at the behest of Pan and oh… it just makes me laugh. It’s practically poetry.”

“Well, then,” Lyrem didn’t have time to explain himself, nor should he have to at all. His life was just laid out before him once again as a used chew toy on the ground. Now Apollo was the one judging him for his decisions. Lyrem looked to Apollo’s chest that was opened and bore a golden heart, still pumping. It was the source of the light. Paimon had left the clamp on to hold the gaping wound open. Lyrem touched the metal handle, and jolted back as it was very hot- as though it had been sitting in the heat of a flame. He quickly soothed his hand, weaved a protection spell through his fingers and promptly tried a second time. He gripped it, loosened the bar, and pulled.

Apollo screamed. The release of his wound was more painful than either of them had expected it to be. Lyrem tossed the metal bar to the ground and raised a brow. The light faded more and more as the wound healed over in record time.

“How was that?” Lyrem sniffed, wiping the golden blood off of his hands and onto his pant leg. “Was that a good enough deed for you? Or should I have torn your heart out for fun? Believe it or not, I am capable of making rational decisions- even those where my dear dad was involved. If you had known him, you’d have ripped him apart too.”

Apollo had no choice but to listen to Lyrem as his body recovered quite painfully.

“Maria once told me that I was too passionate- too emotional for her. I tried to rectify that, in order to please her, to please Pan, and everyone else I had come across in life thinking that I was always doing something wrong. But, I see now, emotional is part of who I am. Doing things out of emotion does not make me any less rational- on the contrary I believe it has made me much more productive.” Lyrem stopped speaking as Apollo met his eyes. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

The god exhaled, thankful that his chest had closed up completely. The light in the room had gone out, leaving the ambient glow of the bulbs along the wall. Lyrem stood along the ledge, searching for any portion of chain that might be weak enough to sever. There wasn’t. If Lyrem remembered correctly, Paimon had once boasted about acquiring them from Ares, the God of War and he wasn’t anything, if not particular about securing prisoners. But Ares hadn’t met Lyrem Nomadus, and Lyrem Nomadus wasn’t planning to leave Apollo chained up in the basement of the Underworld without trying a few tricks of his own. Unbound by the chains and without Paimon around to interfere, Lyrem was much handier than any god would expect. The chains began to lower, releasing slack to Apollo until his bare feet rested on the floor.

“How are you doing that?” Apollo asked. He turned his head. Lyrem hadn’t done visibly, anything to warrant the lowering chains. Their lengths clinked to the floor.

“A calming chant, a song of innocence- although…”

“What?” Apollo asked, impatient in Lyrem’s pause. The cuffs hadn’t released.

“To release you, would mean you would have to give Paimon what he was owed,” Lyrem said. “What do you owe to him?”

Apollo grunted, “he doesn’t deserve what I owe him. Not after everything he has done to our family and to me.”

Lyrem raised a brow in mild confusion, “then why stick by his side? Why play his games at all?”

“Because I care about him,” he growled back. “Like an idiot. I humored him because I felt like I had to- like I could make him better if I gave him my attention. He’s my family, and one of my closest kin. And… He’s a lost cause.”

Out of habit, Lyrem reached for his stopwatch, which had been destroyed long ago, just to see how much time had passed them by. Such an indication only told him that they would be running out of time soon enough.

Arch would be carving into Arthur at any moment now.

“What did Paimon want?”

“He wanted a Sun for his realm, the Labyrinth.”

“Give it to him.” Lyrem ordered. “And when he goes back, you will lock him in. Can you manage that?”

“Lock my brother in his own realm?” Apollo looked skeptical, but nodded. “I’ll do what I can. But truthfully, there is no guarantee”-

“And we’ll have to remove one of the Labyrinth’s inhabitants first. A little girl. Maybe a year old,” Lyrem added.

“There is a child in the Labyrinth? Why?” Concerned, Apollo watched Lyrem gulp slightly.

“I’d rather not say.” Lyrem gestured for Apollo to open a door to the Labyrinth. “But you could take her out of there, couldn’t you? And she would be… fine?”

“I believe so,” Apollo pushed his hands together in concentration, and then pulled them apart until a void grew in front of them. “Once the Sun is delivered there, I should be able to remove her quite easily.”

“Good, good…” Lyrem muttered. “Well? What are you waiting for? Give him the Su”-

They were no longer in the basement area. Instead, Lyrem was seated in a chair from the dining hall and staring out at a familiar set of faces. One was on the table, trying to speak to the shorter one standing over them with a jeweled blade; Arthur was pleading with them to listen- to hear them. But Arch was in the middle of a sweet guitar lick and couldn’t hear anything happening, even if it was only a foot or two away. They were waiting to the next song before they started their five-minute carving challenge, just as Paimon asked them to. Charlotte sat beside him on one side and beyond her, Persephone and Hades. All watched on, not paying mind to Lyrem and Apollo’s sudden arrival. Paimon found his own seat between Lyrem and Apollo and sat himself down.

He chuckled looking from one disappointed face to the other and handed each of them a pamphlet. Grinning, he patted both of them on the shoulder.

“Glad you both could make opening night.”

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

The Christmas Elf (Pt.5/5)

The last part! Geralt arrives in the North Pole. :D Also on AO3!

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Geralt was not happy.

This was mostly due to the fact that Jaskier had forced him into the red scaly doublet and trousers that he’d been wearing the day before. To both their astonishment, the clothes fit Geralt almost perfectly. It was a little tight across the shoulders but that was fine. Geralt would just pull a Jaskier and not do the garment up properly. Jaskier was back in his vibrant green and red ensemble from his home land. He’d tried to convince Geralt to wear a matching outfit, as apparently all the Christmas elves did, but Geralt had refused. They compromised on the duller red doublet from the dragon hunt.

Still Geralt really didn’t enjoy wearing the more flamboyant outfits of his husband. He much preferred it when Jaskier decided to wear his shirts instead. They hung slightly looser on the elf’s form and the tease of dark chest hair peeking out from under the collar never failed to send a rush of warm arousal through Geralt’s body.

“And one last touch!” Jaskier’s laugh chimed like the bells he wore. The elf flicked his wrist and a flurry of snow whipped up in his palm, as it settled a small golden bell appeared on Jaskier’s palm.

“No.” Geralt grunted.

“But dearest! It matches your eyes!” Jaskier pouted.

Geralt glared back at him for less than two seconds before sighing. “Fine.”

Jaskier grinned. “Oh ho ho! I knew you wouldn’t say no, now come here.” Geralt stepped forward, dragging his feet slightly just to make a point. “Oh stop all your grumbling. You look incredibly handsome in my clothes, dearest of hearts.”

Geralt rolled his eyes as Jaskier gently ties the bell around one of his wrists and then brought Geralt’s hand up to his lips. Geralt almost smiled as Jaskier placed a kiss on the palm of his hand.

Almost.

He was still pissed off.

He missed his armour.

“There.” Jaskier beamed up at him and he felt his sour expression soften under his lover’s gaze. “Beautiful.”

“Jask.” He groaned as he felt the heat of embarrassment on his cheeks.

Jaskier bopped him on the nose. “Beautiful, lovely and gorgeous.” Jaskier insisted and cupped his cheek, pulling him into a tender kiss. “Are you ready?”

Geralt frowned as he glanced over a Pegasus. “Are you sure he can carry both of us?”

Jaskier scoffed with a wave of his hand. “He’s a magic reindeer, Geralt. Have a little faith.”

Geralt hummed, not convinced. Pegasus was at least fully grown these days. When Jaskier had first arrived on the reindeer back when they’d first met, he’d been barely old enough for Jaskier to ride. Even with Jaskier’s Spirit they would have to break frequently or go slowly as Jaskier walked instead of rode.

These days Pegasus was a fine mount, for a reindeer. He was no Roach and the antlers occasionally got in the way of Jaskier seeing properly but Geralt had grown rather fond of the beast.

“You’re up front?” Geralt asked as they both approached the reindeer.

Jaskier shrugged. “There’s not much steering involved. He knows where he’s going better than I do. Plus I rather like the view from the back.” He winked and pinched Geralt’s arse.

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re up front.” He repeated.

“Oi! What? No!” Jaskier pouted. “Geralt!”

Geralt smirked. “I rather like the view from the back.”

Jaskier flushed brighter than his hat, despite the fact they’d been together for over two decades. It was for this exact reason that Geralt didn’t flirt back very often. He enjoyed seeing Jaskier get flustered for a change and he didn’t want the effect to get old.

Jaskier let out a string of noises and fumbled to get up on his reindeer. Geralt chuckled but pulled himself up behind the bard, placing a kiss on the back of his neck as they both settled. Jaskier leaned back against him with a contented sigh.

“Hold on tight, my love.” He sang and then pulled the small snow globe from his pocket. There was a sudden chill in the air as Jaskier pulled the Spirit from the glow and then showered glitter over Pegasus’s antlers. “Come on, Pegasus.” He cooed at the reindeer.

And then they were flying.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist and buried his face against the elf’s back. “Fuck. This is worse than portals.” He groaned.

“Pfft.” Jaskier snorted. “You are such a bore sometimes, love.” Geralt jabbed Jaskier between the ribs and then ran his hand gently over the same spot. “Oi!” Jaskier squeaked.

Geralt just grunted, feeling a little too nauseous to answer.

Jaskier sighed and began to sing one of his favourite Christmas carols to fill the silence as the stars began to fly in the sky above them. The temperature dropped dramatically as they flew and Geralt’s medallion was practically yanking off its chain by the time Pegasus’s hooves hit the floor.

Geralt wrapped his arms around his chest as he jumped to the floor. Snow crunched underfoot and there seemed to be a constant gentle flurry of snowflakes falling from the sky.

“Shit. It’s fucking freezing!” He grumbled. “Should have brought my cloak.”

Jaskier tilted his head and glanced around them before dismounting. He scratched Pegasus behind the ears absentmindedly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes. It is.” Geralt glowered at him. “Fucking elves.”

Jaskier punched him in the arm and muttered something. “Melitele’s tits, you are grumpy today. This is my home, Geralt!”

Geralt grunted. “Sorry.”

“I know.” Jaskier kissed his cheek and ran a finger through his hair, twirling one of the loose strands. “Now let’s see what I can do about the cold. Bear with me though, making clothes was never my talent.”

Geralt frowned as Jaskier closed his eyes and stuck his tongue between his lips. Jaskier hummed as he wove magic around Geralt. Geralt smiled fondly at the bard. He had a soft spot in his heart for Jaskier’s concentrating face. It was adorable the way his tongue peeked between Jaskier’s soft pink lips, not that Geralt would ever admit to finding it adorable… cute maybe at a push after a few pints of ale. Geralt shivered slightly as glitter rained over his head and he suddenly found a long heavy cloak round his shoulders…in buttercup yellow.

He tied the cloak swiftly and pulled up the hood before turning to fix his husband with an exasperated look. Jaskier smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I got distracted by your eyes.”

Geralt huffed but pulled the elf into a slow kiss. When they pulled apart Jaskier snuggled up against his chest and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, inside the cloak. “You ok?”

Jaskier nodded. “I just want them to like you.”

Geralt smiled though he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. They wouldn’t like him. Not many people did. Jaskier was one of the few exceptions that actually stuck around. “Hmm.”

“Well.” Jaskier huffed and put one hand on his hip as he pulled away. “It doesn’t matter. I love you. That’s what counts.”

Geralt nodded and kissed Jaskier’s forehead. “Hmm.” He agreed.

“Jask!” A perky voice called and there was a rush of footsteps across the snow.

“Daisy!” Jaskier grinned and ran to hug the other elf. “Daisy, Geralt, my husband, Geralt, meet Daisy!”

Daisy was a handsome elf with mint green eyes that glowed just like Jaskier’s. They had long ginger hair with curls to rival Lambert’s. Like the elves of the Continent they had a lean willowy figure and angular elven bone structure. The points of their ears were decorated in elegant gold spirals.

“Good to meet you.” Geralt nodded at the newcomer with narrow eyes. Jaskier had never mentioned having any friends amongst his own kind before. “You didn’t come to our wedding.”

The elf blushed and stared down at their feet. “Poinsettia wouldn’t let any of us leave.”

Jaskier’s jaw tensed and he looked away. “Elves don’t fall in love, no need to have a wedding.” He muttered.

“I tried to get away but Poinsettia locked up the globe. We can’t travel between realms without it.” For a moment, Daisy looked like they were about to cry but they plastered a happy smile on their face. “But it was our most productive Christmas ever, at the time. We’ve outdone ourselves every year since. We have Jaskier to thank for that. You must be so proud of him!”

The elf bounded over to him and flung their arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt felt his eyes go wide and he met Jaskier’s gaze with an alarmed expression. Jaskier tilted his head a smiled, but there was still a sadness in his eyes.

Geralt was going to fucking murder this Poinsettia elf.

“I am proud,” He answered, not breaking eye contact with his husband. “immensely proud.”

Jaskier’s face softened. “Geralt.” He breathed, his eyes twinkling like the sunlight hitting the snow around them.

“He deserved to have his family there.” Geralt sighed and extracted himself from Daisy’s arms.

They pouted in a very Jaskier fashion. “I know. Sweet baby Jesus we all knew, but Poinsettia has lost her way. She’s so focused on making every Christmas better than the last, to keep building up Spirit from Earth, instead of the Continent, that I think she’s forgotten what it means to be happy.”

Jaskier put both hands on his hips. “Jealousy is not a good look on a Christmas elf.” He muttered.

“There’s been rumours!” Daisy hissed with a scandalised giggle. “That the boss asked her to resign! She said no of course but it’s only a matter of time.”

Jaskier snorted. “She does need a holiday.” He mused. Geralt looked between the two elves suddenly feeling very much like the outsider that he was. Jaskier glanced up at him and glided over to link his arm with Geralt’s. “So tell me, darling Daisy. What have I missed this time?”

____________________________

Jaskier flitted about around all the igloos and gingerbread houses greeting his oldest friends. He pretended not to notice the way his fellow elves shrunk away from Geralt, and if he was honest, him. It had always been like this at the North Pole. The other elves thought it was a bit odd, and he was really. He had always been more in tune with his own feelings and wasn’t afraid to act on them.

Most elves were told they were happy and so… they were happy, fake smiles hid tired faces. Elves like Poinsettia were the ones where the cracks were beginning to show. He supposed being in charge for a few centuries wore one down rather quickly. He never wanted to be in charge. There was far too much red tape involved. He much preferred travelling the Continent with his husband, the grumpy bastard who he loved so very much. Jaskier had his own special job in collecting Christmas Spirit and that was how he liked it, thank you very much!

Also he did miss the banter of the workshops, back when he used to make instruments for days on end. There was always a lot of laughter in his team. The musical types were the most lighthearted of the bunch. After he’d been promoted to head composer he’d missed out on a lot of what had previously made the North Pole so special.

He chuckled to himself, that was what had led him to steal Santa’s snow globe in the first place, many moons ago.

The decision that had ultimately made him an outcast from his own kind but set him on the path to meeting the love of his life.

“And this!” He threw a sparkly rainbow as he gestured widely to the ginger bread house in front of them. Geralt rolled his eyes at Jaskier’s dramatics but he was smiling beneath it all. “This, my dear heart, is Santa’s Grotto!”

“The famous Santa.” Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Is everything made out of food?”

Jaskier laughed and took Geralt’s hand to pull him down the path lined with candy canes. “Stop complaining!”

“Just seems like a waste.” Geralt muttered but he was smiling and he allowed himself to be dragged. “Does this mean you’ll finally ask Santa about Rinde?”

Jaskier scowled up at Geralt. “No.”

“Jask…”

“No!” Jaskier poked Geralt in the chest with his free hand as they stopped abruptly on the path. “I don’t want to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because only Santa has that ability.” Jaskier sighed.

“Which means?” Geralt asked with a tilt of his head.

“There’s rumours.” Jaskier muttered. “A prophecy of sorts. That one day Santa will step down. That someone else will take his place.”

“And that’s you?” Geralt furrowed his brow and squeezed Jaskier’s hand.

Jaskier gave his husband a fond smile and squeezed back. He tossed his fringe from his eyes. He shrugged. “No?”

“Hmm.” Geralt frowned.

“I hope not. I don’t want it.”

“Jaskier, I hope you’re not planning on staying out there forever.”

Jaskier jumped with a jingle of bells and spun round to see Santa watching them with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Ahh. Santa.” Jaskier gave a little bow with a wide wave of his arms. “Good to see you!”

“And you must be Geralt.” Santa laughed his jolly laugh and rubbed his belly.

Geralt grunted and nodded. “You’re smaller than I expected.”

Jaskier gasped and hid behind his hands. “Geralt!”

But Santa just laughed. “It’s alright, little one.” Jaskier glared at Geralt, his cheeks were on fire. “Come in, Jaskier. We have much to discuss. I know you have been avoiding me.”

“I have done no such…” Jaskier trailed off at the look Santa gave him.

“You’re worried that you can slow time.” Santa chuckled. “The Great Prophecy.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he watched Santa go back inside the Grotto. Geralt’s arms wrapped around his waist. “I won’t let him take you.” His witcher murmured in his ear and placed a kiss to his temple. “Come on.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier hummed and chewed on his bottom lip. “Stay with me.” He mumbled as he leaned into Geralt’s side.

“Always.” Geralt reassured him.

“Jaskier, stop your dawdling.” Santa called and Geralt gave him a quick push.

He stumbled forwards. “Oi!” He grumbled and dusted off his clothes. Glitter fell from the tips of his fingers as his nerves got the better of him and he lost control of his Spirit.

“You are wondering why you are different?” Santa asked with a broad smile, offering him a plateful of chocolate chip cookies.

Jaskier snatched one and began to nibble it.

The Grotto was as warm as he remembered with the spicy scent of citrus and cinnamon wafting through the air. The cookies were probably made by Mrs Claus, only her baking was as delicious as the cookies he currently had the pleasure of eating. The chocolate chips were melted and gooey and the biscuit was buttery and sweet, with just a tinge of salty goodness. Gods it was a piece of heaven!

”Obviously.” He grumbled. “I thought I was just… odd, but…”

“You were designed differently from the others.” Santa admitted as he pulled off his hat.

Jaskier’s heart was racing in his chest and he gripped tightly onto Geralt’s arm. Around him snow began to crystallise in the air and he felt the tips of his hair go cold as they were covered in frost.

“Easy, Jask.” Geralt murmured. “I’ve got you, love.”

Jaskier looked up at his husband, startled by the pet name. “Dear heart.” He breathed in awe. Geralt’s lips twitched in that adorable half smile that never failed to make Jaskier’s heart turn to goo. Santa cleared his throat and they both turned to face him. Jaskier’s face was lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. “Sorry.” He mumbled.

“You are not my replacement, young elf.” Santa reassured him. “I just knew that one day it would take someone special to keep the belief in magic alive. You, Jaskier, were created from my own magic rather than Spirit that created the others.”

Jaskier gaped. “I’m sorry, what now?”

Geralt hummed. “So, you’re his father?”

Jaskier jabbed his husband in the rips. “Geralt!”

Santa chortled. “You could say that. It would be the closest thing any elf has to a father.”

“Santa!” Jaskier whined. “Oh gods, what is happening?” He moaned and pressed his head against Geralt’s chest.

Geralt laughed and ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair, knocking his hat to the floor.

“Do we have to stay here?” Geralt asked, ever the business man whilst Jaskier was in the middle of a fucking identity crisis.

“Of course not.” Santa laughed. “But I would appreciate a visit at least once a decade.”

“But my snow globe.” Jaskier protested.

“Your work is done, Jaskier.” Santa said softly. “Earth’s Spirit is glowing brighter than ever thanks to the magic you were able to harness from the Continent. Go. Be with your witcher.”

Jaskier stared up at Geralt in wonder. “I can stay with Geralt?”

“You don’t think old Santa Claus would stand in the way of love, do you?” Santa raised an eyebrow at him. “It is a shame. You would have been a brilliant head elf.”

Jaskier groaned. “Oh sweet Melitele no.” Then the idea hit him. “What about Daisy? They would be excellent, poor Poinsettia could use a break.”

“Poinsettia is stepping down to go back to her old job and looking after the Reindeer. She loves those daft bastards more than anything. She’s been apart from them for far too long.” Santa agreed. “I’ll keep Daisy in mind, son.” Jaskier squeak at the word and gripped onto Geralt’s arm tighter. “Now off with you.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt. “Husband, would you mind terribly if there was a change of plans this winter?” He grinned.

“Do I get to change out of this ridiculously outfit?” Geralt smirked.

Jaskier swatted his arm. “Well you most certainly don’t now! Rude!”

Geralt chuckled. “Kaer Morhen?”

Jaskier nodded and leaned in to brush his nose against Geralt’s. “Kaer Morhen.” He agreed and kissed Geralt with all the love in his heart. “For now and forever.”

#the witcher #the christmas elf #Jaskier #Geralt #geraskier #elf jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing

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haxorus-imp · 3 years

Text

Planet of the Megafaunas - Part 2 - Among Us & Reader fic

-Summary- Green sees just how big the natives are and winds up getting into a lot of trouble...

-Chapter 2: Troublesome Curiosity-

Green tapped his foot impatiently while waiting for Red to arrive. Looking at the Skeld with a grimace while his eyes scanned the surrounding vegetation with barely contained wonder and great interest. Internally, he couldn’t help but wonder. Just what lied out there in the deep dark woods? What kind of creatures would he see that populated these large and daunting forests? What lies just out of sight and was there more to this world than he could imagine? Maybe there would be something out there that would look like a creature in a mythology book...maybe a beast with a feathery head, a furry body, and a lizard tail? Would a fully natural chimera even be possible? Now that would be an interesting find to document in his field journal!

Green couldn’t help but chuckle at the thoughts of meeting such creatures and trying to tell his own home planet about them. Finally, the sound of the Skeld door opening and a pair of footsteps shook Green out of his daydreams. He focuses his gaze back on the Skeld. Red emerged from the entrance of the ship, slipping on his backpack while he was walking out to meet his friend. Flashing Green a cheeky grin from behind his helmet’s visor. Green gave him an equally snarky smile. “Finally finished putting your makeup on?” Green teases, crossing his arms and arching his brow at the other from underneath his own helmet. Red just stretches dramatically and yawns, faking boredom. “Me? In makeup? Ya gotta be kiddn’ me, mate. I don’t need that stuff! I’m gorgeous just tha way I am, see?” Red punctuated his claim by giving Green a smug grin and two finger-guns. Green lets out a chorus of snickers while he leads the way to the berry bush from earlier. “Sure, sure. Just follow me, Red!” Green says as he quickened his pace through the thicket. Red sputters as he hurried to follow after his green-colored companion. Both of them scuttled off into the undergrowth that surrounded the secluded large oak tree that the Skeld crashed into. Green eagerly led the way for his red-dressed friend. Green happily bounds through the familiar roots and leaves of the forest floor. Followed closely by his crewmate, who jumped and leaped around the large roots and ducked under some thick foliage. Green also made sure to memorize where they were running through. Just to keep in mind where the Skeld was, before continuing. The sunlight filtered through the leaves and the earlier mist that hung in the air was replaced by bright sunbeams. Signifying that the sun was now high in the sky while the two crewmates darted through the brush.

It was also a touch warmer, but the shade in the grove allowed for some respite from the present midday heat. Finally, while a touch out of breath, Green came to a stop at the same lightened small clearing he recognized from before. Just ahead, was the same berry bush, now illuminated by the sunrays that penetrated the tree canopy. Showing the bright fruit in all of its glory. Red managed to catch up and look around at the small clearing as well. “There! You see them? Those are the same berries I found earlier!” Green proudly presents, pointing at the distant fruit-bearing shrub. “Huh...I expected it to be bigger than that.” Red retorts, snickering a bit as Green punches his shoulder lightly. “Come on, ya jerk.” Green playfully chides as he climbs down the large roots, followed quickly by Red. The two bound through the lengthy grass that made up the clearing before finally reaching the base of the coveted plant. “Well, now that we’re actually near the plant, it is a pretty good size!” Red compliments as he plucks a berry from a low hanging stem. Green nods in assurance before starting to pluck some himself. “Lets get as much as we can carry. We need a decent ration pile if we’re going to survive for a long time!” Green directed, to which Red obediently nods in response. Both of them then sling their backpacks around and begin to stuff them with the treats. The two crewmates pluck the large berries, placing as many as they could in their backpacks. Carefully stuffing them to the brim with about 5 berries each. Which would be enough for one meal and some drinks. However...

While plucking the berries from the bush. Green could swear he was feeling some...tremors...coming from somewhere nearby. He pauses for a moment, lessening the rustling sounds that cluttered his hearing as he focuses on the feeling in his feet. Another rumble rocks through the bottom of his feet...then another.. .and another. He pauses in his foraging to look out at the treeline. His eyes wide and alert while they carefully scanned the woodlands for anything unusual. Even watching the grass blow in the wind, gaze cautious and wary. Red, blissfully unaware of Green’s change in demeanor, keeps picking berries next to him. Even taking his time to be choosy over what he was picking.

Green, however, keeps his gaze on the edge of the forest that lines the small clearing. A feeling of worry and paranoia takes over as his eyes flick from left to right. Still watching… Still waiting… Finally, Red takes notice of his friend’s stiffness and speaks up. “Green? Ya alright, mate?” Red wonders, confused. Green doesn’t reply. He sees something unbelievably large moving in the trees. “Green??” Red asked again worriedly, looking at their surroundings in anticipation. Green only snapped out of his fearful trance when the large creature began to enter the clearing that they were in. He quickly turns towards his crewmate. “Shhh!! Get down!!” Green whispers frantically, finally finding the ability to speak as he grabs Red and pulls him underneath the berry bush. Red is surprised by Green’s sudden strange behavior as they huddle up under the bush together. Green watching the field. Finally, Red takes notice of the large creature that entered the field and he gasps and carefully looks out through the branches of the bush to get a better glance at it. “Crikey...what is that?! ” Red quietly mutters to his comrade. Green could only hum in thought while he observed the creature. The beast that came into the clearing was a large quadruped. It seemed to have thin long legs, very short brownish fur, a white underbelly, hooves on the bottom of their legs, a long snouty face, blacked out eyes, and freakishly large spikes coming out of it’s head. The creature seemed to alternate between turning its head and twitching its ear-like appendages. Then, it lowered its head to the ground. Green, suddenly realizing what he was seeing, he carefully reached over to his backpack's small pocket and fished out his personal notebook. Red gave him an incredulous look while he quickly fished out a pencil as well. “What are ya doing, ya egghead??!” Red softly chides, keeping his gaze on the foriegn fauna that stood a few yards away.

“Documenting!” Green replies in kind, his pencil sketching on a blank page in his notebook before continuing. “Judging by the hooves, facial structure, and currently observed diet, this creature seems to be a herbivore! That means that it only eats plants. How it behaves is probably another story. As those spikes on its head seem to be of a rather...lethal variety. Maybe it’s for defense and display? I will theorize that it's a defense to protect it from…” Realization seemed to hit both Red and Green, as they both perform a nervous gulp in unison. “Larger predators…” Red quietly finished the sentence. In which Green wordlessly nods in response. “Yeah...and just judging from the size of the prey item...the beasts that can kill a creature of THAT size…” Green squeaks out. “Must be as big as the Skeld. Blimey...” Red continues. Barely suppressing a shudder at the thought. They could only sit there helplessly and observe the beast. They both sit in uncomfortable silence for what feels like hours.

However, the creature they were watching suddenly becomes spooked by something off in the treeline and it darts off back into the forest.

Shortly after it vanished from sight, the two crewmates could finally let out the breath they were holding in. Green and Red slowly inch out from their hiding place and snatch up their backpacks from the ground. “Mate, let's hurry and get tha supplies back to the Skeld before anything else shows up!” Red hurriedly ushers while Green nods in understanding. “I know, I know!” Green agrees, slipping on his pack as Red did the same. Shortly after that they began to travel back to the Skeld. Slipping through the thickets and shrubs once more to make it back to the ship. While Red led the way back, Green’s mind allowed itself to wonder. He finally got to see a creature that dwelled on this planet...and it was terrifyingly...interesting. Thankfully, what they ran into seemed to be a herbivore. As it didn’t seem interested in hunting and more interested in grazing the meadow grass. But, it also solidified his earlier fear. If prey was that large in this environment...then that meant massive predators were a given. Which just made foraging much more riskier. Regardless...it was a risk the crew would have to take. They needed to collect as many berries as they could for the crew to have a decent set of rations.

This was survival...and all the crew had on them was luck. Green just hoped that their luck would continue to last long enough for them to find some way to repair the Skeld and escape with everyone alive and well. The two crewmates would have to make multiple runs back to that bush...and now both Red and Green were well aware of the risks.

The journey back to the crashed ship was wordless and tense. -- Most of the day carried on in a similar fashion to that. Both Red and Green would go back and forth, gathering up more and more food for the crewmates. Making sure to pick only the good quality berries from the bush. While also staying on the alert for any possible danger. Until finally, they began to make their last run and picked nearly all of the berries from the bush. Draining the source of food of its resources and adding it to their decent stockpile back on the ship. The sun was beginning its arc that led back toward the horizon by the time the two crewmates had finished foraging. Painting the surrounding forest a brilliant orange as the last of the sunlight filtered in through the tree trunks. Once they returned and reported that the food source had run out, the Captain told the crew to primarily stick together for the remainder of the day. Taking quick notice of the setting sun, Green understood his request. While he had a major itch to go out and explore the unknown, he also wanted to stay as safe as possible. Getting lost in the woods at nightfall was not a situation he wanted to get stuck with.

Plus, he was rather tired from foraging all day. So, instead of wandering off or scouting out more locations of interest for the day, he sat just outside the Skeld’s entrance. Writing down his findings in his field journal and adding the drawings of the creatures he saw earlier. He even wrote down a unique chapter for what he was discovering. He decided to call it the ‘Local Megafauna’ section. Nothing too grand. It was just a base for his documentary.

He continued with working on his notes and pictures. As of this point in time, He was just merely passing the time while waiting for crewmates to get ready for dinner. While he waited, he sketched some foliage and flowers as well. There were even some creatures he could see just by sitting outside the marooned ship!

There was a little furry creature that he observed scurrying through the trees. Jumping from branch to branch with impressive agility and speed. It was furry, jittery, energetic, had big shiny black eyes, and a big fluffy tail. In a strange way, Green found it to be cute. It wasn’t even that big either, a much more of a smaller scaled species. There was even another creature that seemed similar to that furry foliage-climbing mammal, except this one lived in the ground! How he noticed it was the soft shifting of the dirt nearby.

At first, he was expecting a terrifying worm-like creature to spring up from the depths and bite him. However, what actually popped out of the ground was far from his imagination.

Instead, a small furry creature with a little snout popped its head out of the ground. It seemed similar to the one jumping through the trees, except there were notable differences.

Two tiny beady little eyes, little paddle claws, and it was very pudgy. Green observed it with interest as the creature didn’t fully surface and seemed to be more interested in digging back into the ground again. Regardless, he did another quick sketch of the creature before it dug back underground and disappeared altogether. He sighs in contentment, making more entries in his journal while he watches the sun slowly sink down and the sky slowly become a deep dark blue. The orange was slowly fading away from the trees, replacing it with darkness. Even while staring out into the surrounding nature, he found quite a show in seeing the local insects rise into the night and their illuminating abdomens sparkle throughout the dark forest. Little bright neon green lights twinkled and Green found himself getting lost in the chorus of crickets and the songs of local amphibians as he silently watched. It was absolutely lovely. Then, it was interrupted by the sound of the Skeld’s entrance sliding open from behind himself. Green turns around to see Orange standing at the entrance, her helmet off and revealing her face, looking down at Green. “There ya are! The Captain is getting mighty worried about ya, Green. Ya been out here all this time?” Orange questions, placing her hands on her hips. Green gives a rather sheepish look towards the electrician. Clicking his pen in slight apprehension. “Kinda...yeah. Sorry if I made the group worry. I was just writing down my thoughts and found some nearby fauna to sketch. Adding them to my growing bestiary and such, you know...nerdy things.” He laughs a bit. Orange could only arch her brow a bit before turning slightly and beckoning him inside. “Well, enough o’ that. It’s supper time. Get in here where it’s safe and don’t be tardy, ya hear?” Orange says, before walking back inside. Green could only sigh into his helmet while standing up, gathering up his things, and walking back inside. Closing the entrance to the Skeld while he was at it. Not really taking any notice of the large grey clouds that had built up in the sky and slowly moved across the skies. Slowly covering the wounded Skeld in their large shadows. Meanwhile, Green walked down the halls and pressed a button, drawing the doors back and revealing the interior of the cafeteria. The cafeteria was buzzing with activity as Green slips off his helmet and places it on the rack next to the others at the entrance. Huffing a bit and fluffing his hair back out before fully entering the cafeteria. The entire crew was present, happily eating their share of rations for the night. He spied his usual place next to Red and Orange, open like usual. A quick scan of the meals that were prepared in the cafeteria were revealed to be berry juice, jam and toast, berry-flavored ice pops, and a mixture of other treats. Some berries were even simply sliced or cubed for instant edibility. Green made his rounds and got his fair share of food and sat down in his usual place. The crewmates seemed to be talking among themselves while they stuffed their faces with food. Creating an atmosphere of humdrum words and soft pleasant conversation. While Green was usually talkative at meal time, he seemed to be more focused on his food. Admiring the texture and flavors of the berries while the rest of the crewmates idly chatted away around him. His mind wondered as he remembered seeing the megafauna earlier that day while he was foraging with Red. His eyes nervously flick over to his captain, White. Who was enjoying a couple slices of jam toast and sitting next to his loyal co-captain, Black. Green never really said anything about the sighting to his captain. Even Red seemed to have been stunned enough to be silent about it at the time.

With a flick of his gaze, his eyes watched Red. Who was busy having a pleasant conversation with Orange and Purple about something unrelated.

Maybe Red wound up getting distracted and forgetting about the incident? Green nervously looked back at White, watching him eat and thinking about bringing up the megafauna encounter with his leader. But seeing as everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, it would’ve created a rather negative atmosphere if he did. The last thing anyone else wanted to hear was that there were massive predatory creatures lurking around just outside their doorstep. In a case of fair judgement, Green held his tongue and instead decided to change his train of thought to something much more positive.

His thoughts quickly changed to planning on what he was going to do come the next sunrise. Maybe he would go exploring? Look for more food sources? Possibly find more creatures to document? The possibilities were nearly endless! But, that wasn’t the only thing he was thinking about. How would they get off this planet? Would they all get off together? What if there’s nothing here that they can get home with? What if everything is going to get worse from here? Green quietly munches on his food for the majority of dinner. His head continued swimming with ‘what ifs’ and worrisome thoughts.

Before he knew it, dinner was over and the crew was beginning to power down for the night. Drowsy yawns and sleepy crewmates all slowly walked to the barracks. To which Green finally felt exhaustion biting at his muscles and sapping away his energy. Sadly, the showers of the Skeld were damaged from the crash, so it was going to be a while before anyone on the ship was going to get a decent bath. Which just meant that more problems would probably be coming down the pike. Not a lot of crewmates will be happy while being filthy. Especially Blue. Green silently figures that Blue was a germaphobe due to all of his overreactions to filthy individuals and dirty living spaces. Green would live, even while being covered in dirt for a while. He just wanted to study and work. It’s why he got on the Skeld...or why he started working for MIRA in the first place He knew the risks when he signed up to be on this crew ship. But that didn’t prevent him from following his dreams of becoming a creditable botanist and zoologist. He enters his shared quarters and releases a large yawn as he flops onto his bed. He kicks off his boots and shimmies out of his suit, tossing it over the foot frame on his bed. Leaving him in an emerald sleeveless top and shorts. He then begins to climb under the white sheets. As he gets comfortable, his roommate, Red, wanders in. Already in his own sleeveless tank and shorts. With his suit in his arms, he tosses the suit onto his own bed and closes their barrack door. Finishing his routine by dimming the lights down. Finally, Red takes notice of Green looking at him from his bed. “Aw, already got into bed before me? Ya must be really tired, mate.” Red speaks up, while he pulls his covers back and begins to climb into bed. “We had a busy day and most of my lab is a wreck. So, I’m taking it easy. No overnight stays in the lab tonight.” Green replies nonchalantly while he adjusts and gets cozy underneath his covers. Red just lets out a chuckle in response as he worms underneath his covers for a moment before settling down and letting out a relieved sigh. A moment of silence passes. “Green?” Red suddenly speaks up. “Yeah?” Green replies. “Are you doin’ okay? You didn’t really talk to anyone during dinner…is sumthin’ bothering ya?” “I was just...having some thoughts while eating. Just wondering if we’re ever going to get out of here...like, what if everything gets worse from here? What if we never escape this planet?” “Ah...I see. You’re worried that none of us are gunna make it, right?” “I...well...yeah. I’m just concerned. I mean, do you even remember what we saw??” Red blinks at Green before sudden realization hits him. “Oh, crikey! You’re right!”

“Yeah! You saw how big that megafauna was! There’s most certainly others like it! We need to find help and get off this planet...but what if there’s no help to find? What do we do then?” “. . .I guess we just...see what happens tomorrow. Maybe something good will happen. Ya never know!” Green merely lets out a hum. A moment of silence passes. “...Did ya tell White about it?” Red asked as Green looked away shamefully. “. . .No. I don’t wanna alert the crew just yet. I mean, I sketched it out and everything and it was a herbivore so it’s not--” “But we gotta tell them, Green!” Green looks back at Red in slight surprise. “They need some form of warning! The longer they’re oblivious the more danger they’re in! Seriously! The moment ya get up tomorrow, we’re gotta tell White, okay mate?” Red continues, giving Green a firm stare from his bed.

. . . Green sighs.

“Alright. I’ll tell him first thing in the morning.” Another moment of silence passes. “Just...don’t worry too much, okay? In the end...everything is gunna be alright. After this stranding is over, I’ll take you on a nice vacation when we get back home. I promise, Green.” Green lets out a soft chuckle.

". . .I’ll be sure to remember that promise, Red. Anyways, it’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.” “Goodnight, Green.” And with that, Red rolled over and faced his back to Green. In a short while, soft snores could be heard coming from Red’s bed. Signifying his condition of being asleep. However, Green seemed to be having a bit more of an issue with falling asleep. His mind kept buzzing with thoughts, worries, excitement, fear, and possibilities.

It was getting increasingly harder to sleep. As Green kept tossing and turning and just wishing for something to help aid him in his endeavor. Then, a familiar sound reaches his ears. It wasn’t a typical sound...not really one he could’ve predicted.

But it sounded like… Rain. Green is slightly surprised as he hears the sound of actual rain hitting the Skeld. Causing the metal around him to make soft atmospheric clangs as the gentle shower impacted the hull of the ship. He turns in his bed towards his own wall. Sharpening his focus on listening to the sounds of the rain pelt the outer hull. Like a lullaby, it slowly withered his bothersome thoughts and overwhelming internal conflictions into nothing but background noise. Laying them to rest and drowning out any incoming thoughts.

His eyes finally felt droopy and tired. His aching muscles finally stopped being tense and relaxed. The sound of the planet’s forgiving rain lulling him to sleep. In no time at all, Green finally dozed off to the sound of distant thunder and splashing water. -- The crewmates were late getting up the next day.

As it was noon by the time any of them had finally got up and moved around. The exhaustion from the crash and the stress from most of yesterday having taken its toll on the crewmates. They were all sluggish and slow when they were beginning to get awakened by their captains. Moving about to meet up in the cafeteria, as per White’s orders for their daily routine during this survival situation. Green was finishing up his morning routine. Brushing his sharp teeth, applying deodorant, and various other early routines that he had long grown used to while working on the Skeld. By the time he arrived in the cafeteria, most of the other crewmates were already there. Pink, Orange, White, and Black were present when he arrived. Purple arrived shortly afterward. Dwindling his thumbs and taking his place a short distance away. A few minutes later, Blue arrived. Straightening his hair with a comb that was in his suit pocket. Then, Red arrived shortly after him, with a head full of bed hair. Which caused Blue to squawk up a storm, only to be hushed by the Captain once all crewmates were present and accounted for. White clears his throat. “So begins day two of our survival. We managed to pull through night one on this planet. Hopefully we can continue to do so without things falling apart...so, tasks for the day will be repairs and resource gathering. Just as before. Thanks to Green, we all didn’t go hungry last night. Many of you will have the same tasks as yesterday. Now before we conceal this briefing, any questions?” White asks, scanning his eyes across the group. Green shifts his eyes over to Red, who was looking at him expectantly. Green takes a moment before nodding and raising his hand. Much to White’s surprise. “Yes, Green?” White beckons. “Uh, sir...this isn’t really a question. But I was meaning to give some news to you earlier, but I failed to do so. So I waited until we were all together once again to deliver the news to you all. While me and my partner were out foraging, Red and I happened to make a pretty big discovery yesterday…” This gained the whole crew's attention. Especially the captains. “A discovery?” Black parrots, causing Green to nod in confirmation. “Yes, sir. While me and Red were out foraging the berries I scouted out prior...something came out of the woods while we were present.” Green confessed. A silent state of surprise reflects off of the crew. “It was a large quadruped that seemed to be as big as the Skeld. Mammalian in nature, with short fur, hooves, and large spiky protrusions coming out of it’s skull.” He continued. A quick series of worrisome murmuring started up as Green rushed to continue. “ Thankfully , it seemed to be more interested in eating plants. I personally think it’s a herbivore and it means us, generally, no harm. I theorize it’s a more defensive creature than aggressive. However...that means that, since there are large prey items in this environment, there would most likely be large predators too…possibly even bigger than the creature we witnessed.” The worried mutterings intensified as White seemed worried and thoughtful. “I see.” White mutters, a finger on his chin while the rest of the helmetless crew stood idly by. Looking on in worry. “Well, staying inside isn’t an option we can accept...the best thing I can recommend is to keep a partner with you and keep a watch on your surroundings. Just.. .be careful . All of you! Never go outside by yourself! Especially with this new information!” White warns as the crewmates nod in understanding. White then looks towards Green and Red. “You two will be our foraging crew. Stay close and don’t stray too far. Stay together and stay aware.” White commands, to which the both of the crewmates nod again. White then dismisses the crewmates to resume their tasks while he and Black go off to assist in chores and such. Leaving Red and Green to prepare to go out once again. All the crewmates slip on their helmets and both Red and Green slip on their backpacks before stepping outside. The two of them exit the ship as they look upon the forest, Green humming in thought while he finishes slipping some smaller notepads into his suit pocket. Red looks at him in anticipation. “So...where to?” Red questions.

“Well...we haven’t checked this direction just yet...and it’s already late noon due to everyone oversleeping. So we might as well try to scout out some nearby points of interest.” Green replies. He leads the way into an opposite thicket to the Skeld, Red following close behind as they duck through roots, under shrubs, and past large leaves. Both scuttle in the underbrush for a decent distance. Jumping over fallen logs, over early morning rain puddles, and finally they suddenly bounded through the thicket and into a large field. Green skids to a halt, causing Red to run into his back and fall over onto his rear. “Blimey...why did ya stop--” Red quickly complains before he finally takes in the large meadow before them.

“Oh.” He finishes, only slightly impressed. Green, however, had large pupils and a sense of fluttering excitement swelling up from deep inside himself while he stared at the meadow. It was filled with flowers, fluttering butterflies, and various insects that drifted from flower to flower. There were even puddles that were left over from the rain that came through last night. However, the best part was that there was so much space between them and the trees, that Green could see into the distance and see large snow-capped mountains far off on the horizon. He could even see the blue sky and puffy white clouds drifting by far above them. No longer covered by a canopy of branches and leaves. Red was just beginning to pick himself up before Green took off into the field, surprising his comrade. “Aye! Green! Hold up, mate!” Red hurriedly shouts before he gets up and follows after his excited companion. Green eagerly approached the ponds that had formed overnight to watch and look at the creatures that danced on the surface of the water while Red caught up. Small shiny creatures with four fluttering wings danced across the shimmering water surface, entrancing Green. However, he was shaken out of his trance when Red shook his shoulder slightly. “Hey, come on Green. I know ya like sightseein’ but we gotta see about finding food and...an acceptable water source.” Red says, urging the botanist with a sideways thumb. “Well...technically bugs are a food source.” Green cheekily responded. “Ha ha, very funny. I know we’re desperate, but not that desperate. Come on, mate. Ya know we gotta start lookin. Tha sooner the better.” Red urges, walking around and away from the small ponds. Green regretfully nods as the two of them begin their scouting mission. They searched around the field together, both of them looking for any hotspots or resources while Green also managed to catch some specimens for him to research later. They both searched nearby the meadows, looking for food, water, or anything of interest. A little while later, Red happened to get busy with exploring a small grotto in a rocky wall while Green was just outside. Keeping watch while Red explored and examined the small crag behind him.

It was uneventful while waiting for Red to finish up, but at least the view was nice. As the more the two explored, the more they realized that the Skeld had crashed on a large plateau of sorts.

They just hoped it wasn’t completely isolated. But the natural landscape was still beautiful to look at regardless. At least to Green it was.

Suddenly, something catches Greens’ eye while he was waiting for Red to stop rustling about in the rocks and bushes behind him.

He takes notice of a peculiar plant that lies just beyond some bushes nearby on a nearby rocky outcropping. Large bright colorful flowers and bright leaves draw his attention to the flora.

Out of curiosity and a bit of brief indecisiveness, he edges away from Red’s company and towards the mysterious plant. He approaches the plant and finds it alluring. The blooms were large and beautiful and the leaves streamlike and thin. His curious nature drives him toward the elegant flowers.

He leaves the bushes and crag behind, heading towards the rocky outcropping. Green arrives at the plant on the ledge and gleefully begins to pluck the blooms and stuff them into his backpack for studying later. However, once he was done with that, he took in the new view that this open vantage point gave him...and that’s when he noticed something...peculiar far down below the cliffside. Looking down, he could see the slopes of the cliffs that descended below. Proving that the Skeld was on an upper ledge or mountainous ridge. But that wasn’t the thing that he took notice of. Far down below was a discoloured strip of land that cut right through the two slopes. Dividing them. It was dark in coloration and seemed to have two solid white lines going right down the middle of it. Green was confused, but intrigued as he steps closer to the edge and looks over to get a better look at what was present at the bottom of the slopes. Unfortunately, he doesn’t watch his step. Green steps a bit too far and the weakened edge of the outcropping crumbles. Green suddenly feels the ground give away under one of his legs. His own scream gets caught in his throat as he feels weightless for a moment. However, that was quickly short lived. He impacts the gravelly cliffside as he lets out a pained cry as he begins his descent.

His desperate breaths are continuously knocked out of him as he tumbles down the cliffside and thrown against exposed boulders, branches, and rough gravel that covered the slopes of the rockface. He even runs into a large log and the impact loosens it from its steady perch. Causing it to follow after him down the cliff. More tormenting moments pass until his battered body finally slows its descent and slides to a halt near the bottom of the cliff. He gasps desperately as he tries to gain his bearings. However, his attention is quickly grabbed by the sound of a large impact just a short distance away from him. Green looks towards the sound in fear and his eyes could only widen as the large log comes tumbling down the cliffside towards him. The last thing Green knew was the rapid approach of the log. The moment it impacted him, he knew only darkness. (First) (Part 2) (Part 3)

#Among Us #Among Us fanfic #Among Us fic #Among Us reader insert #ao3fic #Haxorus Imp #Planet of the Megafaunas #My Writings

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chroniclackofselfpreservation · 4 years

Text

And The Dragon Will Come When He Hears The Drum

Here’s the first chapter of my take on @local-space-case ‘s prompt (here’s the original post) The whole thing will probably be 8-10 chapters when it’s done. I’ll also be posting it on AO3.

Also, fair warning: I did not pull my punches on the angst... so yeah, please enjoy.

Chapter 1 - or shall i bring you the sound of poisons

Next chapter > AO3

Pairings: Logicality, Anxciet

(TW: graphic depictions of violence, blood, character death, graphic imagery)

(The title for this chapter comes from “Elm” by Sylvia Plath)

Roman struggled to his feet, slipping in the snow that had turned to muddy slush amid their battle with the black-scaled dragon. His head swam and his ribs throbbed. The ground rumbled beneath him as the beast let out a guttural roar. His sword. He needed his sword.

There was a sharp snap followed by an explosion of blue light that nearly sent Roman to the ground again. The sheer heat of it turned all the snow to water instantly, turning the clearing into a muddy bog.

“Roman?!” Logan shouted from somewhere out of sight. “Are you okay?”

He looked up, blinking his vision clear. Logan stood several yards away, hands raised and palms spewing rolling waves of blue flame, keeping the dragon at bay for the moment. Roman’s stomach fluttered. His partner looked downright gorgeous with blue light flickering across his face, power alight in his glowing eyes.

Logan noted his expression and sighed. “It’s hardly the time for that, dearest.”

A wolfish grin spread across Roman’s face as he finally got his feet beneath him. “I’ve always got time to be in awe of you, my love.” He located his sword, stuck halfway out of the ground a few paces away.

The dragon was on the smaller side, perhaps ten feet tall at the shoulder and three times as long, tail included. It shied away from the onslaught of magical blue flame. Sure, dragonscale was fire resistant, but that wouldn’t stop the creature’s insides from cooking.

This particular beast had been stealing livestock from the surrounding villages with increasing frequency, so much so that farmers had petitioned the throne for aide. As both captain of the anti-dragon brigade and prince of this land, Roman had a solemn duty to protect his kingdom’s welfare. As for where the rest of the brigade was, the prince was less certain. More than half had been on scouting missions in the complete opposite direction, the rest helping Patton set up a base camp. Hopefully, the sound of their battle would suffice as a call for help.

Surely, the dragon should have retreated by now, but it seemed determined to take the three sheep it had killed. Roman and Logan now stood between it and its bounty.

Logan’s fire spell sputtered out, and he swayed with fatigue, the clearing significantly darker without the light. He rubbed his eyes, steadying himself against a tree. Roman took the cue and charged, sword ready to attack. The dragon growled, lips curling up over glistening fangs, violet flames licking through the gaps. Roman raised his dragonscale shield preemptively—a smart move considering it was only second later the beast let loose a violet blaze, the flame curling around his shield and singeing his forearms. Roman’s sword grew hot in his grip, but he didn’t let go.

The dragon turned, and Roman cursed. He couldn’t lower his shield in time to see what it was going to—

Roman heard the hollow whistle of the dragon’s tail whipping through the air before he saw it. His instincts told him to watch the head, note the rotation of the body. It was much too far to do him any serious damage, so why…

Roman’s heart bottomed out. He heard the impact, a pitiful thing like someone smacking a stray fly, and the chilling crunch of soft-human-body meets hard-spiked-tail. Logan flew across the clearing, tumbling to a limp, bloody stop. Blood pounded in Roman’s ears as what could either have been a battle cry or a horrified wail tore from his throat. The sound was raw, primitive almost. Even the dragon hesitated.

Good, Roman thought as adrenaline pumped through him. All the better to kill you, beast.

Roman wasn’t magical in the technical sense. He wasn’t a warlock like Logan, or a healer like Patton. He had no formal training aside from combat, and yet his those of royal lineage were somewhat known for their random bursts of mystical power. Something to do with being a prophecy-bearer, scholars figured. Roman, frankly, couldn’t care less. All he felt was pure rage coursing through him. Power filled him and he felt as if he’d vibrate right out of his own skin. The tears falling down his cheeks evaporated, leaving behind salty trails.

Roman flipped his grip on his sword and pulled it back like a javelin. With a heart-wrenching cry, he let it fly. The sword shot through the air like an arrow, glowing with the full force of a prince’s rage. The dragon reeled back, trying to dodge, but it couldn’t get out of the way fast enough.

The blade sunk hilt deep into the creature’s chest. Low enough that Roman was sure it hadn’t pierced its heart, but certainly a lung. The dragon beat its wings, blood frothing at the corners of its fanged mouth and wheezing roar limping out of its throat. The beast rose into the sky and disappeared in a frantic retreat over the tips of the trees.

Roman was left trembling in the wake of his sudden power, its absence leaving him feeling hollow. He’d lost his sword, but he didn’t care. Roman could barely make out the motionless lump that was Logan in the quickly waning evening light as he stumbled through the watery field. The water around Logan was dark with blood.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, terrified. Roman fell to his knees at his side, mud filling his boots like cement. He flipped the warlock over and felt as if someone had closed a fist around his heart and squeezed it to bursting. Logan’s chest was a collection of impossibly deep gashes, his chest odd and indented where the dragon’s tail had crumpled it in on itself like he was no more substantial than a doll with paper bones. Roman’s eyes trailed miserably up his lover’s body, finding his collarbone just as crushed as the rest of his body. Blood flecked one side of his neck and face, his eyes open and unseeing, staring into the middle distance. They were dull. Lifeless.

Roman’s hands trembled as he crawled forward, attempting to say something, anything, but all that came out was a strangled sob. He cradled Logan against his chest, crying hysterically.

Logan didn’t miraculously wake up. Roman was the crown prince, bestowed with the power of prophecy, and all he could do was rock back and forth in the freezing, bloody mud and scream at the stars.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Stop playing with the sheep carcass,” Janus chided halfheartedly in Remus’s direction, washing the blood from his hands.

“You’re no fun,” Remus grumbled, plucking absently at the tendons to see the bloody hooves jerk around.

Janus shook his head, smiling softly. He watched the gray sky through the mouth of the cave, searching for a familiar dark silhouette. Virgil had never taken this long hunting before, and Janus really preferred to process all the day’s catch in one go. The quicker he could skin and butcher the rest of their food, he could finish prepping for the early winter that would soon grow into a season of endless blizzards and horrible flying conditions.

As if on cue, miniscule flakes of snow began swirling weightlessly through the air. A breeze of wintery wind slithered through the front half of the cave, curling around Janus like an icy hand cupping his face. He shivered, flaring the furnace in his chest with a rumbling hum and warming himself from the inside out, his throat glowing liquid gold beneath his skin.

“He’ll be back,” Remus assured, coming to stand next him. He hadn’t bothered to wash the sheep blood from his hands, instead content to simply lick his fingers. Janus wrinkled his nose but said nothing. It was dragons like Remus that perpetuated their stereotype of grotesque violence.

Janus still couldn’t shake the uneasy pit growing in his stomach.

At last, Virgil appeared from behind one of the many peaks hiding their home. However, Janus’s sigh of relief withered in his throat. Virgil was barely keeping himself in the air, dipping down randomly and flapping frantically, but he carried no load. Remus breathed a curse.

Janus didn’t stop to think. He sprinted out of the cave and leaped off the edge of the cliff, shifting in mid air. His massive golden wings unfurled as his body exploded in size. He was the biggest of the three of them, measuring some eighty feet long and fifty feet at the shoulder, and was at Virgil’s side after only a beat or two of his wings.

What’s wrong?! What happened? he asked frantically, but all he could sense from Virgil’s mind was pain and fear. At last, his inky black wings gave out, and he began to fall. Janus dove after him, gently securing him against his underbelly and flaring his wings out to slow their descent. He could feel Virgil’s sporadic breathing against his claws, the jet black dragon writhing weakly.

Janus was too big to fit into the cave as he was, and wouldn’t be able to get close enough to the cliff side while carrying Virgil unless he wanted to just drop him the last couple of feet. Due to his size, Janus usually had to shift in mid air and rely on the leftover momentum to carry him into the cave.

Remus! Help me! he gasped, hovering outside the cave. The muscles in his back and wing joints began to tremble from the strain of it all. Virgil might have been smaller than him, but he wasn’t exactly light either. Dragons weren’t built to carry heavy loads. The most they hauled on a regular basis were the sheep or occasional cows they caught.

Remus stepped off the cliff side, slipping easily into his other form and streaking into the sky. He was a different breed of dragon, with shorter legs, a significantly longer body, and two thread-like whiskers extending from his snout.

Most notably, Remus didn’t have wings. His kind—what was left of them, at least—wove through the air like ribbons undulating and twirling in a graceful dance. Due to the high concentration of magic in their bodies to facilitate wingless flight, they’d been hunted to near extinction for their bones and the long strip of silky fur running down their spines.

Remus came up beneath Janus, taking Virgil from him and retreating into the safety of the cave. Janus beat his wings and backed away from the mountainside before circling back around and flying straight for the opening. When he was mere seconds from crashing into the mountain, he shifted, letting the momentum carry him through the air. Janus hit the ground and rolled, springing up to his feet and rushing into the cave.

Remus shifted back, leaving Virgil laying on his side. Now, with his underbelly exposed, Janus could see the hilt of a sword protruding from between his ribs.

“Oh, Virgil,” he breathed, cautiously approaching the wounded dragon. He was in a lot of pain and could easily lash out to protect himself, regardless of who it was.

I’m sorry, Virgil managed weakly, his thoughts pulsing with pain every time he took a breath.

“Shh,” Janus hushed, inspecting the wound. Normal weapons couldn’t pierce their scales, and yet this sword had shattered them, crimson blood oozing slowly around the blade. “It’s doing more good inside you than out,” he concluded. “You’d bleed out in seconds, otherwise.”

“Who did this?” Remus growled. Janus withheld a shiver at his tone. He didn’t have to turn and look at Remus to know there was murder in his eyes. “Virgil, tell me who did this. I’ll tear them apart. I’ll skin them alive and make their children watch—”

“Remus, please,” Janus sighed.

I was hunting near the kingdom, Virgil admitted.

Janus’s blood went cold. “You what?”

“So,” Remus snarled, “it was that prince, then? Great, I’ve been wanting to tear that guy’s head off for years.”

We need the food. There’s not enough here in the mountains to last the winter, Virgil said.

“We definitely won’t survive the winter if we’re hunted down and killed, Virgil,” Janus said, exasperated. He pinched his nose and wracked his mind for a solution. Virgil was alive for now, but wouldn’t last long with an entire sword impaling his lung. “Remus, you stay here with Virgil. I’ll get some help.”

“Help? Who’s going to help us?” Remus demanded.

“Ravaging the kingdom won’t make things better, Remus. Virgil is dying.”

He folded his arms, not admitting Janus was right, but not arguing further either. Remus glared at the sword hilt with a seething rage that Janus knew no one could keep at bay for long.

He’d just have to find Emile before that happened.

“Watch him,” he said forcefully, staring Remus down. “I’ll be back soon with a healer. Don’t let him die.”

“Obviously,” Remus grumped. Janus tried for a reassuring smile, but it came out as more of a grimace than anything else. He nodded, gave Virgil one more concerned look, then ran out of the cave, launching into the snow-filled air.

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jawlinedolan · 4 years

Text

Sugar Cane Nymph (G.D.)

Sugar cane nymph (G.D.)

disclaimer-> i’m colombian so english is obviously NOT my first language. i’m fluent and generally have non-terrible grammar but I usually just write academic stuff in english. i have only ever written fiction in my mother language before this so please bare with me while i get used to this.

this took a while to write omg it wasn’t supposed to be this long, anyways enjoy and PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE let me know what you guys think about it?💓💓🎊🎊

TELL ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE A PART TWO

summary: Grayson meets his mom’s new neighbor after an unexpected for legged visitor ivades Lisa’s Garden.

word count: +5k

warnings: some minor swearing, a whole buch of flustered grayson and hopefully a bit of humor? also i did not proof-read this sorry

Poor Grayson. For the millionth time that night something was disturbing his peaceful sleep. First the frogs and now his mom chooses this moment to do laundry.He thought half asleep. His hazy mind couldn’t for the life of him imagine any other reason for the incessant rumbling that was currently penetrating the walls of his tiny bedroom. He was mad. All of that crunching and crashing outside had taking him out of his amazing dream.

Oh, and was it an amazing one. So beautiful, just like her. He didn’t even know her name yet her image had managed to plague his every waking moment and now it seemed his slumber too. Not that he minded though, his dream had brought them closer.

He needed his sleep because he needed to wake up early, otherwise he would miss it, miss her. He had discovered her on his first morning run ever since coming back home. He always thought that Jersey had the prettiest countryside in all of North America and now he was sure of it. How could it not be with such a gorgeous nymph galoping around bareback on top her trusty steed. She was out there every morning at exactly 5:50 a.m.

Dammit. When had he became such a sap? Grayson knew he was attractive and he definitely knew how to use it. He had never encountered trouble wooing the ladies before. But this one, oh this one was different. There was something about her, he didn’t even knew her name but he just felt a certain way when he was around her. Well, more like spying behind a particularly dense bush that surrounded the little clearing where she ended her ride every morning. And that he had found on pure coincidence . If you could count trying to conspicuously keep up with a galloping horse for a quarter of mile as coincidence, that is. In his defense he just couldn’t let her get away, it was like she was pulling him without even knowing.

Each morning she would ride up there and he would be waiting behind the bush to watch the show. He could hear it’s powerful hoves before he could devise the big black stallion. Even her horse was different. It had a beautiful shinny black coat that the women at his mom’s beauty salon would envy. It’s mane and tale cascaded down his body in actual curls. Just like hers. He had never seen a horse that didn’t have straight hair.

It was sort of funny, one of the first things he noticed about the mysterious girl was her long and lucious curly hair. And she looked so in sync with the beast. With the dark curls and big brown eyes they almost looked like family.

She was short thing, as he noticed when he saw her stading next to the horse for the first time. He reckoned she would reach to his chest or his shoulders, at best. Her thick thighs hugged the animal’s torso right before she jumped off its back, squatting on her landing which made her delectable ass stretch her jeans. It all looked pretty profesional and innocent, still, he couldn’t help but imagine those beautiful legs wrapping around his waist while his big hads supported that delicious bottom.

Was he seriously getting exited at a half asleep memory or was it just morning wood?

He ignored that thought and kept his eyes closed, continuing with his hazy recollection.

Their conection was amazing, it was just her and her beast. She didn’t use a saddle or tack. She simply spoke to it, like one would another human being, and then she would scratch it’s neck. After that the thousand poud animal did everything she asked. It reared and bowed at her comand and, sometimes, she would let her hair down and they would spin and jump around almost like they were dancing.

No matter how many times he hid behind that bush to watch them, Grayson was in awe at every single thing she did. To him, she was completely mesmerizing.

So mesmerizing, in fact, that he could never bring himself to step out from behind his reliable bush to say hi. She seemed nice enough, surely she wouldn’t think he was some sort of creepy stalker, right? Except, at this point, he kind of was. But his little nymph didn’t need to know that.

Giving up on sleep he decided that if his mom felt the need to do the laundry two days in a row he better find a way of his own of being productive. But upon opening his eyes he was surprised to be greeted by darkness and those stupid frogs chirping outside. He tapped around until his long fingers got a grasp on his cellphone and squinted when the damned thing nearly blinded him with it’s brightness.

Then suddenly the laundry room was shaking again.

“The fuck” he groaned sleepily.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the light emanating from the screen of his Iphone he let out another groan, silently cursing the digital clock that read 4:25 a.m.. His alarm would be ringing in less than an hour for his morning run and he was super tired because some frogs had decided to serenade him until one in the morning. How come they aren’t sleeping yet?

Then there was that rumbling again. But when he realized that his mechanical roommate would be empty of dirty clothes at such unholy hour he began to worry. It’s not like the house was near the street, whatever or whoever was causing all that ruckus had to be in the property. He crept out of his room barefoot trying to be conspicuous and stealthy, even though the cold floor was torturing his toes.

He reached the front door after a quick stop at the kitchen to grab his mother’s big trusty iron frying pan in case he needed to attack. He made a mentan note to not leave everything that could be a potential weapon inside his building shed next time.

After taking a fortifying breath he grabbed the doorknob and turned it as delicately and silently as man his size could manage.

At first glance nothing on the porch seemed out of the ordinary, but when he turned the lights on he noticed it. An overturned plantpot which used to contain an colorful flower that, according to his mom, was an exotic plant that her friend had brought her from her vacation in the caribbean. His mom couldn’t stop talking about her colorful little flower when they showed her her new garden and how she was going to give it a special place in it. And now some rascal had savagely munched on it leaving only the dying stems amongst the dirt.

Suddenly the early morning was eerily silent again. Grayson tried to slow his breathing while straining to hear anything tha would give away the position of the invader. His heart was just about to beat out of his chest, the house was in the middle of nowhere, anything could be out there.

When he finally heard something he couldn’t believe his ears. High pitched and clearly irritated he barely recognized it.

Was that a neigh?

He followed the sound and finally got his answer upon glancing at Lisa’s Garden. The animal that appeared tu be stuck near one of the flower beds looked like a horse, kind of. It had a mane, a tail, four hooves, pointy ears and it was distinctly neighing, everythig pointed that it was a horse. Except for the fact that it couldn’t be any taller than three feet. It seemed he was in presence of a miniature horse.

Quickly running to his building shed he grabbed his diagonal pliers to cut the wire that had most likely trapped his hoof. But when he came back to help the little guy found him with his head deep into the nearest flower pot casually having a 5 a.m. flowery snack.

“Hey! Stop that!” he yelled trying to separate the little beast from it’s colorful victim. “YOU LITTLE FUCKER” Grayson yelled when the animal actually bit him for trying to take away his meal. Weren’t horses suposed to be vegetarian? Well if it liked flowers so much who’s to say it didn’t have other bizarre tastes... like fucking human flesh.

Waking up from all the noise Lisa walked outside to see her 6ft tall 200lb son wrestling a mini horse for a pot of half munched flowers. And she knew their equine visitor very well.

Grayson looked up from his struggle to see his mom walking out of the house with her phone in hand. He looked at her pleadingly and she just chuckled.

“Don’t worry sweetie I called his owners, Emperor’s mom is coming to pick him up as we speak” She told him.

“Wait you actually know where he came from?!” He let go of the animal and marched up to the woman comfortably clad in whool robe and warm slippers while he was out there shirtless and barefoot, hair stuck in every direction, trying to defend their home.

And of course in that moment his beloved brother decided to join in the fun from his bedroom window. Ethan let put a loud snort at his twin’s dishiveled appearance.

“Dude, what happened to you?” he asked in between laughs.

“Shut the fuck up E!” Grayson yelled looking up to his brother. “It could’ve been a murderer or some shit” At that Lisa couldn’t contain herself anymore and let put a loud laugh. She walked towards him with his coat in her hands that she had retrieved while the boys bantered.

“Oh realx sweetie! I don’t think you can die from cuteness overload” She paused while Grayson snatched his coat and glanced at the small black horse. to speak to it in a baby voice. “Ain’t that right Emperor?”

He put on his coat over his otherwise naked torso and and ran his hands through his unruly hair, exasperated. His mom speaking to the little monster briefly reminded him of his beautiful nymph and how her horse actually seemeyto listen, unlike this urchin that had breakfast on his mom’s flowers. He sneered at the animal before speaking.

“So you know the owners, ma?”

“Yeah, they’re sugarcane farmers. Our neighbors up north.”

“Up north? That’s dairy farm?” Grayson replied maliciously. Of course it would be dairy people that would own this mini horse devil. It just made sense.

Lisa just chuckled again at the grave look on Grayson’s face. Ethan just observed carefully from above how Emperor finished a pot of tiny purple flowers and was stretching his little neck trying to reach the next one containing daisies. Or at least he thought that’s what those were, either way it was simply hilarious.

“That’s north of the road, Gray. I’m talking about north of the property, they grow sugarcane organically. ” She explained exitedly.

“Oh... well whoever they are they better come get their poor animal soon.”

“They are already on the way, I just sent Denisse a text” She replied sternly, her sons could be the biggest men-child sometimes. “And even though they’re not vegan, I can assure you they take real good care of their animals.” Since Grayson didn’t seem all that convinced she continued, “Especially their horses, Denisse’s daughter has wall full of horsemanship thophies and first place ribbons, that girl spends hours everyday tending them.”

“Well apparently not enough” He grumbled brooding. “This one is clearly not that educated”

“Oh, Emperor is just a bit... energetic”

Oh hell no. She was actually gonna deffend it.

“ENERGETIC?!” He snapped. “ He ate your exotic flower and destroyed the garden! He’s a monster in a small package!”

“Gray it’s okay. And you’re exaggerating he didn’t destroy anything he just turned a few flower pots.”

“What about you exotic kayacka or whatever it’s called!” He kept on yelling. “HE ANNIHILATE IT”

Grayson was seething at this point. He loved animals and nature, he had gone vegan for God’s sake. But this was just too much, nature had basically trampled him in the last 12 hours. First the god forsaken frogs screaming their slimy little lungs out kept him up half of the night and now this!

This annoying piece of horse flesh had not only awoken him at the fucking asscrack of down, but it had also destroyed the garden he had busted his back to buid for Ma, who was currently laughing at his missery. And as if that wasn’t enough he was more than likely going to miss his secret appointment with his beautiful nymph.

“It’s called a cayena and he didn’t do it intentionally , Gosh, calm down” She pinned him with a stare “And it’s not that big of a deal, there’s more where that one came from I’m sure Denisse wouldn’t mind. Plus her daughter will more than likely begg to help picking up this mess, like I said she always looks out for the horses” She pursed her lips starting to get a annoyed at his irrational fury. “As mother would, she’s always picking up her childs messes”

“Well if she is such a great horse mom, how come her child is a freakin flower eating tornado” Grayson replied grudgingly, feeling like a scolded child for something he didn’t even do. Was he seriously talking about this horse like it was a person?

In the middle of his ire he looked down. Now that the sun was starting to illuminate the early morning he could see it had a kinda nice chesnut color and his beady ayes were staring eagerly at the daisies, that were just a few centimeters out of reach. If it hadn’t been such a nightmare Grayson could almost see himself looking for his allergy pill after petting the cute tiny thing. But it had messed with his garden and managed to get stuck, now he was going to have to ruin the chicken wire to cut him free. So no, Emeperos wasn’t all that cute anymore and after looking at the redish bite mark on his hand he definitely didn’t want to pet it. Lisa’s voice interrupted his musings.

“Listes, go put on you shoes, get yourself some breakfast and try to calm down. Denisse’s daughter shouldn’t be more than a few minutes away, I’ll look after him in the meantime”

“Oh no no, I’m gonna have a word with this chit and she’s gonna fix this immediately.”

Lisa was about to stop Grayson’s angry rambling until she spotted a rider and horse closing in on the house from the north trail.

“I mean, who the hell does she think she is? Letting her animals trample around and how long tilll-“

“Oh my Gosh! I’m so sorry Mrs Dolan I can’t believe he’s done this again.” A female voice rung melodically behind him accompanied by the resounding thudding of heavy hooves on grass. “Emperooor” the voice groaned “ what was it this time?”

Grayson knew that voice, and even if he had never heard her giving soft commands to her intimidating black stallion he would have recognized the feeling she stirred in him. That fluttering on the left side of his chest, the earthquake of butterflies in his stomach, that familiar sense of calmness that only her could bring him.

Lisa´s voice brought him back from his momentary day dream.

“Well son it looks like your wish came true” she said so only he could hear and the raised her voice to greet the girl rapidly approaching them on horseback. “(Y/N) , sweetie, hello!”

Grayson turned around utterly speechless. Astounded by her beauty and awed by the mere sight of her as she dismounted gracefully from the familiar black stud, who was actually saddled this time.

She stepped away from the huge beast and walked towards where they were standing near the garden. With every step closer that she took Grayson felt his lungs closing up on him. What was I supposed to say to her, again? The mini horse, right.

“I’m so sorry Mrs. Dolan. I don't know what to do with him anymore, ever since we moved up here he seems to find new ways to scape stalls and squeeze to fences daily” (Y/N) kept babbling out her sincere apologies while she come to hug the older woman whose garden had been vandalized by her favorite Shetland.

“(Y/N) I’ve told you a hundred times it’s Lisa, and don't worry about it I understand you mother is always telling me how hard you try to keep Emperor in check” She replied glaring slightly at Grayson whose jaw had fallen slightly ajar, she elbowed him discreetly bringing him back from whatever dreamland he was in. “Can't speak for the big man here though, he was a little distressed earlier”

As if he wasn't having a hard enough time (Y/N) shiny browns eyes peered up at him shyly stilling his lungs once again, and a lovely blush spread on her chubby cheeks. He followed the rosy trail with his eyes to the top of her round breasts wondering how far down her body would it reach. And when she spoke softly to him, he was a goner.

“Oh... I’m so sorry, I promise I will fix it up right away” When he didn't reply she added “I'm not as great as Lisa but I’m a pretty decent gardener, I swear its gonna look brand new” Gosh, this was embarrassing. He was so handsome and she has just let her mini-horse ruin his mother's garden.

Lisa’s elbow once again spooked him out of his catatonic state.

“Oh don’t be modest, I bet it’s gonna look better than before. Right, Gray?” Seeing the look in his eyes, she quickly decided that (Y/N) would have a little help fixing her plants. “Sweetie, I know you've made good friends with Cameron but I don't think you've met my sons before”

“No ma’am, I don't think I've had the pleasure” (Y/L) replied in a low voice very unlike herself.

“Okay this is Grayson and that nosy one with his head stuck out the window is his twin brother Ethan” (Y/N) glanced in the direction Lisa was pointing and sure enough there was buzz cut head sticking out the second floor window with a smirk plastered all over his angular face, ready to yell a greeting to his brother’s dream girls. Gray had described her so many times with so much detail that it was scary but it also allowed him to tell right away when he saw the curly haired girl atop the black horse.

“Why good morning Miss Horsey Neighbor (Y/L) it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance” Ethan yelled with a flirty smirk that he knew was sure to infuriate his twin.

“The pleasure is all mine, good sir” (Y/N) replied with a laugh, following along on his joke. Ethan seemed like a funny guy, she could see them becoming friends. The other brother though, they had the same sharp jawline and handsome features, but Grayson’s intense stare was definitely something else. She felt intimidated yet...exited?

Grayson stuck his hand out dumbly trying to get her attention back from his brother.

“I’m distressed and it’s okay, I wasn't Grayson” he vomited his words while trying to produce a smile that ended up looking like a grimace. (Y/L) offered him a blushy smile back none the less.

“It's a pleasure Distressed”

“Huh? Oh, fuck!” Nice job champ let her think you're fucking retarded “ it’s Grayson! I’m Grayson and was not distressed. I was just um...” He trailed off looking to his mom for help bur she merely shrugged “I was uh... worried! For the mini! Poor little guy just wanted a snack and ended up stuck in the chicken wire.”

He stuttered and stumbled trough his explanation but (Y/N), who was usually very perceptive, was still so embarrassed and flustered that she didn't notice he was lying.

“Okay. So, he shouldn’tbe snacking on flowers, anyways, he knows that” (Y/N) mumbled walking towards Emperor who had stopped struggling towards the white daisies and was now waiting for attention from his favorite human. “Alrighty pal, what did you get yourself into” She kneeled on the ground and started inspecting Emperor’s little hoof stuck on the wire. She tried to pull it out but it was too tight, the wire had tu be cut.

Meanwhile Grayson stared amazed at how the little horse devil had turned into horse putty in (Y/N)’s hands. His ears pointed towards and he rubbed his furry neck on her arm looking for scratches. No sign of the Shetland that had rudely attacked him earlier. He looked down at his hand and noticed that the bite mark was barely visible now, maybe Emperor wasn't that bad after all. Maybe.

“It’s too tight if we don't cut the wire he could hurt himself” (Y/N) announced looking up towards Lisa but the taught about it and directed her glance towards her son, who already had a cutting plier in his hand. “Do you think I can borrow that?”

“Yeah, sure, here you go” He was about to hand her the tool when Lisa widened her eyes at him at pointed her chin to the girl crouched con her garden. “Actually, let me do it” He corrected, kneeling down right next to her so that his strong shoulder thighs brushed against her blue jeans. He heard vaguely a big impatient snort behind but paid no mind to de large stallion that stood where (Y/N) had tied his reigns to the garden fence. The thing was so big it could probably pull the fence right off the soil, but instead stood patiently waiting for his master.

“I live in farm y’know I think I can manage a pair of pliers” She replied slightly annoyed that he wouldn't hand her the damned thing.

“Oh, don’t mind him honey he just loves playing with his tools” Lisa pitched in from above them. Grayson prayed nobody noticed his flushed face, but his nymph was deliciously close to him for the first time. Never before he had had the chance of perceiving her intoxicating scent, it was sweet almost like melted sugar right before it turns into caramel.

“I don’t play, ma! I build stuff” He looked up at his mother with a look half annoyed/half pleading. “Besides, I’m sure you're more than capable of cutting some measly chicken wire, I just thought you could keep him calm so that-”

“Oh my God! You're totally right.”

“I am?”

“OF COURSE, he could run around as soon as he's free and continue to dismantle this poor place. Good thinking, Grayson”

Was that even his name she just pronounce? He didn't remember ever sounding so good.

“Yup, yeah. That's it” Yeah I totally wasn't trying to show off for you, nymph.

(Y/N) resumed scratching Emperor with one hand while the other pushed on his neck to give Grayson as much room to cut the wire as possible. Since the kids seemed to be getting along quite nicely Lisa decided to make herself scarce.

“Well guys I’m gonna get inside and make some breakfast” She received two distracted hums and with that she left, not without throwing a pointed glance up at Ethan who immediately stuck his head back inside.

A few minutes later Emperor was a free and happy Shetland. Since he had already eaten, clearly, she decided she could get a head start on the mess the mini had made before riding back home for breakfast. She attached a lead-rope she had brought to the his halter, that he was miraculously still wearing, and tied him to the fence. Grayson just watched her, still kneeling by the dirt bed, she moved so naturally between the mess.

“I’m so sorry, really. For the life of me I have no idea how he came to eat flowers on the first place, I will bring over some seeds later but I’m gonna start cleaning this now, do you have some gardening tools I can borrow?” She was a little breathless after spurting out all of that, she was so nervous now that they were alone.

He got up and dusted his sweatpants.

“Sure, they are in my building shed” He replied puffing out his already beefy chest, his building shed was his pride and joy. “Just let me grab my boots real quick”

“Oh that’s okay I ca-” but he was already running inside.

A few minutes later after running a hand through his hair numerous times to tame his bedhead in front of the living room mirror, they were walking a bit closer than necessary to the shed.

“So, you like building a lot?” At that Grayson put on full display his million dollar smile.

“You could say that” He said looking around the shed for the gardening toolbox.”I build my mom that garden, I mean me and my brother did it but he was more like an.. assistant” Grayson could have swooned when he heard her laughter but instead focused on grabbing the box from the top shelf.

“Are you kidding? I could have sworn that was made by a professional?” She replied, seemingly impressed while they walked back.

“Why thank you, n- (Y/N)” He put the box down next to the first overturned plant pot “I appreciate that” Oh he appreciated it, alright.

“You know, you don't need, it was my horse after all” she sat criss- cross and started rummaging trough the box.

This was it, Grayson needed to pull his shit together if he wanted to make a good first impression on this gorgeous nymph that was eagerly staring up at him, waiting for an answer that his dumbass was unable to produce. With his shaking hands conveniently hidden inside his pockets, he stared confidently into her deep brown eyes and pulled his most charming smile.

And then they got to work. All coquettish smiles, blushing faces and casual hand brushings. They talked about building, horses, video games and even the process of cultivating high quality sugar cane without using pesticides. Grayson was over the moon being the sole focus of her attention, he had waited so long for this. He watched as she pulled away from her face the rebel curls that scaped from her ponytail wishing he could run his hands through the luscious strands and wondering if her round cheeks would be as soft as they looked if he were to touch them with his rough fingertips. He was so immersed in her that didn't realize that their work was done when they picked up the last of Emperors victims, the cayenne on the porch.

Standing on the recently clean porch steps they took a minute to admire their hard work. Or at least for Grayson they were to admire her.

“Well, this is it, thank you so much for you help Gray, you didn't have to” Did she just called him by his nickname? He had to be dreaming.

“It’s okay” he murmured observing how she had to crane her neck up to look at him, she was such a shorty yet when she spoke she appeared larger than life. She was simply amazing. “Time flies when you're having fun” He replied while they started walking towards the horses that were snorting impatiently.

“It was kinda fun, wasn't it?” she untied the big black horse and with one hand she held Emperor’s lead rope while the other pulled on the saddle Horne making for a swift effortless mount. Grayson stood a few steps away looking at the stallion curiously. “You can come closer, Spirit is a perfect gentleman, he likes firm pats like this” He smiled at her demonstration and brought his own much larger right hand to Spirit’s thick neck and let his left one rest cheekily above her knee.

“Spirit” he tested the name on his tongue “Is that his name?” he was looking up at her, for a change, and its was making her breath speed up.

“Well his registered name is actually Indomitable Spirit, my grandma rescued his mom with a poachers arrow on her side” (Y/N) cringed at the memory of the beautiful mare covered in blood “She didn’t have any hoseshoes and her teeth looked like they had never been floated, she was skittish around people... but not as much as the tipycal wild horse. It was like she was scared but she still wanted something from us. Then we realized it was because she was heavily pregnant, it only took us a couple of days to figure out she was close to due date. A month later she gave birth to the most adorable foal with a coat as black as onyx stone” Grayson basked in the glow of her radiant smile remembering how her horse came to this world. And when her face fell, his did too.“It was a difficult labor and she wasn't fully healed yet from her old wounds. The blood loss was fatal, she was too weak to even stand but she pushed through until she was done and the she just closed her eyes and never opened them again. Later on we confirmed she was a mustang so we named him in her honor. You know, most pregnant mares are nightmares, but not her, it was like she knew we would take care of her baby.” She paused at the dreamy look on his face ”Sorry, you probably didn't need the whole pony tale story, I blabber a lot sometimes... a lot of times, actually.”

“No its fine its fine,” he replied hurriedly “I love it, I mean, the story- its quite beautiful,”

“Glad you liked it” She blushed again and Grayson could have pulled her down from the saddle right then and there to cover her cute ass face with kisses, but he contained himself and tried to focus on what she was saying. “Again I’m so sorry about the garden”

“Actually, now I’m looking forward to Emperor’s next great scape if that means i get to hang out with you ” There it was, he had laid out the bait, he could only pray she take it.

“That could very well happen, but I would hate to destroy your garden again” She chuckled nervously

“It would be worth it if I can see you again, soon” The hand on her knee squeezed and his eyes stared hopeful into hers. “Or maybe, we could just grab some vegan ice cream sometime”

“That sounds nice” She started turning her horse around to hide her very obvious blush, but he saw it and it had his heart fluttering and a big cheesy smile appearing on his face.

“Vegan ice-cream it is, then”

#grayson dolan imagine #dolan twins imagine #ethan dolan #grayson dolan #dolan twins #ethan dolan imagine #horselover #miniature horse #shetland pony #mustang #horses #new jersey #contryside

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human-monokuma · 3 years

Note

There are legends that span across the wastelands. Legends that tell of a beast, a beast so big that it towers over the many hills and feasts off of the remains of what was once a gorgeous forest.

A beast so horrifying that it rivalled the incomprehensibility of the fabled Cthulu. It's horns curled maliciously, with ends sharper than any weapon mankind could've welded. On it's own, a single horn could match the size of modern airplanes.

A beast so mighty that it could level skyscrapers with a single flick of it's hooves. A couple of steps was all it took for the ground beneath it to shake with the intensity of a dozen earthquakes, as if the core of the planet itself was trembling in fear.

A beast with the toughest of hide, boasting near miles worth of skin, flesh, and bone. Yet, if one could somehow slice, chop, or even burn through it all and find it's exposed, red hot heart, and stab the deepest of wounds into it; it would surely be enough to subdue it.

If one could survive the fall of the beast tipping over and falling limp, and make the hundred meter trip to the pink organ that was minuscule in comparison to the body, but was comparable to a large cabin. If one cut into the flesh and took a drink, they would taste the power, the enlightenment, the state of near nirvana...

...of 100% milk.

*Monokuma takes all of this in mind while listening to free form jazz.*

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Three; Hunger.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: !!! Violence and gore in this chapter !!! As-well as stalking, dub con and mentions of attempted sexual assault. Hungry horny vampires gotta eat somehow right?

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

When the coach door enclosed him in darkness and silence at the end of the evening, he tosses his head back to the scarlet velvet wall behind him and sighs out a deep releasing exhale. One of gladness.

It felt like the most cleansing breath he’d taken all damned evening.

Polite society hereabouts was exhausting- he rather preferred the one of years past.

The coach lurches away. Hooves clip on the icy midnight road, splashed in watery silver moonlight and mushed grey snow.

He listens to the glorious sound of his driver steering the horses to take him away from that stuffy ballroom and all its conceited occupants.

His body rattles and shifts on the softness of the upholstered bench with the rickety rumbling and turning of the carriage wheels. He lets it ground his restless temper.

He tries to recall the differences of when he last stepped foot on this island. What he’d said to Miss Ashton was no incorrect lie. He hadn’t been on these shores in an age. Not in 600 years atleast-

The last time he was here was during the crusades.

Everything was truly different in comparison. Back then he’d donned a hauberk chain-mail coat, with a conical helmet and a kite shield. He’d come here armed with only a horse, a long bow, a lance and his mail armour.

He’d been a Knight back then. In the third crusade of 1189. Fighting under the blood soaked banner of an Christian king to reclaim the Holy Land from a Sultan. He forgets the kings name, theres been so many he’s served. The lionhearted one perhaps? Faces and names of mere humans fade back into his mind like fog.

He’s seen so many lives begin and end. Even kings fade eventually. Too many mortals to list.

He remembers how hospitality and society was vastly different then. It was peasants and lords. Not all these lords, and dukes and earls and titles.

He recalls the wide unpolluted pure of cobalt sky and meadows of yellow daffodil flowers stretching on for miles. The kiss of their innocent nectar in the air. Exotic new spices, cloves and saffron and salt, animal sweat, dung, and musky furs and hides.

Salt of the earth humble houses were squat little wood straw huts. Dominated by the reaching slanted cold shadows, that came from the immensity of the rich grey-stoned castles.

People revered one God and their masters. Kylo was a knight. He was as good as both.

He has memories of great fine feasts with roast suckling pigs or boars turning on the great hall spit over the fire. The glaze of flame crackled pork skin and the dirt of ash. He recalls to this very day the sweet honey spice of mead on his tongue.

He remembers gorging himself on that honey-wine and devouring still bleeding slices of roast venison. That juicy ichor dripped down his chin. He ate meat off the bone like a starved dog. Drank flagon after flagon of barley ale to celebrate war and shedding the blood of the infidels.

He’d greedily dined with the Lords at their courts, scarfed down their hospitality like a beast. Then he’d gone and ripped apart a peasant or two in the forest afterwards.

Blood pulsing with matter and protein, and stomach groaning full with wine and blood. The next day when they found the decimated bodies they blamed the innocent deaths on the wolves. How appropriate-

He can remember this country in the spark of its infancy. He was there to see it born.

He was in Runnymede in Surrey in 1215, outside the fringes of the very room, watching, as the band of feuding Baron’s made the unruly King sign the Magna Carta. The cornerstone of British law. The first time a higher power was held accountable.

And now look at the pitiful state of it-

He’d been in the ballroom tonight of this grand house when those higher powers had sneered at his choice of footwear behind their snifters of French brandy and their fans. Foppish young ladies and men and all ignorant as to their place in the world they think they improve.

He was there at the very inception of all the powers and laws these vapid people obsess and fuss over. The one that gave all those preening lords and ladies their cursed little country and their dignity.

Maybe if he were a nicer, more patient man he could settle for people flattering him and wheedling him with idle compliments at every turn. Maybe if he were more vain, and knew his own handsomeness, he could accept those honeyed words. The sickly ones that rotted in his ears. If he was like them he could indulge their meaning.

He’s not like them. He never will be. And he’s glad of it.

He’s older. Laughably older. He’s a warrior. He’s seen every facet of life and history and war imaginable. And they are all nothing but specs of insignificant dust to him.

They think they matter, when all they do is fuck and breed and drink and dance. They marry well, and produce offspring to hold up their fetid titles, and stately homes. Then they die. And the next generation begins the same thing all over.

Some of those ignorant men tonight had the sheer nerve and effrontery to sneer up at him. Thinking he was so foreign and unfamiliar that he wouldn’t find the insult in their sniping adulations. The way they dug at his incorrect attire, his gloves, his boots. His dark clothing and his longer unfashionable hair.

Were he in a less forgiving mood he would have snapped a few necks in that room tonight. Stopped a few hearts from beating by breaking the ribcage open and reaching in with his bare hands.

He could’ve- it was vastly too tempting. But he had to assimilate to this petty crowd and open bloodshed wasn’t the way to do so. He has to remember rules and politesses about where to stand and what to discuss. It’s infuriating-

He reaches a leathered hand to his neck and yanks open his neatly tied cravat. Jerking it lose from his neck so he could take a damn breath. Shoves the tie pin from it deep in his pocket.

Irritation pounds at his temples reminiscent of a headache; his throat is crackling and sore-dry.

He’s imbibed many glasses of Portuguese port and piddly French red wine. The crushed grape of its taste still sits on the back of his tongue and it’s simply not enough.

He needs to feed-

Aching to feel the blushing heat of it drool down his chin. Frothy pink where it blends with his drooling mouth.

He’s been hungry ever since Miss Ashton crossed his path that very afternoon. Her blooming innocent scent unfolded for him like the rarest flower.

That lavender oil and clary sage essence of her fragrance. He likes her eyes. So shy and soft. Grey like Howlite.

People say they couldn’t see beauty in pale eyes but he very much disagrees. Pale. Like the pearled moon, like clouded open skies. Like the gentle purity of creamy rose petals.

That girl he glimpsed tonight was shades away from the shy creature he saw walking along a pale road. With a crease of concern on her brow.

Arms and hands aching with strain and numb from her labours and holding that basket.

Even in her ill fitting coat and her cracked shoes and worn dress he’d seen more of her. More of her obvious true beauty.

Her hair this afternoon was riotous and wild and he so likes wild things.

Tonight she’d been trussed up, and decorated and tamed in a flimsy silk gown and made to look like every other girl donned in their best. To parade in the ballroom like a swan showing off its feathers.

Or like a snowy little dove-

He smiles to himself. Time was - back in some far less strict age - he’d have cleverly concocted some excuse to get her alone at that ball tonight.

A darkened room for a lovers tryst. A room out of use and earshot of everyone where he could be her lover just for the night. Where he could kiss her senseless. Sate the craving.

Crowd her to the wall of some parlour, tear those silly slippers off. Rip those papery silk skirts right up the middle. Make her cry out in pleasure on his cock. Make her thighs shake with rapture that makes her sweet core drip right down to the insides of her stockinged knees.

He’d feed on her too. Oh, he’d make a feast of her. Make her last.

The little delicate morsel she was. What a mouthful. He’d mouth everywhere. Her gorgeous breasts, her neck, devour between her thighs at a place where he’s certain no other man has ever been.

Shove his muzzle in her neck and lick the sweat off her soaped salt skin. Taste that awful cloying fragrance she put on. Growl at her that she should never bother with scent again to entice him. He didn’t want the citrus rot of perfumery and flowers.

He wanted her. Her bare skin. He wanted the clean pure innocence he smelt off her from his carriage that afternoon. Her skin. Body. Her unguarded neck.

He’d bite and suck and feed. He’d feed as they are joined as one with him slipped up inside her. And he’d happily watch that white white dress turn crimson garnet.

He damns civility. He growls and tears the infernal cravat right off his neck. Not only is he raging hungry, but he’s now got an appetite for things that just blood won’t sate.

His appetites for Miss Ashton.

He balls up the cloth of his cravat and shoves his deep in his coat pocket. His shirt neck now gapes wide open. Down is pecs. Almost to his chest. Baring him to the cold that he’s too deadened and numb to feel.

When the coach bumps over a rickety track in the road, he gazes out the window, feeling the chilled glass brush his icy hands. Even through his thick skinned leather gloves. Lined with silken rabbit fur. An irony when his hands were ones that didn’t even need keeping warm.

He peers out the tiny icy slither of the window pane in the door. See’s that they are now heading through some tiny hamlet. One far from home. Somewhere quiet where there’s a quaint roadside tavern under the heavy bruising of a night sky.

A run down roadside coaching inn by the looks of the squat old building wedged into the earth, compressed under a heavy blanketing snow. The roof sags in the middle. There’s tiles missing. A wonky chimney which coughs and chokes out little smoke.

The crusty paint peeling sign above the door announces it’s called ‘The Horse & Wagon’ In faded wheat gold paint. He sees the small square spits of Tudor windows to the front are glowing with candles and many men are crushed within. Drinking away their riches. Or drowning their sorrows. Escaping their nagging wives or their crying children. Getting away from the responsibility of all the hungry mouths they had to feed.

He pounds a big rattling fist once on the carriage roof. Careful not to plough his ravened fist through the wood. He could tear it apart like brittle match wood if he wanted.

The coach shudders, whip cracks, horses whinny and snort in protest. Kylo wets his lips and climbs out down the coach.

“Going in for a drink. Don’t wait on me.” He instructs. His driver tips his hat and the carriage churns up wet and muddy snow as it lurches away.

He strides to the warped door and shoves it open. Creaky and shuddering old thing. The aroma of the dingy place hits him like being cut down by stampeding stallion.

The decay of sweat. The heat and filth of working men. Body odours. Stale ale and musty unclean floors.

His heavy treads from his expensive boots skid on the muck lining the grey flagstones as he steps in. As tall as the door, and more so, he had to stoop to get in. His shoulders too wide for the tiny door.

The bar is crowded with labourers and farm hands. They have their backs turned to him. But the miserable portly barman assesses Kylo with offence and derision as he comes in. With his probable educated accent and his fine clothes.

This was normal men’s refuge from their masters or the fine men and lords they serve. The scowl on the tubby mans face tells kylo this.

In a previous life, any man looking with such open derision at his lord and master rightfully entitled them to be pilloried for a month, or flogged until he can’t stand, Kylo thinks.

He looks around the dismal offering of this atmosphere. Settles on a table in the mouldy walled corner. Damp dripping from the sagging ceiling over the exposed stone.

The tables are wonky chunky oak ones. The only light in the place are from melted and misshapen candles in brass black stands on each uncleaned table. Kylo sits with a full vantage of the bar. Next to the fireplace. Soot and ash spewed all over the floor. Crunching and crushed under his boots.

A waify little barmaid appears in a dirty donkey-brown wool dress. Her hair the shade of red rust scraped back off her face in a low bun. Stained chemise under her rumpled dress.

She still had the flush of youth in her cheeks. The baby-weight of it on her face too. She was still a girl and yet she had to work serving the foul pigs in here. He pities the poor thing. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. And he knew men lost to drink could turn truly vile.

“Serve the gentleman, Maggie.” The miserable barkeep growls. She does as she’s bid. The way he says ‘gentleman’ was as if the word turns his stomach.

Kylo’s sat in shadow in his corner. Fully confident the girl can’t see him. Doubtless she’s had to approach more rowdy awful men than him. She doesn’t seem scared. Why should she be? She doesn’t know she’s approaching a man who’s scarier than all the rowdy and randy drunk men she’s seen, put together.

She focuses her innocent little brown eyes at him. He sees the flush on her cheeks. And the dew of labour on her chest. There were splashes of drink sullying her crumpled linen chemise sleeves. She’s soaked in sweat and smells of drink and dirt. “What can I get you, sir?” She asks. Her accent was low born.

“Ale.” Kylo asks for. All the alcohol this place would serve is spirits or beer. No cordials, port or madeira to be found in here. This isn’t the place for that. This is the place to get drunk quick - he hopes.

She nods and scampers back over to the bar. She brings him back a filthy tankard of ale that he doesn’t even dare touch.

He reaches his pocket and gives her two silver shillings. She turns away but he stops her by grabbing her wrist. Bones grate under his leather palm. Turning back she looks afraid.

“Please, sir-“ She tries to protest.

Kylo reaches out again and puts three crown coins in her hand. She looks at him with surprised wet eyes. Bordering on offence at his insinuation. This was an inn. There were rooms upstairs- she thought he wished to buy her time.

“Nothing like that.” Kylo assures her with a cross frown. He prefers his partners willing. Not paid.

“That’s for you and your family.” He nods to the bar. “Not for him.” He states firmly.

She smiles and quickly pockets the coins. He likes travelling with coins in his coat. Knowing what he could idly spare to a deserving soul could feed a family in reduced circumstances, for an entire week.

She walks away happily from his table. He slouches back in the shadows again.

He lets the fetid ale sit in front of him and suffers this putrid place so that his dinner might show itself soon.

He listens to the men cackle, hacking booming laughs, share stories and jokes, and drink and stoutly ignore him. Which is what he wanted. He planned for that. It always serves him and his appetite well.

He waits and watches. As any good hunter does. And he’s one of the top predators stalking this earth-

He was the second vampire ever made. The only devil worse than him is the one who made him. And the only one Kylo’s maker bows down to, is the original demon himself who bought them all into creation. The one who fell from heaven.

He continues his waiting game.

Eyes slipping over every man. Watching them imbibe. Watching the sense drain from their thick heads. Watching. Looking. Searching. Wondering who who who it will be.

He doesn’t have to prey for very long. He never had to in filthy, discarded and squalid places like these.

Kylo’s eyes zip to the bar where some letching man now has his hands tugging at the bar maids skirts and trying to get her in his lap.

The assailant was young. Not very handsome. Ruddy faced. Tanned. A farm hand at his best guess. Broad backed with a square jaw and wheaten hair. Kylo leans forwards in his chair. Eyes churning. Stomach calling.

She wrenches her skirts away from him and gives him a stout slap across the face. Before scurrying away scared, heading out the door at the back to fetch the things her boss barked at for her to go get.

His friends all jeered and laughed and told him he got what was owing to him. A red welt spreading across his face.

Kylo’s stomach knots up in anticipation.

The affronted farm hand sloshes down his pint. And starts after the girls retreat. Kylo slips out the front door with a smirk. And a belly full of rage.

His feet crunch on the snow. Where he stands. He rips his gloves off and shoves them in his pocket. He’s a feeling he’ll need his bare hands soon. Nails already growing sharper. The promise of a hunt hangs in the air.

He slips around the side of the tavern. To the ale barrel store out back. He’s nearly there to the out sheds when he hears it. The crack of a slap harshly ringing the air, whimpers. Gasps of pain. Pairs of feet shifting in the snow.

He rounds the corner. Silent as his shadow trailing behind him.

He sees the farm hand with his hand over the girls mouth. Crushing her to the tavern wall by the back door. Hidden by the barrels, boxes and crates stacked all around. He’s trying to stuff his hand up her skirts again.

“Give us a kiss, lass. You know you want to-“ He smirks.

Hunched over the poor girl. Leering at her. Snarling that no one makes a fool out of him. Her eyes are so wide and terrified. Whites of them and sticky in the dark night air, like pearls.

Kylo can’t stop the low growl slipping from his throat. The natural part of him- the animal- slipping free.

He marches over with his blood raging fury through his body. Temples pulsing with strain and need. He fists a hand in the boys collar and yanks him back, slamming him up into the wall instead. See how he likes it.

He holds with death. He doesn’t hold with rape.

Not in any sense. Not to young girls with their whole lives ahead. He was born and bred in a time when women were revered as highly as men. They were treated and respected as equal. Not handled and oppressed, bred and showcased and sold like livestock.

He turns the letch to face him. Marvels in the scared screams that come from his mouth. He likes hearing how horrible he is in his most feral state.

His eyes are glowing gold now. Golder than coin. Golder than sun and wheat and everything precious.

Only he looks terrifying. Gold eyes. Edges rimmed with raw red.

The girl cowers on the snowy floor next to them. Tears streaming down her innocence puppyish face. One cheek reddened by a slap from a harsh hand. Kylo looks down at her. The farm hands feet dangled high off the floor, kicking at him.

“Run along girl. Go home.” Kylo warns. Looking down at her. She scrambled back and heaved herself up to stand on shaking legs.

“W-What are you gonna do with him?” She asks. Edging away down the wall.

“You don’t wish to know.” Kylo smiles squeezes the guys throat. Spit splutters out his mouth. He gurgles on his shouts of terror.

She scarpers away in the snow. It clings powdery wet to her skirts and she run’s around the building and off into the dark. He’s not worried for her safety now. She won’t encounter a more dangerous creature than him out there tonight.

The man before him whimpers. Kylo rakes his eyes over his face. Rubs his thumb along the pulsing jugular in his neck. His sharp nails quickly piercing the skin. Notes of hot sweet copper and pennies bloom up in the air.

“Please. D-Don’t hurt me please-please sir.” He begs.

Why do people think begging will save them? Like any amount simple pleading will keep them from harm. It won’t even scratch the surface.

“I’m giving you a little taste of how scared that girl was when you followed her out here. Not very palatable is it? You beat her with your bare hands. You caused her pain. She suffered you. Now you’ll suffer me...”

“And I will make sure it hurts.” Kylo’s promising with mirth in a savage whisper.

When he smiles there are two glimmering sharp fangs where his pointed canines used to sit. Gleaming wet in the light. The farm hands eyes are shrieking with fear.

Kylo strikes quickly and cleanly. Hands fisted into this grubby workers clothes. He growls as his teeth sink and he tears through the flesh like the skin is no more to him than wet paper being gouged at by knives.

He groans as he drinks. Laps it down. As the hot viscous filled his mouth and slid warm down his throat to his belly like a trail of fire.

His blood tasted of apples and coins. Sharp and bronzy bitter.

Kylo can feel it smeared over his mouth. Slipping down his chin. Onto his chest and staining his open shirt. He’s crushing the man’s windpipe in his free hand. The other planted to the wall. He feels the wretch twitch and sag under his hands as he slowly eats away his life.

The part he always likes the best- when the fight drains away and the muscles loosen. And everything unwinds. That’s when the blood comes quicker. Thicker. Less of it being pumped around a panicked body.

There’s no panic anymore. There’s nothing. Not even life.

He greedy with meals. He drinks until he’s had his fill and his appetite is about as large as his body.

He feasts until blood is staining his hands. His chest. And smudged all across his chin. He even saw some drop on his boots. His teeth are stained crimson and his belly heavy with the bliss of being so full. He hadn’t fed since he arrived here. It’s nectar euphoria flushing into his blood.

When he’s had enough. He easily drags the bloodless corpse away from the tavern.

Discards his useless body in a nearby icy ditch at the side of the road. He reeked of Gin. And Kylo thinks it a fitting end that it looks like the drunkard stumbled into the path of an oncoming carriage and got torn and crushed to bits under the wheels.

He kicks snow over him and leaves. Sucking the blood off his fingers as he walks.

He’s not sure how or why. But he finds himself knowing to head through the woods. The opposite route to home. Trekking through snow in his leather boots. Forest and ice brushing at his wool jacket shoulders from the low hanging branches in the trees. Wisps of snow land in his hair. Floating all around and catching on every gnarled bark of each tree.

He finds he ends up in the oddest of places. Westwell manor.

He looks up at the large block of the Manor house. Gold brick. White sash windows. An ivy smothered roof. Cracked roof tiles that had seen better days, freckled in melting snow and moonlight. Just like the snowy gardens.

He stands shaded under the old horse chestnut tree, and looks up to the one room, high up in the house. In the middle. There’s a candle glowing amber in the window. Turning the glass into a sheet of apricot cornelian standing stark in the bruised black night.

He just wants a glimpse. He’s aching for it- he thought it was the bloodlust that pulled here. But perhaps he’s wrong- it’s deeper than all that feral nature.

Just a glance. Just the one. Can’t hurt. It’ll help him make up his mind

And there’s his little dove. Draped in a white nightgown. Sat in her window alcove.

Up against the frosty glass with a shawl bundled around her shoulders. A novel cracked open and sloped in her lap. Her delicate face exposed by her hair. Now in that messy, freed arrangement. Tucked into a wild plait tied with beige muslin at the end. The nightgown it so big it slides off one pale shoulder.

Kylo aches at the sight. His bones ring with wanting. Maybe this power is no more than desire.

He shuts his eyes and he can smell her. Can imagine the simple taste of her hot skin on his tongue. Wants to feel his eyelashes kiss the crook of her neck as he does the same to her shoulder. Wants the drum of that pulse in his mouth. Is this desire? Or is it more?

She turns the page and smiles a little reading the passage. He smiles too. As if they are linked. Already joined as one. It makes something stir in him.

He softly whispers words that echo out into the frigid cold night. So only he can hear them “Sweet dreams, little dove.”

Kylo’s not felt like this, or this strange pull of attraction in all his 1,027 years walking this earth. And now it’s here, she’s here-

He wonders-

Maybe she doesn’t know it yet- he doesn’t fully know or understand it himself. They shared something like a deep connection as soon as their eyes met. He felt it. And he never usually feels things such as those. Not for another human.

Kylo is in serious danger of outstaying his welcome- but he just wants to look at her. To admire her for a second longer. As openly as an astrologist studies the beauty and wonder of the moon. Perhaps he can make sense of all this.

As Iris moves to close her book, blow out her candle and climb into her much cosier bed to warm her feet; she glances out the gardens, up past the pond and up at the bright cyclops of that pearly winter moon.

She could’ve sworn she caught sight of a hulking man stood, looking up at her from under the chestnut tree. She blinks and rubs away the cold fog smeared on her window and there’s nothing there- idle trickery from her tired mind.

He vows he will see her again; he’ll make sure if it. As he walks home in the cold night. Dripping dried blood and agitated with desire. He declares to himself that he will do everything in his power to uncover more. To make something sensible out of all this mess.

After all. Kylo Ren is a creature of little patience. But this feeling, this situation. That is what he will patiently unpick.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren x oc #vampire!kylo #vampire au #very wolves and doves #Iris vibes 🕊#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#Draegan vibes 🥀#vampirelovestory #vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #lovestory #angst #slowest of slow burn #slow burn #violence #gore #blood

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