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rynneer · 7 months

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Blood of Durin

A reader-insert fanfiction.

Y/N doesn’t know how she found herself in Middle Earth, how she found herself among the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, or how she let herself be captivated by the elder Durin prince—but she does know one thing.

She’s carrying his child.

Chapter Nine: Graceland Too

Here comes the bride.

said she knows she lived through it to get to this moment

–Graceland Too, Phoebe Bridgers

“Ready, lass?”

You fiddle with your bra beneath the bodice of your gown. Balin waits at your side.

“We ought not to keep them waiting long,” he reminds you. “Much can be said of the stubbornness of dwarves, but not much of our patience.”

With a deep breath, you halt your fidgeting. “How do I look?”

He smiles gently, placing a bouquet in your hands. “Like a princess.” Balin holds out his arm, and you link yours with it. He pushes open the doors before you, leading out into the large courtyard where it seems the whole kingdom waits.

You catch your breath. At the far end stands Fíli, dressed in a rich blue tunic, laced with silver. His golden hair is on fire in the dying sunlight. Kíli is just behind him, putting a hand on the groom’s shoulder to steady him. On the opposite side from Kíli, Tauriel dips her head to you with a small smile.

Soft music begins to play from a small band assembled from what instruments could be found still intact after the dragon’s assault. Slowly, you and Balin walk down the aisle to your betrothed. He unlinks your arms and pulls away to join the Dís and the rest of the Company in the front row. You hand the bouquet off to Tauriel, and your maid-of-honor steps back. It’s just you and Fíli standing before Thorin, also dressed in his most elaborate furs. He inclines his head to you, then clears his throat and begins addressing the gathered crowd in their native tongue.

In exchange for a wedding with an atmosphere more familiar to you, it was agreed that the ceremony would go according to dwarven customs. Taking your hands, Fíli murmurs a translation under his breath, but you barely hear it, so consumed by the moment. At some point, he squeezes your hands and looks at you expectantly. You jump slightly. He’d prepared you for this part, at least.

“May I have the privilege of braiding your hair?” he asks in Khuzdûl.

“You may,” you reply in kind, the words clunky and foreign on your tongue. Heat flushes your cheeks when you hear a few whispers from the crowd, but they’re swiftly silenced by a glare from Thorin.

You turn around and Fíli carefully removes his crude wooden bead from your hair, the one he had painstakingly carved over the Company’s journey and given to you that night before the battle. The braid falls from your hair, locks still stuck in the wavy pattern. From a small pillow Fíli selects a tiny, silver bead, studded with sapphires. He carefully weaves together strands on the other side of your head, fixing the bead in place.

My turn. The Khuzdûl words stick in your throat. “May I have the privilege of braiding your hair?”

Fíli’s face lights up like he’s been waiting to hear those words from you his whole life. “You may.”

His hair is silky and thick in your fingers as you remove his bead and braid, replacing it with a bead to match your own.

When he turns back to face you, he’s wearing the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. Thorin hardly has time to get the words out before Fíli seizes your face and your lips collide. He lifts you up and whirls you around, nearly tangling in your long skirt. You giggle, finally pounding on his back to signal your need to come up for air. He’s breathless and giddy when he puts you down.

Thorin chuckles, taking hold of both of your wrists and lifting them in the air. “Yasthûn ra yasthûna!” he roars. [husband and wife] “And now, we feast,” he adds under his breath to you.

 And a feast it is. If theres one thing Middle Earth does well, it’s food, and the dwarves are no exception. Thorin has spared no expense in furnishing the first royal wedding in over a hundred years, not to mention the first formal event in the reclaimed Erebor. Ale and mead flow freely, though you’ve selected a sweet wine for yourself. The grand centerpiece is a dozen sweet, slow-roasted hogs, surrounded by heaps of grilled vegetables and fresh autumn fruits. Candles dot the tables lining the hall, filling the vast room with a dream-like glow. The mountain has been so transformed, you can hardly tell that it’s been a full year since you arrived on Erebor’s doorstep.

You lean back in your chair with a contented sigh. Fíli trails his fingers up and down your sleeve absentmindedly as he sips on a mug of ale. His eyes have been on you for the whole reception and his hand never far from your arm, as if afraid you’re but a figment of his imagination.

“Surely you’re not tired yet, Y/N?” he teases, draping an arm around your neck.

“No,” you reply, leaning into him. “Just thinking.”

“Mm, your favorite pastime.”

“Well, one of us has to be the brains of the relationship.”

He smacks your shoulder lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m plenty intelligent!”

“Ah, but which of us got top grades in their high school English classes?”

“That’s not fair,” Fíli grumbles. “We’re speaking Westron, not Angle-ish.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, bringing your knees up under your skirt and curling into Fíli’s side as much as your separate chairs allow.

Thorin catches your eye from across the table and leans over. “Have we completed all of your world’s marriage rituals?”

You stand up. “I guess there’s usually toasts and speeches and stuff. Gotta get their attention first,” you add, eying the noisy crowd.

You bang your mug on the table. When that’s drowned out by all the merriment, you switch tactics, pursing your lips and letting out an ear-piercing whistle. That gets the rowdy dwarves’ attention, some of the mildly sober ones grabbing their drunker companions and turning them to face you.

You clear your throat. “I’d like to thank you all for coming–”

“I didn’t know I had a choice!” a particularly drunk Bofur shouts. It earns him several smacks on the back of the head at once from the dwarves around him, knocking off his hat.

You tip your mug to him. “Well, your presence is appreciated anyway, Bofur. As I was saying, thank you for coming, and for indulging my little rituals. I know they seem odd to all of you, but it’s a nice reminder of home for me. And especially thank you to Kíli for being such a good babysitter!”

Kíli grins at you from across the table, bouncing a giggling Juniper on his knee. Briefly, you wonder if someone more sober should take over watching your daughter, but the little one has cried each time someone tried to take her from her beloved uncle. He’s toted her around the reception, drunkenly bragging about her to anyone who’d listen, and many who wouldn’t. It took ages for Fíli and Dís to finally convince him to actually sit down and eat once he’d downed a few pints. Juniper waves her little hands at Kíli’s hair, trying to snag it in her fists.

You swallow a lump in your throat as you look around. Most of the dwarves unknown to you have wandered off, but to your relief all the Company members remain. “A lot of girls in my world grow up dreaming about what their wedding will look like. I never put much stock in it. I didn’t have time for romance, but a little over a year ago my schedule cleared up unexpectedly, and, well…” you gesture broadly to the room. That stubborn lump in your throat returns, and you take a sip from your mug to try to squash it down. “I realized I’ve never properly thanked you for what you’ve done for me. You’re all I have.”

Fíli takes your hand, thumb tracing circles over the back of it. You squeeze his hand in return.

“I… I always thought it’d be my mom helping me with my dress, my dad walking me down the aisle, my best friend as my maid of honor. I even knew what song I’d use for the father-daughter dance.” Tears sting the edge of your vision. You desperately hope they don’t smudge the delicate pigments lining your eyelids.

Some of the dwarves look down at the floor, and you see a few blinking back tears of their own.

“But you’ve all become a weird, wonderful family to me. So a toast!” You raise your mug up high. “To the Company, for taking in this strange girl and loving her as one of your own. To Balin, especially, the first to accept me—I still think Dwalin would’ve cleaved me in half without your intervention.”

The old dwarf chuckles, eyes twinkling. Dwalin grumbles, but hides a smile in his beard.

“To Kíli, the strangest brother I could ask for. To Dís, for a mother’s love, and for raising a pretty good guy.” You elbow Fíli playfully. He swats your arm away in mock offense.

“To Thorin—I knew I’d win you over eventually!” You throw him a wink.

He dips his head from his seat next to Kíli and raises his tankard solemnly.

“To Juniper, the one who makes this all worth it.” Damn that lump, it’s back again! “To my mom and dad, and all the rest—wherever you are, I’ll always love you. And to my best friend, you still owe me twenty bucks for gas!”

A few of the dwarves chuckle, though they don’t seem to get the joke entirely.

“And to my husband—my yasthûn,” you squeeze Fíli’s hand again, tightly. “My Fíli. To the one who saved me.”

Fíli pulls you down into his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist and cupping your face in his hand. He gazes into your eyes, and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and tender, like your first kiss back in Rivendell.

Kíli lets out a whoop, echoed by the rest of the dwarves, and the noise escalates back into the drunken ruckus of the night. But you and Fíli stay there, you laying your head on his shoulder, him rubbing your back, just enjoying each other. Then he stands and lifts you with him, carrying you to the center of the room. He sets you down lightly and looks back at Thorin with a small nod.

Thorin returns it and reaches across the table to your phone. He taps it a few times, turning up the volume. A soft tune drifts across the room.

Seeing the bride and groom in the middle of the hall, the dwarves quiet down and watch expectantly. Fíli places a gentle hand on your side and takes your hand.

“Fíli!” you whisper harshly, cheeks turning red. You regret showing the dwarves how to use your phone now. “I can’t dance!”

He smiles at you. “They’re too drunk to realize anyway,” he whispers back. As the music swells, he begins to sway back and forth, leading you in a slow, careful dance around the center of the room. Your breath catches when he lifts your arm above your head, and with uncertain feet you twirl around, skirt flowing out around you. Fíli lets you spin for a few seconds and then brings you back in, gripping your waist and, to your surprise, tossing you in the air. He catches you easily and dips you down as the song ends. His eyes are soft, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Thank you, amrâlimê,” he murmurs.

You blink. “For what?”

“For staying.”

You smile. “I didn’t know I had a choice.”

#fanfiction #fili x reader #fili x you #fíli #kíli #reader insert #the hobbit #thorin and company #thorin oakenshield #blood of durin #ao3 fic

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gayandfairycore · 2 years

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hey! can i please request a smut one shot with morgana pendragon x fem!reader after a banquet or smth and one of the knights was flirting with reader and morgana gets jealous? xx

Thank you so much! @supmydudeswheresthedepresion for being my first request! I hope I did it justice :)

Warnings: Smut, oral, fingering. I think thats it! This is not proof read sorry for any grammatical errors/plot holes!

Serving morgana as her trusty servant was an interesting time for you both, the lingering stares, and the touches that lasted a moment too long tending to her bath, and lacing up her dresses. There’s was something other then a platonic servant to master relationship, it was the same with Merlin and Arthur.

It was the night of the banquet, a dinner to commemorate the tournament .

You were there standing next to Merlin, holding a jug of water in your hands watching by the side as your lady walked through the door. Looking gorgeous as always, no matter how many times you’ve seen her pale face, and striking green eyes. She could still make you sweat from just a look. She claimed she wore this little red dress for the men, she was lying. She knew her affect on you, of course she did.

She decided tonight, she’d make it a night You’d really remember.

You were there for hours serving a multitude of people, from council members, to knights. There was one man who’s gaze never faulted, he was a knight from a neighbouring kingdom sent to complete against Arthur in the melay hoping to win a date with morgana.

She couldn’t care less about half of them, the only time she cared was when she noticed their lingering stares on her girl.

The last straw was when you served him his drink he smiled, and gripped your hand far too soft and long for her liking. She was fuming when she had looked back and seen the blush coating your face.

Morgana stood up, with a scrape of her chair, she bid a quiet goodnight to her father, and her brother.

And

Beckoned you to follow her you handed Merlin your now empty jug, hiked up your skirt and hurried out the large doors. Turning the corner the stairs of morganas chambers before you could even comprehend what happened YOu were pushed violently against the cold castle walls, lips attaching to yours in a rough but not violent manner.

As morgana detached her lips from yours she made her way towards your exposed neck pampering soft kisses along your skin, sucking and biting in parts. Drawing whimpers from your throat, breathy moans escaping you,

A smirk gracing her pale face she whispered a soft

“That knight was flirting with you, yknow…I don’t like people flirting with my girlfriend.”

A stunned look adorned your face, you started this morning as her servant, only to end it her secret girlfriend?

Before you could question her about why she’s settle for you, when there are so many gorgeous people out there.

She pulled you by your hands towards her chambers,

Commanding you to remove your f/c dress egerly reaching behind you tugging at the strings of your corset, only for morganas gentle hands began to unlace the corset like an expert, undoing your corset and lying soft butterfly kisses on your shoulders pushing you back onto her bed she straddles your waist moving down to kiss the valley of your breasts, and whispers “so beautiful, god you are so beautiful. My love.” Moaning softly at her words, she chuckles, and starts her assault on your breasts, kissing. Sucking. And squeezing. Swiping her tongue against the erect bud of your nipple

You whimper her name in ecstasy.

“Please morgana, I need you”

You whimper desperately.

She lets out a throaty chuckle, and moves down your mostly naked body, removing your panties, and inserting one digit into your sex. A shaky moan escaping from your throat, she added her tongue into the mix, her fingers continuing their assault. Her tongue swirling figure 8s.

It was almost too much,

“Let go, my love. Cum for me”

Her words sending you over the edge, cries escaping your throat. You let go.

“Good girl” morgana praises, pulling you into her and cover you both with her blankets.

#bbc merlin #bbc merlin x reader #mommy morgana #morgana pendragon x reader #morgana x reader #morgana x reader smut #morgana pendragon smut #bbc merlin imagine #bbc Merlin smut #arthur pendragon #merthur #merlin x reader #women loving women #wlw smut

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solinarimoon · 3 years

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On Raven’s Wings - chapter one

A/N: Slow burn, angsty OC character insert for portions of season 3 for The Last Kingdom. The moodboard is mine with images from Pinterest.

Warnings: Canon violence, implied sexual mistreatment

Word Count: 4,280

Masterlist

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Flames danced and sent shadows across the faces of the people huddled around its warmth. The approaching winter air sent chills and shivers along the skin of the Danes in the camp. A promise of the cold season to come.

Sihtric sat quietly, listening. Observing. Most of the conversation surrounding him was menial, inconsequential. But the dark-haired Dane made sure his ears were ready to tune into any important details. Anything that might be useful to him and his cause.

Across from him, the witch, Skade sat watching too. Her piercing gaze content to be focused on others for the moment. Whenever her eyes did land on him, he had to suppress a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. Her stare gave the eerie sense of piercing through to someone’s core and seeing them for all their fears. Their hidden secrets.

She made him uneasy.

“Who is that, Bloodhair?” Haesten’s words seized Sihtric’s interest, “She joined us with your men from the south, did she not? Have you another witch you’ve been hiding?”

Casually, so as not to rouse any suspicion, Sihtric turned to stare along with the rest of his companions across the width of the camp where Haesten had gestured.

A woman sat, alone and huddled near a small fire, her flaxen hair whipping in the growing wind.

Unable to resist further agitating Bloodhair’s ire, Haesten continued, “Have you kept another Seer hidden away from us so someone would not steal her too?”

Bloodhair had made no indication of answering Haesten’s questions. Nor had his eyes traveled to look across the camp at the woman in question. His stare was fixed as it had been all night. Expressing unspoken words across the flames.

Skade stared back at him as she replied, “Muninn is no Seer.”

Feeling compelled to break his reserve, Sihtric questioned, “Muninn. Like Odin’s raven. Why do you call her that?”

“Because she has been useful. She provides information,” Bloodhair broke his silence, his voice dark and full of frustration. Still, he did not let his eyes leave Skade.

Sihtric turned his attention back to the young woman, his ears still trained on the conversation around him.

“A spy?” Cnut questioned, joining the conversation and staring at the woman before turning to look at Bloodhair.

“Like Odin’s Ravens, she has fed us information about the Saxons. And in return we have let her live.” Skade sneered the response, her mouth quirking upwards in a crooked smile.

“Is she Saxon?” Haeston questioned, “She has a strange look.”

Indeed, the woman did seem out of place clashing with the Danish camp. Her hair, the color of sand on a beach, was partially pulled back in a loose braid. A bow and quiver rested at her side, of Saxon make. And her dress was similar in design to those Saxon women wore, having none of the ornament or decoration often adorning Danish garb.

Yet something in the set of her shoulders felt familiar. At ease in her surroundings, if not unhappy with them.

“She does not know what she is,” Skade smirked back at Bloodhair as she answered Haesten’s question, “She does not know who she is. And she will serve her purpose.” The Seer’s words were cryptic as ever.

“And what purpose would that be?” Cnut’s question hung in the air.

“It will reveal itself,” Skade answered, her words biting like the cold, “in time.”

Slowly, conversations melted into other topics. Sihtric allowed his eyes to wander back to the young woman.

As the hour grew late, more and more of the camp retired to their tents for warmth and rest.

When Sihtric finally stood to walk to his own tent, she was still there, watching the flames.

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

The fight did not last long. All of the odds were in Bloodhair’s favor as he attacked and beat Haesten down.

The hulking Danish warlord had grown tired of Haesten’s insults and jibes. His constant picking. They had made the square. They would settle the bad blood by shedding one another’s until one remained alive. The victor. And Bloodhair was a great fighter.

As expected, he held Haesten under his thumb. Poised to humiliate and defeat. Until Bloodhair began to falter. As if struck by a spell. Staggering, the towering warrior no longer had the wits to fight back, instead only able to block and deflect Haesten’s blows.

He reeled around on his knees, the snow and mud sliding underneath him. His eyes scanned the crowd. Sudden and clumsy, Bloodhair lurched towards Skade, a look of betrayal lining his face. And Skade did nothing but smirk at his distress from her place in the crowd.

Sihtric watched along with the gathered men, in grim understanding. Skade was the orchestrator of this dance. And she led the steps, ending with her knives striking the life from Bloodhair’s flesh.

Sihtric had quailed at the swift movements and sudden appearance of her knives, the action ended before he could even register it.

As the fallen warrior’s life flowed from his body, Haesten stepped forward. Kneeling, he placed Bloodhair’s blade in his hand. A final gesture of respect for a fallen warrior. The two men had begrudged each other throughout their campaign. Chided one another. But a warrior deserved a warrior’s death.

Sihtric stared on at the grim display.

“She is poison to all men,” he whispered his thoughts to the wind while the crowd dispersed.

A quiet voice spoke, low and full of scorn, “Her malice reaches beyond men.”

Muninn had materialized as if vapor at his elbow.

The woman’s face betrayed a deep hatred, a rage burning under her surface.

Attempting to mask how startled her appearance made him, Sihtric turned on his heel to look at her, assessing her.

Her long blonde hair, soft and wind-swept. Her head was of a height with his chin and her shoulders were set firm, arms crossed, wrapping herself in her cloak.

“You are the one Bloodhair called Muninn,” Sihtric gauged, noting how she flinched at the name, her mouth pursed and nose creased, “his Saxon spy.”

“I am neither,” she whispered, voice laced with scorn, “and that is not my name.”

“Is it not true that you fed him information about the Saxons, about your own people.”

“Half truths. He was meant to be a means to an end,”

She huffed, before breathing out, weakly, “An end that can no longer be.”

Sihtric frowned. There was a slight quaver in her voice. A wavering. Very slight. But he heard it.

She did not look at him. But continued to stare at the corpse of Bloodhair before shifting her head up, eyes focusing on something else. Sihtric turned to follow her eyes and saw Skade watching them. One brow raised and that daring smirk gracing her lips before Haesten took the witch by the arm and escorted her away from the crowd.

A shift in the air at his side let him know Muninn was gone.

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“You were Uhtred’s man?”

Her voice broke the silence that permeated between them. The pair sat watching at the edge of the camp, while Skade gathered her herbs and leaves from beneath the tree in the field.

Sihtric had been shadowing the witch, learning her routines when he had come upon Muninn. She sat, legs crossed beneath her on the ground, a bundle of sticks and some bird feathers at her side. He watched as she used a knife to shape the sticks, molding them as if they were clay. He was supposed to be learning about Skade, but the rhythmic sound of her knife scraping along the sticks, whittling them into straight shafts was mesmerizing.

The constant vigilance and scouting throughout the camp wore on him. And the sound of her knife against the wood was like a mother’s gentle humming. A rhythm that sets one to ease and calms the nerves. He was entranced.

Until her voice roused him. He did not even know she was aware of his presence behind her. He closed the distance between them and walked up to stand beside her.

“Uhtred Ragnarson?” she questioned again, “You were his oathman?”

He turned his eyes to look down at her, still working at the wood in her hand. When he did not answer her, she paused, turning her head up to meet his eyes waiting for his reply.

“It is true, I was,” he conceded.

“Your name is Sihtric.” This time it was not a question, but he answered anyway.

“That is my name.”

Muninn continued to look at him, before probing, “Sihtric…”

She let his name hang in the air.

“Sihtric Kjartanson,” he replied, giving her his father’s name. He could not be sure, but he thought he saw something in her face when he spoke the name Kjartan. A flicker of something, beneath her surface.

“Why are you watching her?”

He furrowed his brow, caught off guard by her probing. He felt immense scrutiny from others in the camp for his abandonment of his lord. But the calculating looks from these two women were the only ones that made his lies falter.

Returning his eyes to watch Skade in the distance, he still felt her scrutiny. He huffed before finding his reply.

“In truth, I do not know what I wish to find by watching her.” It was not a lie. He didn’t know exactly what he needed to find but knew he needed to watch her to find it. To have something to bring to Uhtred.

“Like many poisons, she can be addicting,” at her words, he cut his eyes to see the woman had returned her attention to fletching her arrows with the feathers at her side. Her fingers moved deftly, with purpose. After a few moments pause, she continued her thought, “but I do not think that is what brings your eyes to her, Sihtric. Son of Kjartan.”

Now he heard it. The scorn and anger lacing her words. The disdain he had detected earlier now plain.

Before he was able to register her anger and form a reply, she had gathered her arrows and was gone.

Sihtric was left standing, watching as she strode back through the camp, her honey blonde hair flying in the cold and her cloak billowing behind her. She did not look back.

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

Walking briskly along the corridor of tents and cookfires, she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, bracing from the cold.

She had been skirting the edges of the camp, trying to remain away from questions, away from prying eyes and wandering hands. Hidden. But still she needed to get to her tent for the night.

In the weeks since Bloodhair’s death, she had to ferret out the safest times for her to move through the camp without drawing attention to herself.

Better to exist along the edges. The periphery. Like a ghost.

Attracting the eyes of the men in the camp would not help her cause.

But neither would skulking along from shadow to shadow like an assassin.

“I cannot appear as a threat,” she thought to herself continually, “Better to be a mouse. A casual presence that does not bring one's focus when you are quiet and keep away from the crowd.”

“The bear cub disguised as a mouse,” she mused. Her lips curled into a small, sad grin at the thought.

“Muninn!”

The shout startled her, stopping her feet fast to the ground.

“Damn that Raven,” she cursed under her breath before turning towards the voice. “I am no Raven,” she finished in her head while scanning to her right for the voice.

“Over here, little Raven,” it was Haesten, leering at her from across a table, “Bloodhair’s other pet.”

Several others were scattered around the table. Cnut at one end, a knife in his hand. Casually he balanced the tip against the wood, toying with the hilt. Not putting enough pressure to scar the wood but not letting the knife fall either.

“Not threatening,” the young woman thought, “but accessible.”

Skade sat next to Haesten, her body turned slightly towards the hulking man yet somehow still detached. It was clear to the young woman that though Skade was with Haesten since returning to camp, the seer did not deign the man worthy of her full devotion. The seer’s gaze followed the woman as she approached the table, cold and calculating.

The final men at the table had their backs to her. One with long dark hair, scattered with braids and matted knots. His head was slumped forward across the wood, a forgotten cup of ale nestled loosely in his sleeping hand.

But the other man was awake, a cup grasped in an arm draped over the table and the other resting on his lap, close to his own knife.

She noticed how Sihtric’s shoulders tensed as she drew close to the table before he shifted his posture to cover his discomfort at her presence near him.

But she could not allow herself to linger on her own displeasure of the company.

Haesten leered at her, “Where have you been hiding since your Lord’s,” he paused, clearly punctuating his perceived victory, “death?”

Muninn stood still, meeting his eye, offering no response.

“Well, Muninn,” Cnut joined in, “have you no tongue to answer?”

The young woman shifted her eyes towards the red haired Dane and back to Haesten.

“I have been here, lord. In the camp.”

“Ah yes, but where have you squirrelled yourself away to hide?” The hulking Dane leaned forward on his arms, before shifting a hand over to grasp at Skade’s arm posessively. His voice was thick with the sluggish effect of drink.

“Skade has told us that you made yourself useful to the late Earl Sigird. I wonder, girl, if you could make such a bargain again?”

Haesten’s tone suggested to the woman and all those at the table what use he thought she could be.

“Muninn is not to be touched.”

Skade’s words rang firm in the night air.

Breathing a slow sigh of relief, the young woman’s hand slowly relaxed, still gripping her cloak against her for warmth. All eyes turned towards the witch.

“She has a role to play in our fight. And it is not to be humped by a man.”

Sighing, weary of the intrigue, Cnut leaned back in his chair, before looking back at Muninn. The young woman still stood, cloak pulled tight across her chest, bow and quiver of arrows slung across her back.

“Well Muninn,” she bristled at the name, but said nothing as Cnut continued, “if you are not for humping, how did a Saxon woman come to be held in such regard for Bloodhair?”

The young woman turned her head to stare at Cnut, her mouth a thin line.

“Bloodhair raided my home. He killed my family,” but Muninn’s scorn was interrupted by Skade.

“They were not your family.” The witch spoke loud, clear, and with a laugh. Muninn’s eyes snapped back to meet Skade’s.

She could feel the eyes of the table on her. She did not need to turn her head to know Sihtric’s gaze was watching her too.

Muninn battled within herself over how to respond before finding her wits to reply aloud, “In this you are wrong, witch.”

Then choosing not to linger on the topic, she returned her attention to Cnut, “after the raid, I was left alive. I did not wish to die and the witch offered Bloodhair a vision. She told Bloodhair I was to live. So I live. If you are asking me to earn my place here, I can hunt.”

Her words left no argument over whether she would willingly submit to any less favorable treatment to earn her place in the camp.

“And you know information about the Saxons,” Haesten interrupted her. “Is that not how you earned your name, little Muninn? By whispering words of your people into Bloodhair’s ear?”

Scanning the faces watching her, she replied, “It is true. But I do not know what information I can provide any longer. I was offering ideas of trade routes and hunting paths that would go undetected for travel. Or villages that often had good crop stores.”

“It was Muninn’s knowledge that helped us move swiftly and unhindered into this position. She has value. And a fate that has not come to pass.” Skade spoke, growing more impassioned with each word.

“I grow tired of you, witch. You speak in riddles and I am not under your spell,” Cnut sighed once more, running a hand over his face, exasperated.

Haesten bridled, “No Cnut, you are under Brida’s spell. Tell me where is she? Why has she not returned to lead her men with us? Are they your men now?” Each question he asked, Haesten’s frustration grew.

At the mention of Brida’s name, Muninn felt her arms tense and her fists ball tighter in her cloak once more. She didn’t dare interject, but stood listening. She was aware of Sihtric’s sidelong glance at her shift in posture.

“Brida still mourns,” Cnut said, dismissively, “She will return soon. And soon after that, her men will become my men.”

The two warriors stared at one another, tense and poised, before both broke out into raucous laughter a moment later.

The tension relieved and conversation shifting, Muninn tried to steady her breath, which had grown stuttered and shallow, before stepping away. But Cnut’s voice drew her back.

“We may call on you yet, girl. You could be of use.”

“I do not know how my knowledge of the area or my people, simple farmers and merchants, can be of use. But if you feel it can, I will provide. And my father taught me to hunt. Even in the winter cold. So I can provide food as well.” She was surprised at how steady her voice sounded. Inside her heart was hammering and she felt a gnawing pang gripping her chest.

“Very well,” Cnut dismissed her waving his hand.

As she turned, Muninn caught Sihtric’s eyes, watching her turn to leave. Making her retreat, she still felt those eyes watching her.

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

She watched as Sihtric left the edge of the camp. She had been watching him through the lines of tents all morning.

Cnut’s men had been preparing their departure to head to the village of Crueland. The word had spread that Uhtred was besieged there by the local theign. And the camp activity had been busy. A change from the restless idle energy they had dealt with for weeks.

But Sihtric’s energy had caught her attention. She watched him from the shadows while he thought no one was aware. His gaze and attention continually shifting from Cnut’s warriors’ preparations to the treeline along the eastern edge of the camp.

Cnut’s men were preparing to march south, deeper into Mercia. But Sihtric was looking to the east. The young Dane put on a convincing act amid the hustle and commotion. He lent a hand when it was needed but did not interject himself overly into the way and draw attention. But he found ways to keep his hands busy and appear engaged, while he was observing. Replacing a torn up tent stake or taking a seat to sharpen the edge of his axe.

It was casual and he was at ease. The young woman could not help but be impressed with his skill at blending in and observing.

Finally, after all morning spent preparing, Cnut’s men rode out of camp. And still, Sihtric stood lingering on the edge of the tents. Waiting for Cnut’s warriors to be out of sight.

Then she watched as he stalked off, away from the camp, towards the line of the trees.

Slowly, she gathered her quiver and bow and made for the treeline to the north of Sihtric’s path. Once she’d broken through into the forest, she changed directions. Her course now aiming to intersect Sihtric’s path and see what he had been concealing.

Her steps were slow and cautious. But it was difficult to mask the crunch of her boots in the snow. The powder muffled all sounds but did not hide them.

She could hear voices up ahead and hoped their conversation would be enough to distract from the sounds of her footfalls.

But nevertheless, the young woman notched an arrow to her bow, keeping it down and to her side, ready to pull it taught if the need should arise.

Crouching awkwardly low, she slowed her steps further as the voices grew more recognizable.

She heard laughter followed by a tone more serious. She was not sure, but she thought she heard the low rumbles of Sihtric’s voice, words indistinguishable. He was then answered by a second voice, louder but still muffled to her ears.

Following the voices, she came around a copse of trees and stopped short. Beyond she could see a group of men, four or five maybe with backs turned to her. All except for Sihtric. His face still continued scanning his surroundings while conversing with his companions, but he paused as his eyes drifted across her. She darted to her left, fully concealing herself behind the trunk of a large oak.

The voices paused before continuing after several heartbeats.

The woman’s pulse quickened as she strained to hear the conversation from behind the tree.

Then, reflexively, she stepped into view pulling the string of her bow taught, her arrow trained at the face of a man a mere two or three paces from her.

His sword raised defensively, the man stepped back a pace and she walked around him, bringing herself into view of Sihtric and the others.

“What is this you have found, Finan?” The voice came from her right, commanding and strong.

“I couldn’t say, Lord? Some sort of huntress perhaps.” There was a careful humor and an Irish lilt in his words.

The man, Finan, stepped farther back, retreating towards his men, his sword lowering slightly.

Her arrow and stance shifted, following him.

“Lord, that is a woman of Bloodhair’s.” Sihtric’s eyes met hers as he spoke, piercing. Challenging perhaps. “She is called Muninn”

“I was never his woman,” she fumed, her arm shaking from the tension in the bowstring. Slowly, she lowered the bow, letting the arrow fall loose in her hand, “And that is not my name.”

These last words she whispered.

Her gaze had found their lord and she swallowed, a lump lodging in her throat at the sight of him. A heaviness in her chest returning.

“Uhtred,” his name fell from her lips as a sigh.

The wind blew through the trees, swirling the snow around her feet and lifting loose strands of hair from her face. The lump in her throat grew larger as Uhtred stalked forward, studying her.

His face was unreadable as he stopped an arm's reach away from her.

“Who are you, woman?” The bite of his question made her flinch and a stray tear slip down her cheek.

Searching his eyes, she answered, “You would know me as a girl who pulled at your hair and followed your games in the woods, you used to call me little bear cub.”

She watched the lines in Uhtred’s face shift. The furrow’s along his brow eased and his eyes widened while he took in her appearance.

“Show me your arm then,” he whispered. Then finding his voice, he pushed, “if you are her, show me the scar?”

She let her bow and the arrow drop into the snow.

Slowly, she lifted her left arm, pulling back the sleeve of her dress. Along the inside of her forearm, running several inches was a purple line. Evidence of a deep wound, long ago healed.

She left her eyes downcast staring at the scar, unable to meet his eye as Uhtred reached out his hand, gloved fingers tracing the line.

He took a step forward, dropping her arm to gently grasp her chin in his hand. Cautiously, Uhtred tilted her face to meet her eye. He searched her face, eyes roving along all her features.

“Liva?”

He breathed her name as if she would disappear if he spoke too loud. His face was filled with shock.

She closed her eyes, allowing the tears to fall and giving a single nod.

A sob escaped her and she opened her eyes to watch him when she felt his hand leave her face and he took a staggering step back from her.

The distance did not last long before her feet were lifted off the ground as Uhtred grabbed her into a crushing embrace. She flung her arms around his shoulders and clung to him with all the pain and echoes of her past.

“Am I seeing a spirit?” She heard him laugh through choked tears, his face buried in her shoulder.

“No,” she sobbed, her words muffled and trembling, “I am no spirit. I am flesh and blood.”

Uhtred placed her back on her feet and took her face in his hands, scanning and searching her over once more, studying the features he had missed grow up to become the woman before him.

“How?”

His question was simple. The answer would not be so simple. Before Liva could reply, their reunion was interrupted by the Irishman’s rough brogue.

“Lord, what is this?” he questioned. “Who is she to you?”

Uhtred tilted his forehead down to rest on hers before pulling back and looking at his companions.

“Her name is Liva,” he turned back to her smiling, tears blurring his vision, “we thought she was lost in the hall burning. She is Ragnar’s daughter.”

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

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aithorin · 3 years

Text

Chasing You - Thranduil x Reader

Plot: Imagine overhearing Thranduil’s conversation with Tauriel and running away

A/N-This fic is also posted on AO3 under the same username. I will insert a link to it below. However, this is also a slightly different version as I’ve made a couple of edits. I’ll post the updated version eventually on AO3, but for now this is the only edited version. Also, some of the lines in this are from the movies, so as a disclaimer, I do not own any recognizable content.

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823933

Slight NSFW Warning!

The hooves of your horse thundered in your ear as you pushed it to gallop quickly throughout Mirkwood. All around, the sickened trees passed in a blur, and yet somehow they still managed to loom over you, mocking your troubles with their height. You hunched closer to your horse, looking for comfort, and threaded your fingers throughout its mane. The wind burned at your eyes, causing tears of a completely different kind to well. They mingled with the ones symbolic of your heartbreak, mixing so thoroughly that they became indistinguishable from one another. The wind pulled at both, tugging at them as they trekked down your face. The tears disappeared into the air behind you, the wind having successfully stolen them.

So distracted by your thoughts, you didn’t even notice how the wind had prematurely dried the tear tracks along your face, pinching the skin slightly underneath. All you could focus on was Thranduil. Just the thought of his name sent a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, blurring your vision even more. Moments from your relationship flashed through your mind, and confusion merged with your hurt. You just didn’t understand. All this time he had seemed so genuine. To find out it was all a farce so suddenly only made your anguish sharper. There were no suspicions at all; you had been happy, and you thought that he had been happy too. But as a sob escaped your mouth, you realized that maybe some things weren’t meant to be. Echoes of the conversation you had accidently heard rang throughout your mind, and agony grappled at your heart as you thought about Thranduil’s betrayal.

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

Having finished your chores for the day, you hurried toward the throne room hoping to catch a moment alone with Thranduil. It was difficult to spend time with him considering your relationship was a secret, so every spare moment you had to sneak with him was precious. As you passed by a corridor, muffled voices floated through the air causing your footsteps to slow to a halt. Curious, you crept towards the sound, excitement filling you as you recognized Thranduil’s voice. It was perfect! You’d just wait for him to finish and then maybe you could spend a few moments together. But as the muffled noise turned into clear voices, your excitement quickly diminished as a deep hurt took root within your heart.

“Legolas said you fought well today… he has grown very fond of you.” Thranduil’s deep baritone resonated throughout the room.

A few moments passed before Tauriel stammered, “I assure you my lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a captain of the guard.”

“Perhaps he did once...now I’m not so sure.” Thranduil sneered.

“I do not think… you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly silvan elf.” Tauriel stuttered back.

“No, you’re right. I would not.” Thranduil declared, “Still… he cares about you. Do not give him hope where there is none”

At his words, a gasp left your mouth as your heart plummeted. Both of their heads snapped in your direction, but by then you had already turned and fled down the hall. Tears welled in your eyes as you began to understand the meaning behind his words. You were no different than Tauriel. In fact, you were inferior to her being that your station in life was that of a maid. If Legolas couldn’t pledge himself to the esteemed captain of the guard, then there was no hope that Thranduil would ever truly pledge himself to you either. All this time, you were nothing more than a fling to Thranduil, maybe even less. Did he see your feelings as a game, something to be toyed with? The conviction with which Thranduil spoke his words told you more than you ever needed to know. It was obvious he didn’t share in any of the things you felt. A choke escaped your throat as you realized your relationship was nothing but a lie.

Fleeing from the corridor, you ran to the comfort of your room. The door to your chambers creaked open, and light from the hall seeped through to illuminate it. As you stepped inside, you looked slowly around the room. Nothing seemed right anymore. You felt as though you were suffocating, and with a sudden clarity you knew what you had to do. You had to leave. The thought of staying in Mirkwood made you nauseous. Having to stay and look at Thranduil everyday, knowing that he never cared about you, would only break your heart over and over again. Leaving was the only way you had any hope of moving on. You quickly gathered what meager belongings you had, and hurried towards the stables. Climbing on top of the nearest horse, you saddled your pack and took off without a backward glance.

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

The trees of Mirkwood continued to whiz by, the tears continuously spilling from your eyes creating a distorted view of your surroundings. Thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to make sense of the situation.

‘How could he do this to me? I loved him! I gave him everything. My heart, my mind, my trust, my body, everything, and yet in the end he didn’t care at all. It was nothing but a game to him.’ A choked, bitter laugh escaped through the sobs erupting from your throat. Everything just hurt; your heart felt tight, a huge lump in your throat made it difficult to breathe, and your eyes were swollen and tired from crying.

Why, why would he do this to you! You never thought he could be so cruel. Lost in the river of your despair, you failed to notice the sound of legs scurrying across the forest floor until it was too late.

A rustle of leaves sounded to your left before a giant spider leapt from behind the brush causing your horse to rear up in fright. The sudden change in gravity threw you from its back, causing your backside to hit the floor with a hard thud, knocking the breath from you. Letting out a wheeze as you attempted to regain your breath, you looked up just in time to see your horse let out a loud whine before bolting back in the direction you came. By then, the giant spider had turned its attention towards you and moved with a speed that surprised even your elven senses. You scurried back on all fours in terror, the dead leaves crunching beneath your hands. All too soon though, your path became blocked by one of the towering, ill trees that resided in the forest. Still, your arms flailed as you tried to get away, but the spider continued to advance, slowly trapping you in your place. Your breath started to quicken, and terrified gasps resounded throughout the forest. This was it. You were going to die in the forest alone, with the knowledge that no one had ever really loved you. A few stray tears escaped your eyes as you realized just how pathetic you really were. By now the spider loomed above you, its pincers poised above you, ready to strike. Ominous hisses spewed from its mouth, and you squeezed your eyes shut, unwilling to watch it deliver the killing blow. Having accepted your fate, your body relaxed, and you waited for the world you knew to be no more.

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

“I want the watch doubled at our borders. All roads. All rivers. Nothing moves but I hear of it. No one enters this kingdom and no one leaves it.” Thranduil ordered, an unspoken warning in his tone, before walking away with a swish of his cloak.

No sooner had he left the throne room was he stopped by a servant.

“Forgive the intrusion my lord, but I couldn’t help overhearing your order and…” The elleth hesitated.

“Out with it, you insolent child! I don’t have all day! You’ve already overstepped your boundaries, don’t push them anymore.” Thranduil said, his patience growing thin.

“Well,” she began, “it’s just...I’m worried about (Y/N). When I stopped by our shared room all of her belongings were gone. I think she went into the forest, but she hasn’t come back. Will she be able to get back into the kingdom with your order?”

At the mention of your name, Thranduil’s blood turned ice cold in his veins. Where could you have possibly gone, and with all of your belongings too? You wouldn’t just leave without telling him, and you knew better than to go into the forest alone. You weren’t trained in the art of combat, and there were too many dangers that lurked in the forest these days. Thranduil’s mind became laced with panic as he ran through all of the possible things that could have happened to you. Were you lost? Injured? Dead? At that last thought, Thranduil swallowed as a hard lump of fear developed in his throat. He had to find you. Now.

He turned to look at the elleth, the cool facade on his face betraying none of the inward worry that he held.

“As king it is my duty to see to the safety and wellbeing of all that dwell within my kingdom. As such, I will personally see to it that (Y/N) is brought back home safe and unharmed.”

At his words, the elleth visibly relaxed. “Thank you my lord. You are most generous and kind.” With a nod of her head, the elleth bowed her head before walking away to return to her duties.

Thranduil turned to the nearest guard. “You,” he said, “Ready my elk. We leave at once.”

“Yes my lord.”

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

Thranduil raced through the forest, looking for any sign of a trail. Suddenly, a lone horse came barreling in their direction, rearing in a panic. The small group of guards he had with him leaped in front to calm it down.

Grabbing its reins, Thranduil inspected the horse, noticing a pack saddled to its back. Peering inside, he saw your possessions and his expression turned grim. Without a word, he swung back onto his elk and charged down the path the horse came from.

Galloping along the path, Thranduil prayed that you were okay. He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to you. Meeting you had breathed new life into him. For the first time since his wife died, he actually felt happy, something his own son couldn’t even provide him. Every beat of his heart was dedicated solely to you, and if you were to be taken from him like his wife was, he didn’t think he would ever be able to recover.

Deep in the forest now, Thranduil was beginning to doubt that he’d be able to find you when he heard noises coming from off the path. The hiss of a spider, leaves crackling as someone scrambled. His eyes widened as he realized a spider was attacking someone. Jumping from his elk, Thranduil’s footsteps pounded as he ran, and the sound of metal scraping could be heard as he drew his sword. Bursting into a clearing, he saw a giant spider above someone, poised to kill whoever was trapped. As the spider went in for the killing blow so did Thranduil. Fortunately, Thranduil was faster, and blood spurted as he drove his sword into the spider’s back. The spider howled in pain, limbs flailing as the life slowly drained from it along with its blood. All too soon, the spider dropped dead, and Thranduil hurried to push it off of whoever was trapped beneath it.

Rolling the spider’s body to the side, Thranduil was met with the sight of you curled tightly, hugging your knees to your chest with your eyes clenched shut. Dried tear tracks painted your cheeks, and visible tremors shook your body. Thranduil kneeled next to you as a big weight lifted from his chest. You were alive! Scared and shaken but alive. He had made it to your side in time, albeit he was cutting it a bit close.

Right in front of you, Thranduil slowly reached out to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. At his touch, you jumped and started to shake even harder, your eyes still shut tight.

“Meleth nin,” he spoke softly, “Open your eyes. I am here, and you are safe.”

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

“Meleth nin” you heard a soft voice whisper, “Open your eyes. I am here, and you are safe.”

At the sound of his voice, you wanted to let out a sob. It sounded just like him, but you knew that it couldn’t be Thranduil. There was no way that Thranduil was in front of you. He was back at the palace, most likely atop his throne, while you were here, probably bleeding out from a spider bite. That was it you reasoned. You had been bitten by the spider, and now you were going delirious from its venom before you died. It was the only explanation. He didn’t love you. You didn’t want to open your eyes. If you did the illusion would be shattered. At least this way you could pretend that you wouldn’t die alone, and that your love was here.

But when his hand started to shake your shoulder, the possibility that maybe he actually was here started to seem more like a reality. You reluctantly opened your eyes to see his cerulean ones staring into yours, deep with concern. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold him, but with the threat of death looming over you gone, you remembered why you left in the first place. You snatched your wandering arms back and lowered your eyes as more tears suddenly welled in your eyes. ‘He isn’t mine’, you reminded yourself, ‘he never was’. Having him be so close yet at the same time so far made your heart clench painfully in your chest.

“Melamin, are you alright? I was so worried I had lost you.” Thranduil whispered.

Deciding to ignore the endearment, you chose to answer the way your relationship now demanded. That of a respectful servant addressing her king. Still looking down at your feet, you replied meekly, “Yes, your majesty. Thank you for rescuing me. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

At your words, his eyes squinted ever so slightly in confusion. Why were you talking to him like that, as though you were just another one of his subjects? Something else was wrong. You couldn’t even look at him. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the few guards surrounding the clearing leaving just the two of you.

“What is wrong meleth nin? Why can’t you look at me?”

The continued endearments caused the sob that had been stuck in your throat to escape. Why did he insist on continuing the game? Was it not enough that he had taken your heart? Must he continue to squeeze it as well? How spiteful could he be to insist on calling you that?

“Please,” you whispered “Do not continue to jest. My heart cannot take it.”

Thranduil grabbed your hands and with the sudden movement, you finally tilted your head to meet his gaze. Seeing your heartbroken face, he felt his own heart twinge within his chest. He could feel you slipping away and with every passing minute he feared that he would not be able to get you back. “I don’t understand,” he pleaded, “Whatever it is that I have done, tell me, and I will not rest until I have eased your mind.”

His words made your head droop in despair. So he was going to continue to feign ignorance until he could break your heart and see your expression for himself. His insisted cruelty caused the first seeds of anger to break through the dam of your heartbreak. Thranduil might have shattered your heart, but you’d be damned before you’d let him see the effects. You’d get through this conversation, and then part from Mirkwood and put this chapter of your life behind you.

With your newfound determination, you looked at him with your face hard and eyes steely. “Do not think me so naive that I will continue to play along with your game, my lord. You may have fooled me once, but I refuse to let you do so again. You can cease your act of mocking love and concern. Please, just go back to the palace and have a laugh about the foolish maid who believed that a king could ever possibly care for her, and I will be on my way.”

Thranduil stared at you in bewilderment. Where was all of this coming from? Just this morning, everything was fine, and in that short time you now doubted his love for you. What could have possibly happened?

“Whoever has planted this seed of doubt in your mind will wish that they had never opened their mouth,” Thranduil swore gravelly, “I do not know what has caused this skepticism, but know that my feelings for you are honest and true.” He lifted your hands enclosed in his to place a soft kiss upon them.

Looking into his eyes, you were tempted to believe him. He seemed so earnest, but the words that he spoke earlier rang through your mind, “Do not give him hope where there is none”, and your temptations were banished. You let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. YOU were the one who made your feelings toward me clear as day, no one else. If you cannot bring yourself to be honest about anything else, then at least take responsibility for revealing your true feelings about me.”

“I do not know what you speak of!” Letting go of you, he stood from the forest floor and began to circle the clearing in frustration. “Care to enlighten me?”

Crossing your arms, you stood with him. “I heard you. Earlier, in the corridor with Tauriel. With it, the veil from my eyes was lifted, and I am now able to see this relationship for what it is: a complete and utter lie.”

He spun around to face you. “That had absolutely nothing to do with you! It was about Legolas. It, in no way, concerned how I feel about you.”

“It had everything to do with me.” you spoke softly. “If the prince is not allowed to pledge himself to Tauriel, the esteemed captain of the guard, where does that leave me? I am a servant my lord, the lowest of the low, and if the prince cannot be with someone who is far above my own station, why would the king of all people do any different?”

You turned to face him, and saw a guilt stricken look cross into Thranduil’s eyes as he realized the implication of his words.

“Forgive me Meleth. I did not realize the severity of my words when I spoke.” He apologized. He crossed the clearing to stand in front of you. Gently grabbing your shoulders, he looked deep into your eyes, “My feelings for you are earnest and unchanging. You have reminded me what happiness looks like. When you came into my life, I saw glimmers of light that I had not seen since my wife died. The first time I looked into your eyes, my heart thawed and began to beat within my chest again. You are the one who has breathed life back into me.”

Shrugging his hands off, you turned away from him. “Be that as it may, you must believe it someplace deep inside otherwise you would not have spoken as you did. If it really was a mistake, then you would not care if Tauriel and Legolas were together, but you do.”

“No!” Thranduil protested, “I did not realize how selfish I was being when I spoke with Tauriel. If Legolas wishes to be with her so be it. I do not care.” Turning you back around, he gently cupped your cheek and tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “How could I care if it would cost me you?” He whispered.

Staring into his eyes filled with nothing but love, you felt the weight on your chest slowly begin to lift for the first time in hours. Perhaps there was hope after all. Yet as your overwhelming emotions faded, your mind began to clear, leaving nothing but logic and the cold sting of reality as you reconsidered his earlier words. Casting your eyes to the ground, you said, “As much as it pains me to say it, it does not really matter whether you care or not. In many ways, the words you spoke held nothing but the truth. It’s foolish to believe that we can ever truly be together. I am a maid, and you are a king. This relationship has no future for you surely cannot pledge yourself to me. The people would never accept me as queen.”

Crossing your arms, you turned your back so that he would not be able to see the tears welling in your eyes. “We aren’t even truly together right now. We ignore each other around the presence of others, stealing hidden moments in the dead of night. Do you know how painful it is? To see you look at me so coldly, so uncaringly, in the light of day, yet share in the warmth of your embrace at night. It’s exhausting. Do you have any idea how much it makes my heart ache? All I want is the freedom to speak to you, comfort you, touch you, whenever I wish, but our relationship forbids it! I can’t even send you a simple smile when I pass you in the halls! Too often, I can see the stress of a wasted council meeting etched on your face, and I yearn to soothe you and share in your troubles but I cannot. I did not lie when I said your conversation with Tauriel lifted a veil from my eyes, but I can see that it's different from what I originally thought. I think it would be best for us to part ways right here, and that way we can both move on. Elves are immortal. If I left now, I would be but a flicker on the line that is your life. I’m sure it would not be too hard to forget me and our relationship.” you mumbled quietly.

Thranduil’s gaze turned fiery. “Do what you will. But know this, should you choose to leave this forest do not think for one second that I will ever forget you. Ten, a hundred, even thousands of years from now, I will ache for you every second of every day. Not once will you ever leave my mind.”

His gaze softened, “Please… come home, and I promise we will truly be together, no more sneaking around. I am not ashamed to be with you; we will walk the halls together and share in each other’s troubles as you wish.”

“But your advisors and the people-”

His eyes flashed, “Speak no more of it. Love has slipped from my grasp once before, and I refuse to allow it to again. I am the king of this realm, and if I wish to be with you then the people will have to accept it.”

Hearing his words, you wanted nothing more than to accept, but your doubt and insecurity still lingered near the surface. How could you accept when you knew that you would only hold him back? The people would not be happy, and it would lead to unrest in the kingdom. How could you be that selfish? You couldn’t tear apart an entire kingdom for your own happiness. To make matters worse you wouldn’t even be able to help Thranduil bring about peace. You were a servant for crying out loud; you knew nothing about diplomacy!

As an internal war waged within you, Thranduil noticed the doubt in your eyes holding you back. He could sense that you lied upon a threshold and with one little push, you would surrender your doubts and come back to him. Determined to give you that final push, he glided towards you. Lost within your mind, you didn’t even notice that he had started to move until he had pressed himself against your back. The feel of his hard chest against your back brought an immediate halt to the worries swirling within you. Time came to a complete standstill, and you held your breath in anticipation, nervous yet also excited to see what he would do.

Achingly slow, he lifted a hand to gently brush your hair back, baring your neck. With the back of his hand, he started to tenderly trace a path along the curve of your neck. The hand continued downward, skimming the curve of your breasts to reach its resting place on your belly. Your eyes fluttered closed again in appreciation, and without even realizing, you leaned slightly into him, unconsciously craving to be closer. He bent down, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Tell me Melamin, what troubles you so?”

You shivered as the heat of his breath hit your neck. As he started to pepper your jawline in featherlight kisses, your mind became clouded, but you still managed to share your doubts with him. “I still worry… of the people’s reaction… to our relationship.” you whispered.

Thranduil hummed in response and raised his hand to caress the other side of your jaw. He pressed himself even closer to you and with it a fire that only he could sate ignited within you. “Tell me, does it feel like I care for their reaction? Let go meleth, and I promise you everything will be fine.”

With that, he used his hand to tilt you toward him and leaned down to capture you in a kiss. It started sweet but soon an overwhelming need took over you. The kiss was transformed into a battle of passion, and you turned around to fully face him. Your hands trailed all over Thranduil’s body, sliding up his chest to eventually twist themselves into his hair. With a soft tug, you pulled him even closer to deepen the kiss. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t care. At that moment, all that mattered was him. With every second that passed, your doubts slowly melted away as thoughts of Thranduil consumed your mind. All you could focus on was the feel of his lips and his hands gliding over your hips. You wanted nothing more than to drown in the river of his love.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, you opened your eyes to gaze into his. Seeing the love and adoration he held for you in them, you allowed yourself to be drawn into the torrent, and you let go.

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

Afterwards, as you lay cuddled together on the forest floor, Thranduil reached down to entwine your hands together. Resting his head against your shoulder, he brushed a stray strand of hair out of the way and asked once again, “Come home, meleth nin?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you replied, “Yes.”

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the-dimitrescu-seamstress · 3 years

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Lookbook: Fancy Dresses For the Lady Beneviento

I was not planning this at all, because I can already hear Donna saying that any and all of this is far too glamorous, provocative, and easily makes one stand out in a crowd.

And to that I reply, “Look, it’s not my fault that Queen Alexandra of the United Kingdom, wife to King Edward VII, wore such extravagant gowns that are really beautifully done in blacks and purples.”

I will already go ahead and say that yes, the necklines on the majority of these dresses will need to be fixed, because I think Donna would likely have a panic attack or anxiety if she showed that much of her chest.

Anyways.

The dress that started it. Yes, I know, far too sparkly. Also, I wish it had a dark base rather than a light one, but it’s... it’s pretty and shiny and sparkly. And she would shine like a star and absolutely refuse to wear it. But as I said, it’s the dress that started the ball rolling. And, upon later research, this was a ‘half-mourning evening dress’ she wore after Queen Victoria died.

It’s quite likely that this is the exact same dress as above, but with either a different base under the dress (making it look darker) or a different lighting method. Either way, it somehow looks more appropriately Donna. Yes, more sparkly, but a darker sparkle.

I don’t understand what they’re doing with the front of the bodice... or that bit that’s just pinned there under the breast, but dresses of the time were known to be altered in many ways, which is funny because you see this 119-ish year old dress and you think ‘don’t change a damn thing! It’s an antique!’ while to the wearer then they needed or wanted the most current style. so if beaded fringe was in, slap beaded fringe on that.

Anyways, the bodice is not what I’m focusing on, because look at the skirt. Two different fabrics, one likely a sequin fabric and the other a velvet. The sleeves are lovely with their sheerness and lace insertions, but again, would Donna show more skin than her hands?It’d take a lot of convincing and bribing.

Upon further examination, can we just admire the detail work of the bodice?

Again, I am not sure what the hell is going on with the chest. Queen Alexandra sewed and did enjoy Parisian fashion. Her mother-in-law was Queen Victoria, so perhaps all this glitz was a way to defy Victoria, who, if you didn’t know, wore mourning clothes after the death of her husband Prince Albert. For forty years. This extended to the court for at least a year or two. Of course, this could also be a dress from the mourning period for Victoria’s death, since after wearing black for a year, you could wear grays and purples.

Anyways, bodice front and that odd chunk on the side of the skirt aside (maybe this all looks wonderful in person), I love the grey-purple color, the two layer skirt (especially the glitz on the back and along the hem), and the general shape of the dress. Long sleeves and high collar are a nice respectable touch. Tone down the beading in other areas and I believe this could be worn.

Donna, you’re wearing this. Yes, it’s a bright lilac, and the neckline is highly questionable (again, either ill fitting dress form, alterations happened, or foundation garments changed the drape immensely), but look at it. The gray-silver embroidery? Have it be of flowers from Donna’s garden, with perhaps just a hint of yellow or gold threads mixed in. Maybe embroider the house crest on the center bodice panel. Either way, I think Donna would be gorgeous in this.

( @donnabeneviento-doll)

#donna beneviento #potential fashion ideas #pretty dresses #Donna is a darker sparkle #Just thinking of ideas for her because I'm braindead

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honeybeezx · 3 years

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Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 1

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! So this is the first fic I’ve ever posted on tumblr, low key kinda scary😄 But this man and his paramour have been on my mind for the longest. This is a self insert fic, but I don’t really use “Y/N”. Hope you enjoy and any feedback would be great!

Summary: You are an assassin hired by Tyrion to act as extra security alongside Bronn. He brings you back to King’s Landing just as the boy king Jeoffry Baratheon plans to marry the cunning Margaery Tyrell. But with all the guests roaming around, you begin to wonder who is a friend and who is a foe. No one makes you wonder more than the famed prince from Dorne and his captivating paramour.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of murder, allusions to sex

—————

You never knew anything in the seven kingdoms could make you feel so small. It wasn’t as if you’d ever let it show. You held your head high, walking alongside Tyrion as both of you entered the great hall of the throne room, Bronn on the opposite side of your employer. The Red Keep was even bigger than you had imagined it to be. The throne room was the tallest room you had ever seen. Against the dark ceiling the columns looked as if they stretched up into the night sky.

Every eye in the palace was on the three of you, and you felt no one’s eyes more than Cersei’s. You held her gaze. A woman who lived in luxury her whole life did not frighten you. She may have influence, but you had experience, strength, freedom, and skill with your bow that you were now acutely aware was strapped to your back. Having the protection of Tyrion’s influence and connections and Bronn’s strength and skill with a sword brought a sense of comfort, allowing you to remain calm under such scrutinizing gaze.

“Brother.” Cersei greeted with a soft smile that failed to hide all the vileness in her heart. “You come with friends.”

“Oh no, more like bodyguards. We have so many enemies now a days sister, I like to know I’m protected.” Tyrion smirked, leaving Bronn chuckling. You, on the other hand, would not let your intimidating demeanor fade, remaining as stoic and unyielding as the stone columns that held up the palace you wished to see fall. “May I introduce Bronn, Lord of Highgarden and-“

“Yes, I know all about the Silver Hawk from the North. I wonder if you are half as good as they say you are.” She mocked, her tone anything but genuinely curious. “I am told that you can hit your target 200 meters away and steal their breath before they even know what hit them.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think she was impressed, even if she did look at you as if you were the lowest creature she ever beheld.

“Perhaps I will have an opportunity to display my skills while I am here, your grace.” You’ll see first hand when my arrow is aimed just above your crooked neck.

“Perhaps.” She replied, feigning as much sweetness as a ferrel cat.

The both of you narrowed your eyes at each other. There was no outright exchange of harsh words or petty language, but the furious tension between the two of you was enough to fill the entire hall with uncomfortable silence. You hoped your unyielding gaze scared her. You wondered how many people actually defied her, you wondered how long it would take to get under her skin.

“Yes, well.” Tyrion interrupted, knowing you were bubbling with anger. Cersei was too, and although you allowed her to see your own emotions, it please you a bit to know you could anger her just as easy. You hated Lannisters almost more than anything, but you also knew Cersei’s time would come. She would pay for her crimes, fate would decide her end. You knew that fate had not brought you here to slay the queen regent, as much as you despised her. “As much as I love chatting with you sister, I simply wanted our arrival to be known. We have much unpacking to do and much to discuss.”

“Be careful, little brother.” She warned. “Your guard has little reserve and it seems your little silver hawk has a silver tongue as well. You would be wise to remember that people have been killed for that and less.”

“I’ll be sure to keep very close watch over them.” Tyrion retorted sarcastically before turning on his heal and exiting the great hall. You and Bronn followed, the later unable to contain his amusement.

“I’d say that went well!” He quipped, smiling at both you and your employer.

“She didn’t call to chop off our heads, that is some relief.” Tyrion noted. “But you both must be careful, especially you.” His scrutinizing gaze met yours.

“What? You expected me to just let her try and hold some dominate power over me? Just because she is draped in finest jewels in the seven realms and hides behind the her father’s influence does not mean I will tremble like a child before her.”

Tyrion sighed. “You must, for now, hold your tongue. Your wit does you credit, that’s why I like you, but you must check yourself. My sister is more dangerous than you can imagine. Don’t tremble, but don’t overstep either.” You remembered that Tyrion had been playing the game his whole life, he was basically born into it. He knew his sister better than anyone, and that meant he knew how to get around her better than anyone. You made a note to observe exactly what made Cersei tick, what made her preen under her usually reserved demeanor.

Despite the warm tones of the palace, you felt as though you were walking on ice. One wrong step and you were dead under a frozen tundra. You didn’t like this at all. Tyrion promised your freedom would not be at risk, yet you felt the freedom to speak your mind, the freedom to do as you pleased slip from you more and more. You were being watched here, you weren’t stupid. Every move had to be calculated, every word like honey laced with poison. The faster the boy king could marry, the less people there were for you to worry about. It made you uncomfortable not knowing who was an ally and who was a foe. The one thing you could appreciate about Cersei was that you always knew where you stood with her.

“I will try to remain civil if she approaches me, otherwise I will avoid your sister to the best of my abilities. But she would be wise not to challenge my reserve.” I huffed, earning a laugh from Bronn.

“Your reserve, little hawk, will be undone, whether it be from your words or your arrows.” He teased. You gave him a shove and he stumbled a bit, but not much. The last thing you needed was the oaf calling you “little”.

“The sooner we are out of this horrid place the better.” You huffed.

“I agree,” Tyrion agreed, nodding in understanding, “but don’t hold your breath. There is so much to be done before my nephew’s wedding and I will be relying on both of you to help me. While I am arranging more intimate details with my family, you two will be protecting me, but also doing some side tasks that I will not have time for. Bronn, for the most part you will be either at my side or Shae’s. If the palace discovers her they will use her against me. She can’t be found.”

Shae, Tyrion’s lover of sorts. You had grown close to her on your travels. You were wary at first. Your job was to protect Tyrion, naturally, you were cautious of anyone who might try to hurt him, to get close to him only for information or power. But it was a tough business, out spying a spy, and all your instincts told you to trust Shae. She had not left any of you astray thus far, and though the couple had not named their relationship, you could tell Tyrion and Shae cared immensely for each other. But Tyrion was right, she could be used as a pawn against him, especially if Cersei found out.

There was a sort of kinship between you and Shae. You were both strong, clever women, and she had tended to the few wounds you found yourself with on your travels. She seemed like a sister, and you were grateful for the company and friendship she provided.

“As for our favorite archer, you will be assisting some guests, getting information. I want to know the people attending this wedding, I want to ensure that this wedding goes smoothly. The Tyrell’s are a powerful ally, we cannot lose them.”

You nodded in understanding. Tyrion hired you to protect him, yes, but archery was not your only strength. You could be quiet, and you could listen as well as you could speak. You knew he would ask that of you with all the guests roaming around. You were curious to know what King’s Landing was really like, and even more interested in knowing the people who came here. “Ask it of me and it will be done.”

“Aye.” Bronn agreed.

“You are the most trusted of friends.” Tyrion gave the smallest of smiles. You were hesitant to even be in his service when the lord found you and offered you a job, afraid of losing your freedom. You knew the Lannisters, you knew their foul and power-hungry disposition. Being in their service seemed to you signing your life away. You were surprised to find he did not wish to take such things from you. He hired both you and Bronn to protect him, yes, but he would do the same for you both. You were an odd sort of family, but a family nonetheless. “Get settled and rested for the evening, we’ve had a long journey. We will reconvene later to discuss further plans.”

You nodded and left to your new chamber, one just across from Bronn and down the hall from Tyrion.

The trio was still not aware of the Red Viper slithering about the halls.

——————

Days passed with little to do. You hadn’t seen much of Tyrion. Since your arrival at King’s Landing your employer had become hand to his nephew king and married the pretty Stark girl you later learned was named Sansa. Still, you found ways to spend your time, keeping eyes and ears open for any useful information. You were particularly interested in Joffrey. It was astounding how a little boy could hold so much power, so much evil. You figured he inherited his terror from his mother.

Sansa was an interesting girl as well. Your heart broke for her. She was nothing if not resilient, staying loyal to her betrothed if only to keep herself alive. She was smart, you learned, but not useful when attempting to gather information. She did not deny her loyalty to Joffrey, even to those she liked. You were grateful that Tyrion stepped in to propose to the poor girl, if only to save her from the tyrant king. Both you and Shae kept close eyes on her. She was as smart and clever as Shae and yourself. You had a sneaking suspicion that she could be a close ally, if only your little family could get her away from the palace.

But today was different. Today you left your quarters to explore the palace a bit. You wanted to know what sort of battleground you were working with. It seemed surprising that a palace that was so heavily targeted was so...open. It seemed like light could illuminate any room. Even the gloomy and foreboding throne room could not escape a few beams of sunlight. If you didn’t despise every Lannister crawling about the palace, you had a mind to stay. The palace was only under the allusion of being warm and charming, the people who inhabited it ruined any chance of it being a lovely place. You noticed that the open windows and balconies made perfect outlooks should you need to eliminate a threat with one of your silver arrows.

But for now, the open windows became your place of peace as you ate a bowl of berries, just watching the rest of the sunrise. You saw the sun just barely grace the city with its light before you were called into Tyrion’s chambers. You arrived promptly, Bronn stumbling in a few minutes after you. You rolled your eyes at his lack of punctuality, which only earned you a playful nudge from the Lord of Highgarden.

“Behave you two. I swear I am dealing with children.” Shae huffed, but you could tell behind her sharp features was an air of mischief. Still, you straightened up and diverted your full attention to Tyrion.

“Well, much has happened. Prince Oberyn has arrived in The Capital. I visited him yesterday morning and he made it very clear that he wants to kill any Lannister that he sets his sights on. My father apparently ordered the death of his sister and her children. Our goal, for now, is to keep him happy, to keep him entertained. Bronn, your job will be to appear inconspicuous as you keep a watchful eye over my quarters, make sure no one goes in or out.” He ordered.

Shae huffed. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself thank you.” She huffed.

“No one disputes that my dear.” Tyrion chuckled. You remember watching Shae stab a man she did not want for laying a finger on her. “I’m not worried about you. But my sister and my king nephew are very powerful. They will know how to use you against me.” He explained. Shae still was not pleased with the idea, but she relented.

“As for our hawk,” he turned to you and gave you a list with names you did not recognize, “you will present these girls to Prince Oberyn in my place. You will tell him that royal duties as the king’s new hand have prevented me from revisiting him, but you hope he enjoys the whores as a welcoming gift to King’s Landing.”

“Excuse me?!” You snapped your eyes narrowing in on your employer. “I am not a squire whose job is to bring in girls for spoiled princes!”

“Do not think of it as that.” Tyrion poured himself a glass of wine, knowing that he should chose his next words very carefully. He could feel your eyes burning into him. “Consider it a diplomatic mission. Besides, the prince wishes to meet you. The legends of the Silver Hawk have reached so far as Dorne and he is eager to make your acquaintance. This is the perfect opportunity for the both of you.”

You still weren’t pleased. “So I am now to serve as entertainment for the prince of Dorne.” You sighed and shook your head. “I am only staying long enough to bring him the girls, then I’m leaving.”

“Fine,” Tyrion relented. “But you will be cordial to the prince. Don’t be deceived by his charming words, he stabbed one of my cousins for a few unkind, brutish remarks. I don’t want to know what he’ll do when he hears your fire-laced words.” If it weren’t such a serious situation, Tyrion might have been amused to hear you use your wit against a prince, but the prince’s history with the Lannisters was anything but a joke.

“I’m sure she can handle herself. Hawks have talons after all.” Shae teased, but squeezed your arm affectionately. You offered a kind smile, but you still loathed this plan.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Tyrion rubbed his temple like the very thought of you getting into trouble was enough to send him over the edge.

You relented and chuckled a little before placing a hand on your friend’s shoulder. “I will be on my best behavior, but only because you will worry yourself ill.” You teased. “It can’t be too bad if I just deliver your message and leave. I better get going though. Can’t leave a prince waiting.” You snorted. As if you cared what a prince thought.

————————

Oberyn Martell lied in his temporary bed at the brothel, Ellaria Sand at his right, a blond haired boy on his left. He was the picture of lustful bliss, his golden chest glistened as the small rays of light entered the sinful den. But the prince was quiet deep in thought as he started out into the empty space before them. All the pleasure the brothel had to offer could not break his focus.

“Your thoughts are too loud, my prince.” Ellaria chided as she placed a kiss to his chest. “Tell me.”

Even then, Oberyn still could not break his thoughts of you, but he ran a hand through his paramour’s raven curls in acknowledgment. “I think I found our third partner.”

Next Chapter

#pedro pascal #oberyn x reader #oberyn martell #oberyn x reader x ellaria #game of thrones #ellaria sand #prince oberyn #oberyn x you #oberyn x you x ellaria #game of thrones fic #oberyn martell imagine #pedro pascal fic #got #armor

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

Like My Mirror Years Ago

Hey, hi there, that gif doesn’t really have anything to do with the story! So, a couple days ago @shireness-says sent me this post and was like, “You know what you should do? Write some domestic Enchanted Forest with Killian unlacing Emma’s dress.” And I was like, “Yes, this seems like a good idea.” Only then, I didn’t write it. As I am apt to do. Instead here is some season 5A Camelot divergence set at some point between 5x02 and 5x04 with a conversation I have wanted to write forever, but didn’t originally plan on writing until I started typing it yesterday. And we do get to the unlacing, but first: angst in the form of nearly 5.3K.

Also, it should be known that the Google doc title of this was [Insert Hozier Lyrics Here] so if you’re looking for a soundtrack.

————

She knows the exact moment.

As soon as his breathing shifts ever so slightly, a hint quicker than it is when he’s actually asleep and, if nothing else, Emma supposes his inherent inability to lie is something of a victory. To her. Specifically. Or them. Collectively. Or that pesky future that feels as if it’s begun to drape itself across her shoulders.

That might explain the near-constant ache between her shoulder blades.

She resolutely refuses to accept any other reasons.

“You suck at that, you know,” she murmurs, not taking her eyes away from the piece of curved wood in her hands. Killian scoffs, and she doesn’t have to turn to know when he props himself up on his elbows either.

The creaking mattress helps.

Everything creaks a little in Camelot, another metaphor Emma isn’t particularly inclined to spend too long thinking about, but she’s got the growing suspicion that most of this kingdom is prone to making noise. As if it’s shattering right in front of her, tiny cracks that she’s not able to prevent, but that also might just be a commentary on her sanity at this point and—

She’s holding her breath.

Letting it out in a huff she tries very hard to make quiet, Emma knows she fails. Spectacularly. Another sweeping commentary.

“Unparalleled observational skills,” Killian says. With a smile. Smirk, probably. Emma still doesn’t bother looking, can hear the inflection in his voice and already knows how forced the even tone is. Seeing the inevitable arch of his eyebrow will only make it worse.

“Get me in a crow’s nest or something.” “What do you know about crow’s nests?” She shrugs, fingers still moving and the buzzing under her skin hasn’t ebbed much since she started, but there was something almost oddly peaceful about the pattern of Killian’s breathing when he was asleep.

In and out. Over and over. Simple and easy and consistent. Steady, even. Something about the tides or another nautical joke Emma isn’t willing to make.

The mattress creaks again.

As do the floorboards.

And she doesn’t shudder when his hand lands on her shoulder. She doesn’t stop this twisted arts and crafts project, either. She leans back, though — another passing victory and momentary return to normal, relishing the solid feel of his chest behind her.

Killian takes a deep breath.

“How long have I been asleep?” “Not long,” Emma replies, and one of the muscles in her neck isn’t all that appreciative of the current twist it’s in. She doesn’t move, feels as if it’d be admitting to something far bigger and she can’t imagine how he’s still so warm.

Like magic.

Not at all like magic. At least not the kind she’s used to now.

“Awfully vague,” he mutters. Accusation doesn’t particularly hang from the letters, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see it in the way Killian’s fingers tighten ever so slightly, like he’s trying to hold onto more than just her and her tension-filled shoulder blades, and he’d never unbuckled his sword.

Or taken his hook off.

He always took his hook off. Before. When they were—

Safe, Emma supposes. Emma supposes they aren’t that anymore.

“There was no point in you staying up just so you could stare at me with those sad puppy dog eyes and all of that palpable concern.” His fingers loosen. For the best, probably. Since it appears the laces of Emma’s latest Camelot-provided gown, which she hasn’t bothered taking off, are tightening. Enough to threaten several of her internal organs.

Laughter echoes softly around them.

Her.

Only her.

Reaching for another string that she’s only a little worried she’ll snap before she can use, Emma barely moves her arm before there’s metal around her wrist, and anger runs red-hot down her spine. She snaps her head around quickly enough to do damage to several other neck muscles, but Killian hardly flinches at her expression.

He lifts both eyebrows, instead.

So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace.

“We’ve a variety of things we can talk about,” Killian says, more forced lightness that grates on every one of Emma’s nerves, “Although I’ll admit I’m always partial to discussing the fascinating colloquialisms you’re in possession of.” “Can I possess the language?” “The knowledge of it’s—what’s the word? Slang?” Emma rolls her eyes. “That, at least.” “Oh, yeah, I'm the smartest person around.” “In this realm, certainly.”

Emma snorts, not any real humor in the sound, but her lungs work a hint better once Killian pulls his hook away from her. Licking her lips, she spins and neither one of them mention how close she comes to kicking him in a variety of potentially painful locations when she tugs her legs towards her chest.

His lips twitch as soon as she rests her chin on her knees.

There’s an absurd amount of fabric involved in this dress.

“What do a dog’s eyes have to do with the overall force of my worry?” Killian asks, and it’s not exactly funny. Just like whatever noise Emma makes isn’t exactly a laugh. Not when it scratches at the sides of her throat, and the tip of her tongue and honestly screw Camelot.

No ChapStick in other realms.

She keeps twisting her lower lip between her teeth.

“You shouldn't have let me fall asleep.” Her current eye roll rate is going to give Emma a migraine. Maybe Dark Ones can’t get migraines. That’d be something at least. “There really wasn’t any reason for you to be awake,” Emma says. “And I—” Killian tilts his head when she cuts herself off, something stupid like open book and knowing her and they might both be horrible liars. “I know you’re worried.” “Seems a given in this situation, don’t you think?” Another shrug. No eye roll, though. Small victories and whatnot.

And Killian has to readjust his sword to crouch in front of her. Emma very nearly laughs again. Or cries. She’s having trouble distinguishing emotions at this point.

God, but she’s exhausted.

Metal finds her wrist again, cool on her skin, but Emma’s mind barely has a chance to recognize temperature before she’s wholly preoccupied with Killian’s ability to cover both her hands with one of his. It opens up some fairly romantic ideas, all of them fluttering around her skull and under that same magic-prone skin, a slightly different energy that makes her feel light and heavy and—

Her neck gives up.

Leaves her head falling forward and crashing against Killian’s and he still doesn’t flinch. Even as he exhales again, air brushing Emma’s cheeks and the edges of her lips and she could come up with several better ways to use those lips. Something stops her.

Quite possibly the laughter.

That only she can hear.

“You’ll give yourself a coronary.” “Sounds unpleasant.” Emma doesn’t smile. Quite honestly, she’s not sure the muscles in her face are capable of doing that anymore. Still, something in the center of her flutters traitorously at what might be the most twisted instance of flirting they’ve had in their relationship.

Although there was that sword fight. And handcuffing him to the hospital bed. And him unlocking himself from the hospital bed. The Jello thing, too.

Emma figures that all counts as pre-relationship.

“I can’t imagine it would be,” she agrees. “But, uh—” “—Oh, if you say what I think you’re about to say, I will be very frustrated.”

It’s her turn to lift her eyebrows. “Will you just?” “I understand why Regina asked you to do what she did,” Killian starts, and it’s not the last thing Emma expects to hear, but it’s at least somewhere at the bottom of a list she hasn’t made yet. “And I understand even better why you did it. I also—” “—God, how much is there?” He nips at her nose, more out of place flirting that soothes some of...her, really. “This is it, I promise. I understand what it would be to feel that sort of desperation for someone you love. To be terrified of what will happen if you don’t act. Don’t do whatever you can. To fix all of it.”

Her throat collapses.

Her lungs disappear.

And there’s no more disembodied laughter, but the silence that stretches in the minimal space between them is almost worse, thick with unspoken meaning and heavy-handed allusions and Emma’s fingers are moving again. Before she’s entirely rationalized it. Brushing away strands of hair that’s almost getting too long, Killian’s eyes flutter closed at her touch.

“That’s not your job,” Emma whispers.

“Isn’t it, though?” “Falling asleep is not a failure, babe.” He scoffs, a quick click of his teeth and Emma hasn’t moved her fingers. He leans into her hand. “And yet here we are. At an impasse, of sorts.” “I thought we were having a conversation.”

“Not a very focused one.” “Ah, well you’re tired.” “And you’re a very good distraction,” Killian argues, not the insult Emma briefly hears it as. Even so, something almost like fear ripples across her skin. Latches onto the base of her skull and whatever neurons are clearly unstable and irrational and it only takes him a few moments to realize his mistake.

“I know that’s not what you meant.” He hums, nosing at the inside of her wrist. “What are these things you’re making, exactly?” “Dreamcatchers.” “Sounds nefarious.” “No, no, the opposite, actually. Legend said—well, God, it’s kind of shitty that I’m making them, actually. But, um...they’re supposed to keep nightmares away.” “Is it working?” “I’m not the one asleep,” Emma points out. “And repeating my question seems redundant.” Sticking her tongue out is quite possibly the least mature thing Emma could possibly do — particularly when she’s at least seventy-two percent positive the churning in her stomach is actually magic, but she does it all the same. If only to ensure that Killian’s lips move again.

She might be staring at his lips.

Might be is another very bad lie.

“Now you’re just trying to make me swoon with your own knowledge of the language,” she mumbles. “How’s it working?” “Better than it should.”

His lips move. Directly towards hers. Only to deviate at the last possible second, and Emma isn’t totally disappointed by that. Killian kisses the edge of her mouth. The curve of her chin. The bridge of her nose. Directly between her very pinched eyebrows.

“You know, I thought you were dead.” Strictly speaking, Emma has no idea where that particular string of words came from. The depths of her soul, probably. Some dark — or darker — corner where that very specific terror lingers. The way she swore her heart stopped, and breathing was secondary and part of her might resent him.

For making a joke of it.

“That wasn’t a real reality, love,” Killian breathes, and Emma can’t imagine how his knees are dealing with any of this. He’s ancient, he can’t have the best joints. In this realm or any other.

“Still happened, though.” “Aye, it did. And I’d—” “—Nope,” Emma interrupts, lips popping on the word like that will turn it into some kind of decree. Technically, she’s a princess. It should work like that. “I absolutely do not care. At all. Like, at all. I stood there and watched you die and—” Crying is apparently something she’s not capable of doing anymore either, and that’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, but it does leave her blinking faster than she’d like and she’ll have to come up with another colloquialism for the look on Killian’s face.

Abject devotion seems a little over the top.

“This is my fault.” Killian blinks. More than once. “How the hell did you get to that conclusion?” “You died, babe. I—I stood there and watched, and it was...it was you, but it wasn’t you and it didn’t even matter because it’s always been you and—” She’s rambling. Words spill out of Emma without her explicit permission, which seems kind of unfair all things considered. Nearly absolute power should allow her to be a better conversationalist than this.

The more things change, or whatever the saying is.

“The point is, we found Regina after that. Henry and I and...she wasn’t going to do anything. Was going to let Robin marry Zelena. But I—well, I told her that I’d just—” He doesn’t look away from her. Emma isn’t sure if that’s good or bad, far too much blue in his gaze even as the candles around them burn to the base of their wicks. She licks her lips again. Still chapped. “I told her that love was a part of all happiness. That...that she had to fight for it because I’d just—” “—Watched me die?” “Not as much fun when you interrupt me.” He makes a noise, a low rumble that tickles Emma’s cheek. “Apologies, my lady.” “You think you’re very clever.” “I think you’re the most incredible lass—” “—Oh, call me lass one more time and see how that works out for you.” “It’s a compliment,” Killian mutters, almost entirely into her skin and the few strands of hair that have come loose. “And you’re being rather distracting again.”

“Still waiting on the compliment parts of this, honestly.” He finally stands up, both of his knees cracking in the process. And Emma hardly opens her mouth to make some sort of misplaced joke about that before Killian is shaking his head and tugging her out of her chair and they don’t lay down on Camelot’s noisiest mattress.

They sit on the edge. Thighs pressed together and Emma’s fingers gripping his hook like some kind of lifeline, which it very well may be because they should have talked about this before, but there wasn’t time before and— “I love you.” Full-body shock, Emma finds rather quickly, is not nearly as uncomfortable as she assumed it would be. She’s imagined this going a lot of ways, loathe as she may be to ever admit such a thing. Most of the time they’re tangled in very soft sheets, or tucked into the questionably comfortable cot in the captain’s quarters of the Jolly, his fingers in her hair and that one specific smile that she’s only ever seen directed at her.

Not once has she imagined it like this.

Stuck in a different realm with a king that does not live up to the legend and something about the air in Camelot reminds Emma of Boston Harbor in the summer.

Salty and a little stale.

Her mouth goes dry and her pulse noticeably slows, turning her head to gape at him. That’s not romantic. That’s insane. This whole thing is absolutely and entirely insane and she can’t quite come to terms with the precise way he glances up at her.

From underneath those stupid eyelashes, that are both kind of dreamy and even more offensive and Emma doesn’t object when he pulls both her hands up. So he can kiss the bend of her knuckles. Like some goddamn pirate prince.

That helps a little bit, actually.

“What?” “I love you,” Killian repeats. “In a variety of different realities, it seems.” “No.” “No?” “No,” Emma echoes, resisting the very real urge to jump up and start pacing. Possibly cast a few spells. That’s the crux of her problem, though. So she does the only reasonable thing. Stays frustrating still and yells at her boyfriend.

Who doesn’t seem all that put out by this turn of events.

“Where do you think I should start?” “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” Emma admits with a snarl. “I...there is no way that deckhand version—” “—Oh, that’s also a little insulting.” “You’re telling me that you were in love with me in a fake reality?” Killian shrugs. It’s absurd as when Emma did it. “I’d hardly die for anyone, darling.” “Really way too confident in your ability to—” “—Ensure swooning?” “I will kick you,” Emma warns, but the sentiment lacks any real threat and she’d like to hear him say it several times over again. The I love you part, not necessarily guarantees of swooning.

“Please don’t do that.” “I’d have to stand up.” “Aye,” Killian laughs, “that is true. Although we are deviating just a tad now.” “From?” “How much I understand.” “Overblown confidence.” Tangling their fingers together doesn’t do much to help the state of Emma’s shoulders, but Killian’s hand is so warm and he’s so warm and, shoulder notwithstanding, every inch of Emma wants to curl against him and close her eyes and let him proclaim every ridiculous thought that has ever crossed his mind.

Regarding her. Specifically. And them. Collectively.

“An appropriate amount of confidence,” he corrects. “In regards to you, at least. Because it wasn’t the right reality, but...finding you, believing Henry, knowing that you could save all of us, that made sense to me. In a world where not much else did. That’s been the case from the very start, in fact.” She doesn’t reply. Knows she should, should say something else that proclaims a whole variety of things Emma isn’t sure she can follow through on, but her mind has already started to drift, eyes moving back towards the window and the dreamcatchers there and—

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.”

“Happily ever after,” she sighs.

Killian squeezes her fingers. “A work in progress. But the fact remains that I am wholly,” he kisses the back of her palm, “irrevocably,” the side of her wrist, “completely,” her tattoo, “in love with you. And if you are going to believe anything, then I need you to believe that.” “Need?” “With my entire heart, Swan.” “Oh, that was good, actually.” He doesn’t pull away from her hand. Just looks back up at her, and Emma isn’t sure if she’s blushing or simply burning from the inside out, but both options seem feasible at this point. “She was desperate here because I told her she should be,” Emma says, “Regina, I mean.” “That wasn’t your fault. Love has a tendency to—” “—Make you desperate.” “And that wasn’t a question.” Emma makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, more scratches and marks that she knows are far more metaphorical than literal and she should probably say something back. To Killian. About loving him.

Saying it under duress likely doesn’t count.

She meant it, though. And in the alternate reality. And every time she thought it before that.

She’s thought about it quite a bit.

“Suppose it didn’t have to be,” Killian muses, dropping his head to press a kiss against Emma’s neck. No goosebumps, that time. “I’m sorry that you didn’t know before.” “Ah, I kind of did.” “Still. It’s—” Pulling back is also at the bottom of that list Emma hasn’t made, but it isn’t often that she hears him quite so tongue-tied and there’s something oddly endearing about the red at the tips of his ears. “It’s something you should hear, as often as possible.”

“You’re on a roll.” “I’m serious.” “I know,” Emma nods, “and I—you know, for like a solid half second I was totally pissed at you when you showed up in the loft.” “What? Why?” “Making jokes.” To his credit, Killian does look more than a little scandalized. Wide eyes meet Emma’s, and his skin is paler than it was a few seconds before, but that might also have to do with the candles and their inability to burn for an entire night.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I can only tell you I know so many times before it starts getting annoying, I just—I’m not entirely sure what I would have done if it was true. Torn the world apart, probably.” She’s not surprised by the sincerity in her voice. Conviction and another promise that seems to rattle the windows and Emma’s bones in equal measure. Killian’s eyes don’t return to their proper size.

“If you’re not careful, Your Highness,” he says, “I'll be the one swooning soon.” He catches her before she can swat at his chest.

“Idiot.” “Less so now, maybe. But I understand the sentiment. When you were—Gods, it’s entirely unfair to do it like this, isn’t it?”

“This?” He rolls his eyes that time. Emma appreciates the symmetry. “Despite assurances otherwise, I’m not a fool, Swan. I knew you wanted to say something in your parent’s loft and I remembered some of that alternate reality. But then, as always, another disaster. Another problem. Another reason for you to sacrifice yourself. And then words I’d waited to hear for far longer than I’d care to admit, but you were gone and it was—” Killian grits his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and Emma is an idiot. The biggest idiot. Supreme idiot. She should have realized. “Like a nightmare come true,” he breathes. “Staring at the spot where you were, like I could will you back. Like I could tell you how I loved you more than anything else. No matter what else would happen.”

Lunge is not the best word, but at some point Emma lost any previous control she had over the English language and she’s far too busy relishing Killian’s gasp of surprise when her mouth all but slams against his to be worried about anything else.

She tilts her head. Closes her eyes. Forgets to breathe. Emma forces herself into this moment and this feeling, lets it wrap around her and sink under her skin until it times up with the beat of her pulse and—

The magic in her veins shifts. Rushing from the top of her head to the back of her heels, the kind of power that leaves her dizzy and overwhelmed and greedy for more.

Killian’s tongue traces the seam of her lips.

“They don’t want my help.” “With?” Killian asks, not bothering to pull away from her. Emma’s grip on the back of his hair probably doesn’t help much. “Getting Merlin out of the fucking tree.” “Ah.” “Sound more surprised next time. Have they been talking to you about this?” “Not as such, no. It does not appear that I am part of the inner-Camelot circle.” “Is there one?” “Eh,” he grunts. Disentangling their limbs isn’t all that easy, but it does end with Emma flush against Killian’s side and she supposes beggars can’t be magical choosers. “It seems as if your father is rather taken with having another royal in his midst. Can’t have a notorious pirate captain join them on their perilous quest.” “And how exactly does this notorious pirate captain know about such a quest?”

Suggesting that his eyes actually sparkle at her is entirely absurd and inherently fairy tale, and Emma could not begin to care less.

She can’t hear anything but Killian’s answering laugh. “I’m afraid that’s a rather closely guarded secret, my love.” “Oh, that’s absolutely—” Emma nearly bites her tongue in half. Because it’s not a huge change. Might not even be a change at all, but she latches onto it all the same and the ends of Killian’s lips quirk up. She’s got to find something else to stare at. “Is it super selfish to be glad you’re not going on some perilous quest?”

He shakes his head. It makes the ends of his hair shift, threatening to brush over eyebrows that are far too expressive. “Possibly, but I also can’t help to be anything except glad that you aren’t using more of your magic. I suppose we’re on even ground.” “Not the worst ground to be on.” “No,” Killian agrees, and that’s a strange way to do that. “It’s not. Let Her Majesty work out Merlin’s riddle, she’s got Belle doing research. That’s more help than she deserves.” “High praise. Just,” Emma huffs, “I hate sitting here. There’s too much—” “—Magic?” “Sounds shitty like that.” “Sounds understandable like that. And while I understand what Regina asked of you at the ball, using that power is dangerous.” “I know that,” Emma sneers.

Killian still doesn’t flinch. “I’m not suggesting otherwise, all I’m saying is that we are all here to help, Swan. Some more than others.” “You?” It’s another memory. Another moment her mind has conjured up, a string that connects her to the past and the present and his goddamn eyebrows, Killian staring at her with something that feels like longing and even more like—

Dedication, maybe. Love, definitely.

Emma’s not sure she’s ever been looked at like that.

It’s the worst lie she’s told herself yet.

“Me,” Killian says, and there’s no room for doubt between either one of the letters. “How’d you learn to make the dreamcatchers?” “There was no magic involved if that’s what you’re getting at.” “I wasn’t, in fact.” “No?” He shakes his head. Kisses her forehead. “No.”

And Emma doesn’t deflate, so much as she sags against him. Some of the fight leaves her, pleasantly surprised to find that it also doesn’t leave her feeling hollow. Rather like there’s space for something new there, possibility and potential and her fingers curl themselves into the charms hanging over his shirt.

Another metaphorical anchor and cool metal, helping to temper the myriad of emotions twisting between her ribs.

“I didn’t really learn,” she admits, “just kind of remade them from memory and the supplies Guinevere agreed to give me. Should have seen the first one, it looked like garbage.” Chuckling into her hair, Killian’s hand dances across Emma’s back, grazing the laces she’d almost forgotten about. “You think we’ll ever get to go to a ball on our own terms?” “You mean without time travel or Arthur the worthless king involved?” “It’s a good name.”

“You flatter me,” Killian grins, and Emma doesn’t double check that time either. It’s easy to hear. “And I certainly hope so. I have quite a number of thoughts about you and gowns.” “That so? How many thoughts are we talking?” “Vast.” “That’s not very specific. And I don’t know, babe. As nice as the dancing is, getting dressed for balls is kind of overrated. Half a dozen lady’s maids showed up to tie the laces for me and my mom and then they came back to stuff a gazillion pins into my hair.” “Gazillion also sounds rather vast.” Emma’s eye roll gets her yet another smirk, so she figures that’s a fair trade even if there does end up being a migraine involved eventually. “Did you not think about magic’ing the laces loose?” He says it soft enough that Emma can barely hear him — half concern and even more trepidation, crossing a line that hadn’t been there before and shouldn’t remain there now and she shakes her head. “Didn’t even consider it, honestly. Just kinda resigned myself to a crushed spleen, I guess.”

“Sounds painful.”

The metaphors are stupid now. They should go back to declarations and unfounded promises that Emma wants desperately and she’s not entirely prepared for the first tap of Killian’s finger.

Or for him to mutter, “Turn around for me, love.”

She does. Despite the confusion and the flutter of butterfly wings that have suddenly appeared in her stomach, Emma does as instructed. Something — someone — chafes at that, hackles rising and defenses lifting, and her nails dig deep enough into her palm that they leave tiny crescent shaped marks in their wake.

“No need to get anyone else to help,” Killian says, “when I’m perfectly capable.” Emma must nod. Her neck moves, so that must mean she nods. Speaking however, seems impossible at the moment. When her tongue is taking up too much space in her mouth and the butterflies are threatening to surge out of her and it really is easier to breathe when the laces aren’t quite that tight.

Killian makes quick work of it all. At least Emma assumes, still twisted away from him and staring at the mess she’d left on the desk. She’s not sure why there’s a desk in this room.

“Should I be jealous of your talents in this particular area?” He laughs, kissing the side of her neck again. “Part of me finds that very appealing, actually.” “Which part is that?” “The bastard who wouldn’t mind you claiming me entirely as your own.” “Not into that possessive kind of stuff.” “Ah, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” Killian argues, and Emma’s breath shudders out of her. In a distinctly swoon-like manner. “I think I’d rather willingly surrender.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” “Aye, I suppose I am.” He kisses her again. Emma hopes it helps. “Milah used to—she had these outfits. Full of laces and buckles and there weren’t any lady’s maids on board the Jolly. It became something of a routine. Dressing in the morning, getting on deck, picking a heading. Anywhere and everywhere, right at the tips of our fingers. But it was a bit easier, then.” Emma’s muscles are never going to recover from this conversation. She turns anyway, straining her neck to meet his gaze and barely-there smile and it doesn’t take her long to figure that out either. “You’re resourceful,” she says, “I bet you’d even be able to figure out how to lace me back up.” “Suggests you’ll be here in the morning.” “Quite a royal scandal, sharing a boudoir with a notorious pirate captain.”

Killian’s smile stretches. Not by much, but enough and, for now, that’s enough. “I love you.”

He’s waiting, Emma can tell. For the response. The answer. The words that she swears are going to snap her tongue in half, weighing it down as they are.

She doesn’t say anything.

Pulling in a deep breath, she moves her hands instead and shimmies until the gown she only sort of likes pools around her waist, leaving her in nothing but a slip. And magic, the kind that hangs in the shadows and festers in the corners of her soul.

Emma wraps her fingers around the brace at Killian’s arms. Buckles and leather, some of it a slightly different color than the rest from years of use and magic of a different kind and she’s only a little worried she’s inadvertently frozen him there.

Until his eyes shift, tracing over her face with that same reverence that she’s come to covet in the exact possessive way she’d always wanted to avoid.

Bastard, indeed.

“Your turn,” Emma says, and her voice doesn’t crack. Another victory.

Killian doesn’t object either. Lets her flick and flip and tug, as lightly as she possibly can, twisting the hook off eventually. That last part seems like overkill, but Emma’s always enjoyed the way it clicks off — almost as if she’s flipping a switch on some other part of her, giving into the vulnerability she can see in Killian’s eyes and she’s going to fix all of this. If only to avoid her melodramatic commentary.

“Come on,” she mumbles, tugging him down next to her as she shoves off the rest of her gown. These sheets aren’t as soft, unfamiliar when Emma pulls them over both of them, but Killian’s arm curls around her waist all the same and her cheek always fits very well against the crook of his neck.

He flinches. “What? That’s—are you—” “Fine,” Killian cuts in. “Just tickles, is all. When you exhale so dramatically.” “God.” “Close your eyes, love.” “I’m not going to—” “—I know, but you can still stay here. With me.” There’s more to those words too. Fraught with hope and even more want, and Emma can’t ever remember wanting this as badly as she does now. So she doesn’t move. She doesn’t close her eyes, either. But she stays still, listens to the steady in and out of Killian’s breathing and—

Laughter.

Creeping across the floor and inching up the stone walls, circling either one of Emma’s ankles until it slams into her chest and takes root. She shifts — not quickly, but determined, careful not to wake Killian as she avoids the other face she knows is hidden just out of sight.

Magic makes her fingers itch. Makes her skin crawl. Anticipation clings to each of her vertebrae.

With her gown still on the floor, and a pirate she knows would tear the world apart for her still asleep, she sits back down at the table and starts again, anxious to catch the nightmares before they can linger for too long.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #laura writes canon #this is all devon's fault so blame her for any and all angst #i also refuse to accept any blame for timeline inconsistencies #we write what we want and what we want is characters to acknowledge their trauma

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 4 years

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The Supercorp Shrek AU No One Asked For:

Yup. You read it right. A shrek au. Call me a coward, but there are no ogres in this version.

Kara is our shrek, othered by something, who dreams of a bigger life than her loneliness by ostracization, decides to achieve it by rescuing a princess.

Lena is the princess in the tower, surviving on stories of perfect happy endings.

When Kara rescues her, Lena's outraged. Her ending is ruined. But as they travel to Lena's kingdom, they get to know each other, they grow closer, noticing their similarities. They fall in love, and lose sight of their original happy endings in favor of a new one, spent together forevermore.

Kara slips past the tower dragon on the way in, but is caught on the way out. She prepares to fight, and shoves Lena into a safe corner to cower for a bit. But being intuitive and observant, Lena spots the too-tight chains keeping the beast tethered, and inserts herself to keep Kara from doing any damage.

Both Kara and dragon stop, and Lena gazes at the dragon, who is clearly still aggressive but now out of confusion and alarm than anything else.

"You know who I am, don't you," Lena says softly. "I've listened to your roars for years... I've spoken to you-- cursed you. I never imagined you were as trapped and alone as I was."

Taking Kara's shield, Lena uses the heavy edge to break the rusted metal chains, freeing the dragon. Now mangled beyond use, Lena throws the shield aside, and Kara tugs her backwards towards safety.

"Let's not still be here when it realizes it's free AND hungry."

They flee the castle, but as they wind their way through the surrounding forest, they hear something rattling through the brush behind them.

Kara challenges their stalker, like any brave wanna-be knight, and she's not trembling, nope. But then a massive bronze dragon emerges, comically large under the canopy, and Kara clutches Lena in fear.

But the dragon has no desire to eat either of them. It reaches down with a broad snout to nuzzle at Lena's chest, and she rubs its scaly jowls as though it were a hound.

Lena smiles. "My first friend."

Around the fire later that night, Lena carefully peels the embedded chains from where the dragons scales had grown around them, and washes the wound with spring water before tearing strips of bandages from her dress to keep it protected.

The dragon's relief is immediate, and from that moment on, it never leaves Lena's side again.

When Lena's home castle breaks over the horizon on the final morning of their journey, she realizes it could be that of another kingdom and she wouldn't know. She doesn't know that home anymore, doesn't remember it.

What she does know is Kara's kindness, and her own happiness when they sit with their shoulders brushing beside the fire each night. Lena knows her stomach swoops when Kara gives her that one smile, knows the flutter that follows when Kara's gaze deepens, as though studying her in return.

When Lena's home castle breaks over the horizon, she turns away from it.

She laces her fingers with Kara's and gives a gentle tug back the way they came, towards the open road and an inifinity of possibility ahead. Her dragon, now larger and more ferocious than ever, but docile under Lena's touch, follows close on their heels.

"Let's go."

#shrek au #supercorp #technically it could be any fairytale au #but i thought of it while listening to shrek the musical #so guess what its a shrek au #i miiiiight have more idea percolating for this verse #stay tuned

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fgffbfghtr · 3 years

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jadespeedster17 · 4 years

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*Laces fingers together with a smirk* Soooo, lots of people do Sanders Sides Halloween stuff, right? Well here’s my AU on this. Based kind of the Goosebumps movie, in that it’s about characters coming out of books, but it doesn’t follow the same plot except getting characters into the books again. You’ll see.

The Forevermore Night! (Forevermore AU.)

this AU mostly is a reader insert, would make it a choose your own adventure but I’m bad at those.

So, characters and plot, won’t spoil too much for plot but here’s the basics.

PLOT: You are an average college student getting by for another Halloween alone as usual watching scary movies, scrolling through Tumblr, and maybe going by yourself to a haunted house. That is until a package from your dear friend overseas comes in, it was your late/early birthday gift. Inside the box you find a series of books that your friend thinks you’d really like.

The Forevermore Series.

Supposedly it’s about different types of creatures who each haunt the reader in a choose your own adventure style. Seems pretty fun. And looks like there are 7 in total, perfect for a night of Halloween in your house.

The books normally come individually, but your friend got them in a bulk in one giant book. They always did know you. Halloween comes tomorrow as you settle down to get a headstart in reading. However, upon opening the book a ringing fills your ears and you’re out cold.

Upon waking the book in blank, and the seven characters turns out are very alive and seeking to cause mischief and find themselves a new host.

Now you and the writers of the books, Joan and Talyn, have to round of the characters and get them back into the story before you become their next host and may or may not cause the world to be plunged into the world of the Forevermore. With you as the King/Queen leader as a puppet for the creations.

However, something it’s quiet right, these people don’t act like book tales but rather real people. And Joan and Talyn refuses to answer any questions about how or why they are alive. Just that they were put into the books for a reason. There is more questions than answers, and you aren’t sure who your trust or who is telling the truth.

Because if they were put into the books, that would mean they used to be real people. But if that’s true... then why were they put into the books in the first place? And why are they so afraid that a man named Thomas got out?

CHARACTERS

Patton Hart aka The Doll Maker - Ever been afraid of dolls as a kid? Yeah here’s a reason why to be afraid. Each doll is made with special care and crafted by hand when made by the Hart Family. Made from all sorts of materials and made to look however you please. With such life likeness it’s easy to see why they are famous and so expensive. Patton loves each and every one of the kiddos he crafts, making sure only to have the best. Even if that means plunking the eyes from a naughty child to use for the perfect child. Or making a bad kid suffer so that the good kid can gain such soft skin. Naughty children should know better, but his kiddos are always well behaved. And always make the family happy. Parents deserve good children, the world does too. And who is going to miss such bad children anyway? Certainly not him or their parents, not when they have their perfect kid. And besides, bad kids make perfect parts for his little kiddos. As for teenagers and young adults, well Patton still has use for them, some parts are useable, but he always does need extra hands around the workshop. After all, it isn’t hard to rework the brain, and they are always so much nicer once he’s done. Yes, he love his kiddos, of all ages.

Roman Prince aka The Happy Ending - Every fairytale deserves their prince, their knight in shining armor, their hero. Such is Roman’s story, ‘The Happily Ever After’, the tale of a knight who saves princes and princesses, by basically kidnapping and enslaving them to his kingdom. The princesses bring much to his land, brave souls looking to rescue them, and the princes are pretty things to look at, which Roman loves. He is their hero, he saved them all and brought them to a place where they will always be happy. There is no time here, no pain here, no need for trivial mortal things. They are forever here, forever young and happy. Roman is such a nice knight to them, but some do need to be punished, he hates having to harm the ones he saves. But they need to know the outside world is horrible, here they are safe with him. With his powers to create whatever he wants, snap thing into existence, he’s very powerful. Prince of the Forevermore with his brother and previous king. He always is looking to add to his collection of pretty things. That or a good fight, which ever comes first.

Logan Adams aka The Mad Scientist - What would the world be without ethics on testing and creating? Well Logan is a good example of what happens when you throw our morals and feelings. Logan has made far advancements in the scientific field, if it wasn’t for the fact he likes to trap people for testing his newest creations. Logan is passive about life, being he found a way to make himself immortal he tends to disregard those who aren’t. Honestly mortality is just so stupid, when your life is condensed into a century at most. You have to play games to escape his traps, and use logic should he ask you do anything. To him, it’s all a game, he’s only interested in the end result. But he does enjoy a challenge, and if you can outsmart him, color him impress. He may even offer up a golden liquid to you as a reward. After all there aren’t many who can outsmart him.

Virgil Spider aka The Welcome Home Party - Remember that haunted house you were always afraid of? That always seemed like no one lived there. Then one day you gather up the courage to peak inside and see if it is haunted or abandoned. As you walk in the house seems lively, the hallway lit up in a nice warm glow. And you turn to see someone coming down the stairs. It’s your older brother, Virgil. Right, this is your house. You’ve lived here since you were a kid with your big brother. He’s happy your home asking what took you so long. What ever did take you so long? You can’t remember, but it doesn’t matter. Your big brother is always better than most other peoples brothers. Virgil always knows how you feel, and always does his best to make you happy. He gives the best kinds of hugs, and only ever opens up to you. You love your big brother after all, and he loves you too. Virgil loves all of his family, he loves to hold you, love the way you smell, the way your blood tastes on his tongue. You always seem to get weaker and sleepier each time Virgil holds you. Maybe you should rest for a bit, Virgil says he’ll keep watch, so no monsters come. You can trust him, he’s family. So what if he’s part spider, he’d never hurt you.

Remus Prince aka The Slimy Monster - There is a reason these books are rated for young adults. And it’s not just the gore and such, it’s when you read Book 5, that’s when it’s becomes clear. Remus is a slimy monster with eight tentacle like appendages. He lives in a camp for young adults in the lake, and the stories told of him are meant to keep campers out of the lakes at dark. Not that it always works, as most college students think they know everything. So when allured out to the water by the sweet sound of a siren, they don’t think twice. Guess that’s why so many go missing. Remus loves his trinkets and toys, he loves to drown them when they loose their usefulness. And he also loves the sounds they make when he does use them. By this point he’ll have enough children to make his species the dominate ones. Life is great for this sea monster, and it’s about to get even better.

Janus Silver aka The Great Magician - Everyone loves to watch magic shows right? Loves to get their palms read, the cards look at, and their futures unfold. Some people also love to go see hypnotists and see if they really can use a pocket watch to put them under. Ofcourse there is the risk factor and you have to sign a form to make sure you can go in. No one ever reads them anyway, just sums up your a willing participant. Called up to the stage by a handsome man that wears a half mask, taking your hands in warm gloved ones. Leading you to sit down, and just to relax. You do funny things on stage under his guide and such, unable to stop yourself. But not that you want to. Suddenly you find each time after you wake up in strange places. You start to lose hours of time, unable to recall what you were doing. Your mind is no longer your own, you respond to commands on the snap of gloved fingers. You obey, that’s all there is too it. And soon, your mindless, you’re his doll, his puppet, you do as he says. You’ll believe whatever you tells you, his little sleeper agent. What’s his goals, honestly no one knows, the two faced snake only speaks in riddles and lies. We can only hope he just likes to have people under his control and that there isn’t a deeper plan. Such as pure anarchy, or even starting the purge. Who knows what’s going through his mind. Moral of the story, always read the fine print.

Thomas Sanders aka The King and The Host - Not much is known about him, his story is still in the making. He’s locked far within the pages, but that’s what they want you to think. You’ve seen him alot, he’s in each of their stories. Even if you don’t know it. Put together the pages, it makes his story of what happened to him. That’s what he wants you to do after all, help him out. He’s been trapped for years, they trapped him with them. It was an accident, he swears. Question you should ask is... do you trust him?

Want to know more, I take asks! :D

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timelordthirteen · 4 years

Text

In All Things 17/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Gold and Belle talk with Maurice, but things escalate when Milton arrives.

Notes: *Bernie Sanders meme* I am once again asking you to forgive me for it being 84 years since the last update. I hope you all enjoy the first appearance of the Cane of Feels. ;) The next chapter is already almost done, but the ending part kept getting longer and longer so I split things up. See note at the end. Also tags have had a minor update to include canon typical violence which occurs in this chapter.

[AO3]

Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

Belle took a breath and felt Gold squeeze her hand.

She looked up and gave him a tight smile. Her stomach had unsettled all morning, leaving her pacing in her bedroom as she waited and barely able to eat anything for breakfast.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She let go of his hand, and pressed hers against the laces of her dress. “Yes, I think so.”

He tugged once on his jacket and held out his arm for her to take before pushing open the door to her room. They walked the long hall together, his stride slowed to match hers, with the thump of his cane the only sound she could hear save for her own breathing. At the top of the stairs her heart started to pound, and she caught him glancing at her sideways as they took the first step in sync. It was endearing, the way he seemed to be looking after her, checking at the smallest sign of discomfort.

The concern from her father had always felt overwhelming, stifling even, and was one of the things that in the aftermath of her mother’s death had pushed them apart. She could understand it, though, that constant need to make sure the one person left in his life, his only child, was safe and well, but he had channeled it into nitpicking what she did with her time, criticizing her choices of friends, and being overbearing about her need to be married and settled. Well, she was that now, at least, and so long as Gold remained as he was, she thought she could tolerate it amiably.

Before she knew it, they were at the door to her father’s study, ready to make their unified confrontation. Gold reached for the brass door handle, and then paused, casting another sidelong look at her.

“What are you going to say to him?” she asked.

Gold shrugged lightly. “He’s your father, and this is your family’s home. I thought I should defer to you.”

Belle blinked. “Oh...all right then.”

She looked forward again, squaring her shoulders, as he pushed the door open.

Maurice startled and spun on his heel, turning away from the large window where he’d been gazing out into the small garden bordered by a short hedge and a now barren flower bed. His gaze fixed on her and his face shifted, his mouth curving awkwardly in a smile that seemed more like a grimace.

“Belle,” he said, fidgeting with the cuffs of his coat. “What are you doing here, my girl?”

Belle slipped her arm free of Gold and stepped forward. “We came to talk with you.”

Maurice’s eyes darted to the side, widening as he finally noticed Gold’s presence.

Gold inclined his head in acknowledgement as his hand tightened around the handle of his cane. “Maurice.”

Belle inserted herself between the two men, pressing her clammy palms to the front of her dress. “I spoke with my husband about Avonlea’s finances.”

Maurice sputtered for a moment, his face going pale as he looked back and forth between them. “Lord Gold, I - I can explain. “Y-you see -”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m not the one who requires an explanation.” He looked pointedly at Belle, who turned to look back at him before facing her father again.

“Belle, petal,” Maurice said, moving to try to take her hands.

She backed away at the same time Gold came forward, placing a steadying hand on her arm. He could feel the slight change in her stance and the way her shoulders relaxed, her face tipping up to meet her father’s eyes and fix him with a hard stare.

“Please, just let me handle things. Everything will be fine if -”

“Stop it!” Belle’s eyes flashed as she stepped forward, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Don’t patronize me, I’m not stupid. I know what I saw in those ledgers, and if any of that is your idea of handling things, then you might as well sell off the land to the King now. The better to let him sort out how to manage our meager stores through the winter.”

The force of her voice caused Maurice to startle, and Gold had to fight to keep from smiling.

“I’m so sorry, Belle,” Maurice continued, his shoulders sagging. “I am trying to do my best for Avonlea and you, but the King -”

“Well,” came a voice from the doorway, “isn’t this a nice little family reunion.”

Belle and Gold turned simultaneously to see Milton striding slowly in the room, his hands behind his back and a sneering smile leading the way, and dressed in a garish gold doublet with dark leather breeches and boots adorned with gold buckles. He looked more like a lord in King George’s court than the steward of one of the poorest estates in the kingdom, and Belle frowned.

“Milton,” Maurice said, starting to step forward.

Gold raised his hand, the motion silencing Maurice immediately. “This doesn’t concern you, Steward.”

Milton’s head tilted to the side. “Oh? It sounded to me like you three were discussing the business affairs of the Avonlea estate, which is very much my concern.”

Gold’s eyes narrowed. “Then you should attend to them properly rather than allowing them to become continually indebted to the King.”

Milton was momentarily thrown off by Gold’s blatant admission, but he recovered swiftly and came around to stand between them and Maurice. “They are attended as His Majesty wishes them to be attended.”

Belle’s eyes went wide. She wondered at his emphasis and if the King truly wanted to ruin her family, but before she could dwell on it long, Gold left her side in a rush and stalked towards Milton with such determination that the other man couldn’t move out of the way. Instead, he twisted and tried to back away from the desk only to find himself pinned with the bookcase at his back.

“If King George,” Gold began, his voice sharp and firm, “wants to see these lands so obligated to him that the only choice is to cede them to the royal house, then he will be sorely disappointed when I assert my claim to them!"

“No!” Belle spoke before she could stop herself.

The shock of what Gold had said and the implication that he would take over her family’s estate so soon after swearing to help her save it. Legally, by order of the Council of Lords, husbands retained rights to the lands of their wife and her family, though most were not exerted if there was an heir or a current ruling lord. For Gold to do so went against everything she had believed him to be and made him just as power hungry as Gaston or the King himself.

Gold turned, pivoting on his heel with his cane planted at his side. He fixed her with a stare, and her eyes flashed with anger as she took a daring step forward, her heels louder than usual on the wood floor. His gaze was almost pleading, and she looked to her father and pressed a hand to her stomach, fisting the laces of her bodice. She wanted to trust Gold, and she had until this moment, but with so much at stake she couldn’t be certain of his motives. She knew so little about them and about him, not the least of which was why he wanted to marry her in the first place. Perhaps it had all been to this end, to expand his influence and wealth.

“Belle…”

She met Gold’s gaze again and swallowed as she took a step back, acquiescing in action instead of word, but Milton had sensed the discord between them and sneered at her. “You see what he is now, my Lady?”

“Quiet,” Gold snapped, twisting abruptly towards the Steward. “Your time here is over. You will collect whatever things you can carry with you from your quarters, and leave. The rest will be sent -”

“To the royal palace,” Milton interrupted, looking entirely too self satisfied for someone being fired and evicted at the same time. “I’m sure the King will want to hear all about this affair.”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Gold leaned in, his jaw tense and his hand gripping the handle of his cane hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

“Oh?” Milton’s voice rose along with his eyebrows, his tone and expression mocking them all. “The King wouldn’t want to be informed how Lord Maurice bought off a knight and a lord to to cover up his financial incompetence, and his daughter’s shame?”

In an instant, Gold moved, grabbing a fistful of Milton’s vest and shoving him flat against the bookshelves. Behind him he could hear Belle call out his name, but it was muted by the rush of blood in his ears, his anger overwhelming the sense of civility he’d been barely restraining since the Steward entered the room. He brought his other hand up, still holding the cane and pushing it against the other man’s chest.

“You came from nothing,” Milton spat, “And yet you’re the same as the rest of them, aren’t you? Another rich man with your money and games, taking the lands of your wife’s family without so much as a by your leave?”

A low, growling sound slipped out as Gold flashed his teeth and pressed the handle of his cane to Milton’s throat, forcing a choked gasp from the man’s throat. The words were true, he had come from nothing, but he wasn’t playing at any game. He was only trying to protect his family.

“I will do whatever needs to be done,” he hissed. “It is none of your concern, or the King’s.” Milton’s mouth worked, opening wide as he sucked in air, a sickeningly ragged sound that made Belle wince and startled her body into action. She staggered forward, catching herself on the edge of the desk as she watched Milton’s eyes bulge in fear, as though he had finally realized the severity of the situation.

“Cameron, please!”

Belle’s voice stunned Gold into releasing Milton, who coughed and sputtered for breath the instant Gold’s cane was removed from his throat.

“Cowing to the little wife already?”

Milton flashed a sneering smile as he rubbed at his throat. His voice was strained and hoarse, and an angry red line was already rising up across his neck. Belle swallowed and glanced at Gold who’s hard stare and dark eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

“Did you give up more than your seed on your wedding night?” Milton continued, drawing his hand down from his neck. “Did you offer her your balls on a silver platter?”

The steward opened his mouth to speak again, and Gold moved with a flash of agility Belle wouldn’t have believed possible. He lifted his cane out to the side and then swept it across, hitting Milton in the right leg, and knocking it out from under him with a sickening crack. Belle shut her eyes at the sound as she turned away from the calamity.

The motion of Milton’s fall sent him into a small side table on his way to the floor, and when Belle opened her eyes Gold was standing over him, his cane raised over his head. She felt her body start to shake and clenched her hands into fists in her skirt.

“Stop it!”

Belle’s voice startled Gold, who staggered back from Milton as the length of his cane slid through his grip and came to rest at his side. The room was quiet for a long moment as the two stared at each other.

“I think that answers my question.”

“Milton…” Gold warned, rounding on him again.

“What? What will you do to me in front of your precious little wife and the lord of these lands? Hmm?” The steward licked his lips, his mouth spreading into a wide, creeping grin as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Then again, I’ve heard the Lady likes brutish men.”

Gold stepped forward, his boots on either side of Milton as he lay on his back against the bookcase and the remains of the table. He planted his cane next to the man’s head, the tip thumping so loud and sharp that Milton winced as though it had come down on him directly.

“Speak about my wife again,” he said evenly, “and it will be your last words.”

Belle pressed a hand to her lips to suppress the sob in the back of her throat. She knew what Milton was trying to say, thinly veiled as it was, and the thought that he knew what had transpired between her and Gaston, that he might even know more than that, perhaps even the truth of how her marriage to Gold came about, made her body tremble.

“Stop,” she managed. “Just stop.” Gold looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide, almost as if he was surprised to see her. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry and her tongue thick in her mouth. “Let him go.”

Gold held her gazed and nodded slowly before using his cane to push away from Milton. He stepped back just enough to allow the Steward to scramble to his feet, who tripped over the leg of the broken table and nearly fell into Gold. He caught himself at the last second and shot a glare at all of them. Then he tried to step around Gold who caught him by the shoulder and held him still.

“The only reason you are walking out of this room under your own power, you pathetic worm,” Gold said quietly, keeping his voice just between the two of them, “is because of my wife. Remember that the next time you think about disrespecting her or any other woman.”

“Well, my Lord,” Milton said, setting his eyes on Maurice as he moved out and around Gold. “I hope you are happy being run off your own land by your fine choice of a son-in-law. Though I suppose you won’t be a vassal much longer. Best get used to Maurice then.”

Maurice bristled at that, and after appearing paralyzed during the earlier ruckus, seemed to have regained his faculties and his anger. “I’m a lord until the King says otherwise, but you are nothing. Get your things and leave at once, or I will have the guards do it for you.”

Milton’s lips curled in something that resembled a grimace more than a smile. He looked Maurice up and down and then bowed at the waist in a way that felt mocking and cruel rather than respectful. “As you wish, my Lord.”

He swanned passed Belle on his way to the door, close enough to brush her skirts which made her step to the side. Her eyes narrowed at him, and he gave her a flat smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Perhaps your husband will allow you to rename this place after he steals it out from under your family.”

She whirled on the Steward, her jaw tensing. She could think of no retort so she settled for glaring daggers at his back until the doors closed behind him. If Gold did claim Avonlea as he indicated he would, then Milton was right. It would be effectively stolen from her and her family, and her mother’s legacy would become just another pawn in a political game. It would be a bargaining chip or collateral. There was a pang in her chest and a tightness in her throat at the thought of losing her home. It wouldn’t really be gone, it wasn’t as if the estate and land would be raised and left barren, but it wouldn’t be the same somehow, it would have a change in a way that felt irreversible. But maybe Gold wouldn’t go through with it, maybe it had been some kind of ploy to needle Milton and send a message to King, maybe -

The doors swung closed, thudding and echoing in the room, and startling her from her thoughts. She turned to see Gold looking at her, his face unreadable, and her father, wringing his hands.

“What now?” Maurice asked.

Gold sighed and turned away from Belle. “Now I draw up the necessary papers to cede ownership of Avonlea.”

Belle’s stomach sank and the mix of emotions she’d been holding back since they entered her father’s study spilled over. She cried out abruptly and then muffled the rest of the sound with her hand pressed over her mouth. Gold looked to her again, and upon seeing her, immediately came towards her, his hand outstretched.

She backed away quickly, almost stumbling on the edge of the rug when the heel of her shoe caught. “No.” She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling two wet trails down either cheek. “You can’t. You - you promised!”

Gold tried to come closer, but she kept moving away from him. “It’s for the best, Belle, just let me -”

“Let you take my family’s home?” she shouted. “Let you - you ruin us further? Let my father be the laughing stock of the kingdom, and shame me all over again?”

His face looked stricken at her words as his steps became uneven. “No, that’s not what this is. Please -”

Belle shook her head and shot a cold, harsh look at her father. “Well done, Papa.”

“Petal -”

She raised both her hands and Maurice’s voice trailed off as they dropped to her sides. Without another word, she spun on her heel and rushed out of the room. A second later, she heard the doors open and Gold call out for her, but her quick steps hastened into a near run as she hurried away from the study and back to her room.

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Rest assured that any strife between Gold and Belle will be reasonably short lived. I know he looks like an ass right now, but he's got a plan.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #arranged marriage au #my rumbelle fic #fic #in all things #this is a mess #i'm so sorry

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miss-pearlescent · 4 years

Text

I Want You (M)

You know you are attracted to the incubus named Kai, but is it because he’s an incubus or because he is Kai? You’ll just have to let him show you.

Rated M for smut. Also: fluff advisory (o˘◡˘o)

The lace collar was itchy. The corset was tight. You tried not to breathe to hard as you saw him approaching, his lean body quick and agile. You focused your eyes on the queen, ignoring the longing to look over and see what Kai was up to.

It was the queen’s coronation ball, a special day to mark the unification of demons and humans in the kingdom. You had always thought she was fit for the role despite what others said, and you were glad for all the changes she brought to the castle. That included the recruitment of many demons from the other realm.

You weren’t entirely sure how things worked down there but you had heard that only the “goodest” of the bad were hired, whatever that meant. Either way, you had been able to make many new friends in the past couple of years, ones who were accepting and didn’t look down on you for being the stable master’s daughter.

“Boo,” a low voice whispered in your ear and made you turn. It was hard not to stiffen and let your jaw drop to the floor, so you quickly looked away instead, trying your hardest to concentrate on whatever the queen was saying.

Beside you, the handsome devil named Kai stood by your arm, back straight and arms behind his back. On any other day, he made you blush in his training uniform. But tonight, he wore a deep blue formal jacket and a gold sash branding him as one of the kingdom’s royal knights. The sight took your breath away, even if you could only see him from the corner of your eye.

“Good evening,” you whispered back.

He nudged your elbow. “I have something for you.”

Curious, you allowed yourself to peek over. “Me?” You tried to think back. It wasn’t your birthday. He didn’t owe you any favours. There weren’t any special occasions for gift giving coming up.

With a mischievous grin, Kai brought his arm forward and presented you with a small plate piled high with tarts, cakes, and biscuits.

Your eyes bugged out so much that you thought they were going to pop out of your eyes. “How did you get this? Dinner’s not even served,” you hissed.

In response, he put a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret.”

“You are...sneaky.” You put a hand over your mouth to cover your laugh and quickly took a lemon tart before anybody could see. Discreetly, you took a bite, loving the sweet and sour that mixed on your tongue followed by the flaky crust.

You noticed Kai watching you intently and looked away again. His stare was unnerving and you did not want to make a fumble of yourself on such an important night.

“Will you be needed soon?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Kai turned to the stage. “Soon. I am waiting for your father’s signal.”

You found your old man waiting at the edge of the stairs, wringing his hands on his lap. He was to usher all the knights onto the stage when the queen’s speech was over so that they could represent the solidarity of humans and demons fighting for the good of the kingdom together.

“How are things with your father?”

Your shoulders slumped a little bit. “They’re okay.” The two of you had had a quarrel the other day when you were manning the steeds and your father was burdened about the ball. He had stopped you in the middle of your work day and lectured you once again about finding a good husband, this time on coronation night.

But the thought of meeting a man at the ball terrified you. You were dressed up in clothes that you wore once in a blue moon, with your hair swept up into a beautiful braid and your lips painted rouge. It would be like a Cinderella story if you met the man of your dreams tonight and then he had to see you dressed in pants and tunic, shovelling horse dung all day. The thought that a man might turn his face away in disgust made you want to crawl inside a hole, especially seeing all the beautiful ladies attending tonight.

Besides, you liked things the way they were, and you didn’t want to meet a new man because that might mean that your friendship with Kai would grow distant. He always mentioned how he would be slightly jealous if his wife had a male friend as close as Kai was to you. Always the gentleman, Kai said—much to your dismay—he would be willing to stay away from causing friction in a relationship when you found a husband of your own.

If that ever happened.

“He’s likely taking his stress out on you,” Kai added while taking a bite of a small tea cake. “He’s been having to deal with all of us the past two weeks and I think it’s turning his hair grey.”

You smiled because your father did seem quite nervous about today. But everything was going well so far and you knew whatever happened tonight would be for the best.

You saw your father raise his hand and wave not so subtly. “That’s your cue,” you said in a hushed tone, taking the plate of desserts out of Kai’s hand.

He rubbed his hands on his pristine white pants—a nervous habit of his—and you bit your tongue to keep from telling him that the action might dirty his pants. It was too late now.

Kai turned toward you and opened his mouth, then closed it in a smile. “You have something here.” He reached out his hand and brushed his thumb against the corner of your lips.

You sucked in a breath. Looking down, you saw a crumb fall to the floor. Though he was simply helping you keep tidy, he might as well have branded you with his touch. Your lips were warm and tingly as he walked away, cracking his neck from side to side.

You watched, starstruck as the knights lined up and stood on stage, their backs stick straight and their uniforms gleaming with badges. When the commander stepped forward to give his speech, his voice cracked and there was a slight murmur of giggles through the room. But your eyes stayed on Kai as his mouth curved in a slight smile and his gaze grazed the room to land on you.

He winked.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, and you frantically stuffed a tart into your mouth, not caring about chewing.

“You know, he is an incubus.”

You turned to the voice and found one of the aunts of the royal family with her arms crossed and her lips pursed. You weren’t sure which aunt she was, just that she frequented the castle with her sons.

She cut you a look full of judgement. “A girl like you should not be spending so much time with the likes of him. His only goal is to ruin you, and I can see that you are already falling for the tricks up his sleeve.”

You looked down at the desserts on your plate. “It’s just a few cakes,” you muttered.

“A few cakes here, a few flowers there. All he needs to do is snap his fingers and you will be on your back in the hay bales for him.” The woman rolled her eyes. “You are blind if you think he isn’t playing this game with all the women in the castle. Do yourself a favour and find a nice stable boy who will still be willing to marry you while you’re young and untouched.”

Suddenly, the desserts made you want to vomit.

Your father didn’t say those kinds of words but wasn’t that what he meant in the end? Find someone who would be willing to marry you before you become old and alone?

You had known Kai for years now and knew from the first day that he was a demon, specifically an incubus. But was that why you were so attracted to him that you didn’t even want to entertain the thought of marriage?

You bit your lip as the audience clapped, because you didn’t want to believe the woman. Kai was not the type of person to do such a horrible thing and play with your feelings. Hell, that was why you stayed just friends with him. He had never pushed for anything other than friendship. He was just being himself.

It was simply you that fell for him.

Inwardly, you groaned and turned to leave the room. It was suddenly too stuffy and you remembered how much your dress itched and the tightness of your corset. You needed to leave and—

“Oof!” You bumped into a broad chest and steadied the cakes in your hands. An arm wrapped around your shoulders as you wobbled from the force of crashing into the man. You blinked upward, a little dazed. “How did you get back so fast?”

“I guess I used my demon speed to teleport here,” he teased with a slight shrug then switched to being serious. “You okay?”

You nodded and set the cakes down on a table before rubbing your forehead. “I’m fine. I was just going to...” What? Run back to the stables and sulk with the horses as you thought about a plan of attack for the new year so that you could get married and everybody will be happy?

Kai waited for a moment before looking around. “Did you want to dance? We can practice what we learned last month.” The two of you had inserted yourselves into a busy class held by the dance instructor that was hired for the royal family. At the back of the class, you remembered losing your breath as the two of you tried to keep up with the instructions while holding back your laughter.

The memories were fond and you were about to say yes when you saw the glare of the older woman from behind Kai’s shoulder. Quickly, you shook you head as you watched the waltz begin on the floor. “I don’t remember the steps.”

Kai’s expression fell to one of concern and mild rejection. You didn’t like doing that to him, but dancing in his arms again would make your heart soar way too high.

“Is everything all right?” he asked softly so that nobody else could hear.

Your gaze locked on his and you wondered if he could see all the emotions that were going through your mind. You wanted to tell him everything yet nothing at all because that would just make you vulnerable to him. Slowly, you shook your head, barely enough to be detectable.

He turned and held out his elbow. “Let’s go for a walk around the room then. Take my hand.”

Thoughts racing, you placed your hand on the crook of his elbow and followed him, ignoring all the gazes that seemed to follow you.

Were you what the masses considered a whore? But you had never gone to bed with a man.

Did they consider you a demon-hunter, a term for human women who slept with high-ranking demons so that she could move up the social ladder when no humans would have her? But, again, you had never slept with a human let alone a demon.

But all this time spent with Kai sure made it look like you did.

Was it wrong that you just liked being around him?

“You look very beautiful tonight,” Kai’s deep whisper interrupted your thoughts.

You blinked and your face flushed. “Thank you. You do, too.” Stuttering a little, you corrected yourself. “I-I mean, handsome. Though the clothes you wear are very beautiful.”

He chuckled and squeezed your hand. “But you’re the one getting all the lovely stares from both men and women.”

You looked around and wondered if Kai’s eyes were working properly. Those men and women were staring at her out of contempt for being with a demon, not for being attractive.

Even after all these years of mixing between the species, there was still underlying hate and prejudice beneath the surface.

“I think they are surprised to see the stable master’s daughter in a dress,” you muttered.

Kai laughed. “If I’m being honest, I was surprised, too. But you look like you want to rip it off the moment the ceremony’s over.”

“I do,” you agreed. “It’s stiff and I can barely breathe.” You tugged on the lace of your collar.

Kai squeezed your hand, tight. “Don’t do that.”

You looked over, startled by the change in his voice. It was gruff, a complete change from the soft gentleness that he usually spoke with. “What?”

He kept his stare straight ahead though now it was harder and his mouth was in a tight line. “Men are staring.”

You looked down and saw that the lace had moved a little, exposing even more of your breasts that were bound so tight that they nearly reached your chin.

Okay, that might have been an exaggeration but for somebody who barely had an breasts, this was all new to you.

And Kai was right, men were staring, and this time their eyes were focused on your breasts.

You flicked open the fan that was hanging on your wrist and fanned yourself lightly, taking care to cover your decolletage.

“This was what my father wanted, wasn’t it?” you said with chagrin. “For me to find a man who would be willing to marry me.”

“There are many men who would be happy to marry you,” Kai rushed in with his hard voice. “Lucky to marry you,” he added.

Your heart picked up its pace. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I am simply stating what I know is true.” Sometimes you wished demons weren’t so unreserved with their statements.

What could you say to that? Kai always had a way with words that made you speechless. He knew how to work his way into your heart, and you could do nothing but think about what the woman had said earlier.

“Is this your incubus side speaking to me?”

“Hmm?” He turned to you with a raised brow.

You gave him a stiff smile. “You are always such a smooth talker. It must make all the women swoon. Is that one of your demon powers?”

“No.” He gave you a slow blink and his lips curved into that mischievous grin once again. “But would you like to see some of my incubus powers?”

Did you? Honestly, yes. You had never been in contact with demons enough to witness their powers in real life. There were only a couple stories here and there about fire-breathers and levitation. It would be cool to see what Kai could do. Eagerly, you nodded.

“All right,” he replied and placed a hand over yours. “But you have to make sure you keep your hands on me or else every woman in this room might get a feel for my abilities.”

A surge of jealously bubbled in your gut and you tightened your grip.

You walked with Kai a few more steps before you were transported to a realm of darkness.

It felt like a dream.

You looked around and could only see black for miles and miles. You waited and as the seconds ticked on, your heart began to race.

“Kai?” you whispered.

And magically, he appeared before your eyes. You were relieved but only for a moment because you looked down and realized he was naked.

And you were naked.

And suddenly you wanted nothing more than to lie back and let him have his way with you. So you did.

You weren’t sure what was happening but you laid prone on the ground, your back arching up as your nipples perked. It seemed that just watching him stare down at you in such a vulnerable position was enough to get you turned on. Not to mention, his cock was standing up straight and proud.

You usually thought horses were too hung and disturbingly big but Kai’s was just...beautiful. It looked like the perfect length, with thick ridges that you were sure no human man had. The thought of that pumping inside you made your thighs quiver.

He crouched beside you and stroked your cheek, but all you wanted was his cock inside of you, and you didn’t care where. You licked your lips, ready to take him into your mouth and suck him dry.

He pressed a hand to your shoulder, pinning you to the ground with a chuckle. “This is my time to demonstrate my powers to you, not the other way around.”

You whined in protest and gave him a pout.

He shook his head. “I want you to see all the ways that I want to take you.” Your lips parted as a soft sucking sensation began between your legs and your thighs were pushed apart. “Look down,” he said.

You did as you were told and found Kai’s head between your legs, his mouth playing with your folds.

“I want to spend hours down there.” The Kai down there was busy, but his voice still filled your head. “I want to make you nice and wet for later.”

“L-later?” you panted as you felt a finger enter your slit.

Two hands appeared out of nowhere and suddenly you were flipped onto your knees, your hands holding onto an invisible wall. Kai was still sucking on your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you, but you couldn’t turn your head to see.

Instead, another Kai materialized in front of you, his two hands rolling your nipples between his fingers.

“Later, when my cock fills your tight pussy, I want you to scream my name.”

“Kai...” you were already ready to scream his name as you felt a hollowness in your belly. You wanted to beg him to mount you like one of the stallions to the mares.

“You want it dirty like that?”

You bit your lip as your legs trembled. He was pinching your nipples hard and his fingers were also hitting the perfect spot inside you at the same time. You weren’t going to last long.

Kai’s lips found a sensitive spot on your neck. “Control your breathing. People are looking,” he murmured.

For a moment, you didn’t know what he was talking about, but then you were transported back to the ballroom and found that the tops of your breasts were heaving and you were dripping between your thighs as you continued to pace around the room with him.

You drew in a deep breath and fanned yourself, trying to cool off.

“Ready to go back?” his low voice reached your ear and you gave a small nod.

You were thrust back into the darkness again with Kai’s lips and hands all over you. You cursed because the brief break and sudden onslaught of his ministrations nearly pushed you over.

“Would you like to know what I would feel like inside you?” he purred.

You gulped and nodded, desperate to feel him stretching you open.

But then suddenly everything stopped and you let out a small whimper as you fell to your hands and knees, your heat sopping wet and your body shivering with need.

A hand tilted your chin up and you locked eyes with Kai’s handsome face.

“This is just a dream,” he said. “You are not a ruined woman if you agree to this.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips to the corner of yours. “But I want you, and I want you to know it. You have been what I longed for for years.”

You paused. “I am just a stable girl.”

“Just a stable girl?” Kai let out a breathy laugh and kissed you again, this time lingering on your bottom lip. “You are the smartest, most hard-working woman I know with the biggest heart. You treated me like a friend from the start, even though you knew I was a demon.”

Your cheeks turned red. “I might have been harbouring a slight crush.” Your cheeks turned redder still. “And I might still be harbouring that crush, but I know you are an incubus and I know you can have any woman with the snap of your fingers,” you said, quoting the older woman from earlier.

He was just a breath away and you wanted his kisses so bad, but you knew you had to finish explaining yourself.

“I was scared of getting hurt in case I was just a friend in your eyes.”

Kai’s chest rose and fell as the moments passed by. “I know you told me you wanted to wait till marriage, but would you like to know how I see you in my eyes?”

You licked your lips and he followed the gesture with his liquid stare. “Yes.”

And all at once your body was covered in white fabric and a bouquet of flowers dropped into your hands. You looked down and realized you were wearing a big wedding dress.

You scanned the area and found yourself standing alone in a garden. “Kai?”

“Boo,” a raspy voice came from behind you and you whirled around to find Kai in a black suit, his hair slicked back and his teeth shining as he smiled down at you.

“What is this?” you asked, sweeping your arms around at the rows of chairs lined up in the garden.

He scratched the back of his neck, another nervous gesture of his. “I always wondered what you would look like in a wedding dress.”

“Really?” You looked down and smiled. “I like it.”

“Mm,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your exposed neck. “I like it, too.”

You sighed as all the arousal from earlier rushed back to you in waves every time he sucked on the spot on your neck. It was as if that caused all the other parts of your body to feel the suckling too.

Then you felt hands on your hips and something slide between your slit. Your eyes widened. “What was that?”

“It’s me again,” Kai said, raising his head. “Would you like to see?”

You nodded and the Kai in front of you disappeared. You craned your head and found him behind you, holding your hips with your dress flipped up, his thick cock slicking himself against your entrance. “You have a lot of playroom with your power,” you pointed out.

He smirked and canted his hips again. “I like making you wet and I will use all the tricks up my sleeve to do it.”

You felt fingers flicking your clit and nipples, yet Kai’s hands were anchoring your hips and your bodice was still laced up tight. This couldn’t be possible.

“If you want a hundred tongues on you, I could make that happen,” he said proudly.

A hundred might be overkill, you thought as you keeled over from the pleasure, holding on tightly to one of the chairs. Your senses were being overloaded as he teased every part of your body.

“I’m going to give you what you want, my love, don’t you worry.”

“Wait,” you moaned, reaching for one of his hands. “I’m scared I’m going to come.”

“And?”

You squeezed his hand to keep from rubbing against his cock. “We are in a full ballroom.”

“No, we’re not.”

Cool air brushed your neck and you opened your eyes, finding yourself in a dimly lit garden.

“I have you.” Kai’s arm was wrapped around your shoulder, holding you as you leaned against him on a quaint wooden bench.

You could see the party through the big windows of the castle, bustling with lights and laughter. Out here, it was quiet and private, but still within view of anybody who stepped out onto the balcony.

Any onlookers would only see a man trying to comfort a poor woman.

You steadied your breathing, a little bit disappointed but at the same time relieved. “When did we come out here?”

He rubbed your flushed skin with his thumb. “When I couldn’t hide my hard-on anymore.”

“Oh...” You looked down and blushed at the sight of his length straining against his white pants. “I’m sorry about that.”

He barked out a laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not the one who was two seconds away from an orgasm.”

You clutched your fan. “Is it too late?”

He cocked a brow and you jumped in your seat as you felt something prodding your core.

“Oh!”

He pulled you in, letting you rest on his shoulder. “It’s never too late,” he murmured. “Are you ready?”

You raised your hip onto your side as if giving him more entrance though you knew he didn’t need it. Your panted against his neck as you felt his cock stretch your lips wide.

“That’s it, my love. Take all of me,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as his fingers dug into your side. “Fuck, you are so hot and tight.”

You moaned and opened your legs farther apart. “I need your tongue.”

“Where? Tell me.”

You clutched his golden sash in your hands as he pushed inside you a little more. “Everywhere.”

And suddenly you understood the beauty of a hundred tongues on your body.

You sank your teeth into his uniform to muffle your scream as tongues flicked your little nub, helping you open up wide enough to take his hard length all the way down to its base. And the ridges. Oh, the ridges. You felt them as they entered you but you felt them more as he withdrew, pulling back just enough so he could surge back into you.

“Kai!” you cried out against his lapel as you felt the first orgasm hit you. Your body shook with every thrust he made. He made sure to drive all the way to the hilt with every stroke. He ordered the tongues to change up their speed, slowing down and softening the small circles on your clit and nipples.

But he didn’t stop them. “You are so beautiful. I want to watch you come apart like this forever.” Tenderly, he kissed your forehead again, a small gesture that was so different from everything else he did to your body.

And you loved it. “Yes, more. More.” You were going to come again. Your pussy was throbbing around him. You kissed his neck, wishing you had the guts to claim him as your own even as you clawed his uniform with need.

“I am yours,” he said, as if hearing your thoughts. “Even if you marry another, I will always be yours.”

You pulled back but the orgasm hit you before you could correct him. You squirmed in your seat, feeling juices pool out beneath you, as you stifled your cries in your hands.

“Stop,” you choked out. “Kai, stop.”

In an instant, everything stopped and you slumped against him with a contented sigh. You closed your eyes and drew in deep breaths, trying to organize your thoughts.

“I don’t want to marry another,” you declared.

You felt Kai freeze against you.

“If you would take me as your bride, I would like to be married to you.”

It was a bold confession, but you knew it to be true from the bottom of your heart.

Kai’s voice was serious as he spoke. “This is not just because of my powers, is it?”

“Oh, your powers help,” you said with a happy giggle. You leaned back and took his face in your hands, the way you liked to do whenever you wanted to tell him something important while he was being a jokester. “But I do love you, and I think I always have. You are brave to take a job in a world that is against you, yet you are kind to those that are not your kind. Like me.”

His eyes softened. “Because I love you.”

You kissed him gently on the lips. “See? You are sweet and make my heart flutter. I want to marry you.”

He pulled you in for a fuller kiss, wrapping his hand around your neck and messing up your braid a little. Images of you bent over hay bales with your breeches down to your ankles, ready to take his cock flooded your brain.

You moaned.

More images, this time of you in a wedding dress, riding Kai’s cock to orgasm atop a galloping horse.

Your pussy began to clench again.

When he pulled back, the both of you were breathless. “And I am the luckiest male, demon or otherwise.”

---

HULLO. DID YOU THINK I WOULD WRITE ABOUT A SUCCUBUS AND NOT ABOUT INCUBUS!KAI??? >:) Hope everyone is enjoying their holidays!!!!!! This is my thanks to you for all your love <3 Please know that I see your replies to the stories but I don’t know how to reply to them using my fanfic account and not my main account LOLLL I appreciate each and every one of them!

PS: I also wanted to squeeze one more writing piece into my 2019 list hehehe

PPS: this story was inspired by yet another one of Larissa Ione’s novels :3 I read Passion Unleashed in 2015 and parts of it have stuck with me to this day! The hero is an incubus and the heroine is a human. At one point, he projects himself into her dreams and does dirty things :) And her swallowing his cum makes her uncontrollably aroused. I love amazing ideas from amazing minds *chef’s kiss*

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