#mystic melodies au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joannasteez · 7 months

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sing, just for me

pairing | roman reigns x black reader warning | explicit content, including descriptions of sex. minors please do not interact. if you count flirting as fluff then sure i guess, theres some of that. supernatural element, so yes, its an AU!!! word count | 5.8k ... quiet nights of quiet stars, quiet chords from my guitar, floating on the silence that surrounds us... lyrics in red (corcovado by stan getz and astrud gilberto)

the strum of a spanish guitar and a sweeping staccato, these quaint bristling eruptions that pulse the room to life with a softened awakening. long aged spirits and slow to sip lips. abstract mosaic tilings glimmering with the paling yellow of lowlights. and through lush rouge lips comes a haunting melody. a song of lovelessness, to stain his spirit with a sorrowed tenderness. easing his bones till he lulls into a deep surrendering. and his fingers prick with warmth, alive with a daring sort of desire to touch and embrace. to console. the gentle silk dressing your skin parting and draping over in reverence of the high slit at your thigh, seemingly for him. to have, to hold, to care for.

but isn't that what every man thinks? that your crooning is for them alone. that when the passion of the melody becomes too great and your fingers begin to roam, nails sharp but feathery and caressing about the air and your own skin, that it is them you're thinking of. and when you shudder, when you hiss, breathy and overcome, isn't it them you imagine? touching and pleasing till that wordless teeming desire is fulfilled? because the allure beyond the burning in their eyes scorches your skin, forcing a craving in your bones. such lustful men, bound by the sin of their own dreams, and the ego that makes them believe all this grace and flare is made pure for them alone. but how can they not think those things? how can he not think these things? when you go on about so sweetly, eyes flitting to theirs, to his. and here he's caught. rapturous and silently pleading that you never look away.

roman knows you, but not in the common way that a man knows a woman. not by name or by touch, or the familiarity that comes with soft spoken passions and loud terrible expressions. he knows your voice and your sultry little songs. and in some small, hidden, back alley lounge just on the pensacola panhandle, he comes nightly to hear you sing. just as the burn of the sun falls behind the horizon, till the early morning hours, where the sky pulls out from darkness into a paled blue.

he sips at his dark liquors, tucked partly in the shadows of ill lit corners, bathing in the light of your songs.

but even in his silence, he shares the depths of his appreciation. flowers to match the rouge of your lips, the petals tender to the touch and blooming prettily. and every other night, they appear, at the foot of your dressing room door, waiting to be swept up in the caress of your fingers. and just before every show, as the audience waits with bated breath for you to take the stage, he sends a shot of liquor your way.

"courtesy of your admirer. for your nerves", the young bartender gives after pouring. the short glass filled with whiskey.

and though your nerves cry from the bitterness of it, you take the taste in stride. feeling the warmth of it in your belly, just as high heels click toward center stage.

stringy flicks of guitar, short clicks of percussion and the gentleness of your vocals smoothen the air once again. an intimate warmth he won't get used to. days, after weeks of a far away admiration and here he is still, drawn in quickly by the mystic of a woman he'd never known.

but you thought of him too. of the whiskey he drank as his eyes lingered, and whether not the bitterness was as terrible in the glass as it was on his tongue. or maybe it didn't linger so heavily there, undone by warmth and the teasing slips it took over his teeth as your palms caressed over your hips. lips parted, singing wispy, slicing faint into the heavy silence of the room. and how could you sing about such a lovelessness, when his hands— fingers locked in with one another, long and heavy— trouble your imaginations as you go on raspy and impassioned. thinking of where they could roam and what they could do.

surely his ego would take to a bursting if he knew.

but it didn't.

the bristling staccato of the drumming brush rustles the air but your voice fades with the spanish guitar to make way for the brassy float of a saxophone.

and there he is, sipping his whiskey, lulled into the atmosphere.

your heels clicking over the floor, a surety laid in your bones. slipping easy onto the leather seating beside him. one leg crossed over the other, the high slit in your dress draping to reveal soft tempting skin. and his eyes take to you there leisurely, not overly greedy, but enough to indulge an obvious show of your own play of desire.

his eyes flit to your lips, the rouge color similar to blood. he wondered often, since his first time here, what they might taste like. the pull of them.

"enjoy the show?"

your voice, this slow slip of honey.

"it was nice", roman says simply. as if that pitch and tone hadn't stained his every roaming thought and daydream.

"for all my hard work i figured i'd get higher marks. with how enthralled you are, nice is just a little to plain for my taste", something like a pout forming your lips, not too deep less you have him believe you actually care.

"you have a beautiful voice".

his own. deep. rich. binding to your bones.

your fingers play with his pour of whiskey. the liquor swirling as your wrist twist the glass. the strength of it hitting your nose. "as beautiful as your taste in liquor, so i guess you hated it".

he grins, clutching the glass to finish his drink. body closer. the brown of his eyes clearer as he comes just under the dim casting down of the yellow lowlight. an arm stretching behind to lay against the top of the leather seat. becoming comfortable. 'thats good', you think. comfortable is good.

"you should know by how often i'm here that i enjoy you very much".

and there is a quiet here, among the soft sing of music. his eyes looking into yours and yours into his. a moment to allow the settling of words, once before a mere silent admiration, now formed whole with letters and persistence to bring about a more complete desire. it is, maybe an invitation. an open palm, waiting for assent, the soft embrace of the other.

"enjoy me more". you stand. reaching out to pull him with you. "no more flowers and hiding in the shadows. dance with me".

his touch is colder than your imaginings but kind all the same. scent warm and autumn inspired despite the swelter of the summer season. a sweet spice that lulls you closer. a soft slow swaying together, intimate in it's own silence. and beneath stylish expensive feeling fabrics, you can sense the strength of him. lips lined soft and kissable, tempting. and his eyes from here, where you press into and sway with his embrace, are familiar. intense and consuming. a thorough take to your own eyes, as if to remember the little things. the shape of your lips, and the brown apples of your cheeks. the coy look up from under fanning lashes. an easy trailing over him, to note and remember in your own way.

"your songs", he starts.

you hum. "what about them?"

"they have a... somberness to them".

he leads your body gently behind a floor to ceiling oak pillar, done up with abstract relief carvings. a corner all to yourselves. you feel his hand maneuver, trailing to a less innocent placement. fingers long as they spread and sweep along the spine, pulling in till you flush softly to him.

you make no struggle to stop him, to pull away. you lean in even.

"i sing what i know".

the intensity of him breaks with a softening. "have you never been in love? has no one ever made you feel love in that way?"

"if they have, i don't remember".

pain corrals in him. spills over into his chest and his words. makes the utterance thereof small and aching. "thats a shame".

"is it?", thinking over what possible shame could come from something never had. "seems burdening to me. i have bills, i have enough things to cry over".

"things? you mean love?"

the way you speak so flimsily about it. is there really nothing of your memory? nothing of before?

"better to have never loved, than to love and have lost".

he smiles. "i don't think that's how the poem goes".

"ooohhhh", you tease. "he's well read".

he spins you. slips his embrace under your arm so that his hand meets the other at your lower back, at that less than innocent placement.

you take the time to breathe him in again, to smoothen your touch over the ways of his arms till they join lazy about his shoulders. nails roaming his nape in such a teasing fashion that it shivers his already cold skin. he's closer here, just enough to share his breaths. to see the freckles in his cheeks.

"he, is roman".

spine throbbing as his thumbs caress. his name slipping over your skin till its beneath and staining. and the spill of the saxophone is melodic. pleasant and soothing as he watches the rouge of your lips part. you tell him your name.

"we're on a first name basis now".

"we are".

the rumblings under the softness of his voice is divine. disrupts your skin till the hairs stand and nerves rush. memory washed with a familiarity you can't place.

his tongue peaks to slip over his lips. "can i ask you to do something for me?"

"what?"

his cheek presses to yours. and you feel the beginnings of a trembling. something ancient and belonging set into your bones.

"sing quietly. just for me".

mirth slips into your lips. the skin of your cheek rubbing against the hairs of his. lips breathy and teasing at his ear. "personal performances are expensive".

"i'm worth my weight in whatever way that pays you".

and even the angels, in all their majesty, can not delight nor arrest him so sweetly. with such a devastating gentleness of spirit. for the heaven in them, could not possibly do well to understand the haunting of this solemn summer song. a wispy falsetto, and the plucking of that spanish guitar once more. a soft sweeping melody into his ear. here, the sing of your voice is the tenderness of roses, having died once and remembering the pain of such a silent wilting, rising in spite from the earth again to bloom beautiful but with a familiar weariness. roman lulls, eerily surrendering, with the ease of a taken sailor by the song of the sea.

his touch is an endearing press into your body. no more of that idleness as they curl. dull and gripping into silk covered skin.

his eyes shine. taken. raptured.

your foreheads touch fondly. your nails still doing well to caress his nape. something like nostalgia corrals in your belly. in the rushing of your blood. his touch new but old.

his breath on your lips. close and sweeping against your face. his nose plays into the soft of yours. this finding of intimacy easy, as if it has existed before.

he hums. hearing the echoing of your singing still.

"so much like a siren".

"they're killers". your nails sharp with a slow sinking into his skin. enough the prick. to have him feel the possibility of pain. "of men specifically".

his own fingers curl inward again. endeared to your warmth. "i guess i'd be susceptible then".

you smile. thumbs running from his neck to the work of his jaw, where the hair is thick and bristling, till you find your self soothing over his freckles. his own touch soothing just the same into the line of your spine. his lips planting into your palm. into your wrist, lingering to feel the pulse of your blood against his mouth.

"you're too warm", kissing your wrist once more. "too welcoming to be so cruel", he says. as if he knows you well enough to know such things.

"and what if that's the act before the inevitable?" you gaze flickering up through your lashes. touch slipping again, along his neck, thumb over the apple of his throat. palms coming down to hold at his arms. feeling the thickness of them beneath his clothes. you smile. "i sink my teeth into you before ripping you apart".

the music is light. eases your bodies into a swaying still. alone together in this little corner of the lounge. of the world.

"you make it sound like a good time".

"depends on what you're into i guess".

"you seem to like to play with your food".

your lips grow closer. the seam of them faint and teasing against his. sharing breaths and the thinning control to not act so suddenly on long built desires.

"a bit of patience makes for a better savoring".

he grins. wide and daring. "i just like to go for what's mine".

"whats yours?", you laugh. so typical. you play an eye roll. "who knew men could be so possessive".

he lips take their own gentle trailing. from near your mouth to the supple skin of your cheeks, steady and light, soft at your jaw till they go about your neck. the tip of his nose pressing into your pulse. fingers deepening into your back, urging an arch into your spine as you cling to him gladly.

your blood thrums harshly. thrilled. he hums, licking his lips, and the slight of his tongue wets your skin. and there he is warm, that much you can feel.

"as possessive as the day is long. you're not wrong about that".

"but it's night time now".

he kisses your pulse. the touch of his mouth sweet. stirring. the mantle in your belly burns.

"that's when the pursuit is sweetest".

he spins you again and you take the time to breathe. to gather the restlessness in your body that longs for him to do something undoubtedly amorous. and that same hope dances in him, plays about his nerves and the set of his eyes.

"where do i know you from?", too troubled by the possibility to ignore it.

"nowhere".

"then why is your face so familiar?"

he grins. "you wouldn't believe how many women have stopped me to tell me the same thing. maybe i just have that face".

'bullshit', you think. the idea laughable. "you're too handsome to be familiar. maybe it's just them easing their way into trying to fuck you. compliments and a sense of familiarity go a long way".

his forehead rests to yours, his throat humming. mulling over your words. guiding your hips through the melody still.

and when he speaks, the lewd make of his words stick to your lips.

"do you want to fuck me, angel?"

your breath hitches. lightly trembling again in his arms. in the tightening bind of his fingers. your blood sweetening in his nose, like the first drips of honey.

"is it not obvious enough? do you have to ask?"

and no he does not make you suffer. does not force the words off your lips, to soothe the width of his ego. it would only sour the warmth in his hands, for a woman such as yourself should not beg. should not reel with an exposing desperation, even amidst the shadows of such ill lit corners. she should be taken as she so coyly wishes, with firm sweeping tongue and the powered grip of an impassioned lover. and roman had no qualms of doing such, of kissing you greedily and forming your body to his. of curling his hands to bruise the silk of your dress, fabric crushing in his fingers till the high slit ran into his palm, leaving your skin bare. whiskey on his tongue, slipping lewd, with much method, to leave you drunk off the wet roaming of it as he buried into your skin else where.

your back roughs into the oak pillar, carvings kneading into you. the brush drum steady, louder, accompanied by the bright trill of a piano.

roman moans into your mouth. light and deep. breathing tensely through his nose. your hands take his, searching over skin to guide him. the heat nestled between your thighs coaxing his tongue to lick into your mouth.

he smiles. your breaths rushed and ragged. a lone finger taking a simple glide till he slips through your slit. and the silk of your heat is something memorable. a soft warmth he's known once before. groaning, mouth open to breathe into you till he's ruffling into your neck.

your hands cling to him and your hips chase him. whimpers singing from your throat.

"you'll have to forgive me, but i need you quiet", he gives. feeding the long tease of his touch pass the tight ring of resistance, till he's seated deeply. steeping his finger till satisfaction bruises his nerves. he wonders, after having you tremble again under him, if he'd ever be satisfied. "charge it to my own possessiveness, but i can't have them hear you. hear how pretty you sound".

he retracts, to join in another finger. a thicker stretching that leaves you to struggle against the breaking of a moan. your face hot and damp. the air thick and his mouth at your pulse urging your blood to rush, as if it knew it was him nestled against it.

"okay?"

he strokes wet, firm feeling and slow. a patient working in that reverences the wild throbbing you take to it. an uncontrolled, mindless pulsing about his fingers.

"need you to answer me when i speak to you".

and his voice grows dark. controlled but undefiled still in the depth it holds to. it sinks into your flesh, commands your lungs to breathe, for words to form. shy and pliant. "okay".

he moans again, licks into your skin, savoring the salted taste of sweat. and his touch feeds into you, roams into a roughness, the staccato of the brush drum blending seamless with the arousal coating his fingers. a sticky, pitchy mess singing lewd from your pussy as you struggle not to curse brightly into the thick air. but he makes it nearly impossible to breathe, to collect even the smallest sense of control. and his pleasure works over your body in familiar ways, remembrance sullying your bones till they surrender from some odd far away sense of knowing. as if all the skin and bones and nerves that make you have found something long lost, teeming with joy at such a faithful reunion.

his lips pull into yours once more. your fingers holding over his face, keeping him there, to suffocate under his tongue. a sweet sweeping in, lapping lazy over yours in his own delirium. you suckle over the whiskey taste, thumbing into his cheeks.

your core tightens. a salacious warning. burdening and hot as his thumb joins in to push against your clit.

your forehead knocks gently into his cheek. nails sinking into his thick neck. unable to speak by his request but so desperately needing to express the weight nailing over your nerves.

the tension, unreleased, builds over. pricks your eyes with a glassiness. you tremble still. "roman please", wispy and small.

his skin delighting with the brush of your breath. desperations of pleasure bleeding into his skin. the ache and the burden of your arousal seeping hot over his fingers. clutching onto the thick of them. needy and mindless.

his eyes meet yours. breaths stuttered and words ill formed as the heat of his staring pierces. flecks of red revealing before their disappearance. your mind too muddled by pleasure to care.

"have at it", he whispers. thumb rolling over your clit as he deepens the ways of his fingers. "it's yours".

your mouth presses into his shoulder, to muffle the cry that comes with that wild bursting heat. the pulsing in your skin and the heaviness in your chest. fighting for air as his mouth sweeps to kiss over your lips. fingers reveling in the messiness of your release. playing through your slit, soothing over your clit till he pinches the pearled nub, wringing out the remains of arousal. your hips rutting to chase the sensation, insatiable and wanting still.

you whisper to him, rushing and grinding your hips still. "i'm renting upstairs. s'not too big, but it's not bad, if you-if you wanted to come up-"

"lead the way".

and not much goes into the song and dance, of feigning interest about egg shell white apartment walls, and the color of your furniture. or how your place is just a greater carrier of the way your skin smells. comfortingly sweet and all consuming. his eyes not minding the antique lamps and neither does he care too much for the stacks of books and large hung up paintings. because he remembers these things quite clearly —your knack for artistry and your mind for words in books— of the woman he knew before you, the one with a different name but, her, your face all the same. the innocence of your forgetfulness twinging where his heart used to be. because how could he be angry, at the things you fail to remember, when now the peace upon you rests so dearly. years of waring with himself about ancient decisions long forgotten, as he spreads his tongue through the swollen slick parting of your folds. enraptured still, after all this time, by how your taste coats his tongue. arresting even the sharpest parts of him.

the lay of your body picturesque along the kitchen island counter. and the marble top is not nearly as cold as his skin, but it shivers you all the same. late night, early morning, summer breeze willowing over you.

the drawling alto of your moaning much different from earlier. something rawer and less refined but angelic all the same. a blend of feathering whimpers and ill controlled swearing, ravishing his ears. coaxing them to burn red as they rest between the heat of your thighs. and when he dips over the swollen nub of your clit, lips kissing messily, his eyes take to the curves of your skin. supple plans of warmth that leave him aching.

your mouth opens lax, devastated by pleasure. fingers twisting against the hard peaks of your nipples. rutting up against his wet mouth for more of his good torture. his tongue invasive and exacting. thick and stroking against the lush opening of your body. and your moving is mindless, driven by blood lacing lust. the ball of your foot hooking into the broad muscles of his naked back as the other aches idle under the weight of his fingers. pushing into him, holding him hostage.

the soft sweat dampened slope of your back arching. fingers curling into the edges of the kitchen island. "you're so damn greedy for it", toughing out of your mouth. words cutting through short breaths.

he moans. dipping his fingers where his tongue had been. eyes casting over the swell of your breast, where your breaths shudder outward. delirium overtaking, slowly, steadily, dulling your eyes and the manner of your nerves. his thumb finding your clit with ease. pressing firm. "can't be a bad thing, not when you're shakin and tightenin up for me like this".

your head rolls straight, to find his eyes dilated. near black even. "you like it".

"no, angel", that delicate term returning to wreck havoc over your skin. "i love it". his lips pursing as he gathers a sticky line of spit, letting it drip to your clit. a man possessed, watching you pulse about his fingers. "real sensitive to my touch". and the kiss he leaves along the mess of your folds is terribly gentle. something like a gift. lips pursing, sweeping with tongue, as if he were taking in your mouth. and there he stayed for sometime, tonguing over the swollen bundle of nerves, nailing into your thighs, and breathing in the essence of your warmth. "y'sound so sweet when i have my tongue on you", going on like a man long starved of touch, passion unsullied by time. and when he parts, mouth and the bristling hair of his beard soaked over, the groaning that draws up from his chest proves to be uninhibited, a bout of impatience slipping in his blood to poison his resolve.

his vision fights for sharpness, for control over more primal urges. "wanna hear you when i make you come".

you smile. overdone with pleasure. "so many request".

"request can be denied". his tongue laps lazily, in a means to savor, and he moans till it shakes into laughter. amusement coursing him as your thighs flex in attempt to close against him. "you have yet to deny me".

and his truths are proven. the spasm seizing your nerves and the drool pooling from your pussy enough to satisfy the surety of his words. the lithe forming together of a speechless pleasure breaking from your throat like feathered little songs. an ensemble of gasping and whimpering brighter than the day sky. and when you fight for air, to reel in the overtaking frenzy, the coarseness there in your throat rumbles beneath your skin, till its a deep resonance slipping into his ears, daring to drip into his blood. an everlasting poison.

a siren indeed.

roman plants kisses into your skin, a slow trailing up towards your navel. face planted into the heat of your belly. the scent of your arousal, a sweetened ambrosia. his chilling hands roaming over the aching in your thighs till their kneading reaches your hips. your numbed fingers run into the roots of his hair, circling over his scalp tenderly.

"c'mere".

you sigh. blissed and pliant. legs and arms shakily wrapping over him till they cling for fear of letting go. your nose tucked into the thick of his neck as he carries you to the soft leather couch.

and he just barely overtakes the quaint little furniture, nestling into its corner to spread his leg out as the other bends to hang over comfortably.

you waste no time. lips molding over his dewy ones, your taste steeping into your tongue as you suckle over his. nimble fingers undoing his pants till his cock is heavy and hard in your palm. his dull nails threatening to bruise your hips as he flushes your pussy over him. breathes undone and stuttering, mindlessly working your still swollen clit over the thick of him. tip pink and aching for something more than the tease of your folds. and a nostalgia takes to his bones, a similarity of passion paining him, memory this boundless flooding. the sinking in of your nails as you kiss his mouth and the heat of your skin, clinging to him for fear of losing him, all too agonizingly familiar. he can feel it beneath his toes, amongst the sensations of bliss, the sand of summer beaches and with the burning at the tips of his ears a bright bursting laughter. far away memory comes to him here, flowing along a breeze.

a fist takes to his stiffness, the other hand holding up your hips. your lips trembling, one against the other. sharing thick intimate breaths. and amongst the late night silence, he stretches you delicately. a leisure, deft upstroke that waits with patience to feel your warmth. a steady handling of your hips as you attempt to settle him in.

your jaw opens lax, gasping as the knocking out of wind leaves your words broken.

"shhhhh", mouth pursing into yours. kissing into your cheek. once and then twice. his hips winding up into you. and the racing of your heart echoes in his ears, forces his tongue into a craving. your blood sweet in his nose still. "take me slowly", palms working your hips to grind into him again. spine throbbing, dazed even as your throat sings with little pleasures, heavy breathed and delirious. "relax into me", a soft command that overtakes the stiffness in your body, coaxing you to settle, molding into the thick mass of him. nearly impossible to tell the beginnings and endings of your bodies. "breathe". and your lungs open, the headiness of him delighting your nose.

and the tenderness here is similar to gentle rain. the light kissing of lips and the working in of pliant fingers, caressing soft blissed skin. your heart beating with vigor against his chest, strong enough that it feels as though one exist within himself, pulsing about and filling him with life.

his sharp teeth pull at your bottom lip, edging there just enough for a shiver and a moan. for the quick thoughtless rutting of your hips, squeezing against his cock, steeping him in a wet heat that left a terrible aching in his balls. he wanted to fuck you madly, suffer you to take him in his fullness till neither word nor thought could ever exist long enough to leave you. he wanted to consume you, enough that you would not forget him again. but this intimate savoring was too rich for him to just abandon on the account of wanting to run your pussy ragged. he could possibly do that another time, if you would have him. if you would cradle his head like you do now, letting his tongue lead over your skin till it prodded and sucked over your nipples. growing greedy, palming your breast to adore the sensitive skin. if you would have him, he would treat you with his urges, charm your body with anything you wanted.

your clit pulses, urges a grinding to knock softly against his hard body. and the insatiable need teeming in your blood is nearly unbelievable. never having felt so wanton and filled with desire.

his lips gentle still and unchallenging as they meet yours again. unhurried but sure. like he'd kissed you a thousand times.

your eyes flutter open. forehead resting against his. and when the earthy brown of his stare burns into you, the familiarity of him burdens your spirit so. a deep, undefiled pressure that flutters your heart.

the grainy sand of a summer beach and bright bursting laughter.

your thumb caresses the freckles at his cheeks. "i know your face". thumbing over his mouth. "your tongue. your hands. your eyes".

he sinks further into the couch, lets his head rest against the arm of it. pulls you into him. "where from?"

his inky hair, long undone in the midst of passion, falling about him. his gentle kissing mouth and his hands. his penchant for whiskey drinking and the unforgettable way he feels, filled to the hilt.

"from dreams".

he hums, indulging the thought. collects your hips with a covetous touch. torturing the dulling ache in your clit to flare with a renewed sense of life, fingers curling in to work your pussy over him, stroking up to meet you with a tenderness that reddens his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

his words a gruff escaping.

"how can you dream about a man you don't know?"

the drool of your heat coats him with its own spirit of endearment. dribbles out till its slicking over the tuft of hair just where you meet him. your teeth taking to your lips, a feverish excitement lacing your pleasure still, beautifully undone, and becoming undone still at the splitting stretch of his dick. you slur even in your delirium, assailing the leather of your couch's arm as you bounce against him. knees bent and thighs aching, but still, he opens you fully, feeds into you like he belongs there.

you stitch words together drunkenly.

"how can you... how can you kiss a woman, fuckk!..kiss her so lovingly, when you've never met her". your teeth clench. touch playing over the dampness of your skin. a taut nipple caught over your thumb, encouraging the pulsing warmth that greedily clings to him. "why would you want to do that?"

and if he had a heartbeat, it would burst with a raging. leave a vicious pounding into the ways of his pulse at the utterance of such a question. if only you knew.

"your dreams are just desires. they'll pass".

"and when they don't?"

you fight. for answers that don't leave a bitterness on your tongue. for his touch to become this great staining. a deep enough stitching beneath flesh and bone.

"they will".

you voice small. near fearful. "i don't believe you".

roman corrals you. faster than the air can refill your lungs from such an abrupt shifting. laying under him, heavy breathed and trembling, your shoulder blades resting over the arm of the couch. his eyes splitting into your skin, roaming, as always, as if to remember for the sake of forgetting, this soft surgical tearing through till you can feel the influence of him. a stuttering in your heart. fear and excitement one and the same. and when his cock ruts, slipping in wet and nearly unforgiving, you gasp into still thick air. his body hard and fluid, hips working deft, tongue running over the ways of his teeth.

his palms form over your thighs, pressing in to curl at the pliant flesh.

his heavy breaths take in the scent of you. sticky arousal and the tempting sweetness of your blood. he groans, fucks into your pussy with a toppling desperation.

his hair falls over him. raven colored and silky. his stitching together of words slurring. pleasure mounting his bones. taken by the dripping clutch you've suffered him to endure. but he's taken freely. gladly even.

"what do you want?".

his eyes glazing over. and you reach to nail your fingers over him. over taut tough muscle. a harsh prickling that feels delicious in his skin.

roman feels alive. like he could do anything. could give you anything.

thrill in your eyes and the heat in your skin, moaning beautiful, and if not for his deadness, it would surely be fatal. your lips now rouge-less, but addictive all the same. he wants to consume you.

"you". nothing more sure could ever be said. "i want you".

he grows faint in his control. words near a whisper.

"you don't know what you're asking for".

a breeze indulges the room. cuts into the thick air.

"please".

your body seizes. bursts hot and wild. and here he growls, dark and unbound from control.

red flecks spot his eyes, his breath oddly warm as he lowers his lips to kiss yours. tongue sweeping in, rough and rolling over.

your body preens, hitching and pulsing still. his nose nestling into where he can feel the beating of blood along your neck.

you sigh. content. arching your body into the weight of him.

a paining tear into your skin. sharp teeth into delicate supple flesh. blood slips over onto already tainted leather and the wide flat licking of his tongue. he moans, drunk, weighted against the abrupt shock of your body. drinking in the fast drip of red as he comes undone.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns smut #very very very slight supernatural elements #joannasteez

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doumadono · 11 months

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Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Hawks, fem!reader, viking themes, seer!Mirko, blood

Summary: the Earl sought counsel from the seer, seeking guidance after Shoto's proposition to send him and Touya on a mission to the north. Concerned about the rumors surrounding the mission, you resolved to extract information directly from Shoto

Word count: circa 6.5k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST KVITRAVN - MHA VIKING AU

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT III - SEEKING ANSWERS

The cold winds of late autumn swept through the rugged hills as earl Endeavor rode toward the dwelling of the renowned seer, Mirko. His thoughts were consumed by the intriguing proposition his youngest son, Shoto, had presented regarding a land rich in goods. The idea of sending his eldest son, Touya, to oversee this promising territory crossed the earl's mind, a strategic move that could secure his settlement's prosperity.

Upon reaching Mirko's abode, the atmosphere seemed to change. The air grew thick with an otherworldly aura, and the eerie silence made the settlement's seer even more intimidating. Mirko was a young woman with a fearsome reputation, her presence alone sending shivers down the spines of those who sought her guidance. Mirko was not beautiful in the conventional sense; her appearance held an unsettling allure. Long, wild locks framed her face, and her eyes, intense and piercing, seemed to hold secrets of both past and future. Tribal markings adorned her skin, marking her as a conduit to the spiritual realm.

Earl Endeavor, a man hardened by battles and strategic decisions, felt a twinge of uncertainty as he approached the seer.

Mirko's dwelling, draped in dark fabrics and adorned with symbols, exuded an aura of mysticism. She welcomed him with a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. "My lord," she spoke, her voice a haunting melody, "what brings you to seek the guidance of the unseen?"

Endeavor hesitated momentarily before speaking. "I come seeking counsel, Mirko. My youngest son has spoken of a land rich in goods. I contemplate sending my eldest, Dabi, to oversee it. What do you foresee in the tapestry of fate?"

Mirko, seated in the midst of her mystical domain, gestured for Endeavor to sit.

Endeavor unfolded his plan, explaining the potential prosperity and influence this land could bring. "I intend to send Dabi to ensure our dominance over this territory. What do your visions reveal?"

The air thickened with an unspoken power, and her haunting hums echoed through the room. The earl observed, a sense of unease settling over him as he witnessed the seer's transformation.

Her eyes closed, Mirko began to sway rhythmically, her body guided by an unseen force. The haunting melody of her hums intensified, creating an otherworldly atmosphere within the sacred space.

Endeavor found himself being on the precipice of something beyond his understanding.

Her voice carried a spectral melody, and the room seemed to pulse with an unseen heartbeat. Mirko's eyes, still closed, painted visions of impending doom with her words.

"In darkness veiled, the land awaits, Echoes of sorrow, at destiny's gates. A wolf, fierce, prowls in the night, A dance with death, a sinister delight."

The seer's hands moved gracefully through the air, as if conducting an unseen symphony of fate. Her words painted vivid images of a land consumed by shadows and the imminent clash between two primal forces.

"An eagle, majestic and bold, Descends from heights, its destiny foretold. A battle fierce, 'neath the moonlit gleam, In shadows cast, where spirits teem."

The eagle and wolf, symbols of opposing forces, danced in the tapestry of Mirko's vision. The room echoed with the weight of her words, each rhyme a forewarning etched in the annals of fate.

"Blood on feathers, and darkness entwined, A struggle unfolds, destinies aligned. In the land cursed, where choices are made, The echo of battle, in shadows will fade."

"What does it mean?!" The earl growled loudly. "Tell me, now!"

As Mirko's body moved, a voice emerged from her lips, yet it seemed detached, as if another entity spoke through her. The words, laden with an eerie resonance, foretold a grim fate awaiting those who ventured into the land Shoto had spoken of. "The path you tread is bathed in blood, earl Endeavor. Death dances upon the horizon, and shadows darker than the night itself await those who dare to grasp the threads of destiny."

Endeavor felt a chill coursing through him. Mirko's words seemed like a macabre prophecy, a dire warning wrapped in a melody that resonated with the spirits of the unseen.

"Blood will stain the soil, and death will be the echo that reverberates through the ages. The spirits speak of a land cursed by the choices of the living," Mirko continued, her voice carrying the weight of the ethereal.

Endeavor, despite his stoic exterior, couldn't shake the disquiet settling in his chest. Mirko, in her trance, spoke as if guided by forces beyond mortal comprehension. The grim portrait she painted clashed with the earl's visions of conquest and prosperity.

As Mirko's humming reached a haunting crescendo, she opened her eyes, the once vacant gaze now piercing through the fabric of fate. The trance lifted, leaving the seer standing before Endeavor, a conduit between the living and the unseen.

"The spirits have spoken, my lord. The path ahead is shrouded in darkness, and the choices you make will echo through the very essence of time," Mirko uttered, her words lingering in the air like an unspoken decree from the spirits themselves.

Endeavor leaned forward, his expression stern. "Speak plainly, Mirko."

Mirko's voice carried a weight beyond the present. "The flames may consume not only the intended but all who stand too close. Choices shape destinies," the woman replied mysteriously.

Endeavor emerged from Mirko's dimly lit hut, the weight of her prophecy hanging in the air like a shroud of uncertainty. The pale light of the moon bathed the settlement nearby in an eerie glow as the earl took a moment to collect his thoughts.

Silence enveloped him, broken only by the distant sounds of the night. Endeavor closed his eyes, reflecting on the words Mirko had spoken. Despite the foreboding visions, a resolute determination burned within him. He knew the risks, but the allure of wealth and power beckoned him forward.

Turning to Mirko, he offered a nod of gratitude. "Thank you for your insights, Mirko. May the spirits guide us through the shadows." As a token of appreciation, Endeavor gently took Mirko's palm in his hands and pressed a grateful kiss upon it.

The seer's eyes, still veiled in the mystery of her visions, met his with a knowing gaze.

Mounting his horse, Endeavor set forth, determined to confront the future that awaited him. The night held its breath as Endeavor rode back to the settlement, a lone figure against the canvas of the darkened landscape. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but the ember of ambition burned brightly within him, lighting the path toward the destiny he sought.

Dabi sat in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, his presence almost like a shadow against the flickering candlelight. The rhythmic sound of a whetstone against his sword filled the air, a comforting repetition that matched the beat of his troubled thoughts.

The raucous atmosphere of the tavern buzzed around him, but the glances thrown his way were not ones of admiration or desire. The courtesans, usually attentive to potential patrons, seemed to cast him disgusted looks. Even though he was the heir to the earldom, the one who would sit on the throne after his father's eventual passing, they all were disgusted by him. His status brought him no favors in this realm of longing and fleeting connections.

Dabi's eyes occasionally flickered across the room, catching those disdainful glares. He couldn't deny the sharp pang in his chest — a mix of frustration and a longing for a connection he had been denied for so long. He had grown accustomed to rejection, so much so that he had stopped actively seeking companionship. Still, the yearning for the warmth and softness of a woman's touch lingered, a desire he had learned to bury deep within.

As he took a swig of ale, the bitter taste seemed to mirror the bitterness that had settled in his heart. Dabi continued to polish his sword, the repetitive motion a way to distract himself from the disapproving looks that haunted him. In the midst of the crowded tavern, he remained a solitary figure, surrounded by people but untouched by the warmth of human connection.

The loud thud echoed through the quiet walls of the Great Hall, jolting you awake from your shallow slumber. Concern etched across your face as you rushed out of the room you shared with Hilda, following the source of the commotion. The dimly lit corridor led you to Dabi's chamber, where you found him struggling to regain his balance, a victim of the ale's intoxicating effects.

"Easy there," you said, your voice soft but laced with genuine concern. "Need a hand?"

Dabi looked up at you, his turquoise eyes momentarily clouded with confusion before recognition set in. He grunted in agreement, accepting your offered help. Together, you steadied him, and he leaned against the wall for support. The flickering light from the fireplace cast a warm glow on both of you, creating an unexpected intimacy in that late-night encounter.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his usual aloofness momentarily giving way to a hint of vulnerability. The moment was fleeting, but it lingered in the air as you helped him back into his chamber.

You assisted Touya onto his bed. The warmth of the hearth seemed to soften the edges of the usually stern and enigmatic man. However, as you turned to leave, his hand shot out, gently grasping your wrist. When you met his eyes, you were met with a vulnerability that seemed to pierce through his usual façade.

"Stay," he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of desperation.

You hesitated. The rules that governed your roles in this Viking settlement were clear, and getting too close to someone of higher standing could invite trouble. Yet, the sadness in his eyes and the unspoken plea tugged at your empathy.

"I… I shouldn't," you started, but he tightened his grip ever so slightly.

"Please," he whispered, his tone a mixture of loneliness and longing.

In that moment, you found it difficult to resist. Against your better judgment, you stayed, settling on a bed beside him. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

Touya's eyes never left yours.

The room was shrouded in shadows, and the warmth of the fire seemed to cocoon you and Touya in a fragile bubble of shared vulnerability.

With a hesitant yet genuine smile, Touya broke the silence. "Tell me about your homeland," he requested, his eyes showing a glimmer of curiosity.

His request hung in the air like a delicate thread, and you couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh before responding. "You want to hear about the place you tore me away from? Like a flower ripped out of the life-giving soil?" Your words held a weight, a mix of resentment and sorrow.

Touya met your gaze, his expression carrying the burden of understanding the pain he had caused. "Yes," he admitted, his voice low and sincere.

In the flickering glow of the fire, you began to weave a tale of your homeland. Your words painted a vivid picture of quaint cottages with thatched roofs, their walls weathered by the salty breeze that swept in from the sea. The narrow cobblestone streets echoed with the laughter of children playing and the rhythmic sounds of craftsmen honing their skills. "Near the shore, where the cliffs stood tall and proud, we built a small chapel—a haven of solace and prayer. Its stone walls echoed with hymns, and the air was filled with the scent of incense," you recounted, your voice carrying the nostalgia of a place left behind.

As you spoke, Touya's piercing eyes remained fixed on you, absorbing every detail of this distant world he never truly understood. The contrast between the harsh Viking settlements and the idyllic Christian village seemed stark.

"The coastline, painted in hues of blue and gray, witnessed the ebb and flow of tides. Fishing boats set sail at dawn, their sails billowing in the morning breeze, while the cliffs provided a vantage point for the villagers to gaze upon the vast horizon," you continued.

Touya's features softened as he envisioned the serene landscape you described, a world far removed from the tumultuous life he had known. Touya's eyes closed, a faint smile gracing his lips as he absorbed the essence of your words. "You must have been missing the place ever since," he pointed out, the words carrying a gentle understanding of the yearning that comes with reminiscing about a home left behind.

You nodded quietly, the flames of a fireplace reflecting in your eyes. "Indeed. The memories are like whispers of a distant melody, a reminder of a life that once was. I can almost feel the salt-laden wind against my face, hear the distant hymns in the chapel. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, I close my eyes and pretend I'm back there, surrounded by the familiar comforts of home."

Touya's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression, as the echoes of your quiet sobbing reached his ears. He opened his eyes, and there he found you, tears streaming down your cheeks, your gaze fixated on the dancing flames in the fireplace.

His heart constricted with an unexpected ache. A flicker of empathy illuminated his usually guarded gaze.

"But it is all gone. All gone. You and your people took everything from me. And now I'm here, locked in a cage of a shadow of something once called life. Apparently, this was God's plan for me," your voice carried a weight of bitterness and sorrow.

His gaze softened as he watched you, the firelight casting shadows on your tear-streaked face. "Gods have their own way of weaving destinies, entangling lives in threads that stretch across time and space. Perhaps, just perhaps, there's a reason our paths crossed in this tumultuous journey."

You gave Touya a searching look, the flickering firelight dancing in your eyes, and asked, "What do you mean? Why would the God bring me here, to this… place of captivity?"

Touya looked at you with a glint of intensity in his eyes. "Our gods are different, you know. Freya, Odin, they're not like your Christian God. They're not confined to a single doctrine. They're free, just like the wind that sweeps through these icy lands. And I believe, with all my heart, that the Allfather sent me to your village for a reason, and that reason was you."

You couldn't help but snort at his words. "You're drunk, Touya. Those gods of yours aren't guiding anything. I'm here because of the whims of men, not gods."

Touya locked eyes with you, his gaze intense and filled with unspoken emotions. Slowly, he wrapped his arm around you, drawing you closer until there was barely any space between you. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "You're beautiful."

His breath sent shivers down your spine, and before you could fully comprehend his words, his lips boldly found yours. Shock coursed through you at the unexpected kiss, your first taste of such intimacy. The heavy scent of alcohol lingered on his tongue, but amidst the surprise, you felt a strange warmth. You hesitated at first, unsure of how to respond, but the gravity of the moment pulled you in.

As the kiss continued, you found yourself brushing your lips against his, a hesitant exploration of uncharted territory. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, bearing witness to a connection that transcended the roles you were assigned in this harsh world.

The following day, Endeavor summoned Dabi to his side, his face stern and determined. The air in the room felt heavy with an unspoken gravity as Dabi approached his father. "Touya," Endeavor began, his voice cutting through the silence, "I have a mission for you."

Dabi's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity and apprehension. "What kind of mission?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on Endeavor.

Endeavor's eyes bore into his son's, revealing a mix of authority and expectation. "You, Shoto, and a selected group of warriors, including Hawks, will be sent to the northern part of Sweden. There's a land there with potential, rich in resources. It's time to expand our influence, and you're crucial to this endeavor."

Dabi nodded, acknowledging the weight of the task ahead. The mention of Shoto and Hawks in the same mission stirred a sense of unease, but he kept his emotions in check. "Understood," he replied, his tone resolute.

Endeavor continued to lay out the details of the mission, his plans unfolding as a complex web of politics, power, and strategy.

Little did Dabi know that this journey would lead to unforeseen challenges, testing not only his strength as a warrior but also the bonds that held his family together.

Hilda approached you with a furrowed brow, a concerned expression etched across her features. The flickering light of the torches in the chamber cast shadows that danced upon the walls as she spoke. "Y/N, I need to talk to you," she said in a hushed tone.

You looked up, sensing the seriousness in her voice. "What is it, Hilda?" you asked, your eyes reflecting a blend of curiosity and apprehension.

She took a moment before responding, choosing her words carefully. "I think I just need a listening ear. Touya is going on another mission. But what worries me more is that Shoto, his younger brother, is being sent alongside him."

You furrowed your brows, recognizing the tension between the two brothers. "Isn't that a cause for concern? They don't exactly get along, do they?"

Hilda nodded solemnly. "No, they don't. The earl's decision to send them together is raising suspicions. It's a risky move, and I fear it might not bode well for the stability of the mission."

Concern etched across your face as you contemplated the potential consequences of such a decision. The dynamics between the two brothers were already strained, and sending them on a mission together seemed like a recipe for conflict. Hilda's worry mirrored your own, and the uncertainty of the future weighed heavily on both your minds.

You finished brushing your hair, the strands flowing smoothly through the comb. The flickering candlelight in your chamber created a soft ambiance, but your thoughts were far from the present moment. Hilda's words echoed in your mind, and the worry for Touya settled like a heavy stone in your chest.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to Hilda, who was quietly arranging some furs in a corner of the room. "Hilda," you began hesitantly, "is there really nothing we can do for Touya? I can't shake off this feeling of unease."

Hilda paused, her gaze meeting yours. The lines on her face spoke of years of experience and wisdom. "Y/N, sometimes the currents of fate are beyond our control. All we can do is navigate the waters as best we can. Right now, the best course is to stay vigilant and hope for the best."

You nodded, understanding the weight of her words. The unpredictable nature of the situation left you feeling powerless, and it frustrated you. "But what if something happens to him? What if Shoto…"

Hilda placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We can't predict the future, dear. All we can do is be prepared for whatever comes our way. Keep an eye on the situation, and if there's an opportunity to help, we'll take it. For now, focus on your tasks and be vigilant."

You sighed, acknowledging the wisdom in her advice.

Hilda observed you with a shrewd gaze, her eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of concern. As you finished your nightly routine and settled onto the furs, she couldn't help but voice the question that lingered in her mind. "Y/N," the woman began, her voice gentle yet probing, "forgive me if I overstep, but your interactions with Touya have been minimal. Why this sudden concern for him?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering your words carefully. The truth was, your initial reservations about Dabi were not baseless, but something about Touya's vulnerability had stirred a different emotion within you. You looked at Hilda, deciding to share a part of your thoughts. "I may not like him, but I can't shake off the feeling that there's more to Touya than what meets the eye. The way he spoke about his past, about losing everything, it resonated with me. It's not pity, Hilda, but a sense of understanding, maybe empathy. And now, knowing he's going on this dangerous mission alongside Shoto, it's hard to ignore the worry."

Hilda's smirk widened as she spoke, her eyes glinting with a mischievous light. "Oh, my dear, I can see your cheeks flushing when you speak about him so fondly. You're having a crush, am I right?"

Hilda's smirk didn't go unnoticed, and you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. Her teasing words struck a nerve, and a flicker of irritation danced in your eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Hilda. It's just concern for a fellow human being," you retorted, your tone defensive.

Hilda chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Concern, my dear, often wears a different face. There's no shame in admitting you care for him. After all, this world is full of unexpected twists, isn't it?"

You pursed your lips, attempting to maintain composure. Deep down, you knew there was a kernel of truth in Hilda's words. The concern for Touya had indeed taken a different form, and your heart acknowledged a connection that transcended mere worry. Yet, admitting it to yourself felt like navigating uncharted waters.

Ignoring Hilda's knowing gaze, you turned away, feigning disinterest. But within, a storm of conflicting emotions raged, and you couldn't deny the impact Touya had made on your guarded heart.

As the night wore on, sleep eluded you. Tossing and turning in your simple bed, a peculiar yet potentially useful idea began to form in your mind. The notion of extracting information from Shoto about his plans took root, and you found yourself contemplating the details of how to execute this risky but potentially advantageous scheme.

The flickering light of the dim chamber barely illuminated your face as you hatched a plan to subtly and strategically approach Shoto. The urgency of the situation and the looming mission compelled you to consider taking matters into your own hands, even if it meant navigating the treacherous waters of deceit. With a determined resolve, you prepared yourself mentally for the intricate dance of conversation that lay ahead.

In your best dress, adorned with the finest that could be salvaged among the thralls, you made your way to the tavern after learning from Natsuo that Shoto was seen going out with a warrior named Hawks. As you stepped out, the cool breeze of the late afternoon caressed your face, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

Arriving at the tavern, you could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking mugs seeping through the wooden door. Taking a deep breath, you pushed it open, revealing the warm, dimly lit interior. The air was thick with the scent of ale and the low hum of conversations. You scanned the room, finally spotting Shoto and Hawks in a corner, engaged in a conversation.

Shoto's two-colored hair caught the wavering light as he raised his tankard in a toast. "To power and the thrill of the hunt," he declared with a smirk, taking a long swig.

Hawks leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes.

The duo seemed engrossed in conversation, their laughter mingling with the low hum of the tavern. Female thralls, drawn by their presence, attempted to engage in conversation, but the exchanges were marked by a darkness that hinted at their underlying intentions. Shoto and Hawks were having fun in the company of two thralls with exotic features that hinted at a southern origin. The air was charged with an unmistakable tension as the men engaged in flirtatious banter.

One of the thralls, feigning coyness, asked, "What brings you to our humble company tonight?"

Shoto, with a sly grin, leaned in to the thrall seated by his side, and said, "Oh, just the usual – seeking a bit of warmth in this frigid place. Perhaps you ladies could provide some, hmmm?" He mused, running his hand up and down the girl's shoulder.

The other thrall, playing along, responded, "Warmth, you say? Well, you might need to work hard to earn that from us."

Shoto frowned a little, yet his voice stayed low and smooth, "You seem to be unaware of my position, woman. I am the heir to earl Endeavor, and I demand that you address me with the respect befitting my status," he forcefully grabbed the other woman by her shoulder, causing her to tumble off her chair and land on the floor next to him. "So, I suggest you watch your manners, for I am the best you can find in this establishment. Consider your words carefully before opening that foolish mouth of yours next time."

Hawks nodded in agreement, "Indeed, the gentleman here is right. Shoto, don't scare the lady."

The conversations continued in this bold and wry manner, each word dripping with innuendo as the men skillfully navigated the delicate dance of desire. The atmosphere in the tavern buzzed with anticipation as the thralls played their part in the seductive exchange, the one that previously ended on the floor now sat quietly, letting Hawks wrap his strong arms around her shoulders as his hand was playing with her breasts from time to time.

Summoning your courage, you approached them, the rhythmic thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. As you drew nearer, you caught Shoto's eye, and a subtle smirk crept onto his face. Hawks, on the other hand, eyed you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. The atmosphere shifted as you prepared to enter a world of alliances and secrets, uncertain of what the outcome might be.

"Well, well, what brings you to this den of sin all alone? Where's your precious Touya? Couldn't keep up with his demands?" the youngest Endeavorson taunted, his tone laced with amusement.

You brushed off his wry remark. "I think it's time for us to bury the hatchet. Our relationship didn't start on the best note, and I believe we can find a way to coexist peacefully."

He looked at you, seemingly surprised by your suggestion. Shoto considered your words, and after a moment, he offered you a seat with them.

Throughout the interaction, Hawks observed the scene. You gave him a brief smile, trying to maintain a cool demeanor in the company of the two men.

Shoto turned to you with an air of faux politeness, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I believe we can have a civilized conversation, don't you?" His eyes darted towards the thrall who had been seated beside him, and with a dismissive gesture, he uttered, "You, leave us."

The thrall shot you a cold glance before complying with Shoto's request and vacating the space.

Now alone, Shoto leaned back in his chair, a smug smirk playing on his lips. "There, much better. Now, let's chat, shall we?"

You took a deep breath before speaking, "I must admit, despite the fear you instill within me, there's a certain charisma about you. It's hard not to notice."

Shoto's grin widened, appreciating the acknowledgment. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. And by the way, I quite like your accent. It adds a certain charm." His compliment was laced with a hint of mischief as he reached his hand out to briefly rub your shoulder.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Shoto's hand landed on your shoulder. Suppressing a wince, you decided to play along with his casual demeanor. When he asked about the real reason for your visit, you hesitated for a moment before responding, "Well, I just wanted to get to know you a little better, my lord."

Shoto raised an eyebrow, considering your words. "Interesting choice of words. Here, have some mead." He poured some into a wooden mug and handed it to you, a sly smile playing on his lips.

You accepted, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

Hawks, with a twinkle in his golden eyes, couldn't help but comment, "Quite a beauty you have here, Shoto. Earl Endeavor's thralls are indeed a treasure."

Shoto, taking a sip of his mead, glanced at you and replied wryly, "All Christian women have this softness within them. I just happen to enjoy breaking it." His words were delivered with a certain darkness that sent a chill down your spine.

Trying to maintain composure, you played along, responding with a forced smile, as you looked at Shoto's companion, "Well, thank you for the compliment, sir."

As Shoto continued to drink, you couldn't shake off the unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

As more mugs of mead were emptied by the men and the atmosphere in the tavern grew warmer, you mustered the courage to bring up the topic that had been gnawing at your thoughts. Leaning in, you addressed Shoto, "Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard that you and Touya are going on a mission. Is it true?"

Shoto's eyes, a mix of icy determination and something unreadable, met yours. He took a moment, swirling the remnants of his mead in his mug before responding, "Yes, a mission to the north. Father believes it's a land rich in resources, and he wants us to secure it for the settlement."

Hawks, who had been listening attentively, chimed in, "Aye, a mission of great importance. The north can be treacherous, though. Many dangers await those who venture into the unknown."

You nodded, though a lingering concern for Touya flickered in your eyes. "What kind of dangers are you talking about? Is it just the harsh conditions of the north, or is there something else we should be aware of?"

Shoto's stoic expression betrayed little, leaving you to wonder about the true nature of the mission and what it might mean for both brothers.

Hawks took a sip from his mead, his golden eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and wariness. "The north is a wild place, full of untamed landscapes and creatures. Wolves, bears, and more roam freely. Not to mention, the weather can be brutal, especially this time of year."

Shoto's gaze never wavered as he observed your reaction to Hawks' nonchalant explanation.

You sensed there might be more to the story, but both men remained guarded in their responses.

Shoto's sudden shift in demeanor caught you off guard, his hand landing on your knee with an unexpected boldness. He began to rub your knee casually, his gaze steady as he threw a question your way. "Let's change the topic, my dear. The ruggedness of our upcoming mission might be a bit too much for a delicate female mind like yours to comprehend," he remarked, his fingers tracing small circles on your knee, playing with the hems of your dress. Then, with a smirk, he leaned in, his tone low and almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, has my older brother had his way with you yet?"

You felt a mix of discomfort and annoyance at his audacity, but you tried to maintain composure. "That's none of your business, Shoto," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "And the mission—"

"Oh, don't play coy," he interrupted, his lips curling into a smirk. "I'm genuinely curious. After all, I'd hate for you to miss out on experiencing the full range of pleasures in our little settlement."

The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and you found yourself navigating the conversation with a mix of caution and defiance, unsure of where Shoto was leading with his intrusive inquiries.

You met Shoto's audacious question with a bold response. "No, my lord, I haven't been with anyone, ever," you asserted, trying to maintain a sense of control in the conversation.

Hawks chimed in with a cryptic comment, "Well, isn't that a rare treasure in these parts. A thrall with untouched cunny, how intriguing."

You shot a wary glance at Hawks, uncertain about the implications of his words.

Shoto, however, seemed more amused than surprised, his smirk widening as if he had expected such a revelation. "You're missing out on experiences, thrall. I could show you what it's like. I doubt my older brother knows how to please a woman. Look at him, covered in scars, a truly disgusting sight. No normal woman would willingly lie with such a damaged man."

You felt Shoto's hand sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, making your breath catch in your throat. His audacious suggestion hung in the air, and the atmosphere became charged with tension.

You pulled away, a mix of surprise and discomfort evident on your face. "Maybe… Nut I didn't have enough mead yet, my lord," you asserted, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation.

Shoto, undeterred, leaned in with a sly grin. "Afraid of a little adventure? I promise you, it'll be an experience you won't forget," he whispered, his mismatched eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

As Shoto poured another mug of mead for you, you discreetly took small sips, ensuring that the majority of the liquid found its way into Hawks' cup while the two men were engrossed in conversation. The effects of the mead were beginning to show on Shoto, but you remained clear-headed.

The conversation in the tavern continued, filled with laughter and raucous chatter. You observed Shoto's growing inebriation and wondered if this was the opportune moment to extract information about the mission.

As Shoto, in a visibly inebriated state, decided to make his way back to the Great Hall, Hawks was more than willing to accompany him. However, seizing the opportunity to gather more information, you stepped forward and offered to walk Shoto back on his behalf. Hawks, busy with the two other thralls he managed to lure, readily agreed.

With Shoto leaning on you for support, you began the journey back to the Great Hall. The night air was crisp, and the sound of distant revelry echoed through the settlement. As you walked, you subtly steered the conversation toward the mission, aiming to extract any valuable details Shoto might unwittingly reveal in his inebriated state. As Shoto stumbled beside you, you ventured to ask, "Shoto, why do you harbor such resentment toward Touya? It seems like there's a lot of tension between you two."

Shoto's response was punctuated by occasional hiccups, and he spoke with a slurred cadence, "Touya… he's always been the favorite. Father sees him as the rightful heir, even after he attempted on killing him… When he was a baby… I'm just… the spare. I've had to fight for every scrap of approval, every shred of acknowledgment. It's fucking infuriating."

His words were tinged with a mix of bitterness and vulnerability, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was more beneath the surface of their strained relationship.

Shoto's alcohol-laden breath hung in the night air as he delved deeper into the caverns of his animosity. His words spilled out, laced with venom and a fervent desire for retribution. "You see, Y/N… Touya has always been the golden child… Father dotes on him, oblivious to the struggles I faced. I fought tooth and nail, but in his eyes, I'm still the disappointment." His voice resonated with a toxic blend of envy and resentment. "I wish he'd disappear, fade away… It would be so much easier without him overshadowing me at every turn… Fucking Touya. Father might finally see my worth."

As he spoke, you couldn't help but sense the profound wounds that fueled Shoto's disdain for his older brother, wondering if there was any way to mend the frayed bonds between them.

With a heavy sigh, you opened the huge, wooden door to the Great Hall. In the dimly lit hallway, you guided Shoto with careful steps, avoiding any unnecessary noise. As you reached his chamber, the weight of your question hung in the air, and you couldn't help but ask, "My lord… Do you plan to harm your older brother during this mission?"

He paused, his drunken demeanor momentarily overshadowed by a serious glint in his eyes. "Hurt him? No. But if fate has other plans for him, who am I to intervene?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if Shoto's words held any truth or if they were merely intoxicated ramblings. As you opened the door and let go of his waist, you couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that there was more beneath the surface of his seemingly casual response. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face, adding an enigmatic air to the entire exchange.

The sudden force of Shoto's grip on your waist surprised you, and before you could react, his lips collided with yours in a messy, drunken kiss. The taste of mead lingered on his breath, making the encounter less pleasant than you might have imagined. You winced, feeling a mix of discomfort and confusion as the moment unfolded.

Shoto's hand slipped beneath your dress and moved up your leg, resting between your thighs. As he pulled away, his eyes were glazed, and he chuckled under his breath, resting his back against the wooden wall. "You're an interesting one, Y/N," he slurred, releasing his hold on you and stumbling into his chamber. "I'll make sure you're mine, not his." The door closed behind him, leaving you standing in the hallway, processing the unexpected exchange with your palm pressed against your mouth.

As you turned around, your heart sank, its rhythm momentarily disrupted - there, in the corridor, stood Touya. His expression held a mixture of surprise and shock as he observed you, and an unspoken tension hung in the air.

Touya's harsh words hung in the air, stinging like a bitter truth. "I can't believe you're like that, Y/N, letting my brother touch you this way. I thought you were different, not like every other thrall, but I guess I was wrong."

A lump formed in your throat as you desperately wanted to explain, to make him understand, but before you could utter a single word, Touya turned on his heel and left, the resounding crash of the door slamming shut echoing through the dimly lit corridor.

Now, you found yourself standing alone, the weight of his accusations settling in. The corridor seemed colder, lonelier in the aftermath of his anger. You replayed the scene in your mind, the hurt etched on Touya's face, the disappointment in his voice. It was a bitter cocktail of emotions that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The truth was, you never intended to betray or hurt Touya. You considered chasing after him, explaining that it wasn't as it seemed, that your intentions were never to betray him. But the finality of that slamming door weighed heavily on your shoulders.

A lone tear traced the contours of your cheek, a delicate testament to the waning emotions within. It was as if you had relinquished something profoundly vital, a precious fragment of your life slipping away, leaving behind a poignant void.

heathen wolves: @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan @violet-forgetmenot

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sammywolfgirl · 1 day

Text

What if I said fuck it and gave the beast cookies actual beast forms

Like they get a monster critter form as a treat.

I’m already playing with the idea to give them light animal motifs for my designs (ie shadow milk is like a hyena and mystic flour is like a spider)

But like here’s the idea-

They have a cookie form which is only a little creature (sharp teeth/fangs, pointed ears, claws)

But they can turn into a more animalistic beast form

(Not just the animal but a sort of monster of said animal)

I’ll need to see the rest of the beasts to see what critter I want to associate them with but just going off the vibes rn?

Burning spice- lizard/dragon

Eternal sugar- bird/swan/bat

Silent salt - bore/bull

Uh anyways shoutout to the melody extract oc idea I’ve got a new pitch I’m developing and debating making cannon ti my au but nothing is solid just yet

#it me #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run au #cookie run oc #shadow milk cookie #mystic flour cookie #silent salt cookie #eternal sugar cookie #burning spice cookie

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shangrila11 · 9 months

Text

Songs of the dragons // Dragon! Dan Heng (HSR) x reader [AU]

Bold = Draconic language

Content warning // Brief implication of death

(Y/N) stepped outside, a grin on their face. Sunlight shone down on them and a cool breeze touched their cheeks -- the perfect weather for going out and tending to the crops. They grabbed a hoe and started weeding the field, pausing every once a while to wipe the beads of sweat trickling down their forehead.

Just then, (Y/N) heard something that sounded like singing. What was more, it was in a language that they had never heard of. They looked towards the source of the sound and saw a group of dragons high up in the sky. (Y/N) watched in awe as the sky gradually turned down and rain started pouring down. They closed their eyes, enjoying the beautiful, haunting melody and the rain on their skin. Their eyes snapped open before widening. That was perculiar. The words to the song were slowly but surely becoming less intelligible to them...

"...And that was how I first understood and learn your language. Apparently, when I was little, I came down with a fever. Fortunately, my parents happened to find a dragon scale which was said to have mystical properties according to us humans. They grounded it and used to make medicine," (Y/N) concludes. The dragon beside them hums thoughtfully.

"I see," he replies. He winces as (Y/N) applies some antiseptic on his leg. The human apologises, saying they are already being as gentle as they could.

"There's no need to apologise. You did warn me earlier, did you not?" the dragon assures them.

"Right," (Y/N) laugh sheepishly. After they have finished applying the antiseptic, they carefully wraps a bandage around the wound.

"There. All done," they declare with a smile. The dragon slowly lifts his injured leg. It feels a little better already. He thanks (Y/N) for treating his wound.

"You're welcome! Be careful not to get caught in fishing nets next time," they answer. They bow and introduce themself. The dragon dips his head.

"I'm Dan Heng. It's a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N)."

xxx xxx

"Dan Heng?" (Y/N) gasps, staring at the male in front of them. He is gorgeous, with long, black hair and piercing turquoise eyes. He wears a white sleeveless shirt -- reminsicent of the colour of the dragon's scales -- with long, unattached sleeves that are accented with teal and gold, as well as black pants

"Yes, it's me. I figure I should adopt a human form so that it's easier to interact," the male nods. He frowns. "Is... something the matter with my appearance?"

"No, not at all!" (Y/N) hurriedly replies. "It's just that... you look really pretty and majestic, both as a dragon and as a human." They flush.

"O -- oh. Thank you," Dan Heng stammers, his expression mirroring (Y/N)'s. "I -- I'm flattered to hear that."

"A -- anyway, would you like to come with me to the village? I think you will like it there," (Y/N) offers, desperately trying to change the subject before things get awkward between them.

"Are you certain? Humans tend to... keep their distance around me and my kind. I don't think that this disguise will be able to conceal my true nature from them since I speak another tongue," the male frowns. In fact, (Y/N) is the first human who approach him without much nerves.

"Good point," (Y/N) agrees, frowning as well. Dragons, being able to perform various feats like summoning the rain, are revered by the people. Some people even feared dragons, not wanting to face their wrath. "That's even more reason to come with me. If people see you spending time with me, they will know that you are approachable. So what say you?" They give Dan Heng an encouraging smile.

"... Alright. I'll give it a try," he relents. A small smile makes its way across his face seeing (Y/N)'s smile widen and their eyes twinkle. Eagerly, (Y/N) takes Dan Heng's hand and leads him to their village.

As anticipated, the people in the village dare not to approach Dan Heng upon hearing him talk in his kind's language and because of his aura. (Y/N) reassures him that it will take a while for the people to get used to his presence and that in the meantime, he just has to be himself. Dan Heng decides to take their word for it, trusting them. For now, he turns his focus on simply enjoying the sights and company. It is interesting to observe how humans lead their lives this close. (Y/N) is also pleasant company, explaining to him their customs and sharing some interesting tidbits and their home life.

After the tour around the village, (Y/N) invites Dan Heng to visit their home. Dan Heng is a little hesistant at first but the human assures him that it will be fine. Their parents have been wanting to meet him, after all. And so the male caves in. Together, the two of them heads to (Y/N)'s home.

"Mom! Dad! I'm home!" (Y/N) announces cheerfully as they enter their home, with Dan Heng awkwardly trailing behind them. Their parents warmly greet them before turning their attention to the male.

"And who is this young man?" their mother asks, smiling. (Y/N) introduces Dan Heng and their parents to each other.

"Ah, so you're the famous Dan Heng that my child has been talking about non-stop," Mr. (L/N) grins. "It's great to finally meet you." (Y/N) quickly translates what their father has said to Dan Heng.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. and Mrs. (L/N)," Dan Heng bows. Once again, (Y/N) translates what Dan Heng has said.

"Would you like to join us for dinner?" Mrs. (L/N) smiles.

"Yes, please do join us for dinner! My mum makes the best (favourite dish)," (Y/N) grins.

"... Very well. Thank you for the invitation," Dan Heng nods. Beaming brightly, (Y/N) guides Dan Heng to sit beside them while their parents sit across the two of them. The meal is delectable. Besides, conversing with (Y/N)'s family (with (Y/N) acting as their translator) fills Dan Heng with a sense of warmth so similar yet so different from that he feels with his family. While his parents mean well, they can be a little strict with him due to his... position.

Perhaps dragons and humans are not that different after all...

xxx xxx

(Y/N) places the di zi* to their lips before blowing into it. Crisp, beautiful notes emit from the dizi, stringing together to form a tune. Dan Heng is by their side, appreciating the melody. He quietly admires the concentrated look on his companion's face, as well as the graceful way their fingers glide across the finger-holes of the instrument.

"What do you think?" (Y/N) asks after they are done.

"It's... lovely," the dragon turned human compliments them.

"Why, thank you. Glad to know that my years of practice aren't in vain," (Y/N) beams, a faint blush blossoming on their cheeks. "Speaking of music, you dragons sing, don't you? However, I haven't heard you sing before." They look at Dan Heng, silently asking if they can hear him sing.

"Er... well..." Dan Heng stammers, averting his gaze away from them. A look of understanding crosses (Y/N)'s face. They gently pat his shoulder.

"It's alright. Some other time. Only if you want to, of course," they smile affectionately. Dan Heng's heart flutters. How can one be as warm and radiant as the sun?

"Thank you," he replies. He pauses for a moment before continuing, "I may not be comfortable letting you hear me sing but we can go flying. That is, if you would like to."

"I would love to," (Y/N) beams, their eyes sparkling. Dan Heng returns their smile with a small one of his own.

"Alright then," he nods. He closes his eyes in concentration. A stream of water materialises, surrounding him. When it clears, he stands before (Y/N) in his natural form. He bends down, asking them to get on him. With a grin, the human climbs on him. After making sure that his companion is securely mounted on him, Dan Heng soars into the air. (Y/N) lets out a whoop of delight as they feel the wind on their face. They wrap their arms around the dragon, resting their chin on him. They look around. Everything looks so small from up there, including their village which appears as specks.

"Wow. What a view," they breathe.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Dan Heng remarks, sounding quite pleased.

"I am," they grin. "We should do this more often." Dan Heng nods, humming in agreement. (Y/N)'s smile soften.

"Thank you for this, Dan Heng," they whisper.

"My pleasure. It's the least I can do for being unable to agree to your request," the dragon replies softly. The two of them then go silent, enjoying the flight and each other's company.

xxx xxx

Dan Heng's eyes scans through the texts, his eyebrows creased into a focused frown. Words in the language of the dragons are inscribed on the scroll, describing the history of the dragons.

"For centuries, dragons have served as guardians of rivers, protecting the creatures living in and near them. The High Elder play an especially key role in leading the dragons, lending their aid to dragons in need and making big decisions on behalf of the dragons..."

"I see that you are taking your studies seriously," a deep, stern voice remarks, interuptting Dan Heng's reading. He looks up from his scroll to meet the gaze of another man. He looks similar to Dan Heng, except older.

"Father," the younger male bows. "Yes. I wouldn't neglect it or my training."

"Very good," Dan Feng nods. "As the next in line to be the High Elder, I expect a lot from you."

"I promise to not let you down," Dan Heng answers. His father makes a sound of approval before his expression turns serious.

"On another note, what is this I hear about you mingling with a human?"

Dan Heng flinches. However, he quickly recomposes himself. He tells his father about his human companion and how they come to know each other.

"I appreciate them helping them helping you when you accidentally got your claw stuck in a fishing net and they seem like a decent human being," Dan Feng answers calmly. "With that said, you know why I disapprove getting close to humans." Dan Heng nods solemnly, an image of him standing by (Y/N)'s gravestone as he grieve over them flashing through his mind. A pang of sorrow hits him but Dan Heng decides to not think about it further. (Y/N) is still with him. And that's all that matters. He looks at his father firmly.

"Father," Dan Heng begins. "By distancing ourselves from humans, we are denying ourselves opportunities to forge new ties, to learn more about each other. After spending time with (Y/N), I realise that dragons and humans are not so dissimilar. We share the same joys and sorrows that life brings, have hopes and dreams and can carry out both good and bad deeds. (Y/N) has broadened my horizons and I... have grown fond of them. So please allow me to stay by their side for as long as they will let me." The younger dragon bows. Dan Feng goes silent for a moment before nodding.

"Very well. I shall respect your choice."

"Thank you, father," Dan Heng dips his head. His father gently patted his shoulder.

"Dan Heng! Dan Heng!" a familiar voice calls just then. The voice then mumbles, "That's how it's pronounced in their language, right? I hope so."

"Mr. (L/N)?" Dan Heng's eyes widens. He sounds anxious. The dragon feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Could something have happened?

"Who could that be?" his father asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

"It's (Y/N)'s father," Dan Heng explains. "I ought to go. It seems urgent."

"Of course. If you require any assistance, do not hesitate to let me know," Dan Feng replies. Sending his father a grateful look, Dan Heng teleports to where (Y/N)'s father is.

"Mr. (L/N). Whatever's the matter?" Dan Heng asks as soon as he appears before (Y/N)'s father. He tries to keep his tone even though his heart is racing. Mr. (L/N) jumps in surprise but quickly relaxes when he sees that it is one he is looking for.

"Dan Heng! Thank goodness you're here," he exclaims, relief in his voice. "(Y/N) they... Oh, sorry. You probably don't understand what I'm saying, do you? Let me repeat what I said in your language." Before he can do so, Dan Heng gently cuts him off.

"It's fine. (Y/N) taught me your language and I did some study on my own as well. So if it's easier for you, please speak in your tongue."

"Oh, that makes things simpler," Mr. (L/N) answers. "Anyway, as I was saying, something happened to (Y/N). They suddenly fell and began writhing in pain. They felt hot to the touch too. My wife and I tried asking doctors for help but they couldn't do anything. We then thought of you and figured you may be able to help."

"I see," Dan Heng, frowning. "We must hurry then if it's as serious as you've said. Please stay close to me. I shall teleport us to your house." Nodding, the other man does as told. Dan Heng closes his eyes. In the blink of an eye, they disappear.

The two of them appears before a frantic Mrs. (L/N) and a barely conscious (Y/N). Mrs. (L/N)'s expression quickly becomes delighted, even relieved to see the two males. Dan Heng's heart sinks seeing the state that (Y/N) is in. He kneels down next to them.

"D-dan Heng?" (Y/N) whimpers

"Yes, it's me. I'm here," said male whispers, squeezing their hand gently. (Y/N)'s expression relaxes a little despite the pain.

"Please help (Y/N), Dan Heng," Mrs. (L/N) pleads

"Not to worry. I'll do everything in my power to cure them," Dan Heng promises. Shutting his eyes, he holds (Y/N)'s wrist, trying to pinpoint the source of the ailment.

"What's the matter with them?" Mrs. (L/N) asks worriedly.

"(Y/N) ate a dragon scale when they were younger, did they not?" Dan Heng inquires. Their parents nod.

"The dragon's qi** from the scale is incompatible with their own qi and hence their body's system is thrown into a disarray as the two qis fight to balance each other out," the dragon explains. "If something is not done, I'm afraid their body system may collapse or even worse..." He stops himself. No. (Y/N) will be fine. He has made a promise to their parents and he intends to keep it.

"But (Y/N) has always been fine so why is this happening now?" (Y/N)'s father asks.

"Since they only ate one scale, the effects are gradual," Dan Heng replies. He frowns. "I apologise. I should have realised it much sooner when they mentioned that they ate a dragon scale."

"What's done is done. What is more important is saving (Y/N)," (Y/N)'s father pats Dan Heng's shoulder. The dark-haired male goes quiet for a moment before nodding.

"You're right," he agrees. He looks at (Y/N)'s parents in turn. "I need some space to treat (Y/N). Is it alright if I bring them somewhere else?"

"Of course. Just please return with them in a better state," Mrs. (L/N) answers. Thanking them, Dan Heng teleports (Y/N) and himself to a secluded, open area near the river he resides. Grasping the human's hand, he takes a deep breath before beginning to sing. His voice is quiet yet powerful as he conveys his feelings through the song. He grimaces, feeling a throbbing pain in his body but he pushes on.

"Dan Heng?" (Y/N) murmurs, feeling the pain subsiding. Their eyes widen when they see the dragon turned human in pain. "Dan Heng! Whatever you're doing, please stop!" Dan Heng shakes his head and squeezes their hand, quietly assuring them that it is alright. After the song ends, the black-haired male lets go of (Y/N)'s hand and drops to the ground, morphing into his true form as he does so.

"Dan Heng! Are you alright?" (Y/N) asks worriedly, inspecting him.

"Yes, I'm alright," Dan Heng assures them, albeit weakly. "Just exhausted from transferring half of my qi to you."

"You silly dragon," the human mumbles, tears pricking the corner of their eyes. They put their forehead against the dragon's. "That was risky. You could've --" They hold their tongue, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"I apologise for worrying you. This is the only way to stabilise the two qis in you," Dan Heng replies. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

"I feel great so far," (Y/N) smiles, backing away a little while wiping their tears.

"That's good," Dan Heng heaves a sigh of relief. "Nevertheless, we should monitor your condition for a few days."

"Ok," they nods. They pause for a moment before continuing, "Thank you, Dan Heng. For saving my life and for that lovely song."

"My pleasure," Dan Heng answers, averting his gaze from them. "As long as you're alright, nothing else matters."

"Except you matter," (Y/N) chides him gently, poking his snout. "So please don't endanger yourself for my sake again."

"I've already apologised, have I not? There's no need to repeat yourself."

"Just wanted to emphasise my point."

"... Fair enough."

The two of them sit side by side, with (Y/N) leaning on Dan Heng's body. They turn to look at their companion. His eyes are shut and he has a peacful look on his face. (Y/N) smiles fondly, glad that the both of them come out of the predicament unharmed.

*Di zi = Chinese flute

**Qi = Vital energy

(Image does not belong to me. Credit goes to owner)

(Inspired by the #8 Imaginative idea found on the writer's respository blog)

#x reader #fluff #oneshot #dan heng #honkai star rail #romance #reader insert #dan heng x reader #alternate universe #hsr x reader #dan feng

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saltnpepperprentiss · 2 years

Text

Always and Forever

Hope x fem reader

Au that idk where exactly it fits in but I'll leave that up to you. It kind of follows Canon except reader is somehow a tribrid too. Anyway Hope is not having the best day and reader appears and cheers her up, in the softest way 🥺

Hope yall enjoy, especially you @huskyhunny 🤗

Its fall time. Hopes favorite season , when the earth adorned its vibrant shades of reds , oranges , yellows and browns. The brunette stands before her easel , starch white and a contrast to the view from her bedroom windows. Mystic falls was washed in all the warm colourful tones an artist could dream of. The sky a murky grey foretelling the downpour it would soon bring and the whistling of a ghastly cold wind that made the branches in the woods even shiver. She knew many would be adorning the fall uniforms essentials by now. A yellow orche scarf with burgundy stripes running horizontally across it ,their schools emblem adorned on one end , the blazers now with long sleeved shirts or maybe their red or yellow (really preferences to each student) cardigan or vest with the sigil of the school found above the right breast. The plaid pants was opted for over the skirts this time of year or if a part of a club would sport the tracksuits instead.

Not everyone saw the wonders in such weather , how the grey of a once bright blue sky wasn't mundane but rather serenity. A promise of natural calming bliss that only a grey sky could give as it almost always accompanied rain. There was another contradiction. Little droplets of water plummeting the earth and soaking everything in its wake. Though the wolves describe it to be a run like no other , they often complain of the cold that follows and the heavyness of wet fur complying to gravities rules. Other students find the wet dog smell way too pungent and rue the poor teardrops of nature for ever falling to begin with. Hope thinks otherwise. She sees them as nature's way of cleansing the earth (must be her witchy side), of days spent in a firelit room bathed in orange light and listening to the persistent pitter patters that aided as a melody to stories told from a time longer ago,, from a man whose lived through them all. Its a promise of large puddles the next day when the sky stops its cleaning and allows for rainboots to thrash and kick at its remains, of happy cries when the murky water touches bare cheeks , rosy from all the joy shared between mother and daughter.

Hope looks away from the window , tries to quell the nostalgia , quiet the thoughts that she could never share those memories again. Never have someone to share that joy or paint beside her as the rain continues its job time and again. Her aunts weren't too fond of the winter chill or its watery promises and although sitting before a fire with popcorn and hot chocolate watching classic movies was fun in its own way , it never made her feel as happy as enjoying the natural moments nature had provided them. That's why when Freya had told her over a phone call she'd rather not reminisce in those days, opting for the rather brighter more warmer moments from the sun and its special season , did Hope truly feel alone.

Her sad thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt thuds against her dorms door. The bronze handle swiftly turning on its own , the locks clicked open and the door swung in to reveal a sheepish looking y/n with two mugs of what looked to be hot chocolate with one too many marshmallows.

"Mind if I join you?" The girl asked although she had already stepped inside and let the door shut probably with the same spell used to open it. A visible chill passed through her.

"Hope its like Antarctica in here!" y/n exclaimed. She made her way to the Mikaelson and set the mugs down on the desk. Its then that Hope notices the girl is clad in a sweater , her school scarf and beanie and the ever present black leather jacket. She's wearing the timberwolves football sweatpants and the whole look seems ridiculous but just shows how not big of a fan the other tribrid is of the cold.-wait y/n doesn't even do any sports, nor has she ever been at mystic falls-

"That's my sweatpants!" Hope finally says. Not even giving it a thought before saying it. She watches y/n freeze for the slightest minute , cheeks rosey and lips quivering as if on the verge of defending herself when her y/e/c eyes lands on the scene behind her.

"Your windows are open! That's why its below freezing point in here!" y/n stomps towards the windows as if it were the greatest enemies shes ever faced. She shuts them with a force that might have shattered them and turns to scowl at the rooms inhabitant.

"Are you trying to catch a cold?!" YN reprimands.

"It wasn't open that long" Hope says , "Besides the cold does not bother me and shouldn't you either , you're a werewolf"

"What ever you say Elsa" the y/h/c girl falls onto the neatly made bed and ignores the eye roll from the Mikaelson. "I might be a wolf but that does not mean I enjoy the temp drop and for you to assume that is stereotypical to your own kind"

"Well its not my kind "Hope says and twirls the dry paintbrush in her hand. She hasn't even set out her colour palette yet , all her paint is still stored in its tubes.

" Oh yes it is fellow tribud" YN remarks and smirks at the groan erupting from Hope's lips.

"Seriously YN ? That nickname is so lame" the brunette practically whines out. Her arms crossed as she stares at the girl casually lazing on her bed. YN knows Hope isn't a fan of the nickname her ex boyfriend coined the two with years ago when he'd finally acclimated to the school. She also knows Hope isn't a big fan of the boy at all at this point but as always YN enjoys teasing the shorter girl to her hearts content.

"Auw cmon its actually a good nickname" YN continues "we're the only two of our kind and we're close" the other tribrid shrugs, "I happen to think tribuds is fitting to our little duo"

"Keep this up and I'll kick you out" Hope warns.

"Auw cmon Hopey I brought you hot chocolate" YN sits up and bends forward for the mugs , wisps of steam still floating up. Hope finds it surprising how any steam could find its way through the horde of marshmallows smothered atop the drink. Hope's gaze jumps from the co-ordinating blue and red mugs to the puppy pout YN is shamelessly sporting and releases an audible sigh.

"It better be good" the brunette mumbles , giving in and taking a seat beside the taller girl.

"Ouch, you wound me Mikaelson" YN says with faux sad expression , handing the blue mug over.

"Well what can I say" Hope starts before taking a sip of the hot chocolate. Its good , as expected. YN never seems to disappoint, not even with a cup of hot chocolate. "Its in my blood"

YN let's out a laugh , one that's filled with endearment and warmth. She scoots closer , mindful of the hot liquid and nudges the brunette's shoulder with her own.

"So are you going to tell me what's got you so worked up , more than usual that is"

"Ha ha" Hope rolls her eyes again at YN 's jab. "Why would you think something's bothering me?" The Mikaelson tribrid asks and when turning to face the y/h/c haired girl , is met with a raised brow.

"You zoned out in front of a blank canvas is never a good sign tribuddy"

Already annoyed by the nickname Hope looks over to the canvas as if it had betrayed her. "What if its just artist block?" she retorts.

"Its not because when you have a block you're glued to Pinterest looking for reference photo's until inspiration hits" YN raises her cup to take a sip then points accusingly , "also art block Hopey doesnt put walls up and accuse her favorite person of not knowing her and her little niches"

"Bold of you to assume you're my favorite person" Hope grumbles poking a marshmallow before looking up to see YN give her that knowing brow raise , driving her point home.

"Okay so I'm a little bit guarded today!" Hope let's out and drops the paintbrush she'd forgotten even having in her hand. She let's out a sigh, taking another sip and letting the warm liquid make its way through her insides hoping the heat could bring comfort to a never-ending ache in her heart. She's brought out of her slight reverie by the soft hand of YN, who squeezes her knee gently as if to remind her that she is here. She is here and will always be.

"I won't force you to talk Hope but know that when you do feel ready, my shoulder is here for you and so are my ears"

Hope rolls her eyes at the way the girl worded her supportiveness. Yet that was one of the many reasons why she was so fond of the you. Your outlook on life was so different hell everything about you was just.. Different and enticing and oh so endearing the tribrid had difficulty picturing a life without you. It was impossible.

"I can't really put what it is im exactly feeling into words but" Hope chews at her lip then gives YN a sad smile. "something about today makes me miss them even more"

You watch her fiddle with the ear of her mug, she darts her gaze away from yours, deciding to keep focusing on the little white treats in her cup.

"it's crazy I know, it's been years and I'm still hung up on it"

She's got tears in her eyes, you know because her lashes seem moist like she'd just tried to bat those salty drops away unnoticed. But you did, you always do. So you take her cup, despite her slight protest she allows it and watches you place it on her desk. You come back to your place on the bed and pull her into your body, arms wrapped around her so tightly you can feel her body tremble as she let's out her cries into the crook of your neck.

"you're not crazy for missing them Hope. Grief doesn't have a time limit you know." you stroke her back with your thumb, making small circles as you continue, "Just know I'll always be here for you Hopey"

"it's not up to you" you hear being mumbled against you and you pull the smaller girl closer. No one deserves the trauma the young Mikaelson had been through and to think she had to face most of it alone still breaks your heart.

"says who" you say with bravado, "I'm not ever leaving your side Mikaelson not even death could keep me away"

You both know Hope has a point, especially the life you both live any day could mean your last. Yet you were sure of your own words, you were holding your world in your arms and there was nothing you wouldn't do to keep the girl who had already suffered so much from being happy. So if death were to ever come knocking you'd meet it with fangs bared and claws out.

"promise?" blue eyes meets yours, staring from below long lashes it makes her suddenly seem younger, as if she somehow de-aged to the little girl who had shouldered too much and held powers she never asked for.

You pull her even closer not wanting any space between you especially since you were trying to warm the shorter girl with your body heat after leaving her window open on such a cold day. One hand coming to cup her cheek, stroking it as if you were holding the most prized possession this world had and smiled at her "I promise"

Kissing her forehead you whisper the words against her skin,

"always and forever"

#legacies #hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson x reader #Hope Mikaelson x female reader #Hope Mikaelson x y/n #Hope Mikaelson is Pansexual I Stan by this #Pansexual #WLW

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sirowsky-stories · 1 year

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The Old Prince

Part 6

Author's Note: We're finally getting to the romance part! But, this is me, so there's also some tension.

Description: To prepare you both for the battles ahead, the time has come for you to meet the dragon and confront your fears.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Angst associated with past trauma. Explicit smut (piv, creampie) but romantic. Word Count: 6312 Author's Masterlist

Somehow, taking Casper back to the Mackey farm is when it finally hits you with full force that you’re never gonna be able to go back to your old life. That no matter what happens with the spirits, your very existence has already been irrevocably altered. You’re a slave to your own fate now, whatever that might be, leaving you no choice but to dance to this new tune, even though you neither know the words nor the melody. The only solace to be found being that at least you have a partner in this dance of destiny.

He’s right there, always by your side, afraid to leave you alone for just about everything but the bathroom. So, when the horse is led away and you crumble in on yourself, he’s the one that holds you together. Not with false promises that everything will be alright, which no one can guarantee, but simply with the act of being there. With the silent but already proven commitment that he will continue to be there, no matter what.

You’ve already prepared the house, putting everything away, throwing all the food out and turning the water off, so that if you ever do make it back, it’ll just be dusty and stale rather than destroyed by mold or frozen pipes. Casper is the last stop before the journey back to the castle. The last remnant of the past for you to pack away.

Once you’ve calmed, the two of you get back in your car and drive for twenty minutes to a spot in the woods where you’ll dump it, to be found by some hiker, probably. You wonder what everyone will think. What conclusions they’ll draw from all these bizarre events involving you. If finding the abandoned vehicle will make them think that Oberyn’s taken you and that they were right all along to suspect him.

But the true sadness of it all is that it doesn’t matter one bit what they might think. It’s completely irrelevant compared to the reasons behind your departure. These people that you called friends, neighbors, customers… all they are now are lives to be saved, no more or less important than everyone and everything else that lives. Because it’s only the whole fucking world that’s in danger.

You park the car in the middle of the dirt road. No need to hide it any further since it doesn’t matter how or when it’s found. You even leave the keys in the ignition. It’s been snowing for the past two days, all the time you’ve spent making these preparations, so your boots sink into a full foot of fresh powder as you step out. It shines against the full moon that’s only just climbed over the hilltops, illuminating the otherwise so ominous woods, turning the landscape into something mystical. Ethereal, even.

You’ve always been afraid of the woods in the dark, but now, when unknown beings might actually be watching you, your fear has been taken past its old limits. Where you used to chastise yourself for twitching at every sound, you’re now forced to think of those sounds as potential threats, as real as the ground beneath your feet. In a cruel twist of reality, everything you’ve ever feared is now substantial and terrifying.

Oberyn knows this, and he does his best to make you feel safe. But this time, he is the greatest source of your concern, so instead, he tries to keep his distance.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” you ask for probably the tenth time.

“Yes. There is no part of me that wishes you harm,” he reiterates, still so enduring and calm with you, despite your exaggerated disbelief.

Because you do know, somewhere deep down, that he’s already proven that the dragon isn’t a threat to you anymore. But the thing is… you still haven’t seen that for yourself. You know that he’s the one that saved you and brought you home after the spirits had attacked, but you were passed out for almost all of it. And the same goes for the two other times that you know you’ve been in the presence of the beast.

There’s a disconnect between what you consciously know and what you can actually recall from your encounters with it, leaving an abyss of uncertainty sitting between you and the creature you’ve only glimpsed during times of intense stress. But the only way to build a bridge across that abyss, is to meet the dragon. To stand eye to eye with it, once and for all, which is what’s about to happen now.

“Are you ready?” he asks once you’ve stepped a little further away from the car.

You hesitate, but he doesn’t push. He waits patiently while you take a deep breath, only nodding your agreement after you’ve gotten your breathing under control.

“Remember, once I’ve changed, I can no longer speak to you. But you will know that it’s still me because I will always bow to you, my Valya. Anything you ask of me, I will do.”

As he finishes saying that, a golden shimmer appears in his eyes, and then it happens.

His hair turns green even before his body starts to grow. The scales seem to rise from underneath his skin, standing upright as they cut through the dermal layers and then fall into place on top of them, in perfect symmetry, even as his mass doubles, over and over. It’s quick and so smooth, feeling like less than a second’s passed before hands have become giant paws with equally giant claws, and that soft and kind face has been distorted into a massive pair of jaws and a horned skull behind them.

You were so wrong. He does resemble the traditional Asian dragons, with the long snakelike body, the radiant color and the hair, but that’s also where the common traits end. The wings aren’t some small appendages on his shoulders, more like enormous, wide spans of what doesn’t look like skin at all, but instead more scales. Still green but transparent. Millions of them, like little diamonds, and probably just as sharp.

There’s no funky looking moustache, pointy ears or doglike rounded nose either. Instead, you can’t even see his ears and his nostrils sit like black slits at the tip of his bony snout, scorching the air before him with each exhale. But more than anything, it’s the entire image that somehow doesn’t fit with the pictures and tattoos you’ve seen. He’s somehow… sturdier. Heavier, but without looking bulky. He doesn’t look like he slithers through the air, he looks like something the air moves out of the way for.

You’ve completely lost control over your breathing again, as your eyes unbiddenly trail the length of his body, ending in a pointed club instead of a tip on his tail. His body has to be at least a hundred feet long. Maybe as much as a hundred-and-fifty, it’s hard to tell when he’s curled up to fit in between the trees. And with each new detail that’s being forever engraved into your mind, panic builds stronger within your chest, taking you further and further away from the memory that this is still Oberyn.

What you remember isn’t the man, but the teeth. How they’d felt as they’d pierced your skin. The unyielding force with which you’d been brought to a stop and the practically cementlike strength that had held you in place. And suddenly you can recall the burning of his breath as it had fanned down over you. The smell of ash and charred meat that had accompanied the heat. A buried sensory memory that you hadn’t been aware of before this moment.

Your fear spikes, wringing all thoughts and reason from your brain, and you turn to run. The snow is light, so it doesn’t slow you down much, but why you would even register that tidbit of information when the beast only needs to take one step to catch up to a dozen of yours, is anyone’s guess. You can hear it the moment that he sets off in pursuit. The slight growl and the scraping of his claws against the bedrock, somewhere deep beneath the moss and dirt.

“Whatever you do, once the transformation is complete, you cannot run. The dragon’s instinct is always to hunt anything that runs. It’s the one thing about the beast that I have never learned to control, so you must not trigger it.”

His words of warning echo through your fear-sick, but otherwise empty mind, and even though nothing has ever scared you more, you stop cold, freezing to the spot as if thinking that he can’t see you if you don’t move. That was the Jurassic Park t-rex, you idiot! You mentally scold yourself, while you listen to him approach from behind you now.

Your chest is so tight that each breath feels smaller than the one before, giving the sensation of choking, even though you’re filling your lungs with every inhale. It seems to take so long before his head eventually comes into view next to you, slowly creeping up alongside your right, so close that the edges of his scales are brushing against the fabric of your jacket.

Willing yourself not to faint, you turn your head just as his eye comes up beside you. There’s no resemblance to Oberyn within that golden orb, nothing at all to indicate that he’s still in there. He meets your gaze for what feels like minutes, and then a deep growl makes the very air around you vibrate, forcing you to move when it does the same thing to your blood a mere moment later.

You turn so that you’re still facing him as you back away, and his expression immediately seems to grow less intense. As if your proximity somehow heightens his sensitivity. Realizing that you need to remind him of who you are and what you might mean to him, you try to think of a way to signal him, assuming that he won’t respond to speech when he’s riled up like this.

Unable to come up with anything other than what he’d told you himself, you stop backing away, straighten yourself out and then you bow to him. You try to take comfort in the fact that he did stop chasing you as soon as you stopped running, but it’s a small solace in the face of what’s before you. And when he raises his head and every strand of feathery light and soft hair on his body suddenly stands up like individual razor blades, that comfort is blown away.

You’re momentarily distracted by the realization that the sound it makes when those hairs become rigid like that, is the same creaking sound you’d heard that night. And now that you see it, you understand why you’d heard it twice. Just like when a dog raises its hackles, maybe this is an instinctive response to stress. You know that he’d tried to stop himself back then, so what if the hairs standing up twice was the result of him momentarily regaining control and then losing it again.

“Oberyn, listen to me,” you call out, trying to keep your voice soft and hoping that the man will hear you even if the beast doesn’t. “I’m your Valya. You protect me against the spirits. We’re on our way to your castle, remember?”

Slowly, the hairs soften and begin to sway with his movements again. But his eyes remain vigilant. There’s something hungry within them, and you don’t like that.

“You promised me that I would always be safe with you,” you remind him, stepping closer as the fears inside you are being replaced with something more solid. “You said that you will always do what I ask, have you forgotten that?”

It’s your fault for running away, you know that. But you need him to remember.

“Well, I’m asking you to be my Oberyn. The man who treats me better than anyone ever has, who’s always kind to me, even when I don’t deserve it. Please… be my Oberyn,” you plead, the solid feeling within you revealing itself to be sorrow, although where it comes from right now, you’re not sure.

A low hum sounds in the dragon’s chest then, and shortly after, you do see the telltale mannerism of the human, as he finally bows to you. Relief sends a huff and a smile across your lips, and you watch as he lays down flat on the ground, and in a perfect imitation of a dog or a horse, begins to roll on his back as if trying to scratch an itch.

Snow flies everywhere, spilling from the branches of the trees that he collides with and cascading down on him like white veils, almost as if he’s attempting to clean himself of the darkness within. Coming back to his stomach, he rises to his feet but instead of shaking the snow off, he seems to vibrate his scales somehow, leaving behind only the white powder that still clings to his hair.

His gaze finds yours once again, and now, however impossible it might appear, you do see Oberyn’s eyes in there. His age-old wisdom and tired old pains, but especially his warmth.

“There you are,” you smile as the sorrow departs.

He lowers his head at your words, slowly coming closer while turning his cheek towards you, probably to spare you from the scorching air of his nostrils. He stops when he’s just a few inches away, waiting for you to decide if you wish to touch him. The surfaces of the scales are impossibly smooth, and a lot warmer than you’d expected, given that they were covered in snow only moments ago.

But perhaps most surprising of all is that you still feel that same heat inside yourself when you’re this close to him. The same inviting and slightly intoxicating scent fills your nostrils and beckons you closer, even now, when you’re face to face with the beast. Then again, if you ever need more proof that he is still the same person, this would be the definitive one. Because you’re sure as shit not sexually attracted to the damned dragon.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

He had tried to prepare himself for the very real possibility that your body would react so strongly to seeing the dragon once more that you would be unable to control your fear. But against the allure of the hunt, he is still mostly powerless. Even someone so precious to him as you, are not immune to the instinct. But he is relieved to realize that you are unique enough to his senses that the moment you stopped running, the instinct began to fade.

In fact, he is not certain that your life was ever truly in danger. Even as he had chased after you, he had not felt compelled to kill and consume. The interest had remained within the hunt itself, which is something he has never experienced before. Still, it had taken him too long to regain his full senses and reassure you that he would not attack you, and he will need to work on that, since he must be able to protect you while you are on the run, if the need arises.

Happily, you don’t seem rattled by the experience. Instead, you now appear intrigued with everything you are beginning to learn and understand about him. Which is also a first. No human has ever stood beside him without fearing him before. Your touch is careful though, which is good, because his scales will cut your skin without effort should you not pay adequate attention.

But however much he might wish to let you continue to explore his mythical alter ego, you are too exposed out there in the woods, so with a gentle nudge against your hands, he signals for you to move, and you understand his intent. For a moment, the beast wants to react to your movements, although not to give chase. Something else stirs within the primal mentality of the creature. Not a hunger or need of any kind. It feels almost… playful.

Whatever it might be, he does not have the luxury of exploring it further at this time, so he quells the feeling, silencing it under the weight of reasoning and the many fears he carries within his being. And he is a bit shocked at how easily he remains in control of the dragon right now. Never before has he won the battle of conflicting instincts so effortlessly. Which makes him wonder if perhaps he has simply never had sufficient motivation to claim that control before.

But wouldn’t the deaths of thousands of people have been enough motivation? For a weary soul, too broken by his own existence to have much care for others, the answer is sadly no. It is only this newly awoken man, bathed in the light of your existence, who is capable of ignoring all the years of pain and instead willingly chooses to look beyond the known and mind-numbing, in the hopes that this time, he might find something different.

You lead the way back to the car and the duffel bags which contain most of your life. Lifting them out of the trunk before you close it, you are left standing there, staring at the vehicle as though it has taken on a different meaning to you, now that you must part with it. He’s worryingly aware of the increasing threat that you will be found by the spirits if you linger here for too long, but he has not the heart to tear you away without consideration.

“I’ll never be able to come back,” you suddenly whisper, as if talking to yourself, before you look up at him with tears in your eyes. “Will I?”

He has no answer for you, and you know this. You ask only because you need to say the words. To allow them to exist in your mind so that you may save yourself the hurt of being forced to accept them at some point in the future, whether you are prepared to or not. It is a form of self-preservation, well known to him because it’s a tactic he has often used himself, with varying degrees of success.

Using his tail, he gently nudges you closer to him, while he picks up your bags with one of his rear paws and prepares to take off. You let him direct you, coming right up to his side without a trace of fear now, perhaps already at ease with the beast specifically because you have seen him both lose and regain control of himself. And probably also because you managed to control your own fear of him, empowering yourself in the process.

He wants to let you ride him, sitting atop his shoulders, so that he can use all four legs to fight, should one or more of the flying spirits find you, but he worries that his hair might cut you if he is startled. But just as he is about to lift his front legs off the ground and grab you, a pair of birds are startled out of a tree further up the hillside, distracting him.

Only moments later, he sees it. The pale white shine of Caelum as she glides silently across the treetops, coming straight for you. And suddenly the control he has been so proud over this evening, is blown away with the heat of the anger which floods his blood at the sight. From one second to the next, there are no more thoughts, only the need to protect and escape.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

He grabs you as he’s already moving, leaping up over the trees at the same time that both front paws wrap tightly around you, and then those giant wings unfold and in one big thrust, the seven hills have almost disappeared against the dark horizon already. But the owl is just as fast, taking up pursuit and even gaining on Oberyn as he continues to accelerate and climb.

It comes closer, leaving a trail of what looks like black smoke in its wake, with its eyes fixed on you and all you can do is watch, while the dragon snarls in warning and tries to hit it with his tail. And when that doesn’t work, he presses you against his chest, covering as much of your body as he can with his paws, and then the world becomes an incomprehensible abstract painting.

Speed isn’t enough, so he’s using agility, twisting, spinning and slithering through the air with such rapid and random movements that the spirit can’t get to you. Still, it isn’t giving up, and that seems to seriously piss off the beast. He stops so abruptly that the owl shoots past, at which point, he opens his jaws and spews out a large flame.

It seems like a strange thing to do when the bird is already too far away for the fire to reach it, but the serpent has another trick up his sleeves. In the same moment as the flame leaves his mouth, he beats his wings together while angling them forwards, and that somehow creates a beam of light and heat that hits the spirit as though a bullet had been fired.

From what you can make out, the owl isn’t seriously hurt, but it does leave, and Oberyn resumes your journey, keeping up the same mad pace as before and almost colliding with a commercial jet along the way. But somehow, you make it to the castle without further incident, and he lands on the courtyard but doesn’t change back right away like you’d thought.

Instead, he runs inside on three legs, and he doesn’t stop until you’re deep within the structure of stone walls, in a room small enough that he has to twist around himself twice to fit in to it. Clearly still stressed, he keeps holding you to his chest even after he’s stopped moving, as though he expects something to crawl out of the walls and snatch you from him, all while sniffing the air and looking around frantically.

You know that he won’t hear you so long as he’s this riled up, so you let him fret while you marvel at the truly magnificent being that he is, now that you can finally bring yourself to appreciate it. He’s holding you right by his heart, and in between the giant breaths and the clicking of his claws against the stone floor as he restlessly shifts his weight, you can hear it beating.

Stretching your arms out to the sides and resting your ear against his scales, you close your eyes and just listen to it. It must be bigger than you, and it thumps so fast in there, flooding his body with oxygen and adrenaline and keeping him on edge. You don’t know for sure that you’re safe from the spirits here, but you think so. You think that if they’d been hellbent on getting to you tonight, they would’ve already showed up.

So, to try and calm him down, you start singing to the dragon. A sweet little lullaby that your foster mother had taught you, which speaks of restless men and angry seas, being stilled by the grace of the sun. He stops moving the moment he hears the first notes, and for each line that follows, his heart slows a little bit more.

And by the time the song ends, his scales have been folded away and the soft fabric of his coat is once again pressed against your cheek. You wonder where it goes when he transforms, because you can clearly remember seeing his scales come out straight through it and then it had just sort of disappeared into his skin. But it’s still intact now that it reemerges, and that fascinates you.

Then soft lips are pressed into your forehead, and you look up to see brown eyes peering down at you, while a tender smile adorns his lips.

“You are quite amazing, my dear,” he says quietly, warmly, and all at once, that heat sparks within you again.

“So are you… my Oberyn,” you reply, and his breath hitches at the claim you make on him.

“Yes,” he whispers, because that’s as much as he can get out. “Yes, I am yours.”

Your arms are already around one another, but as you tighten your grip, so does he. And when you reach your lips towards his, he meets you. It’s soft and careful at first. Exploring and learning how you fit together. But pretty soon the heat within becomes unbearable, and you begin to crave. So much that he has to grab your hands to keep you from groping him through his trousers.

“Take a breath, Valya. If you touch me there, I will have nothing left for your craving sex.”

“God, I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s come over me,” you pant against his lips before he kisses you again, much heartier this time.

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave you dissatisfied,” he promises, and you believe him.

Then he steps away, leaving you stunned by the sudden cold of the air around you, which is when you first look around and realize that you’ve never been in this room before. He’s moved over to the fireplace to warm it up, and while he does, you notice that there’s a large bed to your left, big bookshelves and a large chest of drawers to your right, and on the walls are the most beautiful paintings you’ve ever seen.

The tower is the only other room you’ve set foot in here that was decorated. Which has to mean that this is his room. For a moment, you’re almost moved to tears by the notion that the dragon, in a state of fear and distress, had brought you to his most private and personal space in this world. The one place that Oberyn has never allowed you to visit before.

He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t love you. If his feelings for you weren’t powerful enough to break the barriers between the man and the beast. And that thought changes everything. When he returns to you, it isn’t his body you desire, but all of him. So, once he’s back within your reach, and that heat flares inside of you again, you let it spread through every cell in your body, warming not just your sex, but your very bones.

You reach for his collar and begin to undo the buttons, and he helps you by starting on the ones from the bottom, and when it falls open, you’re surprised to find nothing underneath. No shirt or sweater, just lovely golden tanned skin, revealed to your scrutiny and your touch. He lets the coat fall to the floor with a shrug and you can see in his eyes that even if you hadn’t found him absolutely gorgeous, he wouldn’t have taken offense.

He’s confident about himself like this, even exposed and vulnerable, and you suppose that given his other self, which people have probably run away from the very sight of, his human form must feel simple and comfortable in comparison. You’re not usually that confident about yourself, but right now, when he begins to unzip your jacket and peel off your layers, you’re not particularly nervous at all.

He strips you down to your underwear and then he pauses to hold and kiss you again, as if he wants to remind you that this isn’t just about your bodies. You kiss him in return and then slip your hands down his back, until your fingers find the waistline of his pants and you greedily slip them past the fabric, pushing it down as far as you can so that you can feel the tantalizing swell of his cheeks.

Because yes, this is more than just physical, but it is also very physical, and he takes the hint without further ado. Mirroring you, his hands find the supple lower edges of your ass and pulls you into his groin, grinding against your sex and making you gasp, both at the sensation and at his size. Not trusting your own nerve endings, you pull back and look down, needing to know if he’s as big as he feels, and he damned well is.

“Whoa… dragon indeed,” you breathe as you trace the contours of him with your eyes.

He tilts your head back up then and when you meet his gaze, there’s a worried crease in his brow, probably from concern that you won’t trust him not to hurt you. But that worry disappears when he sees your expression, because there’s no fear in you. What you feel is anticipation and quite a lot of excitement, because somehow, you just know that this man isn’t gonna settle for anything less than your absolute satisfaction. Anything other than that, he would probably consider a terrible failure on his part.

The final items of clothing on both of you are quickly removed when he realizes that you do trust him and that you’re only eager to be with him. The air flares with heat as he lets go of his inhibitions and releases his passion, pressing your bodies together while he moves you towards the bed, and then lets you go so that you fall back onto it. A very different kind of hunger than anything you’ve thus far seen in him, floods his features and leaves his chest heaving with each breath.

You watch as he lets his hands roam over you, confirming that he’s found all your trigger-points, and then his mouth joins in. Before he’s even started on your sex, he’s got you writhing for him, mewling unintelligibly at him, whining when he pinches your hands down so that you can’t influence him, and then teasingly moves further away from the heat at your core.

“I need you to open for me, sweetheart,” he whispers into your ear while he drags his cock against your opening and then your clit, sending spasms of pleasure through you.

“I need you soft and pliant before I give it to you. And you know what makes you malleable, don’t you?” he continues, before running his tongue down your neck and nibbling at the top of your shoulder.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it fascinates you that he can bring you to the brink of an orgasm by only barely manipulating the parts of you that are dedicated to that specific function. But he wants you to come, and come hard, so that your pussy will relax thoroughly afterwards, and somehow, the fact that he’s barely touched you only heightens every sensation.

So, when his upper body settles on top of you and his hands slip to your thighs, grabbing them hard right at the junction to your groin and holding you down while he uses the head of his length to nudge and tease you, the forcefulness of your orgasm is enough to lift both of your torsos off the mattress.

It takes you several minutes to come back down, and every second of them, he’s pleasuring some part of you, keeping your body active and responsive, preparing you for more. He doesn’t tell you before he begins to push inside, he just does, knowing that advance warning will only make you tense up. And fucking hell, are you glad that he warmed you up first, because even now, when you’re as pliant as you can be, he stretches you a lot.

Of course, it doesn’t help that you haven’t seen any action in years, but still, the girth of this man is no joke. It isn’t painful, though. He’s done what he needed to do to make this pleasurable for you, and by gods it is. It’s a new sensation for you, being absolutely filled, but it’s a wonderful one. More than that, he seems to fit you. Putting pressure on all the best spots inside you.

Then he starts to move, and everything gets turned up to eleven. Suddenly you’re on fire, being electrocuted and washed with soothing cool water all at the same time, as he overstimulates you in the sweetest way possible. You can hear him try to say something, but it vanishes among his own mewls of pleasure and desperate fight for air as his body reacts, removing all thoughts and reason from his mind since he's got no use for them in this moment.

You aren’t sure if you’ve already come a second time or not, until the pressure suddenly builds again and surges through you without mercy or any consideration for your already singed nerves. It’s an entirely different sensation when he’s inside you. Intense in a deeper way, less spasms and more like a pleasurable ache that flows through you with each heartbeat. Something that seems to reach into your most primal self, satisfying a part of your being that can only be reached like this.

He follows right behind you, spilling into you with hard snaps and rolls of his hips. He wraps his arms around your back and fastens your bodies together, pressing all air out from between you in his need to have you as close as is physically possible. It’s almost hard to breathe with how firm his grip is, but you don’t mind. You love that he wants you that close. That your body and your touch is so desirable to him.

Locked against him, you have no choice but to feel every tension of his muscles as he rides out his high, and it’s an incredible thing. There’s so much power in him. He could easily crush you if he wanted, you’re absolutely sure of that, just like you’re sure that he never would. Tonight, he’s proven exactly how much you mean to each side of him, and now that you think about it, really think about it, it’s almost frightening how much he cares for you.

Not frightening in the sense that you’re scared of him, but rather for him. Because what happens to him if the spirits succeed? Lying there, overwhelmed by both physical and emotional sensations, it hits you that you’re both equally capable of destroying the world. You with darkness, and him with fire. What a pair you make.

“I love you, Oberyn.”

You wait until you’ve both cooled down somewhat before you say it, because you don’t want him to think that it’s something you just say in the throes of passion. You need him to know that you mean it.

“I think I have from the moment we met,” you continue while he’s still trying to lift his head and look at you, probably to make sure that he isn’t imagining it. “Obviously not the very first moment, that was scary as hell, but the other one.”

He’s regained enough strength to rise to his elbows and meet your eyes then, and he looks so vulnerable. So scared but also incredibly happy. And you realize that you have his entire heart in your hands right now, and that you need to be careful with it.

“I don’t know why, but I feel like… this is meant to be. Like I belong right here, in your arms. Does that make any sense?” you ask, smiling at him, and he responds in kind.

“Yes. Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” he shakily says, confirming that he feels the same. “For six thousand years I have wandered alone. Loved and lost so many times that my heart turned cold and dark. And then, in just one fraction of a second, you changed everything. Not just my heart, but my thoughts, dreams and hopes. All the parts of me that makes life worth the effort.”

Okay, the sweet declaration of love aside: what the actual fuck?!

“D-… did you just say six… thousand years?” you ask, truly unable to fathom the enormity of that number.

“Well, I don’t remember exactly, but I know that it is at least that.”

“Jesus… I can’t even wrap my head around that.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have my head wrapped up tightly enough,” he says, and his tone leaves no doubts that he’s referring to the tip of his now soft member that’s still deeply embedded inside you.

“Hmpf. Aren’t you cocky, all of a sudden,” you retort with a grin, and he laughs softly.

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him laugh.

“Does that mean you want me to pull out?” he asks, still with a boyish grin on his face.

“That depends. I’m not a garage, so unless you’re planning on pleasuring me more tonight…” you start, but he silences you with a kiss, and then swallows your surprised moan when he thrusts into you again.

“I have told you repeatedly: anything you want, my love,” he purrs once he breaks the kiss, but then seems to change his mind. “Although, on second thought, I think I might follow my own desires tonight. If that’s alright with you.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question, but you still nod to let him know that you’re with him. That whatever pleasure you can offer him, you’ll happily agree to, because that’s how completely you’ve come to trust him tonight. As it turns out, and as he spends most of the night showing you, you were right in thinking that what he derives the most amount of pleasure from is knowing that he satisfies you.

And he does. To the point where you don’t even remember the last orgasm that he gives you because you pass out from exhaustion halfway through it.

Part 7

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

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