#rook writes fantasy

[rookfeatherrambles]

if I was to write Dawn of Shadows, I don't even know where to post it. Is AO3 safe for original work, not fandom at all? I don't have dreams of publishing it, and I know that writers retain copyright on their AO3 works... It would be cool just to let it be free for the people (Its what Arahi would want XD)

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Lion's Pride [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: Your new job as a Full Time Royal Therapist does not pay nearly as well as you'd like. Or, Leona is more of a problem child than he would ever admit, but you're surprisingly okay at dealing with that.

[PART 1][PART 2] [PART 3]

Sometimes you felt like you hardly knew what it meant to be a functional person, living a comfortable life on the fringes of society. So in comparison, trying to think of what it meant to be an actual prince, ruling over all of said society was something you literally could not comprehend no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it.  

“If you’re a Prince, what were you doing in a hole?” you asked, because you had far too many questions and concerns, and this one at least seemed easy enough to address. And also because you were genuinely pretty curious.  

The newly dubbed ‘Leona’ twitched against your back and you felt the low rumble of his snarl work its way from the depths of his gut all the way up through his chest and out his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Ace wheezed. “Screw this. I’m getting out of here before I wind up implicated as an accessory in your murder.”

And so your trusty friend abandoned you to the wolves lions?—darting away so quickly he always forget his bag, shoes, and everything else in the process.

You waved after him as he departed, knowing full well that he’d wind up stumbling back within the week, maybe two at most. He always did, no matter how much he complained about your Present Company. Plain old ‘murder’ was actually one of his more polite accusations. When he’d run into your Hunter friend the first time, Ace had gone on a wildly incoherent rant about how he was going to find your corpse strung up in a tree like some weird, ritual, sacrifice. And then that had devolved into something-something cannibalism or other. The visiting Hunter had just thrown his head back and laughed, positively enamored with the grisliness of it all. Ace had vanished for almost an entire month after that encounter, but he did come back—glaring up at you with a miserable pout like you were the one who’d gone and fucked off for thirty whole days.

Leona snorted and you felt the puff of breath against the back of your neck.

“Coward,” he grumbled, though he didn’t sound particularly displeased about your friend’s sudden departure.

“Fear lets us be brave,” you responded, wise as a sage. Or maybe an old frog in a puddle.

“Yeah?” he intoned, rolling his eyes. “And when’s that little rat ever been brave?”

“There’s always tomorrow,” you chirped, and that snort turned into something dangerously close to a chuckle. Which—gasp!—how dare such a pleasant sound fall from the lips of someone so obstinately determined to be otherwise! You grinned at the low tones of it, only for the snickering to cut off sharply in his throat once he’d realized what he was doing. And then of course he shoved you forward and out of his lap with a great amount of indignant snarling.

You laid there for a few minutes—face down in the sun-warmed grass and laughing quietly about just how ridiculous this stupid Lion was, before finally sitting up with a pleasant stretch. He could put on airs all he liked, you knew there was kernel of something far less angsty and murderous buried at the heart of him.

“So,” you hummed, lazily making your way back to your feet. “What exactly have I done to draw the realm’s Prince to my doorstep?” You squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re not here about the fairy gate thing, are you? Because that was actually an accident.”

“The what?” he frowned, brow pinched in confusion.

You waved him off. “Ah, nothing, nothing.”

Something in his jaw twitched, like now he was going to push the subject out of principle of you being shifty. But he just sighed and brought a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

“I need your help,” he said finally. Just as crabby as the first time he’d asked, if perhaps just a touch less imperious.

You arched a brow. “I think you’ve mentioned that already, yes.”

Silence.

The Lion stared you down with a slowly deepening scowl, and you stared back with a smile as placid and unmoved as the shallow pond you’d nearly drowned Ace in not an hour before.  

“If I apologize, you’ll help me?” he asked after a long moment, the question turning sharp at the end on a bitten of growl.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” you hummed back and he crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with all the pleasantry of someone undergoing a root canal. And all the sincerity of Ace swearing that this was the last time he’d get caught evading the tax man, promise.

You sighed, feeling a bit cheated. But you hadn’t really stipulated anything beyond those two little words leaving his mouth, so if anything, that was on you.

“Alright,” you huffed. “What is it you need help with?”

The Lion glared at you suspiciously for a long moment—glowing eyes narrowed into slits and tail twitching back and forth like he was swatting flies. Finally, he sighed and lifted his hands out in front of him with a pointed flex.  

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he frowned sourly, wrists twisting to display the pointed claws tipping his fingers. “I’m not supposed to get stuck in between.”

Your eyes traced the fluffy tufts of his round ears, the black-tipped tail swishing irritably at his hind, and allowed yourself a melancholy sort of huff.

“But you look good like this,” you pointed out sadly. Because he really, truly, did. Leona without his squishy lion ears would just be… grumpy. Miserable, and angular, and angry. Nothing soft worth coddling at all.

“That’s not the point!” he snapped, baring his overlarge canines at you. There was a darker cast along his cheekbones that seemed to be making a valiant effort to crawl all the way up into his fringe. “And don’t fucking say that!”

You frowned. One second this stupid dick wanted to be praised to the Heavens and back! Practically swanning about, demanding you bow down and acknowledge his blatant superiority. But, oh no. Apparently your meager half-sentence masquerading as a compliment was too much for his delicate, princely, sensibilities.

“Fine,” you griped. “You’re ugly.”

He growled—low and rumbling—and if he was anymore of a cat you’d say you could see his hackles raising in indignation. But before he could launch into another vicious, verbal, evisceration of your person, you cleared your throat loudly in an attempt to get him back on track.   

“What do you mean by ‘stuck in between?’”

He sneered down at you testily for a moment before reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose again and letting out a put-upon sort of sigh that was not at all indicative of the fact that he was the one asking you for help.

“The Shift. When you found me in that pit, I should have been able to Shift between that form and this one without issue,” he frowned, brow tugging down tight with something a bit more disquieted than his usual, flat, annoyance. “The iron was a problem, but once I was out of the trap, it should have been fine. I’ve dealt with cursed snares like this before, and the effects have never lingered as long as this one has.”

You blinked owlishly. That did sound… fairly unpleasant. And honestly, if you were in his position you’d also be at least a little concerned that something else was at play. But, still, all that being said—

“I’m sorry,” you frowned, more or less genuine. Perhaps leaning a bit harder into less.“But I don’t understand how that has anything to do with me.”

“You were down there with me,” he argued. “You dismantled the trap.”

Uh, yeah. By messing with bits that looked breakable until they broke. Not exactly a high-level intellectual pursuit.

You didn’t say that, of course. Because after a few days watching you scuttle about your homestead like a particularly vocal lizard in the dirt, you were sure he already thought you were stupid enough without you outright admitting to it. Nevertheless, the Lion observed your zip-lipped silence with an ever-deepening scowl.

“You took it apart,” he tried again, nearly a growl.

“Yes,” you said with a nod.

“You know how you did it,” he continued, firm. At your lack of affirmative, he pushed again. “You know. I watched you do it!”

You raised your hand nervously and made a little so-so tilting motion.

Anyone less refined would no doubt have had their head in their hands at this point, but Leona just curled his lip at you and looked like he was fighting valiantly not to put your own very silly head through a wall.

“It was charmed,” he spat. “Bound up with talismans, and cursed down to its very moldings. That isn’t something any random farmer could walk up and break.”

“Oh,” you blinked, taken aback, and struggled to recall if there had been anything so obviously enchanted about the trap you’d fiddled into bits. “Was it?”

And head had officially met hands. He ground his clawed fingers into his temples like you were a headache that with enough determination and massaging he may somehow be able to will away.

“Couldn’t you go just home if this is such a big problem?” you asked, still genuinely baffled at it all. “Get help from your family? I mean, you’re a Prin—”

“No,” he interrupted, emerald eyes gone glacier cold.

You frowned, as unimpressed by his prickliness as you usually were. But something in you was hesitant to prod at whatever it was that had managed to tug a feral rage so tightly across his face—like drawing a shade over a window until the entire home was cloaked in shadow, or slipping away behind a carved mask too heavy to ever wear comfortably. It was an expression so sharp and so bitter that if you hadn’t only just yesterday watched this stubborn man lounge about in the sun as your chickens hopped all over him like he was the world’s most carnivorous jungle gym, you wouldn’t ever have known that they could be the same person at all. 

“Alright,” you shrugged, and some of that angry, hunched, defensiveness eased into confusion.

“Hah?” he frowned.

“Alright,” you said again. “We’ll figure it out here.” He glared over at you balefully, and you waved off the obvious retort on the tip of his tongue about something-something-you have no idea what you’re doing-something-something-dangerous risks and lifelong consequences-blablabla. “I have a friend who would know a lot more about those kinds of traps and talismans that I do. He could help, probably.”

“Probably?” he scoffed. Though when he rolled his eyes, they weren’t quite so hate filled—lids hooded with a familiar, begrudging sort of irritation rather than outright malice.

“He’s a bit of an enigma,” you explained—wiggling your fingers in a little, sparkly, dance to emphasize the, well, enigmatic part.

Another huff. But amidst that grumpy bellyaching, you watched those fluffy ears of his slowly perk back up atop his head, and his tail swish leisurely behind him. The Lion certainly didn’t look happy (but did he ever? So was that really a fair comparison?), but he definitely seemed like he’d thawed into something less ‘frigid dead of winter’ and more ‘unpleasantly nippy spring morning.’

“Weirder than you, herbivore?” he sniffed, looking down his nose at you and crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “I find that hard to believe.”

Normally you would too. But, well…

“He’s charming,” you chirped pleasantly, and Leona’s face twisted up like you’d served him a bowl of rancid yogurt.

.

.

That night you composed a letter to your dearest Hunter friend. You thanked him for bringing you the White Moor Stag, elaborated a bit on the new marinade you’d been experimenting with, and then ended the whole thing with a polite plea for his aid in deconstructing the mechanisms of a magical trap you’d encountered. You bribed one of your two carrier pigeons with some snacks and watched it fly off into the unknown with a little, cream-colored envelope tied to its foot. Message talismans were much simpler and far more convenient, but the Hunter always seemed to appreciate the personal touch of postal birds.

Leona glared at you from the window, and made some dramatic swipe at your pigeon like he meant to knock it out of the air. The poor bird tottered about like an overfilled water balloon—jiggling and wriggling in its roundness before eventually righting itself and continuing on into the sky with a warbled coo coo.

“Don’t be rude,” you huffed at him.

“I can’t believe you still won’t let me in,” he sneered from beneath the fluff of that blanket you’d gifted him. “I apologized.”

“Yes, but you actually have to mean it,” you explained, not unkindly, as he prowled just beyond the glass. “But we’re making progress!” you beamed. “That’s something! Maybe you’ll make it in here within the next five years, hmm?”

“Or I could just wipe out the entirety of your ridiculous dirt farm now,” he threatened, a bit of that sandy magic swirling sinisterly along his fingers.

“You certainly could, your highness,” you agreed easily. His lip curled unpleasantly, but that glowing, gritty, arcana faded away and he didn’t move from where he’d tucked himself up under the duvet.

After another solid fifteen minutes of his pissy glowering and barbed insults, you pointedly unclipped the ties on your curtains and let them fall shut so that his ridiculous pouting was hidden away behind the thin, cotton, mess of poorly stitched flowers and herbs.

(You did leave a nice dinner plate on the ledge before that, with extra portions of meat and a neatly frosted cookie for dessert. Because as much as your day had been a bit rough, you had a feeling his melancholy extended far beyond being left out in the dark for another evening.)

.

.

The next morning, your doddering pigeon returned with an elegantly bound scroll—all embellished with golden filagree and tied up in a neat, crimson, bow.

“Why does this freak call you ‘mon cher ami,’” Leona sniffed, tongue curling awkwardly over the unfamiliar words.

You sighed and debated snatching the letter back, but all that would probably culminate in was the paper in tatters and a smug beastman lording his superior letter-wrangling skills over your head like a trophy.

“It’s just one of his little ticks,” you explained with a shrug. “I told you—he’s charming.”

“Ah, yes,” Leona drawled, tracing a claw along the parchment’s edge with a soft shhhhhft. A raised, white, line cut across the paper’s surface like the beginnings of a wound. “Waxing poetic nonsense in a foreign language. Rambling on about all kinds of useless fucking garbage. Charming.”

“You,” you snipped, reaching out to smack at his tightening grip before he could rend the poor correspondence to bits, “are not one to talk about ‘charming.’”

“Oh?” he scoffed. He maneuvered around your tutting to hold the letter over your head. Typical. When you leaned forward to try and wrangle it back, Leona leaned in closer—eyes going hooded and lips curling into a smug little smirk that promised all sorts of trouble. “Haven’t had any complaints about that before. Who’d be saying otherwise?”

“The person you left stranded at the bottom of a pit, you inglorious oaf,” you griped. His ears immediately swiveled to pin flat against the top of his head, and you used the distraction of his indignation to finally snatch back your prize. “Besides,” you huffed, straightening out some of the new wrinkles. “Not very Prince-like, is it? A real prince would have swept in to save the idiot in distress. Sword drawn, banners flying,” you sighed, a bit too besotted with your own imaginings. “Why did you have to be such a dick, huh? Ruined my fantasies for the rest of my life.”

“And what?” Leona snapped. “Some rogue bastard sending you cursive garbage does it for you?”

“Better than being left for dead in a hole after saving their life,” you smiled—perfectly, poisonously, pleasant.

Leona rumbled something indiscernible under his breath and turned to glare petulantly off across your garden.

“Besides,” you hummed, looking over the letter. “There’s more important things. Like this—right here. Do you know what a self-bored stone is? He’s thinking maybe there was a process like that with the iron shackles. Or maybe something to do with seeping the components in herbs… Hmm…”

“Whatever,” Leona scoffed. “I’ll try whatever it takes to fix this shit.”

You clapped him amiably on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, tête de noeud!”

“The fuck did you just call me?!”

“Poetic nonsense,” you chirped, and Leona looked half ready to drop you back into the hole where he’d found you.

.

.

The first attempt to aid the Lion Prince in his conundrum didn’t go particularly well.

You’d tried to work off of the whole ‘overlap with a self-bored stone’ theory, but all that really amounted to was you gesturing like an over-serious crossing guard for him to walk under every low hanging branch, every arch, beneath the stunted beams of the chicken coop. You dangled rocks from strings and waved around your little creations like slightly more dangerous pompoms.

Penelope clucked irritably when one of the pebbles fell with a plunk into her nest, and Leona frowned up at you from where the wayward chicken had firmly situated herself in his lap.

“How was any of that supposed to help?”

You drew a blank and promised to try something new tomorrow.

The next day you tried herbs. The Hunter had listed off quite a few that were known to cause lingering issues with magical creatures, and you harvested the lot of them from your garden with ease. You held them up to Leona’s face one by one, brow furrowed in concentration, as you waited for… something.

“How is this any better than the rocks?” he complained.

You pushed the bright, butter-yellow, blossoms of some Saint John’s Wort under his nose until he sneezed and shoved you away with a slew of indignant threats to your person.

The following few days were spent perusing your meager library. You carted every book you owned on magic, and binding rituals, and rune smithing out into the yard. Leona looked over at the slowly growing pile of tomes with a truly unimpressed scowl.

“You could have just invited me inside,” he griped, rolling his eyes. He was splayed out in the grass at your side, his head tossed lazily across your lap after he’d complained that he needed at least some leverage to see what you were trying to read.

“Nice try,” you hummed, reaching for your page of hastily scribbled notes. “But you’re not getting off without a genuine apology that easy.”

A week passed in this fashion, with you attempting to string together more and more ludicrous ideas—throwing everything you had at the wall and hoping something, anything, would stick. But Leona’s ears stayed tufted and round. That tail seemed to only grow more twitchy, his claws longer and sharper.

You sent the Hunter another letter and waited anxiously for a reply. When it arrived the next morning, Leona snatched it from your pigeon before you’d even made it out your front door. It was a miserable sort of day—pouring rain and with nothing but the grey cloud cover overhead to color the world.

He read it over once, twice, before dropping it to the ground. You could see the tendons twitching along his jaw, could practically hear his molars grinding in his frustration.

You plucked the note from the grass and looked it over carefully.  

‘Mon ami, while I am loathe to address this, perhaps it is not the make of this trap at all that is causing such a vexation? Is there any chance that rather than this being a lingering malady, that this friend of yours was simply unable to overcome the initial curse in the first place?’

You glanced back up at Leona, who was intermittently clenching his fists at his sides. You could see the harsh indentations from where his claws were digging into the skin of his palms.

‘Sometimes such things just happen, je crains. The flesh may be willing, but often the spirit is weak. You mentioned this Roi du Leon has a powerful family he may turn to for assistance. Certainly one of them may be strong enough to overcome this curse for him, even if he perhaps is not.’

“Of course it’s all because I’m a fuck up,” Leona snarled. Some of that spitting, sandy, magic of his seeped into the air. It bit at the rain like an overeager dog. You could see it dancing along his skin—fighting to pull his features one way or another.

“He didn’t say that,” you pointed out gently. “And even if you were, there’s nothing wrong with needing help sometimes. Your family—"

“—Would rather I keeled over dead and stopped sullying my brother’s perfect fucking reputation!” he snapped. “Heir to the King’s Roar,” he scoffed. “Stupid. I was never going to be a king to begin with. And even if I had been born first, they would have deposed me to put their flawless, favorite, golden boy on the throne anyways.”

That... That was a lot. You stared at the pacing Lion with wide eyes—unsure how to help, unsure if any attempts to do so would only make this worse. This was—this was so above your ‘happy, homey, hermit’ paygrade.

“Of course this is all because of me,” he hissed, that roiling, angry, arcana coiling around him like curdled milk. The pupils in his eyes flickered oddly from round to thin-cut, hard, lines. Beastly. “Of course it was because I wasn’t good enough.”

“Leona,” you tried, as gentle as you could be.

The Prince threw his head back and laughed. And laughed, and laughed.

“I should have known!” he cackled, borderline hysterical. “I should have fucking known!”

“Leona—” you tried again, reaching out a hand.

Only to be immediately knocked on your ass by an explosion of magic.

You’d heard of self-destruction—of implosion. The arcane wonders of the world were a wily and unyielding mistress. While creatures like Leona who were so naturally steeped in ancient magics and sorcery could control that beast more adeptly than some little mortal like you, it didn’t make them any less susceptible to its dangers. If anything, they had it worse. It was like sitting in a shallow stream versus wading out into a roaring ocean. So much more opportunity, such a higher aptitude for greatness, but far too easy to drown beneath the churning tides of it all.

The inky, geometric, swirls along his arms pulsed like a heartbeat. They crawled along his skin and traced black patterns into his veins. Even you could feel the horrible, dark, stickiness of it—as the magic ate him alive. His face twisted back and forth between human and animal, and you watched him contort and snarl under the weight of it before turning on you with a vicious roar.

Uh oh.

The first wave of magic seared the ground, leaving nothing but strange, grey, sand in its wake. The more he snapped and clawed wildly at anything and everything, the more that dusty desert spread. You managed to hop out of the way of most of it—sparing a single, sad, thought for all the poor plants you’d worked so hard to cultivate dying a miserable, grainy, death.

The next arc of magic shot straight from his clawed fingers, and it managed to catch the flesh of your forearm. It was sharper than any dagger or sword that you’d ever had the pleasure of accidentally nicking yourself with, and it tore its way down your arm like a raging beast, leaving an eerie, tacky, bubbling mess in its wake. And ouch did it hurt—like someone was taking a fistful of coarse sand and rubbing it into the open wound. You ground your teeth against the strange, gnawing, sensation and hastily wrapped a bit of torn fabric around the weeping gash to keep it a bit more contained. You waited for the worst of it to pass, for that initial bite to fade into a more manageable throb. But it didn’t. It just got sharper and tighter, hotter and hotter. For a moment it felt like your skin was crackling—like firewood popping and splitting beneath the weight of a blaze. From across the field, Leona made a noise like a hurricane given voice, and you bit back a groan.

‘Oh come on,’ you hissed to yourself. ‘Not now, please.’  

And while you’d been mostly referring to the Lion losing another brick of his sanity fort, your wound seemed to pulse at the command—a sensation not unlike the soft drone of the wards carved deep into the support beams of your dilapidated home, and an impression of words tingling along your nerves without any real shape or form. ‘Alright. Later then.’ Like a breath of wind along your fingertips. That pulsing doubled back, and the wrap you’d hurriedly tied around your forearm hummed low with gentle arcana.   

And then the cracking stopped. Just like that. Like it’d given up on eating you alive and decided to head home early for the day.

Huh, you though a bit dazedly, before hurriedly ducking out of the way of another swipe.

You clutched your still smarting but at least now functional arm to your chest, and Leona turned on you and your ethereal booboo with a raging snarl. But then that glowing glare caught on the blood trailing down towards your wrist in too dark, too thick, rivulets and his eyes went wide. It wasn’t much, but the strange bought of shock rocketing through him gave you a handful of seconds of ceasefire. You reached into your pocket with your uninjured hand and pulled out a thick bit of cardstock. This was supposed to be for emergencies, goddamn it! And you’d spent so much money on this stupid little thing! And—

You shook off the mildly delusional complaints bogging down your brain and unfolded the paper between your fingers. The sigils inked into it hummed against your skin, and the rain sluffed off its face like the cold and the damp were no bother at all.

“Fucking—” you flung the talisman at your ridiculous, rampaging, guest. It fluttered like the beat of a hawk’s wings and dove towards him with just as much vicious precision. “GO TO SLEEP!”

The enchantment smacked into his face with an echoing THUNK and you watched those too-bright eyes of his roll up into his head as he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

With the main source of all the Magical Warfare knocked unconscious, most of the miasma began to disperse—like dust caught up in a gale. The rain washed away the rest. It slid into the mud and seeped back into the earth. The plants and animals seemed to give a collective sigh, and some of your more courageous chickens even started to venture in close to peck at the leftover destruction.

You approached the felled Prince hesitantly. The talisman had been meant for subduing an enemy with a more human constitution, so you doubted it would keep him down for very long.

“Hey,” you grouched, poking his side. He twitched a bit but didn’t move otherwise. “Hey, asshole,” you tried again. Still, nothing. Uh oh.

You reached down to wedge an arm under him and hoist him upright. The singed skin of your forearm brushed along his jaw as you attempted to maneuver his bulk, and his nose twitched sharply at whatever scent was trapped in the dark, cracking, gash there. His brow scrunched up like you’d just doused him in spoiled milk, so naturally you went about waving your wounded flesh beneath his nostrils like the world’s strangest smelling salts.

After a moment he blinked back awake, face twisted up into the most properly disgruntled mien of distaste that you’d ever seen on a person who’d only just barely managed to claw their way back into the world of the living.

“Herbivore,” he rumbled, still looking more than a bit dazed.

Good enough.

You manhandled him back onto his feet as best you could—turning yourself into an impromptu crutch to try and get him mobile again. The sand shifted and sank beneath your heels, making dragging his ridiculous, dramatic, ass even more of a challenge. As you hauled him towards your cottage, you complained to him in earnest. Every little irritation under the sun. Half because you’d probably never have another opportunity to bitch at him so thoroughly without getting your own earful of grievances in return, half to keep him conscious—keep him focused on staying here. With you. And not… Wherever it was he’d gone in those moments of delirium.  

“I still don’t get why you call me that,” you griped, readjusting your grip on him when he’d started to slide down to the point his nose had buried itself against your collarbone. “Herbivore. I’ve cooked so much meat for you since you decided to crash here. Talked about how I prepare it, and the flavors I experiment with—I literally gave you some from my own sandwich when we first met! That I ate the rest of! In front of you!—”

When you finally herded him over the threshold and into your little cottage, the wards and their protection slipped around him like the soft current of a stream. You hardly even noticed the way the old magics ruffled his hair—and that was only because you were actively looking, half convinced the house was still about to toss up an invisible barrier and send him sprawling back into the dirt.

Leona wobbled on his feet, and his eyes were still too far away and grey.

You grabbed him by the ear and maneuvered his too-tall self into one of your rickety kitchen chairs. The wood groaned under the sudden press of his dead weight, but it didn’t collapse beneath him so it wasn’t worth fussing over. Once you were certain he wasn’t about to fold over sideways and crumple to the ground (or at least, that he was angled enough over a rug that he wasn’t going to crack his head on the stone floor), you rushed off to your bookcases and shelves and began hurriedly rumaging through your collection of nonsense.

The charms, the charms. Where were your emergency charms?! You’d thought you left them right there on the—Ah! There we go.

You pulled the raggedy binder from its place on the shelf, blew away the coating of dust that had settled over the top of it, and returned to your patient.

You flipped open the worn leather hooks and began sorting through the dozens upon dozens of sheets of enchanted parchment within. They were unimpressive—just small, rectangular, bits of faded paper inlaid with the softest kinds of magic. Not meant for much more than coaxing warmth into chilly limbs or placing a soft kiss over a scraped knee. But medicines were medicines—whether arcane in origin or otherwise. If you—if you just doused him in the things, that would probably work. Right? Of course it would. That made perfect sense.

So you slapped the first talisman square in the middle of his forehead. Leona swayed at the wet SMACK of the paper gluing itself to his soaked-through skin, but aside from the faintest, startled, widening of his eyes, he didn’t do anything else to complain. So you stuck the next charm to his cheek, and then another on the opposite one too.

“Magic overuse is dangerous,” you chastised as you went about layering a veritable novel’s worth of pasty, paper, enchantments up his arms. The soft spells worked their way into his skin, and you watched those twisting, black, shapes skitter back up towards where they’d once sat peacefully curled around his bicep. “Are you trying to kill yourself, hah?!”

Instead of snapping back at you like normal, he just sort of… sat there. Accepting your angry accusations in frosty silence. He absolutely looked like a cat that you’d fished out of a bag in the river. Pathetic, and sad, and droopy. And… quiet. So, very, quiet. You frowned, because as much as you didn’t particularly enjoy being insulted every minute of the day, the Lion’s biting little remarks had become… familiar, at the very least. Even if they weren’t entirely pleasant. Even if he was far from pleasant.

The dampness on his skin was starting to curl the edges of your talismans, and you reached forward with a huff to at least pull the freezing, soaked-through, vest off his shoulders. The leather jacket landed with a wet plap on the stone floor, a cold puddle already pooling around all its stupidly intricate, embroidered, edges. Something fluttered out of one of the open pockets—small, and off white, and crinkled. You stepped over the whole mess to retrieve a pile of towels and didn’t give it a second thought.

“Make a mess of my home, why don’t you,” you complained, dropping one of the towels over the entirety of his head before reaching forward to start drying him off with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “Drip all over the floors I just mopped, why don’t you. Be emotionally constipated and almost turn my whole yard into a sand pit, why don’t you—”

A hand reached out to snag your wrist, and you let him pull you away from your attempts to rub all that stupidly thick hair straight off his head.

From beneath the curtain of the cotton towel, you could see Leona glaring at the long, dark, scratch curling along your forearm. It certainly wasn’t… nice to look at. The gymnastics of getting him into your cottage had managed to displace the impromptu bandage, so the whole of it was just there. Bruised, and dark, and odd looking. But ugly or not, it was hardly bleeding or anything anymore! And he was the one who had almost just self-destructed in your front yard!

‘Think of the accusations!’ you wanted to wail. ‘Can you imagine the garbage I would have to deal with if I wound up with a dead royal fertilizing my garden?! No thank you!’

But before you could complain about his fussing, his claws flexed against the soft skin of your palm and you saw the muscles along his forearm tense—like he was fighting to keep still.

“You should be dead,” he muttered, terse.

You huffed. “Look, I know you think humans are all sorts of pathetic, but I’m not that—”

“You should be dead,” he repeated, sounding as if the words had to tear their way out of his throat—scraping like shards of glass all the way up.

You stared at his dark eyes and dripping bangs—the shadows playing across his cheeks and the strange, hollow, wrongness that had settled over all of him. With a heavy sigh you plopped yourself down into the chair across from his and dragged a handful of the leftover charms your way. Pointedly, you took one and slapped it over the wound. And then another.  

“See?” you said, flexing your wrist in his grip to put the creeping, black, cut on display. The talismans glowed softly against your skin and the lingering whisps of darkness licking at the the injury began to fade. “All better. Not something a dead person would say at all.”

Leona frowned, but at least it looked a bit more annoyed than outright bleak. And besides, frowns were better than whatever that stoic, expressionless, numbness had been.

“Though I appreciate your concern,” you grinned, pointedly sharp and prodding. Like a toddler standing by with a stick, hoping to poke out a reaction. “Truly, whatever would I do without the Great Lord Lion there to fret over me?”

But instead of the acidic ‘I wasn’t fucking worried,’ that you were expecting, or even a more muted grumble of dissent, Leona’s brow just pinched in displeasure and your awkward attempts at teasing faded into terse silence.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear—his head low and eyes lower.

You sighed and twisted your wrist around to pat at his hand. There was the faintest tremor in his fingers and you tangled your own between them to give him something to squeeze, something to hide the shiver of lingering malaise that he would no doubt deny with his dying breath. You observed the stern, tight, expression warping his otherwise handsome face—the miserable, puckered, angle of his mouth and the way the emerald of his eyes was cut through with a shadow of genuine remorse. You reached out with your other hand to pet at his soft, round ears. They squished flat beneath your palm and your lips twitched up into a fond, little smile. Leona tipped his chin just enough to glower at you from beneath his bangs with no real heat, and you sighed and gave him one more pat for good measure.

“You’re forgiven.”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @hxjikonn, @bloomsapphire

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

umehara appears (again)

I know he’s a prolific VA but tell me why I keep getting jumpscared by this man 😭 This is like the 7th time where I’ve consumed media, went “wow, this voice is nice and it sounds kinda familiar!”, then looked up the VA and found out it was UMEHARA… I don’t think I’ve run into any other TWST VA in the stuff I play/watch to this frequency…

AnYWAY

I wanted to share that Umehara voices this character in a recent GBF story event; it’s a younger version of a 68-year old butler-knight ex-mercenary named Sevastian. In the past, he was known as Wolfe and??? His hair actually looks similar to Leona’s (color and length) and he’s basically this world’s version of a beastman (Erune) and also his cleavage is showing.

Over the course of the story, Wolfe falls in love with a woman. All GBF story events are fully voiced, SO WE CANONICALLY HAVE A L*ONA VOICE CLIP OF HIM SUGGESTING TO ADOPT A Cheka CHILD WITH A HUMAN 💀 AS WELL AS OTHER ROMANTIC LINES… (I mean, yeah, Umehara has also voiced in real otome games but I feel this character is the closest in tone and attitude to Leona, making his lines the most transferrable to TWST.)

P.S. Okay but picture L*ona in this fit, I think he’d kill it—

We also get various lines that feel like things Leona has actually said before or would actually say:

“You’re really going to ignore what I just said and invite me along?” I swear to god Leona has said this before to both Silver and Rook for being overly friendly or insistent that he join them for an activity.

“I, on the other hand, wish you could vacate my life permanently,” sounds like a sarcastic formal comeback he’d pull out when forced to put on airs but he still wants to insult the other person. HIS PETTY ERA………………. ……. …… ….. … . .. ….. .. . … .. . . .. . . .

Those are only two examples, but there’s a lot more on the actual event story OTL

I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS, IT’S A PERSONAL ATTACK ON L*ONA SIMPS/j

[tkwritesdumbassassins]

Me: it's fantasy land Italy/Spain

Also me and my inner Cultural Sociologist: How funny would it be to have two Antivans from different regions roasting each other over their choice of cuisine

[lunetual]

HAN NOAH ✧ ‘Wait For You’ Official MV

[noahhawthorneauthor]

Adventures in Levena is a queer urban fantasy series, beginning with Phantom and Rook. Each book focuses on a different couple and aspect of Levena, but they're all interconnected.

There are currently eight books planned, including two prequels. Can anyone guess who the third one is about with a few emojis? 🩸🌑🔭📚

Phantom and Rook is the story of when an immortal falls in love with a witch, and has cozy fantasy vibes. Think of this one as an introduction into Levena and the main crew.

Matsdotter and Adrastus is the story of when a human falls in love with an archdemon, and has dark academia vibes. We get a deeper look into demon and angel culture in Levena in this one, and world lore.

When Witches Sing is a Yuletide novella, taking place after the events of Phantom and Rook. It's half short stories and half 'current events' and introduces some new characters.

[not-quite-there-myself]

ACTS OF SERVICE

Various from Arcana Twilight, Food Fantasy, and Twisted Wonderland; featured in alphabetical order. Romantic/platonic is unspecified, characters may be mentioned multiple times.

They show their love for you with actions, and most of it is something you don't notice until you really think about it. Small things like opening the door for you to walk in first; small things like making your favourite drink on a stressful day; small things like doing the dishes and putting them away for you, even though you swore up and down that you'd get to it. These "little" actions were a sort of luxury you almost took for granted. To be fair, they never pointed it out themselves, the subtle things they do for you to show they care. Maybe they're not the best with words or maybe they haven't got ideas or money for gifts, but they still express their love in a way you can appreciate. And who knows? Maybe they prefer the secrecy.

Azul Ashengrotto, Brownie, Epel Felmier, Jack Howl, Jade Leech, Raindrop Cake, Rook Hunt, Ruggie Bucchi, Sirius

From the moment you met, they've taken notice at quite a few things about you. They know the things that make you happy and sad, relieved and stressed. They often keep you in mind when doing various things. Would it be okay if they took care of a few chores for you? Did you remember to eat today? Maybe they should make you something when you get home... Oh, you've got quite a few things in your trash can, perhaps they can take it out for you. During times when you occupy their thoughts, they tend to think about what they can do to make life easier for you. Life is already tough enough, and they wouldn't mind helping you lessen any loads.

Black Tea, Brownie, Cater Diamond, Fish and Chips, Jamil Viper, Lilia Vanrouge, Spica, Toast, Trey Clover

No matter how bad their day was, they can always turn to you for help. Or rather, turn to you to help. Perhaps they'd rather not talk about themselves in the present moment. Perhaps they'd much rather take care of you. It's a distraction, sure, maybe even a coping mechanism. But they genuinely do care about you and your needs... sometimes a little too much. Whether it's making you food, surprising you with all your to-do tasks completed, a nice cup of tea or coffee or just treating you with a moment of relaxation. They always let you know that if you ever need help, you can always go to them for assistance.

Cassata, Cater Diamond, Gingerbread, Malleus Draconia, Rook Hunt, Toast, Trey Clover, Vega, Whiskey

divider by @/inklore on Tumblr

[rookfeatherrambles]

Original fantasy with shapeshifters? Please do tell more about it. Is this Dawn of Shadows, by any chance? Your story with the shapeshifting dragon cat bounty hunter?

AHAHAHAHA YEAH BUT WHEN YOU SAY IT LIKE THAT IT SOUNDS DUUUUUMB Look, I used @potato-lord-but-not 's wonderful picrew to create the main cast and idk, I've got it on the brain. Dawn of Shadows is a working title, considering I've written chapter one 9 seperate times and never gotten past that. ...One day, maybe. But good lord, this story is going to be the death of me. I don't even know where or how to begin. (Don't say 'at the start' that's mean XD)

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Don't Fear the Reaper

Gender Neutral Reader x Rook Hunt Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Running a little pâtisserie is quaint, and homey, and should not in any way get you involved with anything shady. Let alone the strange bounty hunter who prowls through your little town like the Grim Reaper himself. And yet here you are, teaching this literal murderer how to use a napkin.

A/N: Based on this wonderful brain rot from a very lovely anon! Also apologies in advance to anyone who actually knows French, because I do not lol. So Rook's babbling is all Google baby

[PART 1] [PART 2]

There was a murderer at your window, and you weren’t really sure what to do about it.

Well, maybe not actually a murderer. Bounty Hunters tended not to wind up in prison after dragging back the desecrated remains of their latest quarry. But still. You recognized the black plume tucked slickly into his wide-brimmed, purple, hat, and the pale, bright, bob of his hair was nearly luminescent in the dark. He was certainly the least covert assassin you’d ever seen, and you had seen him. It was hard not to. Traipsing through town to deposit every wayward criminal, every long-lost villain, at the doorstep of who’d ever called for him.

‘Rook Hunt’ you thought his name was, or at least, that’s what the old woman in the market would call him before crossing herself and spitting in the dirt. It was all a bit on the nose in your humble opinion, especially with that strange, twisting, ebony, bow of his strung across his back. ‘Hunter’ indeed. But it’s not like you’ve ever done anything to warrant winding up in one of those dripping burlap sacks of his, so you’d let the dude have his drama. It was probably good advertisement. And it’s not like the guy had ever bothered you before.

You thought that reassurance on repeat as you watched said not-quite-a-murderer stare through the front window of your little bakery, as if your rising dough had been kneaded with the secrets of the known universe. But he didn’t do anything—just kept watching with rapt attention as you brushed egg wash over your pie crusts and swapped trays in and out of the ancient, brick, oven.  

In all honesty, he was far from the strangest thing that’d been plastered to your window in the early AM, and it wasn’t like he was licking the glass or anything. So you let it slide.

One of the custard tarts you pulled from the oven had cracked across the top. Nothing out of the ordinary—there was always at least one dud in a batch. Normally you saved the rejects for Ace or Deuce to gobble up (depending on whoever managed to pop by first), but this one you set aside onto a little tea plate. You topped it with a dollop of freshly whipped cream and a spoonful of the blackberries you’d left sitting in sugar overnight. Then you plucked up a spare napkin and made your way out from behind the counter.

When you opened the door to your little bakery, the tingling overhead bell warmed your unwanted guest’s expression in a way that it most certainly should not have—lighting the whole of him with this sort of wide-eyed, innocent, joy that belonged nowhere on the face of someone you’d watched cart literal corpses into town.

“Mon pâtissier!” he chirped. “What a fine morning it is, no?”

The sun hadn’t even started to rise yet. You could still hear the drone of crickets and toads in the distance, basking in the humid darkness of the night.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “We’re not open for,” you glanced at the moon, still full in the sky, “at least four more hours. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”

“Oh—non, non, non,” Rook waved you off. “I just wanted to watch!”

“…Watch?” you repeated.

“It’s quite the fascinating process!” he absolutely beamed. “Taking such basic, individual, components and turning them into something so spectacularly sweet and heartwarming! Quelle inventivité! I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about your marvelous menu!”

‘From who?’ you wanted to ask, because you’d never heard of anyone being able to hold a conversation with this man for more than a stuttered sentence at a time, let alone for long enough to go about giving dessert recommendations. But there was a streak of red blood across his cheek that still looked fresh enough to not even have gone tacky yet, and now that you looked closer, his dark gloves were perhaps a shade too dark to not have been, well…

You sighed and reminded yourself once again that is was absolutely not your business, before handing him the napkin.

He stared at it with that same sort of rapt fascination that had you wondering if this man had ever actually interacted with proper civilization in his entire life.

“Wipe your hands,” you demanded with a huff, and he dutifully scrubbed at his stained fingers. Once he was clean enough that he was at least no longer dripping unmentionables all along your windowsill, you held out the little saucer for him to take.

“Pour moi?” he muttered, looking a bit starstruck.

“If you’re going to say all those nice things about my food, you may as well get to try what you’re complimenting,” you shrugged, and that same eager enthusiasm lit his face all over again. “And it will be a nice treat to take home with you,” you emphasized, with all the intonation of a cheery ‘please get the fuck out before you scare away all my customers for the day.’

But instead of turning and meandering off back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of, he just kept staring at the little treat like he had no idea what to do with it.

“It’s a tart,” you said blandly, fighting the furrow in your brow.

Rook repeated ‘a tart’ under his breath like it was some kind of ancient, forbidden, enchantment, and not like it was literally scrawled into the little menu sign at your door at least a dozen times over.

The Bounty Hunter peered at the little custard treat like you’d handed him a treasure beyond measure. After a moment of carefully poking at the browned crust like it wasn’t literally meant to break apart beneath one’s fingers, he looked back over at you with eyes that were far, far, too green. He lifted the tart up like he meant to give it back to you.

“I ought to offer you la première bouchée,” he smiled.

You blinked, taken aback, and pushed the plate back into his hands. “That’s not how free samples work.”

Rook tossed his head back with a bout of boisterous laughter that should have been loud enough to wake everyone on the block. You glanced around nervously, hoping no one was about to come running out to make noise complaints.

“Ahh~ But how else will I know the best manner in which to savor such a treat?”

“You eat it,” you gaped. And then, slowly, because you weren’t even sure you were dealing with a functional human being anymore. “With your teeth.”

The Bounty Hunter, with his blood smeared cheeks and even bloodier clothes, put all those shiny, pearly whites of his on display in a merry grin. He swept forward in a grand bow that had the feather in his hat bobbing about in a way that reminded you far too much of a wagging tail.

“Of course!” he chirped. “In my home you said, yes?”

Please, you wanted to groan. Go there. Leave.

“Ideally,” you said instead, and Rook ducked his head until that purple hat of his had cast the whole of his face into shadow. He reached up to tap two fingers against the wide brim and tip it forward.

“Merci, merci!” he trilled. “Then I will endeavor to consume this marvelous spécialité humaine in the proper fashion. A very good morning to you then, cher pâtissier!”

He straightened with a merry little hum and began making his way back down the cobblestone road. In the soft light of the setting moon, his footsteps left odd prints in their wake—inky, black, dripping things that had faded entirely by the time you were able to focus enough to get a proper look at them, leaving you wondering if they’d really just been nothing but a trick of the night.

Well, that was fucking weird,you frowned, shaking the fuzz from your head. You slipped back inside and the door jingled pleasantly as it slammed behind you. But then again, when wasn’t customer service a trip? These people were all ridiculous.

.

.

Bright and early the next morning, you were waiting for Deuce to arrive with his delivery of a fresh crate of eggs. It was ungodly early, as it always was. But at least there was no hunter at your window this time around—

There was a bang and a screech, and then an unfortunate sort of cracking-squishing-yucky noise that sounded an awful lot like a couple dozen eggs meeting their doom. You frowned and tucked your rag into the ribbons of your apron and ducked out from the backroom with a sigh. Deuce was at the door. Or, well, Deuce was on the ground in front of your door. With the shattered, yolk, remnants of your shipment scattered all around him.

“I’m not paying for that,” you huffed irritably, and your friend looked up with a squawk.

He looked like he was trying to say something, but his face just kept flashing back and forth between deathly pale and a miserable sort of mottled red.

“I—! You—! And he—!”

“Use your words, Spade,” you sighed.

“I do believe he’s trying his best, cher pâtissier!”

You froze, and turned in near-slow-motion to see a beaming Bounty Hunter crouched at one of the little painted benches lined up neatly along your storefront. Not on one, like a normal person. But beside one. On the ground. There was no blood on him today. None that was very obviously dripping down his face at the very least. He didn’t seem like he’d come bearing any ill will, but your Chicken Dealer was still splayed out on the ground—nearly convulsing—so that wasn’t a great sign either.

“What’s going on out here?” you demanded, hands at your hips.

“I do believe Monsieur Spade had himself a bit of a fright,” Rook beamed, and then turned towards your very gaunt looking friend with a soft tut-tut noise that for all its amiability didn’t sound particularly sympathetic. “You really ought to work on your balance, hmm? Alas, all these petits oeufs have gone to waste.”

“What?!” Deuce immediately bristled, on the defensive. “If you hadn’t scared me, then none of these chicks would have had to die so tragically in the first place!”

“For the last time,” you sighed, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. “Unfertilized farm eggs are not baby chicks.”

“But Ace said—”

“Enough! With what Ace said!” you snapped, exhaustion and a sore lack of tea, or coffee, or anything wearing away at your already fragile sanity. “Ace would sell you snake oil and cry to your face about you underpaying for it!”

“Oh?” Rook chirped, unfolding himself from his crouch to stand at his full height. He wasn’t particularly gangly or long limbed—not even especially tall, all things considered. But there was something about him that made him loom. From the sharp cut of his purple robes to the harsh, starched, white of his tight collar. He was neat, composed. And yet… very much not civilized. “Is this not a person who wishes you well, cher pâtissier?”

You frowned, something odd tugging at a sixth sense of yours. Just… a little something on the periphery of your nerves, singing that the words you chose now would mean a lot more than they ought to.

You hummed, low in your throat, and considered.

“Ace is himself,” you said finally, “but he’s a friend nonetheless.”

“Magnifique!” Rook beamed and clapped his hands together with a near lovelorn sigh, all at once perfectly pleasant and soft. “It is such a very good thing to have friends!”

“…Is that what you are?” Deuce asked, enough of that enraged spunk fading away to leave him properly cautious once more. His blue eyes flickered pointedly from the bounty hunter, to you, and back. “A friend?”

You sighed and turned to retreat back into your little shop without a word. Deuce scrambled to his feet to follow you in hesitantly, still dripping with the remnants of too many eggs. You shot him a look, and he immediately darted over to the mop and bucket you kept propped up in the corner. Rook stood in the doorway, nearly just a blur of bruised shadow against the backdrop of the pre-dawn darkness, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye. After a long moment of terse silence, he stepped beyond the threshold with a little hum. He wiped his feet pointedly on your little welcome mat, and then turned to stand at the counter. He fished around in the pockets of his cloak for a moment before withdrawing a strange little flower. He placed it on the countertop with a bright smile that crinkled the corners of his green eyes.

You stepped forward to observe it curiously, and your brows shot up in surprise.

It wasn’t a flower at all. What had looked like the folded arch of soft petals was actually a dainty pair of ­wings. It was a tiny butterfly—caught in a perpetual sort of stillness. It was bright, and colorful, and so carefully preserved that even when you trailed a flour-coated finger along the thin membranes of its wings, it stayed clean and crisp.

“What’s this for?” you asked.

“Payment, of course!” Rook smiled. “For the lovely treat you gifted me the other day.”

You sighed, not at all in the mood to discuss the lack of viable conversion rates between copper coins and bugs.

So instead you settled on huffing, “Free samples are free. It’s in the name.”

Rook just kept on smiling, unbothered. Deuce knocked into some set of drawers or other—or maybe the coatrack. Who knew—and you shot him an irritable little scowl. The guy was like a bull in a china shop on the best of days, let alone when he was trying to multitask, and be sneaky about it all the while. The bounty hunter’s grin twitched a bit at the corners, like the idea of your blue-haired friend trying to stealthily keep a watch on him was just the funniest thing.

You glanced back down at the little, frozen, butterfly. It really was very pretty, even if it was a little odd.

When you ducked back behind the counter, you unearthed a blueberry muffin from one of many stacks of trays there. It was little lopsided, and maybe there were a few too many bits of fruit in it. Surely no one would have wanted it anyways.

You plopped it on the countertop, and both Rook’s eyebrows shot all the way up his forehead. When he made no move to take it, you pushed the confection closer. The wrapper slid along the counter in a heavy, sticky, way. You’d have to remember to wipe it down again after. The Hunter reached out carefully to pluck the treat up between his fingers. He squished it delicately, in a similarly cautious way as to how you’d stroked the little butterfly.

“Is this also for eating at home?” he asked, observing the offering with a wide, wonderous, expression.

“Yes,” you said, just in time for Deuce to nearly annihilate your trash bin. “Please enjoy it.” Please get out. You’re distracting my maid.

Rook Hunt dipped into another of those ridiculous, bobbing, bows and pinched the brim of his hat between his fingers.

“Your generosity continues to warm my heart, mon cher,” he crooned, eyes practically sparkling from behind the sharp cut of his heavily lined lashes. “I will endeavor to return your kindness tenfold! A hundred!”

You waved off his sentimentality with a flick of your wrist and a not so delicate ‘shoo shoo.’

The hunter left your little bakery with a spring in his step and an outpouring of flowery promises that had your head spinning. He melted seamlessly into the shadows of the early morning, and between one blink and the next, he’d vanished entirely.

You would have thoroughly enjoyed the well-earned silence that followed, if not for the veritable storm cloud brewing over your friend’s head.

“Do I get one…?” Deuce asked finally, staring outright at the remaining muffins and sounding small and hopeful. And like that clearly wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

“Maybe if I had the eggs to make more,” you lamented, brushing your hands against your apron.

Deuce made a wounded noise which you had exactly zero sympathy for. You got to work wiping down the counters and sorting through the bits and bobs you’d need to start your day.

“…You know he’s not right, don’t you? That bounty hunter?” Deuce finally said, setting the mop aside. “You must have heard at least some of the rumors floating around town. I don’t think anyone even knows if the guy’s human.”

You shrugged.

“Anyone who has to wake up when I wake up each morning has long given up on humanity anyways,” you droned, only sort of half kidding.

Deuce frowned, clearly unhappy with your non-answer.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” he asked, stern in his fretting. There was still a big ol’ chunk of eggshell tangled up in his bangs.

“When I am ever not?” you smiled, and carefully pocketed the little, blue, butterfly.

.

.

When you popped by the market stalls after closing shop for the day, the street was abuzz with all the usual gossipy nonsense that you’d long since learned to let settle at the back of your brain like white noise. You were busy debating if you had enough arms to manage balancing yet another bag of strawberries (they were at their height of freshness these past weeks it seemed, and you were like a little fruit goblin hoarding them while you could), when a particularly shrill bit of chatter worked its way past the pleasant curtain you’d let fall across your thoughts.

“There was another one,” the butcher’s wife whispered in a way that was most certainly not a whisper.

“I heard,” chittered the man who really should have been trying to sell you more strawberries if he’d any kind of business sense whatsoever. He turned on you with a look that meant you were clearly about to be dragged into a conversation you were entirely unprepared for. “It was one of yours, apparently!”

“One of my what?” you blinked back into focus.

“One of your regulars,” he said, like a secret.

“That strange Bounty Hunter came through again,” his coconspirator hissed, with a hand lifted as if she meant to cover her mouth. “He dropped off the body the other day—delivered the heart straight to the Felmier’s porch!”

“Who was it?” you asked, just like you knew they wanted you to.

“Sir Hamlen,” the butcher’s wife said. “You know, that awful toad who could eat you out of house and home.”

That sounded like all of your costumers, and more than half of your closest friends, but you gave yourself a moment to sort through your scattered thoughts and try and connect whatever dots they’d been throwing at you.

“Sir Hamlen…?” you said after a moment, slowly putting a face to the name. “With the terrible goatee?”

They both nodded enthusiastically.

“Rotten pig,” the butcher’s wife piped back in. “Served him right, if you ask me. Everyone was expecting the Crown would put him to death anyways.”

You shrugged again. You hardly knew the man, but he’d always paid you well enough that you didn’t really have any ill will towards him. You went back to fussing over balancing bags of berries, but then… Well, there was something a bit funny, actually. He’d been a loud sort of person, with no filter to speak of. One afternoon, he’d stumbled into your little shop absolutely pissed on cheap drink and all but burping bubbles.

‘You know,’ he’d lulled, dropping a full coin pouch on your countertop. Which you’d taken in its entirely with zero hesitation. ‘I’d die happy if my last meal was these fucking tarts of yours.’

‘Is that so,’ you’d drawled, in the bland way you answered literally every customer who spouted off whatever nonsense was kicking around in their heads.

‘Aye,’ he’d sighed, practically stooped over. ‘Gonna have to pry ‘em outta my cold, dead, hands.’

“Huh,” you muttered, thoughts wandering back to a pair of bloody gloves and the little treat you’d pressed into them. Huh.  

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,

[shining-gem34]

||Morning. Back to work I go since Mondayy~~ I might reblog a Munday Meme if I find any that is eyecatching. Otherwise have a nice day everyone! And if ur planning to see the Solar Eclipse today, alwags take precautions and wear the special glasses before looking!

[pomefioredove]

so, I could request jamil, leona, vil, rook, azul, jade, rollo, malleus and lillia with a heroic fantasy lover reader (well, not so much fantasy, since it's basically a fantasy world. i mean, jaskaja, malleus is a freaking fairy prince). a reader who wakes up reading, watching series or movies in the genre, who makes his own maps of his worlds in the back of his notebooks in class, who in potions class takes notes for his own inventions, who starts inventing recipes in the kitchen and when he's supposed to be studying he's actually writing his fantasy stories or novels, maybe he's not even yuu, he's from another dimension! just another x student who is a bookworm. but that his sleep schedule starts to be affected by these habits when midterms come and at the same time he wins a major writing contest, and that between the hobby and the studies he sleeps, eats and rests less.

thanks and good day 💗💗!

of course! this is actually quite cute

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fantasy writer reader

type of post: headcanons characters: leona, azul, jade, jamil, rook, vil, lilia, malleus, rollo additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

well, well, well

for all his teasing, and there has been a lot, Leona actually starts to like you

damn it...

you were just another wide-eyed, naive herbivore to him

and a little bookworm, too

and now...

strangely, he finds himself missing you

thinking about the stories you'd told him...

...even wanting you to ask him about his magic

which he did find annoying, but now, it's kind of endearing...

you do strange things to this man

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul will admit that he was... a little wrong about you

after all, when you first met, he took you as a rather naive person

so... curious

asking him about magic, the sea, potions and spells and...

well, he read that as innocence

for weeks, he answered all your questions, even showed you a few simple spells, all free of charge

...hoping that you'd come to trust him

then, you vanish

he later reads a fantasy story published in the school newspaper

...about him

you were just using him for fantasy character inspiration all along!?

...

...actually... that's quite flattering

he'll let you get away with this one

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jade is drawn to you

and by that, I mean he finds you before you find him

so curious...

he can tell you've adapted to life at Night Raven College much quicker than most would

quicker than he did, even

and he's actually from Twisted Wonderland

magic doesn't surprise you, nor does the politics or history of this world...

how... interesting

he'll follow you around, asking question, reading your stories, never too far away from you

he's never met anyone so strange, really

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil can't imagine being from a world without magic

...and, apparently, neither can you

disregarding your... ahem... heroic interests, you fit right in at NRC

seriously, a few months here and you're already ahead of Kalim

...he could learn a thing or two from you...

it starts making sense when you tell Jamil that books from your world are full of magic

where you lack experience, you make up for in knowledge

he... respects that, actually

you're more well-read than most of his peers!

now, if only he could do something about that terrible sleep schedule of yours...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook thinks you have such a beautiful eye for detail

and a creative soul

of course, he knows a writer when he sees one

and you catch his eye right away

he just can't help it! such imagination, such talent... you inspire him just by being!

...okay, maybe he's a little overexcited

being a poet himself, it's not often he meets someone who understands the beauty of life like a fellow writer

he will eagerly read everything you give him

every story you write, every map you draw, even your own notes and potion recipes

...and he'll give you detailed praises on each one

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is already used to writer shenanigans

...too used to them, maybe

the last thing he wants is another Rook waxing poetically about a bug you saw on the north stairwell

at least you seem quiet

what really captivates him, though, is your interest in potionology

you're already at such an advanced level that you're making your own recipes

even if it's just for your stories, that takes some skill

you'll have to forgive him for fussing over your health and wellbeing

he can sense your potential

goodness, at this rate, you could replace him as housewarden by the end of the year

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

there's nothing Lilia likes more than a good story

after all, he's got lots of his own

so, to him, writers are the greatest thing since... whatever the hell he eats

and he can be a little... pushy

leering over your shoulder, pestering you to show him what you're working on...

he can't help it!

he's just so curious!

the one thing he's good for, though, is details

you ask him if this language, or outfit, or invention, is appropriate for the time period, and he'll be able to answer

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus is always flattered by your curiosity

one might think that a human from a magicless world would be frightened by his appearance and his title

but you...

you're just curious

he likes answering your questions

you seem so interested in magic, he can't help but show off a little

he's already promised to show you around Briar Valley

and, of course, he loves hearing your stories

the ones you write, the ones you remember from home...

you're just a fascinating little human

and he always feels special when he's the first to read something you've written

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

now...

Rollo doesn't quite understand you

no, actually-

he's jealous

not that he'd ever admit it...

but the thought of a world that is so devoid of magic that its people make fantasy of it is so very enticing...

...he's willing to excuse your childish interest

and indulge you in your maps and your potions and your stories

you don't know any better

but to him, your world is the fantastical one, not his

[kisses4lao]

Guess who's suffering from writers block!!! No but fr I wanna write SO BAD but I just can't 😭😭 so take some twst pp hcs until I decide to work on commissions again

Not proofread idc shank me

♧CW!!! Fem reader! twst dick hcs duh, every NRC student EXCLUDING ortho, might have some other hcs too

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♧♧~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riddle:

Its... cute? Idk how to explain it

He is VERY sensitive

5.5 inches

Slight curve downward

The tip is a really deep red

Cum is watery, tastes like rosewater(this is a fantasy world i can make cum taste like anything i want)

Balls aren't all that heavy, very soft and squishy tho

Likes rimming. No further comments

Trey:

EEK MY BOY

I'm gonna try not to be biased

Hes BIG tho

I know you've seen him. Let's be honest, we all know he's PACKING

So I'm gonna say a solid 7-8 inches with a nice amount of girth

No curve, but very veiny

Heavy balls. Like, HEAVY. Bros got a whole bakery in there

Soft pink tip

Cum is the normal consistency, he takes care of himself

If you're sucking him off he'll change the flavor of his cock and his cum to whatever you want (thank god for doodle suit)

Cater:

Easy 7 inches

Not too sensitive, it takes a while for him to cum

His cum is pretty thick, its all the spicy ramen he eats

Curve upward, huge thick vein going from his balls to the tip

Cum tastes salty, but not overwhelming

Will have his clones fuck you silly

Deuce:

Another small boy

I'll say 6 inches, no curve

Hes sensitive too, but not as much as riddle

He really like getting his balls sucked more than his cock itself

Cum is watery too, but it tastes good

Like sweet in a way

Tip is a light blue dont ask why

Ace:

Another small boy 😭

He is CLUELESS

Poor man is a one pump chump

5.6 inches, curve to the left

SENSETIVE. pussy got this boy on his knees

Balls squishy, balls soft?

Yes to both

His rip is red, like a blush red

Azul:

A good 6ish inches with a curve downward

Not as sensitive as you may think

I think it would be funny if the bottom of his cock had like little suckers or some shit

Tip is dark purple and he has some veins, not many tho

Heavy balls, no squish :(

Cum is thick and black bc octopus

Tastes like what watered down hand sanitizer smells like

Jade:

😨

Its slimy.

No further comment on that

No but its like wet, a lot

So is floyds but we aren't there yet

Its like lube 🥺

Okay but he's LONG

8.5 AT LEAST

He also enjoys rimming

Tip is dark cyan

Cum is slimy too

Add some borax water and sell it on etsy

Floyd:

Basically the same as Jade

Hes smaller tho

Hes 6 inches but has SO much girth

His cum is more watery than slimy and the tip is a light blue

Lots of veins too

Kalim:

6 inches

So sensitive

He begs.

Loves blow jobs but would NEVER ask for them

Heavy soft balls

A dark brown tip and there's lil red swirlies

Cum is thick

Tastes like coconut toothpaste

Jamil:

mmmmmmmmMMMMMMM

BIG

So big

Destroy me PLEASE

7.8 inches and a big curve upwards

Likes fingers in his ass, just like Kanye west

Doesn't like blow jobs he cums too quick :(

Gets overstimulated easily and when he does hes highly submissive

Cum a lil thick (its all the curry he eats)

Its yummy tho

Tastes salty and a lil sweet

Like a pretzel

Tip is a redish-brownish

Vil:

Hes a very odd case

Hes big, dont get me wrong

But mans does NOT have sex 😭

He complains it ruins his makeup

7.4 inches with a few veins

Oh yeah hes unclipped too idk why but he is

Tip is a pinky purple color

Balls got some weight, they're not sensitive

Rook:

Hes an even weirder case

Hes very big but almost NEVER penetrates you

Hed much rather be in between your legs for hours on end

Making you cum on his face gives him so much pleasure

He doesn't touch himself either

When he's eating you out he has one hand thrusting fingers into your pussy, the other hand thrusting fingers into your ass(hes an ass man I know he is) while he sucks on your clit the whole time

He cums on the sheets whenever you do bc he knows how good you feel

Hes 8.5 inches with a curve down, large vein going upward

A creme colored tip

Cum normal consistency, you don't know what it tastes like because he never let's you suck him off :(

Epel:

Small boy

Whimpers

A lot

Hes 6 inches with a curve to the left

Light purple tip bc I said so

Light balls, but no squish :(

Cum is watery and tastes like lavender oil

Idia:

Oh god

Contrary to popular belief he has a lot of stamina

He doesn't have ANY experience tho

Played a lot of hentai games but thats the extent of his experience

I think it would be really funny if instead of whispering dirty talk or praise during sex he tells you the fnaf lore

Like he'll be blowing your back out and he'll just be like "so the crying child was actually william aftons son-" and then he cums

After hes done and doing aftercare he'll quiz you on the fnaf lore

If you get any of the questions wrong he'll fuck you until you can't walk as a punishment

If you get them all right he'll eat you out for hours until you also can't walk

Win win honestly

8 inches

TIP IS BLUUUEEEEEE

Cum is thick and salty, he doesn't take care of himself

Heavy, HEAVY balls. Very sensitive

He loves blow jobs too

Leona:

8.8 inches, but if we're being real to how ACTUAL lion anatomy is hes closer to 3 inches but yall aren't ready for that convo

Not sensitive at all, it takes so long for him to cum

But when he does hes so sweet, whispering praise after praise to you and lots of kisses

Cum is normal consistency, a lil on the thicker end

Its a bit bitter with a sweet aftertaste

Hes also unclipped and I will not elaborate

Idk if lions have them but if they do then he has a knot, not as big as jacks tho

Heavy balls, they're sensitive

Brown tip, like, dark brown tip

Ruggie:

7ish inches with a curve down

Also likes eating you out

Doesn't like having his balls touched

They're cute and squishy tho

Cum is also thick and doesn't taste like anything

Tip is a light brown and has a vein going through it

Jack:

8 inches.

Has a huge knot. Physically cannot pull out when it comes to it

Cum tastes like strawberries

Doesn't let you suck him off often bc he doesn't wanna knot in your mouth

Also gets pleasure from eating you out

Tip is grey and sensitive

Malleus:

Hes also like rook in the way he'd eat you out for hours if you'd let him

But he does penetrate you

Our big dragon boy loves the feeling of being inside your tight cunt

Will probably cum if you praise him

He has 2.

One on top one on the bottom

The one on top is longer, 9 inches while the one on the bottom is 7ish, the bottom one is a lot thicker tho

He'll be so slow easing them in and almost never goes fast when it comes to sex

He sees it as love making

They both have a black tip and the cum is normal consistency, tastes like... eggs? Hardboiled don't ask

Oh yeah his cum glows in the dark

Lilia:

Idc what you guys say this man is SO EXPERIENCED

He knows how to have sex properly and can make you cum in seconds if he feels like it

7 inches, his dick is where all his height went

Because he's so experienced he doesn't cum easily

PINK TIP PINK TIP

His cum is normal consistency, a little watery maybe

Tastes like citrus

Silver:

Loves when you ride him

Likes missionary too tho

7 inches too

His tip is grey

Very sensitive and gets overstimulated easily

Hes also just very submissive in general

Cum is watery and tastes like what a new car smells like

Sebek:

LOUD

SO LOUD

CANT TAKE THIS BITCH ANYWHERE

Cries during sex

Loves when you pull his hair

Does he have horns? If he does they're very sensitive

Cums if you touch them

Hes a crocodile right

Nah he has horns

8 inches no other comments

GREEN TIP

Cum is thick and bitter

We love him tho

Balls squishy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♧♧~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: im so fuckibg tired god help me

[noahhawthorneauthor]

It's the first day of Disability Pride, and I'm here to tell you I write queer fantasy books with disabled mains.

Cozy Urban Fantasy with forgotten memories and soulmates? Got it.

Dark Steampunk Fantasy with airship pirates? Got it.

Dark Dieselpunk Fantasy with trans and poly mutant shifters taking down an oppressive government? Got it.

Ok, that last was pretty specific, but bending genres and forging unlikely heroes is kind of my thing. 🏳️‍🌈📚✨🧑‍🦽👨‍🦯💊❤️‍🩹

Linktree

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

I heard you were opening requests right? So here’s mine!

https://www.tumblr.com/bluessmutifyplaylist/737214539832213504/separate-yandere-malleus-hubby-rook-hubby

This but with Lilia, Trey and Kalim bc I’m down bad for them-

Again, this is CONSENSUAL, but turns dubious in Lilia's. Longer scenarios because there are fewer characters.

Warnings: Yandere, Fem AFAB!Reader, Stockholm Syndrome(?), naive reader, creampie, breeding(?), unprotected sex, all characters are adults, sex with the intention of having children, mommy kink in Kalim’s, drugging in Lilia’s

Trey Clover

Even though you were two years younger than him, you basically acted as the parents of Heartslabyul. However, he refused to get into an actual relationship with you until you graduated. He may have a fantasy with you in his mind, but he wants to make sure that you actually love him. Turns out, you did, and you stayed loyal to him, writing him letters every week. He was there at your graduation, and he couldn’t help the fact that the question popped out of his mouth upon seeing you so happy to see him again. You gasped, obviously shocked, but you nodded your head as you pulled him into a kiss. 

The wedding ceremony was small, but you were happy to finally be a baker’s wife. Ace and Deuce joked about how nothing changed about the two of you except for the rings because you both were still their honorary mom and dad.What stuck in your mind was them calling you mom. It felt right to you, and you brought this up to Trey, who agreed that maybe a child was in the books for the both of you.

What you didn’t expect was for him to start right then and there. He picked you up and over his shoulder as though you were a sack of flour and carried you to your shared bedroom. He tossed you onto the bed and immediately started tearing your clothes off, but instead of scaring you it made you more aroused. It didn’t take him long to put his mouth to your pussy, eating you like you were a pastry he had made.

He did not let up until you came at least once all over his face, making sure that you were wet enough to take his cock. He took his time entering, making sure that you weren’t in any pain. However, you were once a demon slayer, and taking something as big as Trey’s dick into your pussy was more pleasurable than anything. Once you moaned in pleasure, he started thrusting into you at a steady pace, going faster once it got to be too much to hold still. You were overstimulated from cumming already, but the way he looked at you with pure love in his eyes made you cum again, and he did too, sheathed deeply inside your pussy. That was not the only round that night, though.

Neither of you were surprised that you had received a positive pregnancy test about two months later, as you both were regularly sexually active without protection. However, to announce it to him, you put a bun in the oven at the bakery you both now owned. He picked you up into his arms and twirled you around, but something dark was festering in his mind. You would never be able to leave him now. Nor ever. You were his.

Kalim Al-Asim

He definitely is a delusional yandere, but it doesn’t really go further than that. He would rant to you about his desires for your shared future, forgetting to ask you what you wanted, but it was lucky that you wanted everything he wanted. You wanted to retire from being a demon slayer, and who better to spend your future with than Kalim, who proposed to you on the last day of his senior year? It wasn’t like you could go home. When you accepted, he immediately went to the Land of Scalding Sands to tell his parents, who were very excited.

Your wedding was definitely a very grand event, and your mother-in-law as well as a few sisters-in-law helped you get ready. Jamil was Kalim’s best man, and you promised your friend that he would no longer be the servant and that you wanted him to live his best life. Walking down the aisle, your really-soon-to-be husband was super excited. He had been waiting for this moment, and it was finally happening. He dipped you down into a kiss once you said “I do”, not waiting for the officiant.

That night, your husband didn’t really know what he was doing. He was a virgin, but not for long after that. You took charge, showing him how to finger you and eat your pussy, and when he made you cum for the first time, he was so happy. He was nervous about the actual intercourse, but you gently stroked him a bit before leading his tip to your entrance, getting on top of him, and sinking down. 

The way he moaned ‘mommy’ nearly made you cum again, and so you started praising him, calling him your ‘good boy’ and asking him to make you an actual mommy. While he didn’t last long, he was ready to go again just a few seconds later. This man had endless stamina. You ended up on your back, as you instructed him to place your hips at a higher elevation as he continued to whimper and moan, thrusting desperately into you, cumming over and over again.

When you announce your pregnancy about 3 months later to your in-laws, all of Kalim’s siblings are excited at the prospect of having a niece or nephew, and his parents are excited to be grandparents. You weren’t even showing yet, but you and the baby were already being spoiled. No one wanted you to do anything. Mrs. Asim was there every step of the way, which was super helpful considering she had over 30 kids.

Lilia Vanrouge

Just so I don’t have to justify him getting married to someone younger than Silver, this is before Silver is even in the picture. In the war between fae and humans, you had joined their ranks despite being a human yourself. You didn’t agree with what the humans were doing, and you were stuck here, so you used your demon slayer abilities to fight under General Lilia’s command. To say he fell in love would be an understatement. No, he wanted to forever keep you to himself, and he killed anyone who wished you harm.

Despite merely courting, you gladly accepted your (rather forced) place as Silver’s mother when Lilia found him. This led to you two agreeing that you should be married a year later, and it wasn’t a very big celebration. Actually, it was the Briar Valley equivalent of going to Vegas and getting married for $20 in a drive-thru chapel. Seeing you being so motherly to the baby really woke something up in the former general.

Luckily, Baul volunteered to watch over Silver, as he seemed to do well with his grandson. So, you both quickly rushed home and started shedding clothes between passionate and messy kisses. Being as old as he was, he definitely had experience with pleasuring lovers. However, none was quite as memorable as you, as he quickly learned the signals of your body. That night was wild, as though you had taken aphrodisiacs… and he may or may not have slipped a bit into your tea at the ceremony. 

Your pussy was so warm and wet, and his cock was rock hard. The moan you let out as he thrust his dick into you made his sanity snap. He immediately started pulling out just to shove himself back in, reveling in the heat between your legs, thrusting in again and again. He doesn’t know when the need to breed you came into play, but you had two orgasms by the time he came in you. It didn’t stop him from continuing, as he wasn’t overstimulated just yet.

Anyway, two months later you found out that Silver had a sibling on the way. Again, it didn’t surprise you, but Lilia was very excited about it. His darling wife was pregnant with the product of your love, and he is definitely doting on you. Don’t get me started on when you start showing and your baby bump protrudes and your breasts fill with milk. He will gladly give you massages wherever you need, and you can’t help but be a bit turned on when you see him singing Silver to sleep… leading to a lot of pregnancy sex.

[ryebread0605]

Run Rabbit

Rook Hunt  x female reader

Top!rook, bottom!reader

Have had this idea for a while now and wanted to actually write it out

Cw: predator/prey play, public sex mention

18+ MINORS DNI 

Running as fast as your legs could take you, you panted heavily and gasped for air. You didn’t know how long you had been running for, only that he was following you.

“My dear (y/n)~ wherever are you~?” It seemed no matter how much you ran, he could still find you.

You assumed this was your own fault, having expressed to your boyfriend a fantasy you had of being hunted. All the hunter did in response was smirk and tell you to start running.

Rook was unnervingly silent as he chased you, you were unable to hear him except for the few times he’d call out to you. 

A squeak escaped your mouth as you felt arms wrap tightly around you, 

“Gotcha~”

Without hesitation, Rook’s lips pressed against your neck, sucking on the skin to leave the beautiful marks he loved to paint your skin with. Your legs shook from the exhaustion of running so long and the feeling of his lips against your neck.

The feeling of arousal in between your legs made things even harder, squeezing your legs shut in the hopes the huntsman didn’t notice. Of course, that was in vane and he just smirked and chuckled.

“Oh my dear little prey~ look how worked up you are~” his words only made the situation worse as you whined softly. His hands reached around, sliding under your shirt and groping at your chest. His thumbs brushed against your nipples, smirking in satisfaction at the slight moan you let out. Shivering from each small touch, you failed to notice as the huntsman undid his belt and tossed it aside. A gasp left your lips at the feeling of something hard pressed against your clothed heat.

“I think it’s time I claim my prey, don’t you little rabbit~?” His voice was husky as he spoke directly into your ear, gripping the pants of your school uniform before pulling them right off, leaving you only in your soaked panties. He smirked as his gloved finger brushed against it, relishing in the small whines and moans that escaped your lips. The delicate fabric was torn off of your body as you now lay there, bare under him, with him soon following.

The way his hands held your hips down as he thrusted into you slowly yet roughly made more needy whines escape your throat, Rook simply laughing softly in response. “sois patient petit lapin, je promets de te faire crier~”, he whispered directly into your ear which only made you arch your back, desperate for more.

“Please Rook please, I need it please!” You begged as the huntsman laughed again. “Are you sure petit lapin~? Anyone could find us you know, anyone could hear how desperate you are~”. The moan he got in response was enough of an answer for him as he proceeded to pound into your tight cunt, cock throbbing with each thrust. The noises that came from the two of you would’ve been able to awaken all of NRC had you two been doing this in the dorm rooms instead of in the woods just a bit away from the College. 

“F-fuck Rook- c-close!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as he just groaned and continued to move at the almost brutally fast pace. A loud scream of his name erupted from your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach come undone, him fucking you through your orgasm as his followed soon after, painting your walls white. 

Pulling out and laying beside you, he gently kissed your cheeks and ran his hands through your hair. He held you close as he rubbed your back, smiling softly at the way you gazed up at him with pure love.

The two of you stayed like that, embracing each other silently until you both slowly fell asleep under the night sky.