#Here. For You all in all her thick majesticness

[fancyhats-and-fennelsbuds]

What if he was a she

and she says, "Hey, babe Take a walk on the wild side" Said, "Hey, honey Take a walk on the wild side"

And the colored girls go "Doo do doo do doo do do doo..."

Yeah. She steals cows for a living. Also while yodeling. And riding a buffalo. She's pretty cool actally.

I don't think her fit is historically accurate.

[finelinefae]

soft

synopsis: girls with cute tummies and soft thighs and extra chub in different places can also date hot popstar boys okay? okay.

word count: 2.1 k

contains: plus size reader, non au harry, fluff, mentions of body image and insecurities, harry being obsessed with his girlfriend

A/N: the start of a new thing called 'soft girl sundays' which I'm starting !! i wrote this for wp a few months ago but it's one of my fave things I've written so I'm re-posting it here. it's cheesy and fun and harry's obsessed with his girl !! i know for a lot of us girlies sometimes it feels like we take up too much space and we're always made to feel smaller mentally, physically, in every way really but you have much of a right to be here as everyone else so take up alllll the space u need !! women are beautiful and majestic no matter their size 💘

. . .

My girls' in the audience tonight.

I look past the curtain across the stage and see her in the VIP section.

Even without the stage lights shining on her, she's glowing.

She's wearing a shirt with my initials stitched over her heart and every time she lifts her arms, I see her soft tummy and the dimples on her back when she spins. Her thick thighs are on show as she wears the smallest pink skirt known to man. Her hair falls past her shoulder and down her back and her cute cheeks turn pink as she smiles when she speaks to some of the team who stand with her. 

She's the living embodiment of the divine feminine and I can't ever seem to get over the fact that she's all mine. 

The music begins to play and I watch as her face lights up with excitement. She's seen this show over a few dozen times but she never fails to be just as excited as the first time she saw me walk on stage with a hickey on my neck that she'd put there moments before.

When it's my queue, I skip onto the stage and my ears nearly burst as the sound of people screaming over the music starts to fill the stadium. She's smiling, she's cheering, she's singing the words to every single song. She's so pretty and she's all I see.

When the show ends, I walk backstage to my dressing room. Normally I'd run into a car and get the Hell out of there before crowds of people start to fill up the streets to get home, but this time, Y/N was here and I knew how much anxiety she felt whenever we had to rush to be somewhere.

I walked in and accepted the compliments from my team after another successful show. Paris was a city I held close to me so it was always a fun time when we played.

I gulped down a glass of water and felt arms snake around my waist. I immediately grinned when I saw the lilac-painted nails that matched my very own. I feel her nuzzle her face into my back before I twist in her embrace and look into the eyes of the girl I love with everything in me.

"Hi baby," I whisper, stroking her cheek that still had glitter on it.

"Hi Harry," Y/N murmurs, her eyes tired but full of happiness.

"Y' okay?" I hold her, feeling her soft skin beneath my hand. She was so soft and cuddly.

"I'm okay." She smiles, lazily. "You did so good up there. I nearly cried,"

I laugh, "You always nearly cry."

"That's because I'm proud of you." She shrugs.

We sit on the couch and she straddles my lap, her skirt riding up and I nearly choke when I catch a glimpse of her lacy underwear. I put my hands on her thighs and squeeze them softly. "You excited for our trip tomorrow?" I asked, staring at her lips and suddenly feeling the temptation to kiss them. I did and she happily accepted.

We had a few days before the next show so we decided to head down to the South of France and spend a few days in Nice. We haven't been on a trip together in a while other than the tour locations so we made the most of the little time we had in between shows to spend as much time as we could together.

She nods, "I bought a new swimsuit just for the occasion."

I groan, my head falling back against the couch, "You kill me."

She giggles, "love you."

I immediately smile. "I love you too," I kiss her.

The morning after the show, we woke up early to make our flight down to Nice. Y/N whines the entire time because she's not a morning person and refuses to step one foot out of bed until I force her.

She sleeps on my chest the entire journey there, wearing an oversized hoodie with the hood up. "My whole heart is inside y'." I murmur as her cheek presses against my chest and makes her lips all pouty, light snores falling from them. I lightly push some of her baby hairs back from her face and trace my thumb over the soft skin of her cheek.

We arrive and head straight to our room at the hotel to drop our bags off before heading to the beach. Y/N immediately opens the doors to the balcony and gasps when she looks out at the view. "Harry, it's beautiful," Y/N says in awe.

I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her tummy, squeezing the softest part of her. I loved all the parts of her but her tummy was my absolute favourite. She always complained about it. How it stuck out when she wore tight clothing and even more so after eating. 'Harry I already have a tummy? Why punish me further by making it bigger after I eat? Seems unfair don't you think?'  I'd spend the whole journey home telling her how beautiful she looked and how I loved watching her enjoy the food she loves and then I'd hold her in bed and run circles on her little, bloated belly because I had made it my life's mission to show as much love to the little chub of a tummy she had.

I pull on my swim shorts and a white linen shirt, leaving the buttons undone. I pack my beach bag for our beach towels and my book as well as my film camera and sun lotion.

Y/N walks out of the bathroom. Her hair in loose curls from the heat and her face already sunkissed and pretty. My mouth falls open when I take in the small, blue bikini on her body, revealing her soft curves and every perfect inch of her.

"Do you like it?" She blushes, acting like she's not the hottest girl I've ever seen in my entire life.

It tied at her waist and around her neck, my immediate thought being how easy it would be to take it off her and spend the entire day in bed, making out or whatever. I honestly couldn't care less as long as she's there.

"Baby," I dropped the bag on the floor and made my way towards her, pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger and tilting her head back so I could kiss her at the perfect angle.

She whines and the sound nearly has me dropping to my knees. "You're fucking unbelievable."

"You really think so?" She bites back a smile, "You don't think I need to hide my stretch marks?" My heart aches at how unsure she sounded, the fact she even had to ask made me want to pick her up and kiss each stretch mark on her body.

"No, my love," I shake my head, kissing the stretch marks at the top of her left breast and feeling her heart racing at the delicate touch. "You have absolutely nothing to hide from anybody. Y' beautiful and you're mine,"

She smiles and kisses me again.

We head down to the beach to the reserved sunbeds. Y/N lays out her towel and sits down to apply sun cream to her arms and legs. I help her do her back, massaging her shoulders and trying not to combust as she rolls her head to the side and moans at the feeling.

I literally have a crush on this woman.

And she's my fucking girlfriend.

What did I do to get this lucky in life?

"Let's go in the water baby," I held her hand and we walked to the water, stepping in together.

She wraps her arms and legs around me when we're deep enough in the water. I squeeze her ass and she gasps, swatting me gently. "What?" I look at her innocently.

"There's people watching." She hides her face in my neck and I turn us both around to catch sight of the paparazzi hiding behind the trees and snapping pictures of us.

I release a sigh and pull her face back to get a better look at her. If there was one thing that could make my girlfriend second guess herself, it was the paparazzi constantly posting her pictures online and allowing people to berate her for how she looked.

"Please don't let them ruin your day my love," I kiss her shoulder, still holding her in my arms. "I promise, you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

"You promise?" She pouts.

"Feel this," I reach for her hand and guide her to the small bit of chub on my hip.

She gasps, "You have chub too!"

I rolled my eyes but smiled at the same time, her excitement was adorable. "Everyone's got something they're insecure about. No matter how hard I've tried I can't seem to get rid of it, maybe it's from all the cakes you've been making but how am I meant to say no to such a pretty face?"

She squeals in delight when I pinch her sides and giggles as I press kisses to her face. "Wanna go and sunbathe for a little, baby?" She nods and we both walk out of the water so she can sit in the sun for a bit.

I spend more time in the water and come out to find Y/N verging on the brink of sleep. I smirk as I crawl between her legs and lay between her thighs, sighing softly as I turn my head away from the sun and press a kiss to her inner thigh. She reaches down and runs her fingers through my wet hair, her nails scratching my scalp.

After midday, I order food to be sent up to our room. Y/N's passed out on the sunbed so I gently shake her awake, "Hi baby," Her pretty eyes flutter open, "Need you to drink something darling, you've been in the sun for a while." She slowly sits up and rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. I unscrew the cap of the water bottle and pass it to her, watching as she almost drinks the whole thing.

"I got us room service to be delivered. Want to head back upstairs for a bit?" Her cheeks were red and her hair was all frizzy due to the humidity. She nodded and we packed our things up and made our way back to our hotel room.

Our food was already laid out on the balcony by the time we walked into the room. I had left the air conditioning on so the room was nice and cool since Y/N struggled to sleep when it was too hot and stuffy.

She was wearing my linen shirt over her bikini and I couldn't help but stare at her ass as I followed her to the table outside.

There was fruit, bread and pastries laid out on a spread at the table as well as a glass of red wine and some orange juice. Y/N sat on one of the chairs with one leg hitched up as she ate some of her baguette and cheese, her favourite snack to eat when we were in France.

"Are you having fun, my love?" I asked, taking a bite of fresh watermelon.

She nods quickly, "It's the best. Anytime with you is always the best,"

"Come sit here," I motion and move my chair out, patting my thigh. She doesn't hesitate and stands up to sit down on my lap.

I kissed the back of her neck and put one hand on her hip, my thumb traced the edge of the waistband of her bikini bottoms, slipping under the material to trail soft circles over her hip bones.

"I'm keeping you forever, I hope you know that," I murmur, appreciating this intimate moment between us which didn't happen as often as I liked them to but we made do.

"I hope so," She whispers.

I loved this girl for all she was. There is nothing in this world that could change just how much I adored her.

"Harry," She says my name, "This bikini is pretty easy to take off you know."

I choke, eyes widening and seeing the smirk on her face. I pick her up, her legs wrapping around me and her ankles locking behind my back. "Is that a challenge or a request?" I kiss her lips, tasting the saltiness of the sea on them.

"Both," She says in between kisses.

This girl. 

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 4

Moodboard here, Main Masterlist here.

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 5,917

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope. Slow-slow-slow burn. Series Inspiration link: The Storyteller Episode 8

Song Suggestion: Harry and Hermione - Je Suis Parte

(Image Source: Here)

Although the words spoken to him through the den-den-mushi were what he truly needed to hear, Dracule Mihawk couldn’t help the small quake in his fingertips. He shut his eyes, focussing on the words spoken through the distortion in the earpiece, the purr of his crocodilian acquaintance rumbling with his raspy vocals.

“Swordsman,” the voice uttered with a small jesting lilt in his tone, “Did you not hear me, or are you actively choosing to not respond?” Mihawk’s eyes widened, his chest becoming tight while his heart choked within his ribcage.

“Dracule, I have the moon for you.”

Mihawk drew in a lengthy breath through his nose, attempting to stifle his anxiety through a brief meditation. Upon refocusing, he opened his amber eyes and fixed his reduced pupils down onto the parchment in front of him.

“And it’s-,” his voice halted in his throat, feeling the familiar strangulation of pressure on his heart, “-it’s to the appropriate specifications? It’s a dress that is as radiant as the moon? A dress that glows with a hue so majestic, it eclipses all else with its mastery?”

“Mihawk. Calm yourself,” the cold bark of the Crocodile ordered him, “I know what I risk if I am negligent to follow through with your exact words. Rest assured-,” a rumbled chuckle erupted from the Crocodile, “-I aim to collect a debt of equal value in return. Of what, I am yet to determine. What would equate to your life, hm?”

Mihawk sucked in another exasperated breath through his nose, opting to not grace his acquaintance with a response. 

“Judging from your engagement announcement; she is very easy on the eyes,” Crocodile complimented, sucking in another deep breath of smoke from his thick cigar, “Perhaps I should claim the right of Prima Nocta with your bride on your wedding night-.”

“-You are no longer a Warlord, Crocodile,” Mihawk’s tone cut through the air like a guillotine decapitating Crocodile’s words where they stood. Sir Crocodile allowed another sinister chuckle to rise throughout the phone in response, to which Mihawk’s frown deepened as his words began to sizzle as acid through cloth, “You would have no such right for that act, nor would I ever permit you to touch her at the risk of losing your other hand.” After a momentary pause, Sir Crocodile responded to Mihawk's words of warning. 

“I will spend some time mulling over my payment,” Crocodile’s smirk was tangible through the vocal distortion. Mihawk could almost taste the flavor of Crocodile’s lit cigar blowing tufts of nicotine-laden smoke through the earpiece of the den-den-mushi; all sour, strangling and as sharp as the golden hook adorning his left wrist. 

“You will have your payment, Crocodile,” Mihawk curtly spat into the microphone, his lip curling upwards into a snarl, “You may ask anything of me, but you will leave my bride out of the equation.”

At that, the hum of contemplation fell into the earpiece of the den-den-mushi before the receiver went dead; call concluded at the singular hand of the Crocodile. Mihawk sighed, feeling lighter in his chest, but continuing to hold such grappling urgency over him.

Time was running out, he could feel the clawing at his chest. The cruel teeth of fate continued to sink into his soul, his mortality tested under the curse of the Sapsorrow ring. He reached into his desk, removing a leatherbound book and running his palms over the emerald cover. The golden inked title set in wax remained slightly elevated, its ridges brushing against his fingertips. He opened to its latest tabbed page, the golden streak of ribbon pulled from the fold and his mind welcomed the words and committed their prose to memory.

“Two were forged, Two were made, One was lost, One was saved,” He muttered aloud, “Two were gifted, One was lifted-,” he narrowed his yellow eyes, unblinking at the final depiction on the page, “-The last not cast in molten bone; but lay dormant and waiting in moss-coloured stone.”

He heard the echoing voice of Shank’s laughter in his mind, recalling his light-hearted warning: “Mihawk, you should’ve cast the cursed thing into the seas. Mine was at least swallowed by the sea-beast while I protected the boy.” Shaking his head and focussing down at the words, he skimmed the pages bringing him to the final chapter. 

He closed his eyes, his mind becoming overwhelmed with the thoughts and conversations engaged with you, his governess; who was called as an aid and subordinate to rear his wards with skill and eloquence required to steer them into the correct path.

“These rings were made specifically to hold a particular covenant, none were the same,” your voice echoed in his mind, his brow continuing to lower as his anger rose, “each attuned specifically to the individual who purchased or claimed it. Why would you have such a thing, my lord? You do not seem the type to desire marriage or courtship.”

He snapped his eyes open, recalling how your lips brushed the band of the ring as you laid out your impossible demands for him to follow. He remembered the shock in your face at the knowledge he had one of the objects, the information you poured out regarding your memory of several others of its likeness. What else did you know? Did you know that should he not follow your requests, his soul would be claimed by the haunted specter of the Sapsorrow Queen? 

Suddenly his chest was rid of the anxiety he felt earlier, no longer fearing the haunt at the completion of the initial request. In its stead was the rise of anger and fury, his body rigid and tense with a violent rage. 

What more did you know? Why were you doing this to him? Why had you felt the need of punishing him, torturing his mortal soul in such a way? Did it bring you some sick and sadistic joy to know you had such a hold over him, your employer? These questions spiraled within his mind, his existentialism holding on by a thread as he focussed on your face.

No. No, that was not you. He saw your eyes filled with deep kindness and compassion; pools within flooded with apprehension and hesitancy; perhaps holding a crisis within your own soul. Why did you not tell him what you knew already? Why would you not trust him with such a departure of knowledge? His thoughts continued to whirl within his cocktail of murky thoughts.

If you were not going to disclose such information to the lord of Kuraigana; perhaps he could try his might at pulling truth from your lips as a simple Farm-Hand. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

A gentle rap of the joint of a knuckle colliding with your wooden door arose you from your dreamless slumber; a welcome experience considering the thoughts that plagued you of late. You immediately hoisted yourself up from your bed, wrapping your negligee around your chemise and feet slotting easily into your slippers.

Upon arriving and opening you wooden door by all but an inch, your eyes were immediately greeted by the sight of fresh flowers. Vines of sweet jasmine, sprigs of pastel lavender flowers and the deep magenta and lilac trumpets of morning glory were interwoven within the small, wild small, blue flowers: held together by a woven string of hessian and twine.  

“Lost-Lady,” the voice uttered in a hushed tone, “I have brought your flowers.” A warm smile rose to bless your cheeks at witnessing such a presentation of florals, although confusion eclipsed over its growing trajectory. 

“Farm-Hand,” you paused, your voice holding a firm warning within it, “You have caught me once more in my nightdress, although this time it seems almost intentional.” The man hidden behind the flowers chuckled slightly, although masking it with a small, dry cough. You shook your head at him, looking at the collection he held before you and tilting your head to the side. 

“Where do the grounds grow lavender?” you quizzed him. The more you peered into the arrangement he laid in front of you, the more perplexed you became, “And where are there fields of myosotis alpestris’? I’ve promenaded the grounds with Perona often enough at this stage, and I am yet to see any.”

“I scaled a wall for them,” the man stated, as offhanded and nonchalant as one could possibly muster. You rolled your eyes at his confession, but before you could utter another quip; he interrupted your thoughts, “Would you like to see it?” A small air of thickened silence fell between you in the doorframe. Should he have viewed your expression, he may have seen your smile falter into momentary anger at such a suggestion.

“I am betrothed,” your warning tone remaining held within your cadence, “Whether I truly desired the unity or not, I find myself betrothed regardless. It is not an appropriate suggestion, sir. Particularly not at this hour.” The man behind the flowers sighed a sharp and exasperated breath, almost airing on frustration.

“I have acquired adequate permission from the lord of Kuraigana,” He huffed out in a dismissive tone. He straightened his shoulders, the flowers in his hands dropping for you to almost meet his eyes beneath the straw hat atop his head. You swore you saw two amber irises staring back at you beneath its broad brim, akin to your liege. 

You took a moment to study him: his head covered with a wide, straw hat and his nose and lips concealed with a pale piece of cloth. The shirt he was wearing was beige, lengthy sleeves pooling at his wrists after ballooning out at the elbows. He was adorning tan pants, dark leather boots hidden beneath the ankle line. 

His lips shifted beneath the fabric atop his face to either smile or grimace at you while he watched your eyes dance in deep thought. Choosing the kinder of the two options regarding that small shift in fabric, you opened the door fully to him and stepping aside to allow him entrance into your bedchambers.

“I will replace your flowers while you change,” he declared, gesturing for you to retreat into your changing screen, “I would suggest you wear trousers and a blouse.” Your brows fell into a confused frown while you pursed your lips at the suggestion. Opting to do as you were directed, you hastily removed your sleep clothes behind the screen and found some tan coloured pants and a white blouse. 

After placing the items atop your body, you revealed yourself to the man you knew as Farm-Hand. Opting to ignore his stare, you elevated one of your feet atop the wooden chest at the end of your bed and hiked a sock over your foot and inched it slowly up your calf. The small snap of elastic meeting skin sliced through the air before you rotated your feet and raked the cotton material over your other foot. 

“Where are we going?” you asked him over your shoulder, placing your feet back firmly onto the ground before finding leather boots beneath your bed, “I need to be back to begin lessons with Perona after the morning meal-.”

“-The lord of Kuraigana has dismissed all lessons today,” he uttered in return, prompting you to twist your head immediately to meet his covered face. You placed your feet in your boots and hastily walked over to meet with him, a strict dominance and challenge swelling in your heart at such an order.

“Why would lord Mihawk dismiss my lessons with my-... -our wards?” you asked him, this time there was no doubt that his eyes were indeed a similar hue to your boss. He closed his eyes, the corners of his darkened eyelashes bunching in aggravation before reopening them once more to meet yours. Softness. Such deep and somber softness falling over this Farm-Hand as he gazed into your eyes.

“He-,” his voice fluttered and choked around the words, “-He desired for you to be relaxed for the evening that is to come,” his yellow gaze searched your face, darting from focussing on each of your eyes and looking over your parted lips before rising back to your intense irises. 

“He wanted you to have a day for only yourself, while he had the manor made ready for the celebration tonight. Your engagement tonight,” he confirmed with a curt nod, “Hence the flowers, and the suggestion to see more of the grounds while the decorations were laid and placed.” 

You shook your head at his words, sighing out a defeated air from your lungs as you huffed out an exasperated breath, “Show me then, Farm-Hand.” You collected your sun hat from its place on the vanity and fastened it to your head as you gestured him onwards. 

“As you wish it, Lost-Lady,” he spoke in return, holding the crook of his left elbow for you to lace your arm into. You paused for a moment before reaching out and weaving your arm within his and allowing him to chaperone you throughout the grounds. 

Upon exiting the cobblestone walls and polished marble within the manor walls, you noticed the hum of hushed excitement from the staff who dared be awake and buzzing at this hour. The buzz would halt as you sauntered past the ladies in waiting and the footmen, noting they splayed themselves against the walls and nodded to you within the arm of the Farm-Hand; a nod to which you and the man at your side returned yourselves. 

The day was barely broken in by the morning call of crows and ravens, their serenade yet to be sung while dew clung to the crystalline grass in the fields below. Upon the vines hung an assortment of dark crimson fruit in several rows, but the prominent percentage were amber-coloured grapes of larger stature. 

“Farm-Hand?” you asked the man beside you, angling your eyes up to him and away from the meadows that were displayed in front of you. He nodded with his response of, “Lost-Lady?” You continued to permit him to guide you through the grounds and along a forgotten track. The willow trees brushed their hanging vines against your shoulders in a slow caress as Farm-Hand moved their curtain away and chaperoned you through their shield. 

“This is not a well-beaten track,” you laughed, prompting him to chuckle at your comment, “You made this journey this morning? In the dark?” He unlaced his hand from yours as he first stepped down a rocky incline, offering his hand out in an invitation for you to use him to steady yourself. 

“That I did,” he admitted. You placed your hand within his, allowing him to guide you along the stones that wobbled beneath your feet. A small, childish giggle threatened to spill from your lips as you stumbled your footing on the rocks. You allowed yourself to lean further against his arm for balance, noticing he wove himself closer to you to shepherd you to safety.

“What a strange thing to do at such an hour,” you again almost giggled as you took a small pause in your movements to steady yourself against him, “Do you not sleep?” He sucked in a small breath from behind the material of his mask, his hat doing little to conceal his surprise. 

“I have had much to ponder of late,” his tone holding a slight sassiness to it you were not expecting from someone in servitude. 

“And what does a Farm-Hand have to ponder, hm?” you sassed back, eyes narrow and lips in a playful smirk. His honey-coloured eyes widened at your return of attitude before looking down to where your hands were still joined at the palms. 

“Everything,” he uttered bringing his unoccupied hand to cover your knuckles and soothed over the skin with his thumb, “One which perplexes me is the curse of the Sapsorrow Queen.” He released your hand from within his and continued to guide you off the beaten track and into the unknown; the wall of the keep continuing to hold you within its guarded safety. 

“I see,” you nodded, brows furrowing at the thought, “I’m sure it would be quite the buzz amongst the staff. I can already hear it myself: The lord of Kuraigana accidentally engaging himself with someone so low-” 

“-Do not dare to do yourself the disservice of calling yourself low,” he spat in a gruff tone, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes, “I have-... -Lord Mihawk has always held you in the highest regard.” You halted your steps, taken aback at the statement, before again stuttering your footing forward to follow Farm-Hand closer to the edge of the wall.

“Forgive me for offending you,” you offered your apology to him in a hushed whisper, following behind him dutifully. He laughed heartily at that comment, the cloth covering his face doing a poor job at stifling his joy. 

“Oh, my lady,” he turned back to face you once more and offered you his hand to guide you up the small incline of grass and dew, “you can make it up to me by aiding my bewilderment.” You smiled softly at him, taking his hand once more and allowing him to tug you as you stepped up the side of the hill. You were ever thankful you paid mind to his warning of wearing trousers as the mud from your boots sprayed their hem with its sludge. 

“I will try as I might, Farm-Hand,” you smiled before your eyes widened in partial panic at the small slip of your boot. Immediately, the man above you reached down and grasped beneath your arms and hoisted you up to the top of the hill. He fell his hands to your waist as you steadied yourself atop the ground. You finally allowed a small giggle to spill from your lips at this motion, placing your hands on his wrists and gently prying his hands away from you. 

“This is a fair hike,” you confirmed with him, “I haven’t been on its equal since childhood. The grounds here are beautiful.” You turned to glance at the distance you’d covered, only barely making out the manor from the great distance. 

“Allow me the luxury of taking you higher,” Farm-Hand again smirked his hidden lips at you, voice dripping with arrogant sass as he gestured to the wall beside you. Your eyes widened at the height of such a wall, looking to the cobblestones protruding from the ridge in cement. 

“I am assuming there are some stairs closeby,” you asked him your pointed question, arching up your brow at his suggestion. He again dryly chuckled at your statement, shaking his head.

“But where would be the challenge in that?” his tone sassed within his hidden lips, prompting you to shake your head at him.You looked around at the wide wall, starting at the lowest lows before reaching to the heights above. 

“Are you expecting me to climb, Farm-Hand?” you shook your head at him, turning your gaze back towards him and noticed he had rolled his long pale sleeves up to the elbow, and was now shifting his pants to tuck their ankles into his leather boots. 

“I have had the challenge placed on me to bring you to the wall and show you where I collected your flowers,” he informed you, standing to meet your gaze, “And while you’re clinging to me, perhaps you could inform me all you know about the Sapsorrow curse?” You gasped at him, gawking as he gestured for you to walk over to him and bring yourself beside him. He readied himself by tying a dual-knotted rope, two loops within its length.

“Who challenged you to do such a thing?” you narrowed your eyes, suspicion overtaking you as you drew yourself behind the Farm-Hand. 

“You did, when you told me to show you,” he sassed, his eyebrow arching up as you apprehensively placed your hands onto his shoulders. He flung the rope into the air, the circlets falling over your heads, down your torso and halting at your hips as he pulled sharply on the end. You immediately became flush beside him and watched as he flung the end over a loop at the top of the wall, collecting the descending length back into his hand with a quick catch.

“You’ve done this before,” you smirked at him, eyes raking over his face with suggestive challenge laced within your tone.

He stooped down to you, the brims of your hats touching as he cooed down in a mocking tone, “I did this, this morning.”

You laughed, slapping his chest and mirrored his foot pressing against the wall. He began stepping his hands within the grasp of the rope, levering you towards the top of the wall and walking his feet against the stone ever so often to balance against it. You began to feel a little helpless as he hoisted you both upwards, a small air of panic rising in your chest the further you rose from the ground. 

“Whatever you are thinking, don’t,” He commented, his voice remaining steady as he continued flexing his arms and elevating you towards the top of the large wall, “I won’t let you fall, nor am I bothered by your presence beside me.”

“Are you sure? My additional weight is-,” you began, only to have his sharp reprimand catch you off guard with his tone. 

“-You are perfect as you are, and not encumbering me in the slightest,” he warned you. As a small display of his words, he looped his right arm within the rope and let go with his left. Looking directly into your eyes, he jumped his right hand upwards. He was jolting the two of you in a slower rise, but raising you all the same with only one arm. 

“Shall I keep doing it this way, or would you prefer it to be smoother, Lost-Lady?” He taunted you, keeping his eyes boring into yours with an intense sassiness. 

“Smoother is preferable,” you lulled your head to the side, rolling your eyes at this arrogant display, “But if you are not done with your peacocking; by all means, continue.” 

“As you wish, Lost-Lady,” he smirked, bringing his left hand back up to the rope and smoothing out the elevation between you, “Now, tell me about-.”

“-The Sapsorrow Rings? Yes. I can tangibly feel how interested you are in my knowledge on the matter, Farm-Hand,” you taunted him, again rolling your eyes at him. He growled lowly at you, but elected to say nothing as you approached the top of the wall. He wrapped his left arm around your waist, placing his right hand against the flat of the top and pushed upwards with his forearm. He ensured your safety first, placing you against the stone base and then falling himself beside you.

Dangling your legs off the ledge, you were overwhelmed by the sights laid out before you. Beholding the entirety of the keep belonging to your betrothed, you could see everything from here. The Manor, the vineyards with their white rose markers, the barrel room with steel vats, the hedge-end mazes and checkered flooring, the courtyards and workers frolicking - everything. 

“Turn around,” Farm-Hand commanded you with a soft tone. You felt his fingertips graze your chin, turning you to view a sight held completely secret and secluded from the rest of Kuraigana’s lands. This view had no equal; the expanding variety of flowers spanning the area was breathtaking. Some were wild, some were painstakingly cared for with hard work and persistence. Rivers of coloured petals and softened greens peppered the area, a small hanging swing fell from a heavy branch of a purple Jacaranda tree. 

Your jaw slackened, looking to the small field of blue stemmed flowers, to the back of the assortment. 

“You found the myosotis alpestris’?” Farm-Hand’s tone smiled at you. Without uttering a word, you slowly nodded your head, allowing your jaw to remain slackened at the sights. 

It was beautiful. Everything was so beautiful, and so private. Secluded, separate - secret.

“Did you hear the legend of how they got their common name?” He brushed his index finger over your jaw towards your ear, tucking a loose strand behind it before moving down to begin unloosening the knots at your waists. 

“It was said there was a knight who died on the quest to retrieve the blue flowers for his lover the night before they announced their intention to wed,” he continued picking at the knots to loosen them at your hip, “He called out with his final breath: ‘forget me not’ as he perished on the field, the blue flowers fisted in his palm.”

“What a horrible story,” you whispered, still not baring to take your eyes away from the enchantment below you. The shrouded man beside you chuckled at your candor, finally releasing the rope from the both of you and rolling it within his palm and forearm.

“A fitting flower for you, considering your predicament,” he smiled with his voice, nudging you with his shoulder. You finally broke free from the enchantment at that nudge, nudging him in return with your own shoulder. “Speaking on legends of old-,” he began, before you immediately elevated your tone above his.

“-Sapsorrow, I know. I did give you my word,” you sighed, a final small nudge of your shoulder brushing with his and a small smile later; you apprehensively began to relay your knowledge onto your new friend.

“I didn’t know there were ten of them, nor there was poetry crafted for them,” you shrugged your shoulders, “My betrothed was kind enough to inform me the warlords and higher ups in the world government had them, although I had my suspicions there were more than one in the midst.” You sucked in a deep breath of air before hissing it out. 

“The only mention I had heard was a story from my childhood. My father-,” your words choked in your throat, causing you a small rise in bittersweet melancholy at the memories, “...-My father used to read it to me. A funny tale, if not for its tragic origins. I adored the happy ending the most, but the beginning? That is what held my attention: probably why I made the insidious requests. Very self-indulgent, in that regard.”

Farm-Hand chuckled at your side, urging you to keep relaying your thoughts. 

“Sapsorrow, as she was known, was cursed to marry her father by placing a hereditary ring onto her unity finger - much akin to how I placed this,” you looked down at the green gemmed ring sparkling up at you, “on my own. Her father was widowed, like my own. She didn’t realize the moment she placed it on her finger, she was set to marry the ruling monarch in that area: her father.”

You shuddered at the thought, a smile rising to your lips as you heard your own father’s voice retelling the story with the vocal emphasis on each of the elements. He was such a wonderful storyteller, you could hear him talk for hours on end and never tire. 

“So what does she do? She makes it impossible for them to wed. She cannot marry her father, of course she cannot,” passion elevated in your voice, hearing the way your own father spoke the prose with enthusiasm, “but she also cannot dishonor the king, nor oppose the law. As each task grew more and more impossible, she forms a plan to escape from her kingdom and away from her destiny.”

Mihawk’s voice hitched in his throat, the material almost shifting from his nose and revealing his face to her at the notion. You continued to relay the fantastical tale of woe and romance, Sapsorrow being championed now as a servant to a prince. 

“So as the tale progresses; Princess Sapsorrow meets a prince and woos him with the three dresses she commissioned her father to make for her. They fall in love twice: her as his servant, and her as the princess-.” Farm-Boy leaned into you, halting your words with his voice overlapping your own.

“-Are you going to run?” He asked you suddenly, “Will you run from me-... -from Mihawk?” He quickly corrected himself, a momentary lapse he prayed you did not catch. You sighed, closing your eyes and taking a moment to collect yourself. You then allowed yourself another moment to look at the garden below you, you breathed in their deep and complex smell of deep florals and spiced undertones.

“To be candid with you, Farm-Hand,” you confessed in a voice above a whisper, “I had thought on it. I desired nothing more than to flee- to run and leave everything behind. I am terrified, Farm-Hand. I am-.” Shutting your eyes once more, you heard the first chitter of birds calling to the morning at the rise of the dawn. 

“I have always felt the need for control,” you continued your confession, “There were so many, many things outside of my control. I wanted to make a life for myself, a life that was mine. I never wanted to marry, to love. To shepherd others to create that life for themselves? Absolutely.”

“Are you planning on running?” Farm-Hand held a stern and unwavering tone to it, prompting you to meet his yellow eyes. You raked your eyes over his shielded face, noticing how his eyes particularly held a familiarity within them; a hue you deduced was endemic to Kuraigana. 

“I desired to. That was until,” you paused, looking to your knees and holding your firm gaze affixed upon them, “until his eyes-... until his voice-.” You shook your head, ridding yourself of your thoughts regarding your betrothed.

“Yes?” Farm-Hand questioned you, hypnotizing you to welcome back those enchanting thoughts you had dwelling on him, “His eyes?” 

“They’re perfect,” you whispered, eyelashes fluttering as the swell of your heart grew. The small breeze atop the wall carried the warm scent of the flowers below up to meet you. 

“And his voice?” he whispered, bringing himself ever closer to you. 

“It’s perfect,” you uttered your confession to the man beside you, held in a moment of utter awe at picturing your betrothed. The way he held you, the way his forehead touched yours as he cared for you. His hands were always ever guiding, always suggesting; never dictating. 

“It’s not what he can offer me, nor the bonds of fate that join us together,” you continued, baring your soul out to your coworker who so dutifully escorted you to the castle walls, “I just cannot allow myself to give into such feelings. Not when I know he is only doing it as honor commands it.” After a moment of brief pause, silence shrouding your presence together above the gardens, Farm-Hand spoke up.

“I have a problem much like your own,” he spoke slowly, prompting you to seek out his gaze. His yellowed hues held firm to the gardens as he continued, “When I think about her, it makes my skin tingle.” He absentmindedly began drawing patterns against the cobblestone wall, tracing invisible lines with the tip of his index finger. 

“My heart swells when she walks into the room,” he continued, continuing to hold his gaze firm in front of him, “Especially when she looks at me like she’d rather me struck by lightning. Her eyes, her voice. You said it first: perfect.”

You hummed in response, both dwelling in an air of unspoken desire and a lover's melancholy. Farm-Hand rose his palm in front of his eyes, staring at the small creases formed within them as he added, “The softest brush of her fingertips could have me fall to my knees if I remain uncareful.” You laughed a dry and humorless laugh.

“Ah, yes. We’re in love,” you continued to laugh, teetering off to add to your declaration, “how tragic.”

“A tragedy indeed,” Farm-Hand uttered with an undertone of purring sass. He tugged at his hat, ensuring it was placed firmly atop his head before standing atop the wall. He grasped the rope and began looping it as he had done before and extended his hand in aid for you to stand. 

“This will remain confidential, yes?” you uttered as you placed your palm in his, “I can’t let this confession get back to my wards, nor my betrothed.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Farm-Hand affirmed to you with a curt nod, “Under the condition you will not relay anything I told you here today, including knowledge on this area.” You took a final look at the garden, cocking your head to the side as you quizzed him.

“Is this area not common knowledge to those who live here?” you inquired, looking deep into his amber irises. 

“You are the first eyes to see it, aside from the lord of Kuraigana,” he uttered a final confession, “and I wanted so desperately for you to see what I have crafted with my hands. After all this secrecy, you deserved to see it in its prime.” Your eyes softened as he tied the ropes secured to your hips and hooked it over the metal hook. 

“Thank you for advocating for me to see this,” you smiled at him, soft and sweet as one would do their friend, “I have thoroughly enjoyed this adventure, and learning what you have managed to foster from the earth. I am proud to call you my friend.”

“As I am proud to call you mine,” he smiled with his eyes, his brows softening as he guided you to the edge of the wall. You looked over the edge and immediately found yourself unnerved at the prospect of a decline.

“Let’s call this a leap of faith, Lost-Lady,” Farm-Hand cooed down at you, “Taking a leap before you take the leap.” You stiffened in your tracks, prompting him to hold himself a little closer to you. 

“I’m here by your side, I will not drop you,” he confirmed, lacing his left hand around your waist and holding you against him, “Now let’s get you back to the manor. You’ll be needing a rest before the celebration tonight.” 

“I don’t think I can do this-,” you began, just at the moment Farm-Hand jumped with you firmly held against his side. You shrieked as you plummeted to the bottom of the wall, slowed only by the fibers of the rope fizzing within the firm grip of your friend. You held your eyes shut, even when you felt the air no longer blowing over your body at your descent. 

“You can open your eyes, Lost-Lady,” the man beside you cooed, voice dripping in cheek. You apprehensively unsqueezed one eye, followed by the other as you noticed your feet were placed firmly on the ground. The arm of Farm-Hand was continuing to hold you stable as you caught your barings, only unweaving around you as you gestured slowly for him to do so.

“Thank you, Farm-Hand. I have thoroughly enjoyed my morning,” you nodded, extending your right hand out for him to shake it, an air of professionalism once again returning to you. Albeit, the glimmer of humor in your eye and the pull of sass on your lips seemed to indicate you were toying with him.

“You’re welcome, Lost-Lady. I have thoroughly enjoyed mine,” He took your hand within his, shaking it briefly before stooping to press his forehead against your knuckles. After he rose, he uttered, “Let’s get you ready for what’s to come next.”

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired

[omnomnomdomcaps]

White Rabbit (Remastered)

Another story from before my Great Purge, this one featuring the wonderful work of @babyfluffybutt. Be sure to follow and support her awesome content!

Allie looked up in her egg hunt attire Card-suits and checkers adorning her frock, A bow in her hair and a thick-crinkled bottom, And bunny-ears hanging she swore she'd heard talk. 

Daddy spoke up, "Remember the rules now, "Five in the basket, and I'll give you a change." Allie first smiled as she tried to acknowledge, But as brain worked to process, well, something felt strange. 

“The tapes that you gave me…” she started to mumble, And tried to remember what she heard on the way. Three hours’ ride to his house in the country, And it was all such a blank, she asked, “what’d they say?"

Daddy - he chuckled, and paused for a moment "You're in for adventure - I'll leave it at that." He patted her head and he kissed the Red Princess And gave her a wink as he tipped her his hat.

Finding the first egg was pleasant and simple On the ground by a bush where she’d happened by chance But as Allie looked up from this one step completed, She departed the egg-hunt and entered a trance.

A flashback - the first time out here in the courtyard When Daddy's estate was like nothing she'd seen She'd known right away that these fields were majestic The one difference being - back then, they were green. 

She couldn't quite tell if her eyes were deceiving: Kaleidoscope purple, blue, yellow, and red. They found the girl slowing and drooling and dizzy Joining the chorus of swirls in her head.

Allie came to, but not halfway as focused And the next rainbow egg was much harder to get When she finally found and bent down to retrieve it, A jarring sensation - bum heavy and wet. 

“You’ve be-puddled yourself!” came the voice of the rabbit, And Allie's face reddened with cheeks in a puff. “You thought that you wouldn’t need diapers this journey, And now you should wonder if one is enough!"

“Nuh uh!” she harrumphed, crossing arms in denial, As girls of her sort are just so wont to do, She’d never been one to quite master the potty, But being so wet and clueless was certainly new. 

The rabbit teased on as their journey continued. The princess, for her part, continued to slip. And by the time that she added one more to the basket, Her childish denials had started to flip.   

"That's three we've got total," the rabbit reported, "If five is our target, how many to go?" But Allie just giggled as her cheek met her finger, Grinned, "I'm just a baby, sir! How would I know?" 

Hours would pass, and the fourth egg eluded, And twilight’s temptation was casting its spell. Tossing basket aside, the girl started yawning, And with a plop and a squish to her bottom she fell.

Her thumb joined her mouth and she sucked without thinking And giggled at shapes that she made with her toes. Daddy came out - it was near time for dinner - And caught her attention by booping her nose.

A week after Easter, effects still persisted. The mind alterations had taken their toll. Eyes followed Allie as she waddled ‘round daily Filling her diapers with zero control. 

And though it seemed scary she barely could focus, Got mixed up when counting, and struggled with text, She licked lips looking back at her Wonderland journey, And dreamt when she’d go down the rabbit-hole next.

[slutforaemondtargaryen]

Special Suit | Shuri

Pairings: Shuri x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, strap!shuri, nicknames, suit fucking, praise kink, fingering, multiple orgasms

Summary: Shuri wants to show you her new suit, that she made especially for you.

Word Count: 866

Author's note: Alright, i dont know if im satisfied with this, but it aint that bad.

Today I decided to visit my beautiful girlfriend in her lab. When I walked in I heard her beautiful voice ''Y/N, I'm so happy you're here! I want to show you something, come!''. I quickly came over to her. ''What is it?'' I asked with curiosity.

She then put on a suit I'd never seen before. It looked familiar to her normal suit, but the material looked different. More comfortable. It showed her curves so beautifully. And it didn't cover her face so I could see her beautiful face. She looked majestic in it.

The look at her made me wet in seconds. I could feel my pussy clenching around nothing. ''I made this suit, especially for our little fun''. She tapped on her thigh, a sign for me to come closer and sit there.

I sat on her thigh, patiently waiting for her next order. She torns my pants and patnies with her claws, throwing them away leaving me half naked. Luckily there was none there.

''Will you be a good girl today?'' she whispers in my ear seductively. I nod my head. ''Is that so?'' her hands slides in between my legs caressing my inner thighs. She licks my earlobe, making me moan softly.

''Ride my thigh.'' she demands and I obey without hesistation. I slowly start riding her thigh. The material against my clit feels amazing, making me moan. She grips my hips and makes the pace faster. I start to moan, but my moans are quickly silenced by her mouth. Her toungue fighting for dominance with mine. I melt into the kiss, her tongue inspects every place in my mouth.

''I'm close'' I cry out, desperately riding her thigh to get satisfied. ''Be a good girl and cum for me. Make a mess all over my thigh, princess.'' she muttered. It took me about five seconds and I came with cry of her name, making a mess on her thigh. My whole body is still shaking from the wholesome orgasm I just recieved. I rest my head on her shoulder breathing heavily.

She pats my head ''You did amazing, my love. You were such a good girl.'' I was still recovering from my orgasm when she started to circle my clit. Her words made me even wetter if it was possible. She entered two fingers and started fucking me at rapid pace. I gripped on her shoulders. ''You can take it, princess. You've taken it before.'' she encorouges me.

I smash my lips against hers as I feel another finger slipping in me. She bites at my bottom lip almost drawing blood. My moans get louder as I feel another orgasm coming. ''Such a good girl, clenching around my fingers, so goodly.'' the pace gets fast and harder her fingers curling in me every way possible, fetching my orgasm. I finally let go. I cum hard all over her fingers.

She slips them out, my juices flowing from me, dripping down my thighs. She brings them to her mouth and licks them clean, moaning at the taste of me. ''You taste wonderful, princess''

''Are you ready for another round?'' she says more informing me than asking me. ''I added a special thing in my suit, so I can fuck you properly'' she announced while tapped something on the screen and a strap created itself on her lap.

It was purple, big and thick. It matched her suit. Shuri watched me with smirk on her face as I was examining the strap. ''Do you like it, my love?'' she questioned. ''Yes, I like it very much!'' I nod my head and touch it. It's very flexible and soft.

Shuri then takes the strap in her hand and positions it against my slit. Coating it in my juices she slowly circles my clit with her fingers. ''Ride my strap with your sweet little pussy, princess'' with that she grips my hips and slowly positions me on the strap.

I slide on it slowly, moaning at how big it is. ''Kiss me'' she demands. I kiss her lips softly as I ride her strap. The kiss becomes quickly passionate and she sets up a rough and fast pace, fucking me with the strap deeply.

I try to pull the strap out from all the overstimulation, but her grip on my hips only tightens and she thrusts in me harder than ever before. ''Take what I give you, princess or you won't cum for a week.'' she growls in my ear, hardening every trust with every words.

My back arches as I feel that I am close to my climax. ''Not yet, wait until I tell you so'' she stated, also being close to her orgasm. She circles my clit bringing me closer to my release. Her thrusts become sloppy, but still deep. ''Cum for me, my love'' she said and with that I came, Shuri just a second later.

She circles my clit and kisses me, taking me through the orgasm. ''I loved it'' I say with weak voice. ''You were such a good girl for me today, I am so proud of you, my sweet princess'' she gives me kiss on my forehead.

[thenameswinterfics]

VISIONS OF HELHEIM

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 4 Summary: Sihtric has never forgotten his mother, whose presence continues to haunt his dreams. And as the Battle of Dunholm draws to a close, you help Sihtric mourn her. Word Count: 6,1 K Warnings: Fluff, angst, missing moments, mention of past abuse, mention on non-consensual relationship (not described in detail), mention of character death, mention of graphic violence (not described in detail). A/N: I'd like to start by saying that it was supposed to be a short fic, but my imagination literally exploded. I'm terribly nervous about this fic, maybe more nervous than the previous one, I've tried to contain the angst so that reading won't be so overwhelming. I know my summaries are terrible, but I swear I'll learn. I'm not an expert in Norse mithology, nor in Pagan traditions, so I apologise in advance if you'll find some inaccuracies. For Elflaed's description I took inspiration by another amazing writer here on Tumblr, giving my own interpretation in some details as well. I forgot the blog's name, so if any of you should know them, please give me the name and I'll quote it! As always, a special thanks to @sylasthegrim, @legitalicat and @sihtricfedaraaahvicius for calming me down during my writing crises (I know it happened once, but your help has been precious), to @lord-aldhelm for helping me fill in some language gaps and to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for a last minute check and helping me with finding a title (Foxy, I love your brain, and thank you so much for sharing with me your knowledge about Norse and pagan culture).

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

A raging storm crossed the lands of Dunholm in the middle of night, the shining moon hiding behind a dense bank of dark grey clouds. The gentle breeze that caressed the tree canopies turned into a violent wind that bent the tree trunks, devastating nature with its destructive force. Drops of rain fell on the ground, saturating the soil and creating small puddles that increased their volume over time. Flashes of light appeared in the sky, creating a spectacle at once majestic and terrifying. 

The bravest men and warriors who dared to face the storm and believed in the Old Gods would say that it was all Thor's plan: enraged by the despicable actions of Dunholm's Jarl and his men, the god of thunder brandished his Mjolnir in the air and unleashed the most dangerous lightning and the most treacherous of the storm. But even the worst of natural disasters could not move the heart of a cruel man.

Elflaed sat on the cold floor of a crumbling hut, feeling the window doors creak and slam violently as cold air and water entered the house. She held her son in her arms, his tiny body curled up against her in search of warmth and protection, his big, mismatched eyes craving comfort in his mother's. Her arms were wrapped around him protectively, adjusting the thick fur on her shoulder and holding him close as her soothing voice sang a lullaby, hoping to shield him from the sounds of the raging storm.

There had always been a hint of sadness in the young woman's eyes, spreading to the sweet features of her face, a bittersweet feeling growing in her chest every time she looked at the little life she held in her embrace. If only the gods had been merciful to her and not given her a son in the most despicable way. 

When she closed her eyes, she could feel Kjartan's large, rough hands exploring parts of her body he wasn't allowed to touch, forcibly stripping her of her dignity, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt her pleas ignored. Anger, fear and resentment grew inside her along with an unwanted life, her womb cultivating the seed of a relationship that should never have existed. Elflaed prayed each night with her eyes to the sky, hoping that some merciful god would rid her of the life she was forced to carry. But no child is guilty of the actions of their father, and the young woman learned that the first time she held the infant in her arms, her maternal instincts took hold of her heart as his soft cries filled the room.

And for the following winters, Elflaed raised her son alone, protecting him from a father who rejected one of the many bastards he had across Dunholm. The love for her son grew along with the hatred for Kjartan, which reached its peak as one day she found a bush of black berries in the forest. She was aware of how poisonous those berries were, and had no intention to waste a precious opportunity.

"You will live, sweet boy," Elflaed cooed as she watched Sihtric drift back to sleep, no longer afraid of the storm outside. Her tone was reassuring, trying to calm herself more than him, as her fingers brushed across his tiny forehead, moving strands of hair away from him. “And I will always be here, watching over you.”

It was in that moment that her gaze moved onto the plate of the nightshade berries on the table. She would have her revenge that night.

And her destiny was sealed.

Never before had the night looked so beautiful and so full of mystery.

That was what you thought as you lay on a large pile of hay outside the saddles, your eyes never leaving the great expanse of black veil that rose above your head, adorned with small silver points of light in which you could see all the signs of Ymir's work as he created the planets and all the stars. Your eyes darted in quick motion as you recognised the constellation of Ulf's Keptr, the Fiskikarlar, Kvennavagn and Karlvagn and the Asar Bardagi, your slender finger pointing at the sky and tracing the imaginary lines that connected those small celestial bodies, as bright as the flames that engulfed your house and took away your home and family years ago. 

You couldn't remember what it was about the stars that fascinated you, or how your mind had gotten so lost in a memory you never thought would surface again. But a sense of peace pervaded your mind, every inch of fear and anxiety in your body fading away as you fixed your gaze on the star, losing yourself in the vastness of the night sky. 

It had become a silent ritual that you would perform each night before going into battle, as if to ask the fallen warriors resting within the sacred walls of Valhalla for their protection to survive another day. But attacking an impregnable fortress like Dunholm was no easy task, you knew that. At least not in the way your brothers Uhtred and Ragnar had described it in their reckless plan to take the fortress and avenge your father's memory. It was your first serious battle, and never more than now did you seek the comfort of the stars. 

Your lips parted as you repeated the stories of the origins of these constellations that you had heard as a naive child from the warriors loyal to your father. It had become a habit for you to let your thoughts out loud in your solitude: the cool night air had always been your silent companion through the years, gently tickling your hair and skin as its way of saying it enjoyed your stories. 

But this time was different. Because you were not alone.

Sihtric lay by your side, one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head. He lifted his eyes to the sky, without ever looking at you, while his ears strained to hear your stories of the celestial world. You could tell he was enjoying the little time you spent together by soft humming escaping from his lips, a soothing sound that warmed your heart. But there was something in his eyes that caught your attention: his gaze was distant, pain and melancholy crossing through its bright, multi-coloured irises, his pupils involuntarily dilated.  

Sihtric had always been a shy and quiet warrior, very reluctant to talk about his past and his birthplace unless asked. You could see his eyes flickering involuntarily at every mention of his father, his head drooping and his jaw clenching as the memory of his past came back to haunt him, the shadow of Dunholm walking beside him and never letting go. 

A gnawing vice tightened in your chest every time you saw Sihtric walking around with a blank stare, taking refuge in his tortured thoughts, and not even your touch could save him, pulling back every time your fingertips brushed against his bare arms. And when you found him asleep in the saddles, or anywhere else far from home, you could hear him calling out to his mother in his nightmares, instinctively embracing her as if to feel the motherly warmth he had lost years ago. Sihtric had never spoken of his mother, nor had you dared to ask, until tonight, under a sky full of stars and a fierce war on the horizon.

“Tell me about your mother,” you broke the silence of the night and shifted your position to lie on your side, looking at Sihtric with curiosity. Your sudden question awoke the Dane from his trance-like state, his eyes widening as he rested his gaze on you.

“Lady?” Sihtric asked back, his voice trembling slightly like the hand that rested on his stomach. 

"You told Lord Uhtred that you were Kjartan's bastard son, whelped on a slave girl. We know everything about that wretched turd," the last word came out in a low hiss, your words as heavy as the resentment you felt for your father's murderer. "But there have been no words for your mother, so I would like to know about her." 

At first you didn't realise how demanding your tone was, but when you regained your composure and saw Sihtric's muscles tense and his breath catch at your request, you bit the inside of your cheek and cursed yourself for being so impulsive. You knew how Sihtric flinched whenever anyone spoke to him in a stern tone, but you were Uhtred and Ragnar's little sister: impulsiveness was in your nature. 

An awkward silence fell over you as you both stared at each other, different emotions mingled in the air creating a heavy atmosphere. Finally, after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and looked away. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered with guilt in your voice, struggling to find the right words. “My apology, forgive what I said before.” You were about to move when his voice stopped you.

“Elflaed,” Sihtric spoke in a weak voice, and if you listened carefully you could hear the trembling in it. “She was called Elflaed, lady.”

Elflaed. That was the name Sihtric called out every night in his unconscious state, searching for a mother he could no longer hold in his arms. Sadness washed over you as your thoughts returned to your own mother and how you felt your heart torn from your chest the night she died. But you had first Uhtred and Brida, then Ragnar, to help you through your grief, while Sihtric had no one to support him. And the grip on your heart tightened. 

“Was Dunholm her home? Was she a Dane like you?” you asked with a soft voice, and Sihtric shook his head faintly.

“No. She was a Saxon, lady. She came from Hocchale, lady. She was taken in Dunholm as a slave.” the Dane replied, looking down at his trembling hand on his stomach. You could still see his mismatched eyes shining in the pale moonlight, watering as he fought back tears. You held a hand up in the air, wanting to place it on his shoulder and give him all your support, but remembering how your touch was not welcomed by his involuntary shudder, your hand returned to your side.

“Your mother,” you broke the silence for the third time, closing your eyes and squeezing the bridge of your nose as you tried to find the right words. “She… I know I am asking you a delicate question, but… What happened to her?”

And at that moment, Sihtric looked away from the sky to rest his gaze on you, his pupils still dilated and his eyes still watering as he looked around slightly, fearing that some punishment might come if he dared to speak the truth. But when he realised that no harm could come, he calmed down slightly and spoke again. 

"She tried to poison Kjartan, lady," the Dane confessed, mustering the courage to change his position and lie on his side, telling you the truth as he looked into your eyes. "With the black berries. The nightshades, lady," he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat before continuing, his voice breaking with emotion, "I do not know what happened that night, lady. All I remember is that she left me and..." 

A sob escaped his lips and the way his body was shaking made you realise he could collapse in front of you at any moment. Without thinking, you raised your hand and placed it gently on his cheeks: to your surprise, he didn't flinch, but looked at you intently, leaning into your touch.

“Sihtric,” you opened your mouth, but the Dane was quick to interrupt you.

“I loved her, lady. With my whole heart, I swear it,” he said with a pleading voice, clutching the pendant of Mjolnir in his trembling hand, in the same way he did the day he swore his oath to Uhtred.

“And I believe you, Sihtric, you do not need to swear to me,” you replied softly, closing the distance between you and resting your forehead on his. Both your hands rested on his cheeks, your thumbs moving in a circular motion to calm him. You felt a soft breath leave his lips and his breathing slowly stabilised. He found a temporary peace in your warmth and you would be his steady rock, shielding him from his past. 

“I promise you, under this sky painted of stars, that your mother will be avenged tomorrow. Kjartan will draw his last breath in battle and his death will be far from honourable,” you confirmed in a soft yet firm tone, clutching your own Mjolnir pendant in your hands. “Do you trust my words?” 

Sihtric was silent for a moment, your words and actions clearly taking him by surprise. But when he opened his mouth to reply, you saw his hand reach for yours, his frightened eyes soften, a pink hue colouring his cheeks. His words came out in a feeble whisper, but you were close enough to hear them. 

“I trust them, lady. With my life and soul.”

And then, in the middle of the night, the surreal silence was broken by two humming voices saying a prayer for survival in battle.

Tension hung in the air as several warriors gathered to form a square in the courtyard, with Ragnar and Kjartan standing in the centre, facing each other in a duel to the death. Heavy blows of swords and axes against wooden shields came from the human ring, low growls and cheers escaping from their lips as the duel became more bloody and brutal. But Sihtric said nothing, holding his helmet tightly in his hands as he waded through the crowd. 

The battle at Dunholm fortress drained Sihtric both physically and mentally: returning to the place where pain and abuse had haunted him since childhood was a challenge he never wanted to face again. Yet he swore an oath of loyalty to Uhtred, and offered up his sword and his life under the watchful eyes of the gods. If Uhtred wished to attack the fortress, Sihtric would obey without question. 

But even his lord could not prepare him for what he was about to witness. A wave of emotion washed over him as he saw Kjartan, the man who had nothing in common with except the blood that ran through his veins, slowly perish under every blow that Ragnar struck, the scene so crude and sickening that even the bravest of warriors could not watch for long. 

Satisfaction first, then horror, disgust and bitterness as he winced at every blow Kjartan received, the ground of Dunholm painted crimson as blood coursed through his body. Sihtric felt numb, a myriad of thoughts running through his mind, remembering his life as a slave in his own house, how his body and mind endured his father's cruelty, how he tried to impress him and earn love and respect, only to be mocked and humiliated in return. He remembered every scar and bruise he had received, and how his body ached with every blow as he lay stunned on the floor after his punishment was over. 

As he exhaled a ragged breath, unrest was painted on his face, his skin turning pale as his mind returned to the night his mother died, her piercing screams echoing in his mind as they had on that stormy night when she was thrown to the dogs on his father's orders. It was a melody that haunted his dreams, begging his mother to forgive him for not being able to save her. A forgiveness that never reached him.

A gentle grip on his hand brought him back to reality, the muffled voices in his ears crystal clear as reality returned in all its crudeness. Sihtric slowly realised that it was over as his eyes rested on his lord, who was holding an enraged Ragnar close to him. A heavy silence filled the fortress as all the warriors realised what had really happened, neither faction daring to continue the fight. 

Sihtric recognized your touch, but he was too stunned to return the squeeze. And you just stood still at his side, watching helplessly as the ghosts of his past returned to haunt him, while he felt the echo of Elflaed’s voice reaching his ears.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way towards Dunholm's dungeon, the faint flame of your torch trembling with your hands. The damp air didn't help your anxiety, and you tried to manoeuvre through the darkness of the place with cautious steps, the metallic smell of blood irritating your nostrils.

You have won the battle, but at what cost? You asked silently over the flames of the small brazier in the great hall, but the soft crackling of the wood didn't give you the answer you were looking for. 

The attack on the fortress had been successful, and Young Ragnar had honoured Ragnar the Fearless’ memory by taking Kjartan's life. But it was a bittersweet victory for you, for the gods wouldn't give you back your father, who was feasting among them in the golden halls of Valhalla. To your surprise, you found out that Thyra was alive, but hatred burned in her heart as she blamed you all for abandoning her to her fate. Uhtred and Ragnar told you that she was safe in Father Beocca's hands, but you knew that nothing could easily mend a broken trust. 

But your mind couldn't stop thinking about Sihtric, and how he was too overwhelmed and confused to return your touch, and how he remained silent throughout the aftermath. He just stood there in the courtyard, looking at his father's lifeless body with an indecipherable expression on his face, before shaking his head and silently returning to his duties. You thought that taking him to Dunholm would have caused him no small amount of pain, and you had several arguments with Uhtred about sparing Sihtric further suffering. But your brother was adamant, and the young Dane was too loyal to disobey him. 

And in the midst of your thoughts, you felt a strong hand squeeze your shoulder, forcing you back into reality and into the deep blue eyes of the Daneslayer, who looked at you with concern. 

“Sihtric has been missing,” he told you with a low voice, and you jolted on the furred chair.

"I thought he was celebrating the victory with Finan and the others," was your blunt reply, feigning disinterest while a storm of emotion exploded inside you. 

“Finan told me he has not seen him for hours,” Uhtred retorted, and deep down in your heart you knew what you had to do. 

And so there you were, searching for Sihtric in the darkest part of the fortress after a long search on the surface. You thought you would find him in the stables, the place where he usually spent most of his time, meticulously tending to the horses: but to your surprise, he wasn't there, nor was he in the servants' quarters. 

A sense of foreboding grew within you, a sense of claustrophobia struck you as you felt the walls of the dungeon closing in around you, the dim light of your torch illuminating the poorly maintained surroundings, the damp, enclosed smell making you dizzy as you saw your shadow playing tricks on you. You were about to lose hope when you heard a ragged breath from a few cells ahead. 

You moved quietly in the direction of the sound until you saw Sihtric lying on the ground, a thick fur protecting him from the cold floor. Your heart ached as you watched him toss and turn on the ground, his lips trembling and his forehead drenched in sweat as nightmares once again took possession of his mind, his mother's name slipping from his mouth in a whisper. You looked at him with a hint of sadness in your eyes, and unlike the other nights, this time you would have woken him. 

You approached him gently, your touch on his shoulder as light as a feather as you shook him lightly. This sudden action caused him to wake up abruptly, jumping to his feet as he didn't recognise you in the darkness. You jumped back as well, about to fall to the ground in a heap from his sudden movements. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered smoothly, raising your hands as you wanted to reassure him no harm would come, “It is me, do not be afraid.”

You continued to speak in your soothing tone as you allowed the fire of the torch to illuminate your features. Sihtric's body stopped shaking as he recognised you, trying to compose himself as he bowed his head slightly in respect, ignoring the way his chest rose and fell frantically.  

“I wondered where you were. I thought you were feasting with the others, or you were resting in one of the fortress’ rooms,” you inquired, your eyes sad as you thought that sleeping in the cells was a habit he had developed during his time as a slave and imagined him resting in his cold, isolated cell.  

“Forgive me, lady,” Sihtric muttered back in a strained voice, looking down at his feet. The Dane warrior secretly thanked the gods for the poor lighting in this place, hiding the redness of his cheeks. “I… I did not know where else to rest.” 

After hearing his answer, you let out a small sigh, saddened by the realisation that he still did not feel safe at home, even after seeing his father's reign of cruelty end before his eyes. 

“Be free to move wherever you want,” you approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder once more, a flash of realisation came over you: you had promised to be his rock under the starry sky, and you would keep it. 

"Kjartan is dead, Sihtric. Your days of fear and suffering are over, you are a free man now," you said with softness in your voice, locking eyes with him as he raised his head, his mismatched eyes silently yearning for your protection. The Dane warrior nodded his head, his lips curling into a small smile. 

"Come, I will take you to a warm place, now," you said as you squeezed his hand and pulled him towards the exit of the dungeon. Sihtric followed you without saying a word, squeezing your hand back as he followed you, leaving a piece of his past behind as he left the cells.

Convincing Sihtric to spend the night with you was a difficult task: the Dane warrior was afraid that Uhtred might turn up and scold him for being alone with his little sister, but you tried to explain that he would not be arriving for some time, too busy discussing the future running of Dunholm with Ragnar. You let out a defeated sigh as you watched him furrow his brow in suspicion, but soon you were glad that he had at least convinced himself to trust your words. 

You led him into your temporary room, one of the largest in Dunholm, beautifully decorated with carved wooden planks on the ceiling and a few rugs covering the wooden floor. Despite its size, the large fireplace in the centre of the room was able to heat the whole room, the crackling of the wood being the only sound allowed in. 

You handled him with the utmost care, looking down his broad arms for any suspected wounds or cuts that might require attention. Desperately chasing away any impure thoughts about his appearance, you were pleased to find that his flesh was untouched and unblemished, save for a few specks of dust scattered about. You almost cursed yourself for not preparing a warm bath for him, and with what little water you had, you tore off a piece of your clothing and used it to clean his skin. Your touch was as soft as silk on his muscles, and Sihtric did his best to hide the redness of his cheeks. 

“Better?” you asked as you looked at Sihtric, your sudden question bringing him out of his thoughts. The Dane hummed back, his eyes softening in your presence. 

“Thank you, lady,” he whispered, leaning desperately on your touch as you continued to clean him.

Afterwards, you both lay down on the large bed, which was much more comfortable than the one you used to sleep on back in Cumbraland. The warmth of the blankets and furs gave you both a sense of peace and comfort, almost making you forget that a fierce battle had been fought that morning. 

You both looked up at the ceiling, imagining it to be the same starry sky as the day before. A pleasant silence filled the room, and the single thought brought a small smile to both of your faces, too drunk with each other's closeness as your hands instinctively reached out to each other, your fingers intertwined as you both used your thumbs to make small circles on the backs of your hands. 

You both enjoyed this idyllic moment until Sihtric cleared his throat and shyly drew your attention to himself as his big, mismatched eyes stared intently at you. You could see his pupils dilate again, and it was then that you realised something was troubling him. 

“Lady,” the Dane spoke quietly, squeezing your hand, “There is one thing I would like to do before we leave Dunholm.” 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and looked for a moment at how tightly he clasped your hand, as if he were secretly looking to you for comfort and understanding. 

“What is it?” you asked softly, your lips curving into a sympathetic smile as you waited for him to speak up. You were calm, taming your curiosity and impulsiveness. 

"There is a small place, a little far from Dunholm," he continued in a timid voice, looking down at your joined hands, as if he was regaining his courage by looking at them, "We can reach it by following the path of the small spring from the east wall, it is a safe route to take with our horses. It will be a short walk, and when we see a large hawthorn tree in the distance, we will have reached our destination.”

Sihtric paused for a moment and took a long breath before continuing.

"I buried my mother there. At least..." Another long sigh escaped his lips, this time more shaky than the first. "...where I would like to bury her." 

A heavy silence fell over the room, the calm and peaceful atmosphere vanishing in an instant. You stood still, too stunned by his words to speak. And when you found the courage to open your mouth, Sihtric quickly cut you off, clasping both of his hands between yours. 

"I wish to mourn her, my lady. To mourn her properly," Sihtric murmured, his eyes watering as he looked away from you and down at some random spot on the blankets. "I... I know we could slow the return journey, but I will speak to Lord Uhtred and I-I will take my punishment..." 

With an imperceptible movement, you slipped your hand from his grasp and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head and forcing him to look at you. A soft whisper escaped your lips, interrupting his stream of consciousness, his words replaced by a soft sigh, his head unintentionally tilted as his mismatched eyes rested on yours.

"My brother will not punish you for mourning your mother, Sihtric," you told him in a reassuring tone, tilting your head slightly so that your foreheads touched, "because we will go there at dawn tomorrow and you will be free to pray in silence and honour her memory.” 

There was something comforting in your words, a gentle reassurance that was like balm to Sihtric's heart, wrapping itself around your care and love. As your eyes met, you both felt a comforting warmth spread through your chests, an invisible thread drawing you together as you slowly drew closer, your lips brushing gently before locking in a timid kiss that became desperate as Sihtric poured all his love into you, pulling you closer and deepening the contact. 

After a few seconds he pulled away, both breathing heavily, but with their foreheads pressed together, a small smile crossed Sihtric's face. The Dane knew it was wrong to steal a kiss from his lord's sister, but you had become his shining star in a dark sky, and the flame of your love burned brightly in his heart.

And as the moon shone brightly in the sky, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, slipping into a peaceful sleep, feeling the gentle rhythm of each other's breathing and knowing that you would face whatever came next together.

Morning came and Dunholm awoke to a peaceful atmosphere, the days when Kjartan the Cruel ruled the stronghold fading away like grains of sand in the wind. The aftermath of the battle still left its physical scars, the courtyard still painted red, arrows and broken shields still lodged in the ground, the great ram still lying undisturbed at the foot of the gates. Yet nature was reborn after the death of its tyrant, the grass, plants and flowers seemed to grow with the brightest colours, and the melodious chirping of birds echoed in the air.

A few rays of the dawning sun filtered through the window and gently caressed Sihtric's sharp features, and he groaned softly as he slowly awoke, feeling his body well rested as he slept without nightmares for the first time. Rubbing his tired eyes, he turned awkwardly to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. A sense of worry washed over him when he didn't find you by his side, and suddenly he felt as if he had been transported back in time to when he was in Tekil's service, living under the pressure of impressing a father who was barely aware of his presence.

But his worries quickly vanished when he felt the door to the room open and you appeared behind it with a broad smile on your face. Sihtric was unaware that you had awakened before the sun could greet the earth with a new day, and unnoticed you quietly took your horse from the stables and followed the route he had described to you the night before. 

The ride to the hawthorn tree was very quiet, full of unspoken emotions. Years had passed since he had visited his mother's grave, and he had never thought that he would return to bid her a final farewell and leave Dunholm, burying a past he had hoped to forget, but which had made him the warrior he was. 

After a short walk they reached a large hawthorn tree, and to Sihtric's relief it was the same one he had seen as a child, not even the violent storms of the past few days had wiped it out. His eyes darted down to its roots, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw: the blank stones that had made up the small mound of earth he had imagined burying his mother many years ago had been replaced by larger, white stones, decorated with symbols he recognised as drawn runes, carefully scattered around the perimeter of the grave. 

A sudden realisation came to him as he remembered the way you had greeted him at dawn, your dirty hands suggesting that you had been to the burial spot and tended to his mother's grave before accompanying him. A small bouquet of hawthorn was placed over the patch of earth, and Sihtric recognised it as the flower Elflaed used to pick when she returned to the forest, remembering her sweet smile as she caressed the white petals with her fingers. 

You both knelt in silence at the foot of the grave, clasping your pendants together as you both silently recited a prayer to the goddess Hel, asking her to watch over Elflaed's soul in the halls of Eljudnir in Helheim. 

As the last words were spoken in silence, the weight of the moment fell heavily on Sihtric, and without realising it, he saw small teardrops fall to the ground and looked up at the sky, thinking that a storm was about to break. But his eyes were too blurred to focus on the orange-blue sky, and he slowly realised that the soil was wet with his own tears. Unable to contain his emotions, the Dane buried his face in his hands and let out a liberating cry, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You reached over and wrapped your arms around his large shoulders, pressing your lips to his temple, leaving a small kiss as you held him tightly in your hands.

"Let it all out," you whispered softly, your voice comforting as you gave him gentle strokes on his back, "I am here with you as your mother, watching over you." 

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder as emotions overwhelmed you as well, and you silently let your tears flow as you cried for your own late mother, whose soul rested in Valhalla with your father and the other fallen warriors. 

You returned to the fortress in silence, following the thin stream of water backwards as you chose your route, your horses dragged by the reins. Halfway you halted your march, your pause forcing Sihtric to rest as well.

"Is something wrong, lady?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he saw you approach in silence, one of your fingers trailing over the pendant of his Mjolnir. You both looked into each other's eyes, your cheeks turning red simultaneously as you both filled your nostrils with each other's scent.

“Promise me that, when we have a baby girl, we will name her Elflaed,” you confessed light-heartedly with a shy smile, and the Dane warrior looked down at his feet as his face turned completely red, the redness reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“A-A baby girl?” he muttered, swallowing a mix of air and saliva while his mind was filled with endless thoughts. 

Sihtric fell in love with you the night he failed in his mission to kidnap Uhtred and was taken prisoner, the compassion in your eyes a thing that never left his mind. He secretly wanted to find the courage to confess his feelings for you and take you as his wife, but something prevented him: he was not afraid to face Uhtred, he knew that you were more stubborn than his lord and that your brother would have given you everything, however reluctantly. He was afraid of himself, afraid of failing to please or impress you. Uhtred was the rightful heir to a land he sought to reclaim, and though in exile, Finan was still an Irish prince by blood. Sihtric was only a bastard son, with no land to claim and no royal title to flaunt. 

"I... I am afraid I cannot satisfy you, lady," the Dane gently declined your offer, which was met with a puzzled look from you. He let out a sigh before speaking again, "I-I have nothing to offer you, lady. I have no land to rule, nor enough silver to give you. I am a nobody, lady, and as much as I love you and want to take you as my wife, I fear I could not make you happy."

"I do not need a rich and powerful lord to be happy," you replied, shaking your head as a light chuckle escaped your lips. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, tracing the scar on his cheekbone with your thumb. "There could be many lords in all of England who would be willing to claim my hand, but in my heart I know that the only man I will ever allow to be by my side is you," you continued, still holding his pendant in your other hand.

A pleasant tension filled the air as you both stared at each other, the wind the silent intruder in your union. Sihtric's large hands rested on your hips, your thumb still tracing his scar, a soft hum vibrating in the Dane's throat as he surrendered to your touch. 

"I love you, Sihtric Kjartansson," you said softly, your eyes full of love as you rested your gaze on his alluring bicoloured eyes, "to Valhalla and back.”

"And I love you, lady," Sihtric replied shyly, returning your gaze with the same intensity as yours, "to Valhalla and back."

And the distance between you disappeared.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

[almostgenerallyalways]

to absent friends and those at sea

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem reader Category: angst / fluff Word count: 6,2K CW: language, don't know how the navy works, maybe workplace bullying, this is a 'there's only one bed' fic that got out of control

Summary: Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

2023

“Your flight is about to get canceled.”

You start, thrown by the appearance of Hangman at your side, interrupting your intense scrutiny of the departures board where another forty minutes have just been added to the already considerable delay of your outbound flight to Seattle.

“What are you still doing here?” You eye him suspiciously, adjusting your duffel bag over your shoulder.

“Nice to see you too, Mir.” He smiles, completely unperturbed as always. “I stayed back to hang out with Coyote. Haven’t seen him much since he was transferred. He left this morning.” He pauses for a moment, indifferently examining his fingernails. “You?”

You sigh. “I thought I’d take advantage of being in the Rockies to hike.”

The man next to you smirks. “In other words, you got drenched.”

“More or less.”

Two days ago, Saturday, had been a beautiful, sunny day for a wedding: Every circumstance had been perfect to reunite most of your Top Gun class, gathered with assorted family, friends and colleagues of the happy couple, to watch Halo say yes to her wife.

You’d enjoyed yourself immensely; the majestic scenery of Halo’s remote hometown in the Colorado mountains, the beautiful venue and decorations, and best of all: being with one of your best friends on the happiest day of her life.

Then the next day, as you’d rolled out of bed bright and early, only slightly hungover, you’d opened the curtains of your hotel room to unannounced streaks of rain.

Not put off by a little change in weather, you’d checked if there were any safety warnings for the trail you’d chosen, and set out in spite of the adverse conditions. The experience had been less enjoyable than anticipated: the beautiful views over the Rockies obscured by a thick layer of fog, you’d returned to your room early last night, chilled to the bone, every stitch of clothing you’d been wearing soaked through.

Another announcement pings over the speakers, interrupting your reflections. The status next to your flight number and destination now blinks in bold, red typeface: CANCELED.

“Told you.” Your unwanted companion grins helpfully.

Around you, people are starting to move, expressing their panicked complaints. You groan as you realise you are going to be stuck here overnight: it is almost 8 PM, and with the rain and mist not letting up, there’s no way another flight is leaving this small airport tonight.

“Listen, Mir,” Hangman says, expression more sober now, “My flight to San Diego was canceled, and I just stood in line for two hours to get a room for tonight. You’ll be here for hours if you have to get one.”

He considers you, any trace of mockery gone from his face for once. “You wanna crash with me?”

Pressure starts to build behind your temples, as you quickly consider your options. On the one hand, you are tired and cranky and in desperate need of sleep: having been one of the last guests shutting down the wedding in the late hours of Saturday night, and having spent most of your Sunday hiking up a non-rewarding mountain in the pouring rain, you’d love to avoid spending hours in the line that you see the crowd of weary and pissed-off people scramble to form, leading up to the United desk.

On the other hand: Hangman.

He smiles tentatively, as if he can read your thoughts on your face. He probably can. “It’s a double.”

You close your eyes, feeling like you might live to regret this decision: “Okay. Fine. Thanks.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------

2016

Top Gun is a dream and an outright nightmare.

Brought in two weeks after the start of the program to replace someone who was summarily discharged, you’re determined to prove your worth.

When you are first introduced to the men and women (woman, singular, you correct yourself) who are to be your classmates and competition, it’s clear the group dynamics have already been cemented. Some eye you suspiciously, leaning back in their chairs, trying to get a read on the late addition. Some don’t even bother to look.

A blonde pilot in the second row scoffs when the instructor reads a short overview of your scant accomplishments, and another man sitting next to him laughs in response, poorly covering it up with a cough.

It takes everything you have to tough it out. They’re throwing you in the deep end, barely allowing any time or grace to make up for the hours and hours of valuable technical and practical training you’ve missed.

On day eight, though, you execute your first successful stealth manoeuvre, getting the upper hand over one of the instructors. As the details in the move are analysed in front of the class, for the first time, you feel a begrudging respect from some of them.

Not everyone, though. Two seats to your left, Seresin makes a show of studying his cuticles.

* * *

Halo is your lifeline. As the only two women in the class, you gravitate towards each other, finding some respite from the hyper-masculine bullshit of the rest of the group.

Or maybe she’s an angel, as her recently coined callsign suggests.

You’re lounging on the rec room couch with Halo’s feet in your lap, debriefing the day’s hop, when Seresin and two of his usual hangers-on walk in. (Their names are Miller and Wozniak. Halo and you have taken to referring to them as Crabbe and Goyle.)

“Ladies.” He grins, flashing you a smile with no warmth behind it.

A feeling of dread gathers in your stomach.

He casually picks an apple out of the fruit bowl and pretends to inspect it as he comments: “Poor showing out there today. You’re gonna have to do better than that if you wanna play in the big leagues with the boys.”

Halo, laid back on the couch, rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Jake.”

He grins at her and takes a bite, crunching loudly. “You know, Halo, it’s not so much you I’m worried about. But this one-” He gestures at you with the piece of fruit. He has never referred to you by your name. “Is on thin ice, I hear. Heard they’re regretting calling her up.”

At this, Halo sits up, looking like she wants to give him a piece of her mind, but you stop her with a touch to her arm. “Forget it, Callie.”

* * *

You’re breathing heavy, blood rushing in your ears as your body is pushed to its physical limits, your F-18 protesting as you accelerate into a sharp turn curving around a particularly treacherous stretch of the San Jacinto mountains.

Your gamble has paid off, though, as you come out right on top of your prey. You can taste bile in the back of your throat as you lock tone on Fanboy’s jet.

It tastes like victory.

Back on the tarmac, peeling off the top half of your sweat-drenched flight suit, Halo throws her arms around your neck as Fanboy shakes your hand, a bemused smile on his face. “Nice work out there. Never even saw you coming.”

Later, at the Hard Deck, one pilot after another buys you drinks as you finally earn your callsign: Mirage.

* * *

It gets easier from there on out, and it doesn’t.

On the one hand, you don’t feel like you constantly have to defend your place anymore. After you score big in the mountains, Hangman finally has the decency to shut his mouth around you. You’ve found a natural understanding with most of the other pilots – the competition is fierce, but nights at the bar bring everyone back on equal footing.

Yet as the program ramps up to its conclusion, so does the pressure. Some mornings you can’t choke down breakfast, your stomach seized up into a knot of nerves and anticipation.

In week ten, you’re having so much trouble with a simulation that you, your wingman and his backseater get shot down six times in a row. Your arms burn with the hundreds of push-ups you’re grinding into the blistering tarmac, your CO never running out of the torrent of abuse he’s heaping onto your back.

You can’t sleep that night, keep seeing the disappointed look on your wingman’s face as you’d fucked up again and again. Around three in the morning, you give up on sleep and head to the on-base gym.

You crank a treadmill up to high and you run, run, run until your lungs are burning and your mouth tastes like metal. Rivulets of sweat drip down your back, down your face, mingling with tears you didn’t realise you’d been holding back, until finally your legs are screaming at you to stop, and you sit down at the end of another treadmill, your shoulders shaking, cradling your face in your knees.

You don’t know how long you sit there, but you know it’s not fully morning yet when a pair of white sneakers appears in your line of vision.

“Mir?”

Of course it had to be him, of all people, seeing you at your worst and most vulnerable.

“Go away.” You manage to grunt.

He doesn’t. Instead, he sits down next to you, hovering at a distance – still too close.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and if you weren’t burning with embarrassment and rage, his hesitant tone might give you pause.

You lift your face from your knees, steeling yourself. You must look ridiculous, you think, a sweaty heap of a girl having a mental breakdown at the bottom of some exercise equipment. You refuse to look at him. “I’m fine.”

He reaches out tentatively, trying to brush away a strand of hair that’s plastered to the side of your face, and you all but jump back: “Goddamn it, Seresin, don’t touch me.”

Finding the strength to push yourself up, you turn to him: “Don’t touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t come anywhere near me.”

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

2016

When Koehler is discharged, Jake Seresin feels like the rug’s been pulled out from under him.

They came up together through the Academy, and while Jake isn’t sure he would’ve called him a friend in any other circumstances, at least… At least he was an ally. Familiar. Someone who saw through his cocky bullshit and gave as good as he got.

The chances of both of them getting into Top Gun were astronomically small – and then Koehler immediately went and fucked it up. Jake cannot comprehend it.

He feels off-kilter, his only confidant having made a spectacularly embarrassing exit from the program. He can feel the rest of the class watching him, like sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water, waiting for him to make a deadly mistake too.

But Jake didn’t come here to screw up. He came here to win. So he does the only thing he knows how to do – he ramps it up, builds his walls higher, needles people harder – gets under their skin before they can get under his.

He knows it’s not making him many friends – but it works. People don’t question him. He takes no prisoners, flies like he’s the only one out there, puts himself first always – and is ranked near the top of the class for doing so.

When you’re introduced as Koehler’s replacement, he can’t believe it. It feels like adding salt to the wound, bringing in someone who didn’t even make the cut-off on their own merit. So if you get it a little worse than the others – well.

He sees you struggling, those first weeks, and it only confirms his thinking.

One scorching afternoon, after a long series of dogfights ends in embarrassment for half the class, he’s in the rec room pressing a cold compress to his face, discussing the day’s events with Wozniak: “I mean, did you see her out there? That’s what happens when you pull the B-team off the bench. She’s got no business being here. She’s dragging everyone down.”

Wozniak doesn’t immediately respond, and Jake looks up to find you standing in the doorway, looking caught off guard. You recover after a second, straightening your back, and grab a water from the cooler, studiously not looking at him.

You never look at him, after that.

But he looks at you.

* * *

You have bags under your eyes. The line of your jaw has gotten a little sharper. You get a little quieter, even more so than before.

He notices these things just like he notices the redoubled resolve stiffening your spine.

You start creeping up in the rankings, slowly, point by point, and while he doesn’t like that, he respects it.

After the mountains, where you pull a trick out of the bag that takes him completely by surprise, he lines up to congratulate you. Fanboy takes it on the chin, he’s a good guy, and Jake claps him on the back before turning to you, Halo still at your side. But you won’t look at him, and ignore his outstretched hand.

He supposes he deserves that.

* * *

A few weeks later, he wakes up earlier than usual after a night of fitful sleep, his body still processing the adrenaline from an open-sea simulation the day before. Jake came out on top, though he ditched his wingman to do so. Several others didn’t manage to complete the exercise, a crucial barrier for the last stretch of the thirteen-week program.

After tossing and turning for twenty minutes, the light outside his cracked window starting to shift incrementally from pitch black to indigo blue, he decides to head to the gym.

When he steps into the cavernous, air-conditioned room, he immediately senses someone else’s presence, though he can’t see anyone using any of the rows and rows of equipment. It’s not until he rounds into a stretch of treadmills that he spots you, hunched over into your bare knees.

“Mir?” He approaches hesitantly, noting the flushed skin of your back, your hair matted with sweat.

“Go away.” He gets in response, but he can’t, not when you’re sitting there trembling.

“Are you alright?” He asks, even though he can clearly see that you’re not.

You lift your face, surreptitiously swiping at your eyes with your palm. “I’m fine.”

Still not looking at him. Never looking at him.

He reaches out a hand, tentatively; he wants to make this better –

He has to make this better, make you feel–

- but you recoil from him, and he sits there for a long time after you’ve banged the door shut behind you like you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Sits there for a good long while, with the ghost of your presence.

* * *

Jake wins the trophy.

It’s a raucous night at the Hard Deck and he feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Sure, he doesn’t know where they’re shipping him off next week – but for now, he has won and no one can take that away from him, not the pilots giving him sideways glances at the bar, not his father, no one.

Fanboy bumps his shoulder and hands him what must be his fifth or sixth beer of the night. Over on the jukebox, Son of a Preacher Man starts playing and he glances over to see you throw your arms around Halo’s shoulders, laughing, dancing her around the crowded room a little unsteadily. You look lighter, happier than he’s ever seen you.

He watches for long moment, transfixed, until he realises Mickey is talking to him.

Mickey turns around, trying to follow Jake’s line of sight, and finds you. “Oh, dude.” He turns back, clinks Jake’s beer with his own. “I’m sorry to tell you, I think that ship has sailed, man.”

Right, Jake thinks, taking a long pull of his beer. And why should he care? He’s got what he came to North Island for.

No one can take that away.

* * *

2018

He doesn’t see you again for two years. Two years of him being shipped from base to base, coast to coast and back again, the Navy’s prize pony, getting new orders every few months.

He shows up in Oceana, papers in hand; greets familiar faces at The Admiral’s and trades stories over the sound of classic rock and the clicking of pool cues.

Then he turns around and bumps into – you.

It puts him on the back foot, coming face to face with you unexpectedly. You look like you’re caught off guard, too, but you recover quickly. “Hangman.”

“Mirage.” He smirks, defences slotting into place. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You look a little bit older, sharper in ways, your watchful eyes clearly on guard as he leans against the bartop, giving you a once-over. It’s a tactical mistake, on his part – it only serves to ignite something warm deep inside of him.

“Gonna be here for a while. Think we can kiss and make up?”

You shoot him a withering glance, like you expected better out of him. “In your dreams, Bagman.”

The bartender brings you your drink, and you smile sweetly at him. “Terry, put one of whatever he’s having on my card, will you? Fucking new guy’s gonna need it.”

* * *

And it’s fine, it’s perfectly fine. You work perfectly well together. 

It’s just that –

No matter how much he needles and cajoles, flirts or tries to rile you up, you only ever treat him as –

A colleague. Which is what he is, sure, but –

He doesn’t ever get that part of you, the part that laughs easy with Fanboy or does shots with Bambi, the part of you that bodily holds up Halo after she gets the call that her childhood dog has died, the part of you that sits next to the radio, fists clenched with anticipation when someone is flying a tough hop, the part of you that envelops them into a full body hug after.

The part of you that has your eyes light up when you look at someone, instead of straight through him.

And no matter how many times he tells himself to move on, he never quite stops wanting it.

* * *

2021

Deployed in the South China Sea, he flies one of the more difficult, harebrained missions of his life with you.

He finds you, after, where you’re slumped against a steel wall on deck, your flight suit half off, trying to catch your breath; and hands you a Sprite.

You consider him for a moment before taking the soda. It feels a little like you’re really looking at him for the first time.

“This is my favourite.”

He sits down, not close, exactly, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin. “Yeah.”

A beat passes. You open the can with a hiss, and he exhales: “Nice work back there.”

“You too, Bagman.”

The wind whips across the deck, but you’re sheltered from it by the structure, leaving only the noise.

“Do you know where you’re headed after this?” he asks.

“Back to Bahrain, still got another fourteen months there. You?”

“San Diego.”

You give a little quirk of your mouth. “Lucky.”

“I thought you’d be stateside. I thought you might have…” He holds up his right hand, indicates his ring finger. “That guy in Fallon. Search & Rescue with the dark eyes.”

You take a sip of your drink. “You noticed his eyes?”

Jake shrugs.

You look at the wide expanse of ocean churning beyond the flanks of the carrier. “No. He was… He wanted to settle in Nevada, have kids.” You give him a wry smile that doesn’t quite make it to your eyes. “Wasn’t ready to give all this up.”

“Ah.” Jake says, his throat a little dry. It feels like the realest conversation he’s ever had with you, and yet, he can’t think what to say.

You sit there for a while, in what feels like something close to companiable silence, until it’s time to debrief.

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

2023

The receptionist looks up apologetically from her sleek desk. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Seresin. Because of all the delayed passengers, we’re getting a lot of demand for double rooms for families. Is there any way you would take a single? We can offer you complimentary breakfast.”

Jake looks at you hesitantly, shifting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.

You rub your temples, doing nothing to alleviate the increasing pounding in your skull. Of course this was going to happen. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

“I can, uh,” You see him looking around for a sofa, but there isn’t one.

You sigh, letting your bag drop onto the plush grey-green carpet. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve shared worse sleeping arrangements.”

These have usually involved a barracks or an aircraft carrier, and between twenty to two hundred of your coworkers, but who’s counting.

“I suppose that’s true.” He replies, staring at the bed.

At least it’s big, you think, and you can’t wait to plop your head down on one of its crisp white pillows. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

* * *

After your shower, you’re in bed, waiting with no small amount of apprehension for Hangman to emerge from his turn in the bathroom.

When he does, in boxers and a t-shirt, his normally slicked-back hair slightly peaky and darkened by the water, he looks younger than he is. He looks a little like he did when you first knew him.

He pulls back the covers and settles against the pillows on his side, the mattress dipping with the weight of him. He’s heavier than he looks – you’re always a little surprised by the lean, solid mass of him. It’s a byproduct, you suppose, of years of studiously not looking at him when you can avoid it.

“I guess that’s goodnight, Mir.”

You look up at him, facing you. The proximity of him is unfamiliar, and a little unnerving.

You have to close your eyes against it.

“Night, Hangman.”

When you open your eyes again, he considers you for a moment with an expression you can’t place.

“I wanted to talk to you, you know, at the wedding, but you kept disappearing on me.”

You don’t really know what to say in response. “I didn’t realise we had much to say to each other.”

His face shutters, and you feel a little pang of guilt. “Yeah. I guess that’s true.”

He shifts onto his back. “You looked beautiful. Just wanted to say that.”

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, and it takes you a second to reply, guardedly: “Thanks. You didn’t look too bad yourself.”

But then he never does, does he? Jake Seresin, golden boy, never a hair out of place.

He doesn’t respond, and you burrow into your pillow, determined to let sleep take you over as soon as possible.

* * *

You wake from a fitful sleep to movement beside you. It takes you a second or two to remember where you are, and with whom, before you realise that the man next to you is breathing in wheezy stops and starts, a low, panicked murmur emanating from his throat.

You hesitate for an instant before propping yourself up on your arm, using your free hand to lightly shake his shoulder. “Bagman. Hey. Seresin, wake up.” He’s breathing hard, radiating heat. “Hey. Jake.”

He comes to, slowly, gasping for air, as if emerging from deep below the surface of a rough sea. His skin, where you are holding onto him, is overly hot, the fabric of his t-shirt damp. He scrambles to prop himself up, causing you to pull back your hand, but he grabs your wrist hard before you can fully pull away.

“What,” He manages, the look in his eyes still wild and unfocused, roaming over you. It takes a second, two, three, before realization dawns, and he starts to calm down. His tight grip on your wrist eases slightly.

Despite the low light of the dark room, you see a flush start to creep up the skin of his throat. “Mir. I’m sorry. I was…”

For the first time, you feel something akin to tenderness for him. You try to sweep some of the sweaty strands of hair off his forehead, hindered by his continued grasp on your arm. “It’s okay. You’re fine.” You pause, feeling a little awkward. “Could’ve just as well been me.”

At that, he lets go of your wrist, letting himself drop back onto the pillow. He stares at the ceiling, and you let yourself settle back onto your side, watching the steadily slowing rise and fall of his chest.

Just as you wonder whether you should just go back to sleep, let the both of you pretend this never happened, he says, “They’re always the same. Me, trying to save one of you, and failing. It’s getting better, they used to be much more frequent, I’m talking to someone, but…”

“I stop sleeping.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you’re saying them. “When it gets really bad.” 

You have never shared this broken, faulty part of yourself with anyone, but somehow, looking at the shadowy form of Hangman’s shoulder two inches from your face, it tumbles out.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t function, I fly like a zombie. Sometimes I genuinely worry they’re going to ground me.”

You see his little smirk appear, even in the dark. “I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen you fly badly.”

“Oh, fuck off, Bagman.” You say it without venom, thumping his stomach lightly. “That’s certainly not what you used to say.” On the rebound, he catches your hand, cradling it just below his ribs.

You don’t pull it back.

A few minutes go by in silence, and you just when you start thinking he may have fallen asleep, he says: “Mir.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you ever…?” He exhales a puff of breath. “Will you ever forgive me?”

You fold your arm under your pillow, wary, and consider your answer for a moment. “I forgave you a long time ago.” You pause, scared to say too much. “I just… don’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’m twenty-three again, always having to prove myself because I’m not good enough.”

You watch his chest rise as he inhales, fall again with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that. I can’t excuse it. From the beginning I blamed you for replacing Koehler when it had nothing to do with you.”

His voice drops a little bit. “To be honest, I was scared I wouldn’t make it without him.”

Now it’s your turn to smirk. “The great Hangman Seresin, scared?”

He turns onto his side to face you, his expression solemn. “Seriously, Mir. I was insecure and I covered it up by being a dick. Maybe I still do, to some extent.”

His eyes turn downwards, to the space between your bodies. “But I feel like I’ve been trying to make things right with you for a while.”

You can’t deny this. You’ve always rebuffed any attempt on his part to approach you beyond what was strictly necessary.

“I guess I’m a champion grudge holder.”

He looks back up to meet your eyes, a crooked smile appearing on his face. “Seven years and two entire deployments together, though?”

You scoff, realising how ridiculous this sounds, but you can’t help it – it felt very personal to you. “You don’t know what it was like. I didn’t make the initial cut. By the time I got to San Diego I was two weeks behind everyone, one of only two women, and on top of that you, the class golden boy, hated me being there.”

You pause, inhaling to steady yourself. “I felt like I was under so much pressure, it fucked me up.”

When you meet Hangman’s eyes again, something in his face has softened.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your hand, the skin of his palm rough.

You take in the sharp lines and smooth planes of his face, hair in disarray from a sweaty, restless sleep. He’s very close, and you don’t know if it’s the weird, suspended-in-time quality of this darkened room, or the weight that’s been lifted off your shoulders through this little exchange, weight you hadn’t even realised was there; but for the first time you feel like you might like Hangman.

Not Hangman, Jake, brass and bravado stripped away, looking at you like you’re something precious, something he’s a little bit afraid of.

It's a lot of things to feel, in the middle of the night, after seven years of cold war.

You clear your throat, but your voice still comes out a little raspier than you intend to: “Alright then, Bagman. Détente?”

Out comes that crooked little quirk of his lips again: “Alright, Mirage. Détente.”

He’s still holding on to your hand, and he pulls it a little closer into his body.

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

Jake wakes up to the frantic buzzing of his phone and reaches for it on the nightstand, the endeavour complicated by your head weighing down his other arm. The crisp first light of day is seeping through a gap in the curtains, framing a picture of you sleeping curled into his chest so pointedly he almost has to assume he’s still asleep.

After a second or two, this assumption is dispelled by a very chipper United rep talking away at him, informing him that he’s booked onto a flight to San Diego at 10:45.

“Okay, uh, that works,” He manages, trying to keep his voice down so that you don’t wake up, but it’s too late: already you’re looking up at him, blinking sleep out of your eyes.

He ends the call, puts the phone down, and after a second’s hesitation, returns his arm to its place around your waist.

He looks down at you, not even sure what he’s asking: Is this okay? Do you still hate me?

Do you realize I’ve wanted this for years?

Through seven years and almost as many deployments he’s carried this torch, the flame low but always burning somewhere in a condemned antechamber of his heart, one he tried hard to forget the route to.

You shift slightly, and he reflexively tightens his fingers into the fabric of your shirt. He sees your pupils go wide, and it’s stupid, the jolt he feels at that – it goes straight to his gut.

Then your phone rings, too, and the moment bursts like a soap bubble. You prop yourself up, pulling away from him to answer it.

When you’re done arranging your flight, he can feel the atmosphere has shifted. You don’t look at him when you say: “We should probably start packing up, huh?”

“Mir, wait,” He says, and he knows he sounds a little desperate, but there’s so many things he wants to say, finally, if this is the best chance he’ll get.

“Jake,” you interrupt, and the pleading tone of your voice shuts him up.

Later, on his flight, he’ll think about falling asleep with your hand in his, and his heart will break a little.

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

Halo calls you, ten days into the honeymoon, to exalt Jess, marriage, and Hawaii, in that order.

You’re at home, cooking dinner, a Motown playlist on in the background while she details all the kayaking, wine tasting and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes they’ve been doing. Your heart swells at her happiness. “I’m so glad you guys are having a great time.”

She asks how your hike went, and you end up telling her what happened – the canceled flight, Hangman, all of it.

Halo snorts. “Oh, poor guy. I’m not sure his outsize ego will recover from this.” She pauses to say something to Jess. “Though I’d feel more sorry for him if he hadn’t literally waited for an adverse weather event to try to tell you how he feels.”

You plop down on the couch with your plate of pasta. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Come on, dude. He’s been in love with you for years.”

“Huh.” You say, eloquently.

* * *

You book a ticket to San Diego. You take four days’ leave, and you’re not even sure Jake is there. If he isn’t, you think, clicking to skip the seat selection, you’ll take it as a sign.

Which is stupid. You don’t believe in that kind of thing. Maybe this entire idea is stupid, you consider, as you board your flight at SeaTac.

When you walk into the Hard Deck on Friday night, it feels a little like the first time: You’re nervous, your hands clammy as you run them down your shorts. Penny waves you over and pours you a tequila soda, which you accept gratefully. People you know start noticing your presence, coming up to catch up at the bar.

You’re talking to Fritz, who’s already a little worse for wear, when Jake comes in. He catches sight of you and stops short. You forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

Fritz turns around and clocks him, shooting you a wide grin. “Ah. Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

He comes up next to you at the bar, taking the place Fritz vacates. “Hey. No one told me you were gonna be in town.”

He looks good, if a little tired: sun kissed skin and slightly deeper lines in the corners of his eyes when he gives you a smile that feels perfunctory. He’s wearing his khakis, in pristine condition, though he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Penny has already put a beer in front of him, and he takes a long pull on it before really looking at you.

The look in his eyes feels like the confirmation you needed.

“Last minute decision.” You say, inclining your head in the direction of the back exit. “Would you mind if we talked somewhere quieter?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t question it, and he follows you out to the back porch.

It’s a warm night, late summer – the kind you love.

You set your drink down on the railing, suddenly nervous, and turn around, leaning back against the salt-weathered wood to face Jake. The music filters out from the bar, muted by the windows – a moody Tom Waits song.

“I’m sorry.” You start, “For leaving the way I did in Colorado. I think I was overwhelmed, by you, by what I was feeling- I got scared.”

“By what you were feeling,” He says, like he needs to repeat it to be sure.

You nod, willing yourself to be brave this time. “Yeah. I spent seven years keeping up my defences around you and then I wake up once with your arms around me and I’m like oh, fuck and-” You stop yourself, looking out at the calm ocean waves in the distance, the sun just beginning to dip into the horizon. “Fuck, I’m not explaining this very well.”

Jake’s face shows the beginning of a smile. “I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

He steps in closer to you, and your hands go to his waist. You feel a little lightheaded with him so close, but you’re determined to continue. “And I didn’t know what to make of it. You looking at me like that. I told myself it wasn’t real so I could go back to where I was comfortable – not thinking about you.”

He closes the gap between you, an arm around your shoulder, tucking his face into your hair. “I assure you, Mir, that the way I feel about you is very real.”

His voice in your ear feels like a balm, and you tighten your fingers into his shirt, bringing your body flush with his. It’s still overwhelming – how he’s familiar and new at once, the scent of his warm skin and pressed uniform, the feeling of his lips against your temple. “Yeah, well. Not thinking about you wasn’t going very well.”

He lifts you up to sit on the railing, bringing your face level with his, and steadies you with his hands on your waist. “Mir. Did you come out here for me?”

You place your hands on his shoulders, running your thumbs up the sloped curve to his neck, and smile at the visible reaction this has on him. “Yes, Bagman.”

He kisses you then, and it feels like the solution to a problem you hadn’t even realised had been weighing on you – tangling your fingers into his hair, drawing him in closer between your knees. He keeps repeating your name, like he can’t quite believe you, and you keep answering him with more kisses, needing him to know – what?

That you’ve caught up with him. That you’re here now.

You both slow down when you simultaneously become aware that there’s a small crowd on the other side of the windows, gawking at you. You think you see an open-mouthed Mickey, pool cue still in hand. At the moment, you don’t have it in you to care.

“How long are you staying?” Jake murmurs into your neck, his arms around you.

“Monday.” You breathe, resting your chin on the top of his head. “But I’ll be back soon.”

*******

end notes: omg sorry i didn't write anything for so long - life's just been A LOT. i hope you enjoyed it. check out my masterlist <3 title from the royal navy toasts

[totothewolff]

The Speed Game of Love

Toto x reader | comedy, crack humor (RuPaul's Drag Race bang), romance, fluff.

Summary: Three fierce queens will race for your love, but only one will win your heart. Could it be the spicy Carla LaTurbo Slayz, the fierce Adore D. Hammer, or the queen of England herself, GiGi Reigns? Or maybe that sexy host could get some! Hosted by the hot and only Toto Wolff. Author's note: It's short and fun. Y/N has the hots for Toto, as usual. Who doesn't?! Enjoy! Let me know your thoughts or if you have an idea, here I am."

More Toto Wolff fics right here > Masterlist

-

From the racing capital of the world is The Speed Game of Love.

And here is your host...

The hot and only Toto Wolff.

(Opening music plays, and the camera pans over the bright and sparkling stage. Toto Wolff is standing there in fullness, tallness, and hotness, just a few steps away from you. As you peek in from behind the entrance, he is looking as sexy as you expected that man to be, dressed in a sluty tight suit, his eyes set on you for a brief second making your knees and other regions jiggle as he starts the show).

"Welcome to the Speed Game of Love. I'm your hot, I mean host! Toto Wolff." he winks at you before moving to his mark at the cue.

(Cheers, gaps, and a loud moan come from the sound effect console as Toto passes a hand on his hair and smiles big and bright straight at the pro camera).

"Let's meet tonight's lucky heartracers!" he gestures with both arms to his left.

(Cut to a shot of the competitors, each one dressed in their best sickening drag looks, all sitting in white bar stool chairs next to each other)

"It's the Queen of tracks! And hearts! Adore D. Hammer!" Toto approaches a fierce-looking queen. "Ready to smash some?" Toto raises his eyebrows as he asks.

"Oh, dear, I'm more than keen for some hammer time!" Adore answers, thrusting with her hips slowly.

She's rocking a sparkly, sluty version of the iconic jumpsuit in neon yellow and black from MC Hammer's iconic "U Can't Touch This" music video, but cinched for the gods along with really high-platform sneakers.

The jumpsuit is embellished with rhinestones and sequins that shimmer and shine under the stage lights. Adore's dreadlocks hung loose around her ears but with a glamorous, over-the-top twist.

Her makeup is bold and bright, with bold eyeliner, vibrant eyeshadow, and a shining golden lip. Her skin is glowing with a subtle shimmery highlight that makes her look like she just stepped out of a disco ball.

Toto gives her a chuckle before moving along.

"Next, Carla LaTurbo Slayz!" He strolls to her, mic in hand. "Miss Turbo, I heard you got some horsepower tonight! How are you, honey?"

(After he asks the question, a loud moan is heard as a sound effect).

"I'm 'fuel'-tastic, Toto!" she blows a kiss to the camera and shows some lil' leg.

She's rocking a stunning, one-shoulder gown made from the finest silk in a rich, jewel-toned red that evokes the majestic flamenco dancers of Andalusia. The dress is fitted and figure-hugging, accentuating her curves in all the right places.

Her hair is a masterpiece; a few strategically placed braids and hairpins add a touch of Andalusian flair.

Her eyes are lined with bold, black kohl and smudged with shimmery gold eyeshadow to create a sultry, seductive gaze. Her lips are painted a deep, crimson red. Her accessories are chunky gold jewelry.

"Up next, it's GiGi Reigns. Is Your Highness ready to conquer this race?" Toto turns to her, bowing first.

"Keen to have a smooth pit stop and a great finish!" an old lady's voice with a thick Windsor accent answers.

She is rocking a look that's equal parts regal and ridiculous. She's donning a velvet-trimmed corset and hoop skirt that's so big it requires its own zip code.

The skirt is a riot of colors, with florals and patterns. GiGi's hair is a marvel; think Elizabeth I's famous ruff but on steroids! Her locks are styled in towering curls that resemble a pompadour.

Her makeup is a masterpiece of over-the-top opulence. Layers of foundation, blush, and powder are applied with the precision of the era, but they make her look old, really old, with wrinkles adorning her features.

Her accessories are an array of fake pearls that look like they belong on the Queen herself.

"Let's start your engines! Close that pit wall!" Toto instructs as the obstructing divider slides from the wall. It looks exactly like a pit wall fence but glamorous, all in metallic pink, blocking the view from both sides.  

As you are about to enter the stage, an empty, small white podium is waiting for you.

"Our wag tonight is from (Y/N's City/Country). Meet (Y/N's profession/studies), Y/N, Y/LN!" Toto introduces you as you step in, smiling at him.

"Mmm, you look good!" Toto runs his eyes all over your body as he approaches you and offers a hand to help you step on the podium.

You feel the heat instantly.

"What brings you smoking gear around here? Did your engine overheat?" Toto addresses you, starting to lean closer to you.

"I'm just looking for touch at this point!" you answer, plain and honest.

(Aww noises come from the sound effect panel).

"Uhmmhu!" Toto gets closer to you than his mark on the floor suggests. He gestures to you to articulate more as he stands by your side, slowly sliding a hand down on your back.

How you react to his touch makes him smile naughtily.

In between a nervous giggle, you explain: "I tried the apps and whatnot, but nothing worked, so my friends suggested I come here to speed up the process. You know, to look for something accelerated, fast-paced." You wink at him, gaining confidence, feeling his eyes traveling down your lips and neck.

"Oh, so you like it fast-paced? Who doesn't like to get their flag chequered hard!" Toto keeps your game of innuendos, flirting with you along.

You nod and bite your lip; he arches his eyebrow slightly.

"Then, you came to the right place!" his voice is deep, and he flexes his arm so you can enjoy the view of his muscles as Toto grabs his mic. "So, Y/N, here's how the game works: You ask the heartracers some questions, and they will try to win this lap for your heart with their answers. When the time runs out, you choose who steps into your podium. Are you ready to race?"

"I AM!" you feel pumped up!

(Engine noises are heard in the studio, indicating the start of the lap).

You read one of your cue cards. "Heartracer number one, finish the following sentence: If I was your car to run me on a race, you would leave me (blank...) at the end."

"In desperate need of a new set of wheels. Oh! I would run you relentlessly from one side of the circuit to the other!" Adore answers, jumping on her feet and doing the iconic MC Hammer moves, passing by in front of the other contestants.

You laugh and nod at the excellent answer. "And you, number two?"

"I would leave you revving for more! You would want me to run you down over and over again around these corners." LaTurbo answers with a very sexual voice, sliding her hand all over her body curves.

"And you, madam, number three?" you ask.

"At the finish line... eventually! I'm a lady of a certain age, darling." GiGi Reigns' elderly voice answers, making you and Toto burst into giggles.

"If it was me, I would have you shifting gears so hard that I would end up breaking you down. But that's me!" Toto jokes, inserting his answer there. "Let's move on to the next question, shall we, Y/N?"

"YES! Let me push that pedal all the way in!" you joke back.

"All the way in?!" Toto asks, now curious, in a high-pitched voice. "Fast-paced and all the way in. Taking notes!" He swaps his cue cards around.

"I think that one's hammer is starting to show! Haha," GiGi Reigns adds, inserting herself into the conversation, bumping Adore with her hand, and both of them taking a small peek at Toto's crotch.

"Please, give head, go ahead, I meant!" Toto jokes with you.

"Based on yourself, how would you prefer to be called if you were a fuel brand?" you ask the contestants.

"Piston Pumping, you gotta keep the hammering for miles long!" Adore gives her answer in perfect branding.

"Fuel-in' Around, just kidding," Carla waves her hand.

"The Lube for The Crown, cause at this age, darling, you need some extra help." GiGi slowly spreads open her legs, making rusted noises, cracking you up again.

"I'd be, Fuel Me Maybe, you know, like tonight, after this show," Toto flirts shamelessly as the game progresses, making it clear that he's interested in none other than you.

"Final question," you go ahead. "Imagine you are an F1 team. Sell yourself to me."

"On the Hammerella F1 Team, competition can't touch us! We are faster than you can say parachute pants!" Adore D. Hammer answers.

"On El Toro Racing, we are unleashing the bull full speed, with fury and passion and with a whole lot of rhythm, ahhhh." Carla LaTurbo's every word gets more sexual somehow as she answers your question, her hands going all over her neck and legs.

Finally is GiGi's turn: "On the Motor on the Bus, The Queen's Royal Racing Team, we race round and round, vroom and vroom, all through the town." She pauses before adding, "But with protocol, dear."

GiGi's stupid answer makes you gag.

"Oh, time is up! Y/N, who do you choose from our heartracers? Number one, two or three?" Toto comes near to you again.

Fuck! He smells so good! That's an arousing cologne.

(A dramatic pause comes before you turn straight at him to give your definitive answer).

"You," you point at Toto. "I choose you!" answering aloud to everyone's... actually... to no one's surprise!

"I'd love to take you for some good ol' laps!" he blows a kiss to you. "But first, let's meet the ones you didn't choose! Say hello to Adore D. Hammer."

"Oh! This hammer would have broken you in half, dear!" she jokes with you as she looks you up and passes along, thrusting the air on her way out.

"and Carla LaTurbo Slayz," Toto again shouts, extending his arm.

"This," she closes her hand at you, moving it around your body, "Has red flag all over," she says, belittling you as she goes out, pretending to be insulted by you rejecting her.

"Finally, GiGi Reigns! Madam..." Toto bows one last time.

GiGi takes her time walking there, making grunt noises as she grabs her back, complaining, making you two lose it.

"I, TOO, CAN COMMAND THE WIND, SIR!" She screams out of nowhere in the most Shakespearean voice, catching you two off guard.

Like GiGi got possessed for a second before she composes herself and gives "royal hand waves" politely as she dramatically exits.

"WHHAAT?" you say, catching your breath between laughs.

"Ready to blow my engine?" Toto triumphantly asks, holding you up like a trophy as he wraps his arm around your waist.

"Against the pit wall?!" you joke around, laughing on his lips, standing next to it.

"Another Speed Game of Love with a... happy ending! To me!" Toto winks. "Good night, everybody!"

(You two wave at the lense before you wrap him in a passionate kiss as the camera cuts to black)

You don't make it further than his dressing room.

The audio crew picks up the loud moans and smashing noises coming from there, as Toto is still wired, and they quickly turn off the equipment.

Join us at The Wolff Pack Discord Server > https://discord.com/invite/tpgArxqbfd

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Move, baby

Gif credits

Pairing/Au: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x f!reader

Words count: 5768

Rating: +18, MINORS PLEASE DON’T INTERACT.

Warnings: threesome, reader is a sex worker, she is female and has hair and breasts and vagina but apart from that no other description is given, fingering, nipples play, oral sex (m and f receiving), face sitting, unprotected p in v (WRAP IT UP IRL, FOLKS), pet names (mostly honey), basically p*rn with very little plot lol

Notes: No beta reader, mostly written at night on my phone (I really need to stop doing this, GOD) and English is not my first language so excuse me for any mistake, Oberyn and Ellaria have always been one of my biggest fantasies, so I decided to write something about them. I'm a bi person, I want both, this is very personal to me and it's my first attempt at writing a threesome so please be kind. Title inspired by “Movement” by Hozier.

I really hope you’ll like it ❤️

I also just want to say thank you all for giving so much love to my last story, I’m so grateful and my heart is full of love for each one of you!

When you move

I can recall somethin' that's gone from me

When you move

Honey, I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free

So move me, baby

Shake like the bough of a willow tree

You do it naturally

Move me, baby

So move me, baby

Like you've nothin' left to prove

And nothin' to lose

Move me, baby

Oberyn and Ellaria are lying on the bed when you enter the room. You are intimidated, even though you have been doing this for years and have met many powerful people before. They have been here for a few days now and seeing them through the corridors of the brothel you couldn’t help but notice how majestic and beautiful they were. Oberyn is pervaded by a regal aura, he is like a feline who walks with a soft, elegant step and you immediately found him incredibly sensual.

His golden robe adorned with suns studding, the symbol of Dorne, almost entirely hides the splendor of his tanned skin, but leave his chest partially exposed and a large medallion accentuate the harmonious shape of his thick and incredibly attractive neck.

The fabric hug his torso and fall wider over his legs, framing his perfect figure. A large brown leather belt emphasize his narrow waist.

Rumors say that he is a formidable warrior with a spear and you can actually sense his physical prowess even under his clothes.

His face makes him look like a God, short black hair, high forehead and thick eyebrows, dark and piercing eyes, strong aquiline nose, voluptuous lips and sculpted jaw, covered by a strip of beard.

The signs that line his face give him authority and the appearance of a man who lives life to the full.

Ellaria is equally magnetic, some other brothel girl said to you that she comes from humble beginnings but she looks every bit like a queen who could have anyone under her feet.

A cascade of gorgeous black curls frame her face and falls over her bare shoulders, she has high, sculpted cheekbones and sensual lips, eyes like a dark night, deep and mysterious but shining like stars.

She wears a beautiful orange tunic that slides over her hips leaving little to the imagination, a wide neckline barely cover her décolleté and her tits are embraced by a gold bra.

She looked at you as you passed by her, and her inquisitive and teased gaze didn't escape you. You felt flattered, you never thought that a person like her could look at someone like you.

You saw her whisper something in Oberyn's ear and saw him nod with conviction, before putting his arm around her waist with a mischievous smile.

They walked away without speaking to you while you remained breathless for a few seconds as you watched them disappear together into one of the rooms.

You have experience, you never have this kind of reaction, even in the presence of the king who also frequents this brothel very often.

Most of the time you absolutely don't care about anything other than money you get at the end of the day but that feeling of being noticed by someone you actually like stayed with you and you spent the night torturing your clit because of them.

Today the brothel owner told you that Ellaria and Oberyn specifically asked for you. They previously require at least one man and a couple of women or more which perhaps would have helped you handle the situation better and be calmer. It wouldn't have all depended on you, you could have blended in with others, made yourself less noticed. Although when it comes to sex, it's impossible not to notice you.

You don't think so arrogantly, it's just that you do it every day, several times a day and you're good at it.

So damn good that some customers have fallen in love with you and became obsessed, forcing the brothel owner to kick them out and tell them not to show up again, so good that they often leave you extra gold coins before leaving the room.

You're an expert, but today you feel like it's the first time you've done it.

Your hand shake as you open the door, maybe they could have been wrong, it wasn't you they wanted.

You need to be detached in this job. You can't let your feelings influence you, at the beginning it often happened to you to be overwhelmed but now you've learned to leave the most vulnerable part of yourself outside the door.

There is no future for people like you in King's Landing other than doing menial work, this is the best paying job there is. It's certainly risky because you never know what can happen to you and often powerful men are also cruelly sadistic, you've found yourself in very scary situations at least a couple of times, fortunately much less than other girls who work here.

You saw with your own eyes the swollen faces, you heard the screams, you heard the cries. You've experienced bruises on your skin and not the kind you’ve been turned on by.

Your luck has been that the owner of this brothel cares about keeping you all safe, he is humane enough not to treat you like cannon fodder and let them do whatever they want with you.

He always says that it’s because he need to maintain his brothel the best one in King’s Landing but you know that there is a fund of goodness in him, after all you are pretty sure that he cares at least a little about all of you. You can see it from how he treats you, he never lacks clean clothes, decent meals, cleanliness and decorum of rooms and a maester to cure any ailment that may occur with this way of life. And he pays well, better than in any other brothel in the city, so you've always made sure to hold on to this job.

“We were waiting for you,” Oberyn says, sitting up in bed, his back leaning against the large red velvet cushions resting on the inlaid wooden headboard.

You hold your breath as you shyly step forward.

Ellaria is lying on her side next to her lover, her head resting on her right hand, while her other hand lies limply on her exposed side.

“Come closer, baby” she says “we want to look at you”

You take another step, exposing yourself to the dim light of the candles scattered around the room.

Ellaria's eyes sparkle, she glances knowingly at Oberyn and then back at you "It's really you, the one who looked at me in the hallway"

You feel her gaze wander over your body, you keep your eyes lowered to look at your bare feet on the wooden floor.

It feels like you're being seen for the first time in a long time, and you tremble slightly.

You are not afraid but you are in awe, fully aware of your exposed skin covered only by a light fabric draped over your hips and your torso, covering your breasts and pussy, leaving your shoulders and arms, your cleavage, your legs exposed.

“Are you ashamed?” Oberyn says “You don't need to”

Ellaria elegantly gets up from the bed and approaches you. She stops in front of you and places a finger under your chin “Look at me” she whispers “look into my eyes”

You do as you're told, her hand encircle your jaw, sweet and delicate like a caress.

She’s smiling at you “we've been thinking about you for days, you know? Since we've been in this crap city we haven't had many opportunities to relax, not as much as we'd like anyway. But today, we intend to do nothing else. And we hope you'll join us” It sounds like an invitation, one of the most tempting you've received in years. There is no obligation in her voice, there is kindness. And desire. The realization hits you in that moment, they weren't wrong at all, they want you at least as much as you want them.

Your gaze is fixed in Ellaria's reassuring eyes and you feel hypnotized by her.

“Do you want to stay with us?” she asks you.

You nod.

"Say it. Tell me you want us"

“Yes” you whisper

“Louder, babe, Prince Oberyn can’t hear you”

“Yes” you say, more convinced “I want to be here”

Ellaria's smile spreads softly across her face “Good. We’re glad to hear that, honey”

She moves her hand to your neck, stroking it, her fingertips like a breath on your skin, stopping at the edge of the fabric resting on your collarbone.

Oberyn is still sitting on the bed, Ellaria moves to your side, without taking her hand off your shoulder “what do you say, my love, is it time we got rid of this peplum?”

“Whatever my sweet paramore desires must be done”

She looks at him with so much love that for a moment you almost feel like you're not worthy of observing such an intimate moment between two people.

Then Ellaria returns to focusing on you, as if you were a gift that was delivered especially for her, making you feel part of the scene again.

She lowers the hem of your dress, letting it slide across your skin, revealing your breasts and then your tummy and letting it fall from your hips. It collapses at your feet like a white cloud.

She takes your hand and makes you take a step forward, letting you out of your dress.

You're naked.

And two of the most fascinating people you've ever seen are looking at you. They're looking at you.

A large number of your clients are impatient, rushed, they just want to satisfy themselves and leave.

Ellaria and Oberyn are calm and relaxed, and they seem in no hurry to send you away.

She admires you, you feel her gaze contemplating you and you fervently hope that she likes what she sees.

You truly want this woman to like you.

“She is beautiful” Oberyn says “my love, you really have impeccable taste”

Ellaria lets out a little laugh "it's no coincidence that you are my other half”

her eyes are languidly on him and then back at you.

She reaches down to caress your arm, your side, her fingers tracing the contours of your body so carefully.

You can literally feel the tension building in the room, pervading it entirely.

“She really is gorgeous”

Her hand travels up your stomach, barely touching you, while she continues to look straight into your eyes and reaches one of your breasts.

She cups it and weighs it for a moment "you have beautiful breasts" she whispers and then takes your nipple between her thumb and forefinger and pinches it, pulling it slightly.

A low moan escapes your lips.

You remain still, many have done it before but her touch is different, more attentive and graceful, it send you shivers down your spine.

She’s treating you like something precious, taking the time to tickle your body, looking at you like you're the only person in the room, the anticipation makes it all more exciting.

She does the same to the other nipple and then gets closer, she's so close that you can feel her scent of honey and flowers filling your nostrils.

She kisses you, her lips are luscious and velvety, she tastes like sweet grape, ambrosial and intoxicating.

She pulls away from you and runs a finger over your bottom lip and gently forces your mouth open, then kisses you again. You feel her tongue make its way, meet yours and caress your palate. She licks greedily inside your mouth, her hands squeeze your hips and caress them, her body adheres perfectly to yours, making you whimper and rock your hips to try to get more friction burying one of your hand in her hair, your fingers intertwined with her raven curls.

“Don’t be impatient, baby”

You try to calm down but when you look away from her you see Oberyn on the bed, in his golden robe, staring at you.

His eyes got even darker and are fixed on you, he is clearly turned on by what Ellaria is doing and that makes you even more needy.

“Eyes on me, babe” Ellaria gets your attention again “sit on the bed”

She turns you around and stands in front of you, making you walk backwards as she pushes you gently holding your hips.

The backs of your knees touch the bed and you sit obediently.

Ellaria caresses your cheek “spread your legs” she orders and you do.

She kneels in front of you, you already feel your skin getting hot.

Her hand runs along your inner thigh, her fingertips like feathers on your skin.

“You’re so good. Already glistening for us” she says quietly, eyes fixed on your wetness and you expect for her fingers to rise for reaching your folds but she doesn’t. She gets up instead and take your face in her hands again and gives you another kiss that leaves you breathless. It’s more urgent and sloppy than before and your mind goes blind.

You desperately want this woman to make you cry and beg for more.

Oberyn approaches you from behind while his lover deepens the kiss and put his hands on your shoulders, stroking, you whimper at his touch, his big strong hands expertly roaming on your skin. He lowers them to touch your tits, squeezing and caressing and then his lips are on your neck sucking, biting, licking your soft skin under your ear.

Ellaria has stopped kissing you and contemplates you melting under her man's touch, she has a pleased smile.

She then makes you lying on the bed and undress.

Her dress falls to the ground leaving her naked.

She looks like a work of art.

Her skin is smooth like silk and shines in the candlelight, her tits are perfectly round shaped, high and firm, her turgid nipples stand in the center of a dark rose areola, your eyes wander on her flat tummy and her flourishing hips and thighs, she has beautifully shaped legs, your mouth is watering at the vision.

She climbs up over your body while Oberyn is now on your side sitting on his heels, watching the two of you kissing again.

You whine in her mouth feeling her warm tongue dancing with yours.

Ellaria then whispers in your ear “Raise your arms for me, baby and stand still. Let me take care of you”

You do immediately, so eager to be pleasured by this stunning creature that now lay on top of you.

Her weight is deliciously crushing you.

She kisses your neck and cleavage and lowers herself on you leaving a trail of wet kisses on your skin.

She takes one of your nipples in her mouth sucking on it, making your entire body vibrate. Her tongue is swirling on it, licking all over your areola and then on your bud sucking again avidly.

You cry when she lowers one of her hand between your thighs, teasing your folds with just her fingertips.

She watches you with a languid smile “yeah, you like that, don’t you? Me sucking on your beautiful tits?”

And you nod, head empty, totally intoxicated by her.

You want more, more, more.

She’s on your tits again, mercilessly sucking, using her teeth to gently stiffen your nipples, humming low to your skin.

She dips her fingers into your glistening pussy, running them up and down, completely wetting them.

She put her index finger into her mouth licking it clean.

“Mmm you taste so good” and this vision only would be enough to send you over the edge, she is incredibly elegant even now, in a way that exudes pure sensuality.

She keeps sucking on your tits while teasing your pussy, until you find yourself begging “please, please fuck me”

She stop and look at you with a malicious smile “you want to be fucked by my fingers? You want that, honey?”

“Please, do. Please.”

“You’re so good for us. You should do me a favor, look at my handsome lover while I work my fingers into you, would you do that for me?”

“Yes. Yes, whatever you -“ your voice cracks in the attempt ‘cause she force your entrance with two of her fingers without waiting for you to reply “AH. whatever you want… my queen” you say breathily.

She’s deep into you.

“Well, technically I’m no queen but you can call me one if you want” she laugh heartily. “Look at my love, now”

You turn your face and next to you is a naked Oberyn. You don't know when he took off his robe, you heard movements around you but you were totally absorbed in Ellaria at that moment.

It never happens that you are not aware of what is happening in a room, you must always be vigilant to avoid dangerous situations when there is more than one person with you, you never let yourself be caught off guard.

He waited silently, he certainly enjoyed the sight of you two.

You can clearly see it in his hard, swollen cock in front of you.

He's jerking off slowly, a couple more strokes and then he finally speaks "Do you want to take it in your mouth, sweetie?"

You look at him for a second, filling your eyes with his beauty, while Ellaria continues to move in and out of you with her fingers and working on your nipples with her tongue.

You smile, pleased by his hungry eyes.

“Yes” you murmur “Yes, please”

He brings the tip close to your mouth and you instinctively stick out your tongue to lick it. It's already wet with precome, it's salty and musky and you wail at this, so eager to have it all into your mouth.

He enter your lips slowly, he’s bigger than most men you’ve met and you’ve met a lot of men.

“Yes, just like that, honey”

You take as much as you can of him through your lips, down your throat, filling your mouth with his hardened cock and mewl at his thick veins tickling your tongue.

You cup his balls with your hand, massaging them.

“Oh. You seemed shy before but you’re a little mischief, aren’t you?”

You pull out and a little laugh escape your lips “that’s exactly what I am” and you look at him “never underestimate a quite girl”

You’re challenging him, he knows you do things like that for a living so he shouldn’t expect you to be so innocent and naive.

You’re not.

“I knew it, honey, that’s why we wanted you. I know a little mischievous girl when I see her”

You stifle one more laugh and take his cock in your hand, licking his already sticky tip, swirling your tongue on his frenulum, then moving your tongue flat along his length, down to the base and back up again.

You fill your mouth again, taking him so deep that the head of his cock is now scraping at your throat.

You hold it still for a moment to get used to its size and the you begin to suck.

Ellaria is still circling your clit with her thumb while her index and middle fingers slowly pumps in and out of you.

You suck greedily on Oberyn cock and pride raise in your chest at his praises “you’re doing so good, babe, so good for me, keep going”

For the first time in years, you are a third person enjoying sex with others and not only a whore at their commands.

You're almost at your peak and rock your hips into Ellaria's hand, seeking more and more friction.

“Come on baby, flood my hand with your cum”

Your body shakes and you feel a heat rise from your core and invade you as you release your orgasm on Ellaria's hand.

She’s looking at you eagerly, you still have Oberyn cock in your mouth, you hold onto the sheets with your hand to maintain the position while you don't stop taking his cock.

“You have the most exquisite nipples I’ve ever seen, and they taste so sweet, god, I’m obsessed” she says, stroking your hair, making you feel tenderly spoiled.

Oberyn explode in your mouth a few moments later groaning loudly, you swallow everything you can and smile at him while a little ripple of cum runs down your chin.

“Such a good babe” Ellaria strokes your cheek and lick the cum that is making its way onto your neck.

The room is quiet for a while filled only with your sighs.

“What do you want now, love?”

She says to Oberyn that is now lying on the bed right next to you with a hand splayed over your tummy.

“I was thinking…what if you sit on her face while I eat her pussy?”

“Mmmm you always have the best ideas, my prince”

You're lying between them, they sit up for a kiss and you see their mouths come together and their tongues meet passionately right above you, you quietly enjoy the show.

Oberyn climbs on top of you, starting to kiss you and you immediately realize how different his touch and kisses are from Ellaria's, he is more urgent, less delicate than her, but no less exciting. His hands are bigger, his fingers longer and as he caresses and teases your nipples and kisses you you wonder what it would be like to have them inside you.

His tongue is voracious inside your mouth, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, his kissing overall more demanding and authoritative but still kind.

Oberyn certainly knows how to let the love of his life take center stage but he also knows exactly how to take it back.

He wastes no time tasting your nipples after all of Ellaria's glorification, running his tongue flat over one of them and grunting in approval and then sucking like he’s starving.

“Fuck, they really are delicious, you’re so right, my love”

Ellaria smiles as she settles in to straddle you, her pussy is an inch from your mouth, you can smell it and you pant in anticipation.

“Lick me, dear, lick me deeply and fuck me with your tongue”

and she lowers herself into your face, your nose colliding with her clit making her gasp, your tongue is flat on her folds tracing them thoroughly, you taste her spicy savory flavor that instantly drives you wild.

You lick right in the middle, her folds caressing your tongue at the sides while you caress her center, alternating longer laps with small ones like a kitten, just the tip of your tongue on her clit.

And then you take it into your mouth, wrapping it with your tongue and then sucking it.

Her pussy clench and she grinds into your face “Yes, oh my gods, you’re fucking great” she mutters, hitting your nose again and again “keep doing that”

You try to focus on her even if you feel Oberyn moving on your body, licking and sucking your skin, probably leaving some light bruises that don't intimidate you anyway, he reaches your mound and continues kissing, attentive and caring. He is rough but also sweet, you can feel his beard scratching you delightfully, he makes space between your legs to settle on his stomach on the bed.

You continue lapping on her clit burying your face in her pussy when you feel Oberyn spread your lips with two fingers and give a long lick to your center and then sink his fingers between your lips, covering them completely in your juices, teasing your entrance while he swirling on your clit.

His fingers are thick, much thicker than Ellaria's, and even just a little force at your opening makes you feel full.

Ellaria is still rocking her hips into your face, squeezing it between her thighs. You stick your tongue right at her entrance, making her moan your name “yeah, baby, just like that, keep pushing your tongue inside me”

You do as she wish, darting your tongue in her hole.

She cries out loud, quivering, calling your name again, pushing her cunt into your face.

You’re almost breathless but you don’t stop, you want her to come all over your mouth and chin and you want to savor every drop of her pleasure.

You feel Oberyn’s fingers deep down into your pussy, curling up and reaching that pretty spot inside of you that always gives you fireworks, while he devours your clit. You can feel his nose deepening through your folds and it feels heavenly.

He’s great.

Really amazingly great.

You push into Ellaria’s trying to keep the same pace with he’s pushing into you and you’re pretty sure you’ve never had anything like that, even if you’re a prostitute and you do it all the time.

Ellaria is riding your face like there’s no tomorrow and Oberyn is eating you out so frantically that you feel a little bit overstimulated but you wouldn’t want to stop for any reason.

“You’re really making my sweetheart a big mess, don’t you?” He looks up at you, grinning as he watches his lover taking every bit of your tongue into her.

There's not even a hint of jealousy in his voice, he seems impressed by you, pleased by the fact that you're making the love of his life enjoy every moment.

“I understand that you are so eager to give her what she wants, it's the same for me. My woman is too precious to leave her unsatisfied, she needs to be worshipped” he says it slowly, sweetly, it reaches your ears muffled but still effective and unmistakable.

His fingers still move inside your cunt, and his tongue is on you again licking your clit rapidly, almost jerking it.

You see stars again, while you keep moving on Ellaria’s folds.

Your entire body is on fire, your legs shaking and your heart pounding in your chest so fast you feel like you’re on the verge of no return.

Ellaria comes a few moments after, whining and holding on to the sheets to maintain balance, releasing her cum all over your lips, on your tongue, in your mouth and you drink on her, all you can, continuing lapping her.

Oberyn is caressing your folds with two fingers, gently, letting you cool down.

When Ellaria moves from your face you try to suffocate a disappointed moan which does not escape Oberyn's ears “Oh, you still want more, honey? Yeah, my woman is addictive, I know” his mouth curve into a smile.

“So are you” you say, pulling you up to sit up in bed to give him a kiss.

His lips taste like you, you linger on his bottom lip sucking it gently to get the more of it.

“You’re such a horny little thing”

“Yes, I am” you whisper on his lips

“Good. We like that”

Ellaria is right next to you, palming the back of your head with her hand, stroking your hair.

“Naughty girl” she winks at you “you’re giving us great pleasure so we allow you to choose what to do now. What would you like, sweetie?”

“I would like..." you stop because you don't want to offend the splendid woman next to you.

“What? Speak, babe, whatever it is it’s fine with us” she smiles at you and Oberyn nods.

“I really want to be fucked…by Oberyn”

Ellaria laughs, a joyful laugh that makes your pussy throb

“Why were you afraid to say it?” she gently pinches one of your lobes, then tracing the outline of your ear with the tip of her finger.

“I didn't want you to feel left out”

“I don’t feel like that at all, honey. I know that you want to be fucked by this handsome prince, no one understands you better than me” her voice is low, tender, like a caress.

“It gives me great pleasure to see him enjoy it, you know? And who tells you I won't participate?”

“Oh. Okay” you feel relieved

“Don’t worry, hun, just take what you need. Haven't done this in a long time, right?”

It's true, you haven't been doing this for long, your job doesn't require you to think about your own needs, you have to dedicate yourself entirely to satisfying others.

Oberyn is between your legs again as Ellaria rests your head on her thighs.

“Spread your legs wider for me, babe”

He comes closer to you and slides his cock over your clit, up and down your folds, you get wet immediately, it slides so smoothly it feels like silk on you.

Ellaria is looking at you sweetly, she’s stroking your hair while your head is perfectly nested on her legs.

“You’re going to feel so good, honey, there’s no better cock than his”

And you actually think she’s right, despite all the other ones you’ve seen since you’re doing this.

He aligns himself with your entrance and you can feel the tip entering you, already stretching your crevice.

He’s careful and goes inch by inch with an incredible calm.

He stops when he’s entirely inside you, it fills you all up and you squirm at the sensation, arching your back to feel it even more.

“God it feels amazing” you moan “move, please”

“You ready, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Yes. Never been so ready in my life. Give it all to me, please”

Your pussy is dripping all over his cock and he starts thrusting, a grunt escapes his throat as he slides so easily into the deepest point of you.

He’s slow, really agonizingly slow and this makes you feel every single movement, every rolling of his hips, every rhythmic thrust so amplified that your mind starts going numb, completely drunk on him.

His hands hold your hips tightly, his fingers dig into your flesh and will probably leave marks but you don't care a bit.

It's like a dance, he’s dancing with your body, setting a leisurely pace that is giving you the freedom to simply feel center stage for once, like you didn’t even know it was possible anymore for you.

They say that's what he does even while fighting, dancing. It's light, nimble and agile like a panther, so they tell you.

Now he's not fighting, he's following your body and you do the same by moving your hips in turn at the same rhythm.

Ellaria was right, there's no cock like his, because what's going on now is him thinking of you first unlike the majority of men you’ve met.

He’s hitting that right spot inside of you again and again, so naturally that you could say that your cunt is meant to be his.

All is silent except for his grunts and the squelching sound of your fuck, every lewd noise from your pussy as he sink into you makes your head spin.

The candles light up the room enough for you to see his face and you fixate on his every little expression, on the vein on his neck swelling, on his clenched teeth, on his eyes squeezed shut with effort.

Ellaria holds you by the shoulders, you bounce on her legs deliciously.

You look up at her for a moment and she has the most delighted smile you’ve ever seen.

“Keep going, hun, you’re doing so well”

she whisper and you’re unsure if she’s speaking to you or his lover but she sounds so sweet and nicely aroused that you get even more turned on by the situation and you didn’t even thought it was possible.

You entwine your legs behind his back, pushing him further against you, he gasps as he tries to push your orgasm just right.

“Fuck, baby, you’re drenched”

“I know I know ..I’m so close Oberyn, please , don’t stop”

He places his thumb over your clit circling it frantically and doesn’t stop pushing into you until your orgasm washes over you leaving you breathless and worn out.

He pulls out of you coming on your tummy, thick streaks of his cum painting your skin as he moan loudly.

You look at him in ecstasy, every expression on his face captivates you as he fists his cock releasing his pleasure on you.

He falls onto the bed panting hard while you also try to catch your breath.

Ellaria moves from underneath you and puts a pillow under your head, goes back between your thighs and reaches down to lick your pussy clean.

Her tongue laps at you gently, caressing your lips until you calm down.

When she's satisfied, she lies down on the bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you, cradling you.

Oberyn kisses your neck, then stands up and grabs a bowl from the table at the side of the room.

You turn to see what he has and he takes a blueberry, runs it across your bottom lip before feeding you.

And then another one.

And one for Ellaria too.

A prince is feeding you blueberries.

You’ve never felt so spoiled in your entire life.

This has to be one of the best days you will ever have, something you thought you could only fantasize about just happened. There isn't much joy in your life anymore, not since you realized that every day would be the same. Not today.

“We leave tomorrow” Ellaria whispers

“Oh fuck, no” you find yourself saying, hiding your head on her chest, lost in the softness of her tits.

“Don't you want us to leave?” Oberyn tenderly rubs your back.

“No” you whine shyly on Ellaria’s skin.

“You’re so cute, honey” she says, hugging you even tightly.

“We’ll be back, don’t be sad” Oberyn says and he pauses for a moment “Actually, wait, have you ever been to Dorne?”

“I never left King's Landing”

"Come with us. What do you think my love, can she come?”

“Of course, she can, why not. When it comes to pleasure you know I have no sides and she’s the perfect addition to our bond”

“It’s a deal then. You want to come, baby?”

You can believe what’s happening, they are really offering you a different life, far from this cesspool of a city.

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s gonna cost you a lot, the owner won’t free me for a little price”

“Babe… I’m a prince. Money is not a problem for me.”

You can feel tears poking through your eyes, you look at him and it seems to you that it is a dream from which you will wake up soon.

“Thank you” he approaches you and you give him a grateful kiss.

“Your new life begins tomorrow”

For the first time in a long time you can't wait for the next day.

[darkwaveho]

Vampire Nat sneak peek👀

Novacane Au

This is actually way past a sneak peek but fuck it we ball! 😜

You stumbled through the dense undergrowth, your breath ragged and shallow. The night air was thick with scent of damp earth and desperation. Each step you took sent pain shooting through your bruised body, a harsh reminder of the beating you had endured. your face swollen, bloodied and your clothes are grimy beyond repair of cleaning it. Your poor life choices have turned into a nightmare that's left you running for your life. Your only hope is to find somewhere to hide just until your body decides to cooperate with you.

As you stumble through a dirt road, the moonlight barely covered the canopy of trees above you, you don't know where you're going but you follow the eerie casts of shadows along the path. Your vision was blurring, and off and on again feeling. Your strength was weary. You felt like you were on the brink of collapsing, you got to keep moving you hear the faint voices, you don't know if they're in your head or if they were actually on your tails. a small glimmer of light through the thick darkness of trees. An old manor, the exterior majestic yet cold and dark in the distance. you don't have time to be picky, this would have to do until the morning, if you even make it. With the last of your strength, you force yourself towards the manor. This is your glimmer of hope, if you could just reach it, maybe, just maybe, you could find safety. The building is old and imposing, the stones weathered over time. would anyone still be living here? there is no sight of a vehicle or any signs of life that would possibly live in this manor but that doesn't deter you from going forward.

You reach the front steps of the manor, the cold stone against our bare foot sends a shiver through your body. your hand trembles as you raise it to knock on the massive ornate door. The effort was too much, and as your knuckles tapped against the wood, your vision darkened. Your legs gave out and you collapsed onto the pavement, unconscious.

Wanda’s keen ears picked up the sound, and she felt the need to investigate. Curiosity peaked by the rare occurrence of someone stupid enough to even travel this deep into the darkness. As she opened the door, the sight before her ws jarring. An unconscious being on the doorstep, body battered, and bruised. Wanda’s heart went to the unknown person. Without hesitation, she gently lifted you and brought you inside the manor. Her intent was to lay you on the lounge chair in the corner of the room, however those plans were cut short when she’s faced with an angry redhead. “Anya.” Wanda cannot hide her expression of surprise. She knows this is wrong, she knows there will be consequences but yet, she still can't find it in her heart to ignore the sight in front of her, the need and desperation of your lifeless being. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I-” Anya doesn’t let her finish her sentence. Anya circles around your body barely glancing at you as all of her attention and hostility is aimed at Wanda right now. “It was obviously rhetorical Wands. That is already drained, what use is it to any of us? I’m not really fond of food someone else has played with already and neither is she.” 

“Anya is right, you need to dispose of it.” Maria appears making her distaste known for the choice she just made, this isn't the first time she’s been teased or taunted for helping a human. Nursing them back to health. Wanda has a need to do good. She yearns for it after a lifetime and her past of being corrupt. She still hasn't fully recovered from it, still waking up in cold sweats at night on the rare occasion when she is able to get some sleep. Wanda stands her ground, she's not budging on this, she can't, she won't allow herself to simply let you die without at least trying to save your life. She has to try. It's in her heart, in her nature to maintain life.

“Save your ignorance for a second, she’s beaten.” Wanda seethes as she tries to assess your wounds. Anya rolls her eyes and shares a look with Maria. The two of them would rarely be on the same accord but tonight just so happens to be the night where they team up against you.  “She will not like this Wanda, it’s best to dispose of it and put it out of its misery. It’ll be dead in less than an hour tops.” Maria attempts to soften her response this time. Unlike Anya Maria does have a small soft spot for Wanda. She’s not a bitch 24 hours of the day to everyone else.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor can barely be heard from your end, everything is muffled as if you were under water. Your body is on fire, your mouth is numbing, no feeling of your own blood leaking from your mouth as you lay frozen against the cold marble floors. Your one good eye is still no use as your vision is blurred. You don’t get a good look at anything or anyone. You only see the color of black surfacing from the shadows within this room and a spec of auburn red. The loud clicks of high heels do nothing but create more tension in your brain. You close your eyes in hopes of it going away, in hopes of your body miraculously healing faster.

Meanwhile, as Natasha steps further into the room. The loud smell of iron, the damp smell of wet rain and dirt covered your entire body, she could smell you all the way from her study upstairs. Natasha looks at each person in the room with her, but she hasn’t looked directly at you, just your body. She shares a look of disgust and disdain, a million different scenarios of punishments run through her mind. Maybe, having the entire coven scrub her floors until she deemed them spotless again after seeing them in the state it's in currently. After an awkward moment of silence Natasha finally acknowledges what’s in front of her. “Is there a reason why there is a human dirtying my floors right now?”

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

THE NIGHT BELONGS TO YOU (bonus chapter)

BLADE X FEM READER FANFIC, +18, smut

MASTERLIST

Bonus chapter of my Blade x reader fanfic, stay tuned in for the rest soon. It's pretty wholesome overall (found family trope with stellaron hunters etc). This part contains mostly spice and massaging Blade's hands for him, reader knows Blade for a long time already and they have close relationship. I think Blade is slightly OOC here.

It's my first fanfic and english is not my first language, so I'm sorry if it sucks. I NEED CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM.

Enjoy my first contribution to the fandom!

BONUS CHAPTER, All of Eden’s vices running through my veins

Pink, silk nightgown hugged y/n’s body in all the right places, lace barely covered flawless skin of her cleavage and upper part of her thighs. She always found it hard to sleep in summer heat as a native of Arkona, land known for it’s cold winds and snowy  mountains, so she gravitated towards skimpy clothing in most heated months of the year. Even winter here felt kinda warm to her, she used to walk outside without a jacket, just in a thick hoodie. Kafka tried to put her winter coat around Arkonian each time she saw her dressed like that, y/n found it very cute. She lived with Stelaron Hunters for over a year now, and despite their bad reputation she has never in her life felt more cared for and accepted. If somebody told her a year ago she will be baking Oak Cake Rolls using supersoldier mechasuit alongside friends, taking violin lessons from one of the most dangerous women in the universe or playing Tekken with overambitious young hacker while getting roasted by a hot immortal Y/N would advice them to go see a doctor.  

She looked at herself in the mirror, braiding her hair so they won’t warm her up further during her slumber. Her fingers worked fast, agile and flexible like branches of weeping willow despite going through hardships of martial arts training she went under Blade’s supervision. Halfway through, her attempt at classic hairstyle got interrupted by knocking on the door, audible despite music she put on in the background. Displeased, she secured it with a band and got up. The moment the door opened and revealed her male coworker there was nothing left of her sour mood. 

His red eyes looked her up and down, Blade was too done with bullshit today to check her out in less obvious way.  His hair was put up with elegant chanhua hairpin, decorated with delicate white flower ornament. It wasn’t a big change in his appearance, but it surely was eye-catching. He seemed more beautiful, majestic like a heron in flight with his hair up. Y/n sighed, impressed by his good looks and dignified aura. 

He was the first one to break the silence. He cleared his throat and spoke as nonchalantly as he only could in his rough voice. 

 - Good evening y/n, I just returned from work. I came here to check up on my apprentice and drop something off. I bought a gift for you during my last mission on Jarilo-VI, from famous local seller named Sampo. - he gave her the plastic bag he was hiding behind his back with slightly trembling hands. - I think you will appreciate it, you mentioned your willingness to use your massaging skills a few times so far. 

 - Hi dear. What kind of occasion is this? - she laughed a little. 

 - No occasion, I just saw it among other things he offered and thought about you. - he admitted with straight face. 

Arkonian thanked him and grabbed the bag. A little bit suspicious, she reached inside it and pulled out a small glass bottle filled with shiny liquid. Golden dust floating on top of it shimmered when she shook it. Attached label with a note written in cursive informed her that this substance is allegedly a massage oil.  

Y/n decided to check it just in case, she heard enough about Sampo and his scamming habits to not trust it carelessly. She opened the bottle and sniffed it. Pleasant lemon and bergamot scent hanged in the air. Hmm, not bad. Maybe Blade was 100th customer on that day and actually got a good quality bonus. 

 - Do you like it? - Blade attentively checked her face for reaction.  

 - To be honest I absolutely love it. - she admitted cheerfully. - But please, do not trust Koski too much in the future, trading with him is like a russian roulette. He can give you precious stuff or completely rip you off for a fake. 

- Good to know. - he took a mental note to check everything twice next time he visits this merchant. - Will you let me in? All this traveling around the galaxy really has worn me out. 

Y/n blushed heavily, only now did she realise she didn’t invite him inside her bedroom. 

 - Of course, make yourself comfortable. - she sat down on the bed, patting the mattress on the right side of her body. He closed the door behind himself before taking place next to her.  

 - So... How have you been when I was on the go? Did you behave yourself? No more cursing swords for now? - stellaron hunter spoke in low voice, coming off a bit strict. 

Y/n sighed and  rolled her eyes.  

 - I have been a good girl, don’t you worry man. - Blade cringed visibly at her words. She lied to him but he will surely have better occasion to learn about it soon enough. Arkonian was not in the mood for his preaching now. - How was work? Any unpleasant surprises? 

 - You know, with Elio’s gift it’s already very hard to be taken by surprise, now we also have your visions. Why do you worry so much? - he was quick to dismiss her anxiety. 

 - I still remember how our first mission went. It’s not entirely unpleasant memory, after all we got so much closer to each other that day. - gentle smile adorned her face as she blushed unknowingly, recalling past events. - Yet, you did get hurt badly that day. Can you blame me for reacting like that? 

 - Since that one time we had no such incidents, however it does not make your concern any less valid. - he admitted. Awkward silence has set in, sated with unvoiced desires. He felt it was him who should break it, now or never. - I didn’t come here to discuss business matters. In fact, I hoped you could help me unwind. It was such a long week. - his voice came out a bit suggestive. Was this really the same guy who used to barely speak in her presence months ago and scoffed at her endeavors to get closer?  

 - It’s so bad that you prefer to be distracted from it over confiding in me? - Y/n raised one of her eyebrows.  

 - Exactly. Speaking of which, don’t you think it’s a good moment to put your new ointment to the test? - he gestured towards oil bottle she held in her hand. Y/n still was not used to him being so direct with his wants, it took her a few seconds to process his request.  

- Are you sure this is what you want? - she whispered, looking him straight in the face. With the kind of injuries he had survive she didn't know if she could truly help him with lingering pain and stiffness, but she definitely knew that nothing can be done to help him in long term either way. 

- Yes, it's worth a shot. Don't worry, I don't expect much to begin with. - he sighed. - Why ask, wasn't it you who convinced me to do this so many times? You got cold feet? 

- No, it's just... - she exhaled softly, shifting in place. - Thank you for trusting me. 

She took his palm in hers tentatively, noticing  Blade had no gloves on. He normally avoided taking them off, but it wasn't her first time inspecting old scars on his skin. They covered his hands densely, she recalled patching up some of those wounds. He compared their fingers, slightly smirking at how big he looked like in comparison to her. One of her hands found elegant oil bottle, she let few drops fall on the top of his left hand, then she spread it over the top of it. With round, gentle moves she caressed it, avoiding his eyes. Then she rubbed each of his long, thick fingers separately, stretching them out. Calloused skin and rigid joints hardly submitting to her attempts at relaxing them.  

Shimmering dust made his scars stand out even more, they were like cracks on his porcelain skin. Arkonian once heard of Kintsugi, art of repairing broken pottery by mending it back with gold. But she was not delusional, Blade was not to be whole ever again, no amount of care could glue him back together. She knew, and she accepted him the way he was. Fragments of what was left of him put together by cruel fate like a stained glass, equally sharp and fragile. Legendary craftsman's last masterpiece bursting at the seems, burdened with weight of unforgivable sin. 

Music in the background switched to Sweather weather by The neighbourhood when she turned his palm upside down, once again intertwining their fingers as she rotated his hand while securing it with her other one to loosen up his wrist, then she used both her hands to stretch his out backwards as her thumbs rubbed from the middle of his palm to the sides, opening it up and relaxing every muscle. He felt horribly stiff under her fingers but she expected this already, aware of his past injuries. Arkonian just hoped she could bring him some alleviation from chronic pain, even tho his dexterity will never return. 

 Concentrated on doing her job as well as she only could, she missed his lazy grin and warm, full of lust gaze fixated on her face. Even little sighs of relief getting out his throat when she dug into the meat between his thumb and index finger escaped her attention. He hasn't been touched in tender way for so long, past centuries of his life consisted mostly of silent prayers for death among endless battles, constant suffering and countless cuts from his enemies weapons. Those few who were somehow kind to him still avoided touching his broken body, afraid of mara lurking inside him like a rabid dog. Blade melted into pleasant, warm sensation more and more, he felt way too relaxed for his own good. Being physical usually felt like a sin, state of his flesh a punishment for his crimes, pain it's burning reminder - yet, in that moment with her, his body hesitantly shed it's defences, out of his newfound comfort something grew, deep in his abdomen, heat slowly spreading over him, clouding his mind. With all her curves on display in a nightgown Blade still felt most tempted by those soft lips she unconsciously licked when she focused on him. If he made a move would she look at him with disgust and turn away?  

When he looked in the mirror all he saw was disfigured abomination but y/n looked at him like he was someone. Like he wasn't defected, turned into a monster. He wanted to believe that he is the man she saw in him, to smash every mirror in this damn place and only seek answers about himself in her eyes, that now stared back at him. Her lips slightly parted, skin glistening with sweat, and those wide doe eyes. So sweet, so soft... Seemingly in his reach. He could not ignore this thirst any longer.  

Gently, he pulled her to himself by the hand she caressed him with, when her fragrant body landed in his lap his lips found her fingers. He planted passionate kiss on every knuckle, massage oil covering her palm made his lips softer and more juicy. Arkonian couldn't stop herself anymore as well, she kissed him with all the hunger she cultivated in herself over months spent together. She knew he was not used to affection and receiving kisses, so she lead it, but Blade was just as enthusiastic, deepening it and turning his tongue around hers. 

 They grinded against each other slowly, to the rhythm of the music. Y/n could barely hear Sugar by Sleep Token playing in the background when sounds of heavy breathing and Blade's grunts filled the room. It was way too hot for her in this place, she quickly took of her nightgown, now sat on top of him only in drenched lace panties. His reaction was worth more than any words he could express his desire and admiration for her body with, y/n had no doubts she was just his type when he looked at her with pure wonder. 

 His hair was messy, hairpin disappeared somewhere just like all his mental restraints. He teased her with his fingertips through delicate fabric, her thighs throbbed in response. She let him rip her panties off of her. Those big, calloused fingers massaged her so well, stretching her tight hole deliciously, but could they prepare her for this big thing she felt growing in his pants? Just thinking about it made her so wet slick dripped down his palm. 

Blade reluctantly took his hand away to lick it off his fingers. He wanted to taste her for a while now, and with satisfaction he found out she was just as sweet as she looked like. Perfect fruit to rip and devour. He wanted to command her to sit on his face and ride it roughly, he would hold her down firmly so she couldn't get up until she would come at least twice. Wanted to show her he was good enough. Before he managed to turn those thoughts into reality she already took his hard manhood out of his clothes. 

- You know, maybe I could give you a special massage? - she winked at him, spraying some oil on it, then spread it with her both hands, one on top, teasing the tip, another near the base. Her hands moved in opposite directions as she gripped him and massaged his swollen member in circular motion. Whimper left his throat, shocking them both. He didn't even know how touch-starved he was, having only his sword to cling to for all those years, until she touched him, every cell of his wanted to beg for more. She rubbed over the vein under his dick with just the right amount of pressure. Her skilled hands played with him for minutes, discovering sensitive points he was not even aware of, but when Blade felt his orgasm approaching he stopped her movements.  

- I don't want to cum yet, I need to feel you around me first. Come here. - his husky voice giving her orders made her even wetter than she was before, way more than she thought was possible. He picked her up and put her right above his member, she carefully slid it inside of her inch after inch, there was no rush.  

- I know I am big, give yourself some time. - he encouraged her. No matter how much he just wanted to slam into her with full strength, her pleasure was more important to him. What was the point if she didn't enjoy it? He was never a gentle type but for her he wanted to be. She was still so fragile.  

While her body adjusted to his impressive length she took off his shirt, leaving him in unbuttoned pants only. In a second his pale, muscular chest  glistened with sweat and oil from her hands cause she just had to feel that men up. Pupils of his eyes widened at the sight of her breasts so close to his face. He sucked on them passionately basking in softness of her flesh, she giggled in response and stroked his head affectionately. They cuddled for a bit in that position, her cunt clenching around him while he rubbed circles over her back soothingly. Y/n was the first to move, slowly grinding into his hips and kissing his shoulders. She felt so safe and taken care of and so did he. Blade let her set her own pace for now, in fact he would let her do absolutely anything she wished for to him.  

Walls he built around his heart were near impenetrable, but once somebody got inside immortal warrior became defenceless against their whims, if he only could he would give them every star in the sky, even if he would never admit it aloud. He was always like that, back during High Cloud Quintet times he used to give his friends priceless weapons as a token of friendship, even now he had a hard time saying no when he went outside with his dear coworkers, always purchasing a new coat for Kafka, buying so many games for Wolfie that Kafka scoffed at them, agreeing to this annoying nickname he was given or even giving up his private cellphone for them. 

Blade despite all that never considered himself taken advantage of, it was clear none of those close to him would ever see him as a mere idiot to manipulate or a toy, after all such privileges were reserved for the most trusted people only. He cherished all their respect, yet for a long time he was unable to find any crumb of reverence for his broken being in himself. He called himself Blade, and it was easier for him to live believing he was nothing more than a tool of the fate, pain was a little bit more bearable for a broken masterpiece to take than it was for a man with great ambitions and ruined dreams whom he barely recalled and neither could or wished to be again.  

Blade is made to be used, powerless without the hand that guides it, created only to bring pain and bloodshed, yet now his body was harnessed for completely different purpose. Woman on top of him released heavenly moans each time she went down on his erected cook, her lips parted in a way that made him want to kiss her desperately once again, her eyes filled with hunger and pure adoration. He couldn't imagine his corrupted body had a potential to be a source of bliss to a woman or man anymore, last memories of such activities shared with friends from Quintet were barely vivid in his mind. Since his body was pierced a thousand times by his previous mentor he couldn't stand physical proximity of anybody, lightest touch made him tense up. During his trainings with Arkonian he grew accustomed to her closeness but the ease he took her touch with bewildered him. How easy she was to crave, to need, to take over his mind. How easy it was to not think anymore, to let her use him for her own pleasure, to be utilized for something else than spreading pain and misery for once.  

He took pride in her praises, opened himself to this new role, found fulfilment in it. Blade rubbed her tired hips up and down when she bounced on him, all sweaty, hot and blushing. So, so beautiful. She clenched on him, close to her orgasm. He needed her to cum for him, to sing his name even more. In attempt to earn more of her sweet reactions he thrust up into her. Slow, deep and very, very hard. This immediately pushed her over the edge. 

Y/n whimpered in a straight up angelic way, squirting all over his abdomen when his seed filled her hole. Orgasm hit Blade with all force of instincts denied for centuries, almost knocking him out. Addictive, ecstatic feeling shook his whole body, coercing moans out of his throat. His head fell on y/n's shoulder, and she brushed through his hair with her fingers, scratching his scalp and neck.  

 Libido  seemingly starved to death through centuries of neglecting primal needs once again woke up in him. In that moment he knew, it was not enough. He needed to take care of her perfectly fuckable, receptive, soft and welcoming body as well as his own desires till none of them could stand up. Inhaling her inviting scent his fingers dug into warm, delicate flesh of her hips when he carefully pulled her underneath him, his cook already hard again.  

Her skilled fingers reached out to feel his torso again, she put it carefully over his biggest scar, where his heart should be, unnaturally cold sensation of his sweaty skin grounded her. His palm covered her smaller hand, so delicate in comparison to his wide chest. She was not a petite woman by any means, her body was strong and used to harsh conditions of her home planet, but she could not lie, she loved how much bigger than her Blade was. How he towered over her, could embrace her in a way that made her feel completely protected and hidden in his muscular arms, like he did just now pressing her to bed with his body.  

Both his hands grabbed hers and pinned them down to the mattress, her thighs embraced his midriff.  She sated herself with him, engulfed in his smell she forgot the outside world, only two of them mattered now. Her form trembled underneath him when he moved, now much more decisively, fast and precise thrust slowly but surely emptying her brain from all unnecessary thoughts and worries, driving her crazy. 

His penetrating gaze never left her face, making sure there was no sign of discomfort or rejection.  But there was only satisfaction and invitation in her eyes, and for the first time in years he allowed himself to want something else than revenge and death, just for tonight. But deep down Blade knew it's not a one time thing, not when it feels so right. Not when he finally got a taste after convincing himself for months that it would be the best for everyone involved if he pretends Y/n is just a coworker to him, not a woman he dreams of each night before falling asleep. 

She hissed when his lips and fangs brushed over her pulse point. Poor y/n will have to cover up some hickeys in the morning, or who cares, he would simply tell her to keep them on sight, it's not like nobody can hear her cries. His steady, merciless pace made her climax way sooner than she expected, even so close to his own release he kept his rhythm. Her nails scratched his back harshly, but none of them worried if they will leave marks. This sensation combined with the way she clenched around him pushed him to his own orgasm. Praises y/n moaned into his ear went straight to his head, she shamelessly let him know just how much she loves what he does to her, how she wants him to never ever stop, how handsome and talented he is, how capable of making her cum harder than she ever did before for anybody else. He fucked her through her high with cocky smile on his face.  

As both of them calmed down he still moved inside her, giving y/n last few pushes, slow and gentle, as if he wanted to soothe her. Orgasmic haze faded away, leaving them with clear minds and sated bodies. Soon after her breathing evened out he pulled out kissing her forehead and picked his clothes up from the floor.  

- I thought you would stay with me - Arkonian barely managed to hide how hurt she was by the fact, that he just stood up instead of cuddling with her.  

- I will, but first do me a favour and put this on. - he passed her his shirt. - I don't want you to get sick and that's what will happen if you sleep in this thin lingerie of yours. 

- If I put this on will you come here? - she whined at him, pouting slightly.  

- You don't need to ask me twice. - Blade smiled at her. It looked a bit awkward.  

Y/n sighed in defeat and let him wrap way too big shirt around her, next he lied down by her side and covered them with a blanket. Not even a minute passed and she was out like a light. Blade admired how peacefully she slept in his arms, knowing damn well if something happened to her he would set whole known universe ablaze. Thought itself made his heart ache more than his hands did, unexpectedly y/n's massage indeed somehow alleviate the pain a little bit. He probably should ask her to do this more often, especially if it could end up with their bodies entangled once again. 

For now he decided to watch over her sleep and guard her through the night. He was well aware of her strength, she was more than able to protect her own self after hours of practicing martial arts with him, but sheltering Y/N from harm personally made him feel like he was doing a good job for his favourite girl. Sight of her in his shirt, smelling like him, covered in his marks with his semen dropping out of her made him feel like he claimed her in a way and it made him want to keep her safe and spoil her till she is ruined for other man cause nobody can satisfy her as well as he can.  

He wished he could enter her mind to learn all her deepest fantasies and cravings to fulfill them one by one so she needs him as much as he needed her. Perhaps she already did, y/n always considered him no matter what she was about to do, as if he was at all times on her mind. Took care of his wounds after missions and never judged him, never asked him to be somebody else. Never took advantage of his kindness or used any of his secrets against him, even in anger. Something so basic yet so rare nowadays. Y/n knew he yearned to rest in eternal peace but decided to cherish him either way without trying to fix those unrepairable parts of him or using him to feed any sort of saviour complex. Whenever he craved her company whether he was willing to admit that or not, she was always there for him, with cup of warm tea, bunch of bandages just in case and ready to listen about his struggles, always so understanding and nonjudgemental, his confidant, his true tranquillity. Flowing over him like holy water, washing away suffocating feelings inherited from his past.  Therefore in return he decided to give her the last years of his life and spend them well, making sure she's happy and secure. 

Blade promised this to himself with crescent moon above them as a witness, inspecting how it's soft light blessed y/n's features with ethereal glow. One thing he was sure of - once the time to join his fallen foxian friend in afterlife comes, y/n will understand and let him go with no resentment, but until then he will stay by her side like a silent protector, with red thread of fate binding them to each other, not as destiny's slaves but as it's choosers. 

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,704 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: pre-Alexandria Warnings: descriptions of blood and gore, language, angssstt, frightening scenarios Summary: Y/N and Daryl take a closer look at the elk kill they located. A/N: This is part of a series! Find all the previous parts on the Master List! Previous Chapter

Daryl followed silently behind you and the approach was cautious and measured. Your eyes were fixed ahead on the blur of red in the snow, the same place the ravens had risen from. As you got closer, your heart began to pound. Any elk kill by native wildlife was messy, but you could see even at a distance that this was entirely something else. The carcass finally came into focus and a swell of nausea rose in your stomach. Your feet continued to carry you closer as if of their own volition. They finally stopped when the toes of your boots reached the edge of the crimson-stained snow. Daryl stood slightly behind you, staring at the residual violence of the scene.

There was hardly anything left but puddles of clotted blood mixed with melted snow. It had been a large bull, a majestic set of antlers still attached to the head, but was now reduced to scraggly tufts of hair and nearly clean bones. The area surrounding the bull was messy with gore and blood. The ravens had been feeding on scarce scraps and picking at the little bit of flesh that was left behind. Your eyes roamed over the scene as your stomach turned again.

Daryl broke the thick silence. “This ain’t—this ain’t somethin’ natural, is it? This wasn’t wolves… or a bear?” He didn’t really need you to answer, but you shook your head.

“No,” you said, moving over and bending to look at a particular pattern of blood in the snow. You stood up abruptly and drew in a shaky breath.

“What?” Daryl asked, still not fully understanding the gravity of what the two of you had just stumbled upon.

You gulped down the sick feeling welling up in your throat and nodded at the spray you’d just examined. “This wasn’t scavenged by infected,” you said, turning to look at him. He still had a questioning look on his face. “I mean—this elk wasn’t dead when they found it. That’s an arterial spray. Something that only happens if the heart is still pumping.”

Daryl’s eyes drifted down to the blood in the snow and you watched his face darken. “How fast can—?”

“Forty miles per hour,” you interrupted him. “An elk can run forty miles per hour.” Your eyes drifted over the terrain. “They probably couldn’t hit that in here with all the trees and terrain, but still… They’re fast. And a big bull like this would have fought with his antlers, even if it was sick or weak or something. But it must have been completely overwhelmed…” You sighed, staring again at the complete decimation of the carcass. Nothing was left behind; no fat, no organs, no skin… nothing but hair and bone. “Shit,” you swore, squeezing your eyes shut against the horrific scene.

Daryl walked around it, studying the muddle of tracks in the snow. He began to follow a trampled path smeared with blood leading away from the carcass, crossbow in hand. “Hey—Y/N…”

You heard the apprehension in his voice as plainly as the whine of an emergency siren. “Hmm?” You hurried around to the other side and met him. He nodded ahead into the trees.

“There’s a path that goes off this way,” he drawled, though he didn’t need to point it out. The smears of blood and the trampled and disturbed snow was plain.

Behind you the dogs seemed on edge, sniffing at the carcass but staying alert and pacing the perimeter. You were sure they could smell that the place had been swarmed with infected. You whistled to them softly and they came to your sides. This time, Daryl let you go ahead as he scrutinized the surroundings, adjusting his grip on his bow, his fingers flexing a bit anxiously. His eyes swept behind, left, right, in front, and repeated.

The path ahead wove through the trees and you could feel your body tensing with each step. Perhaps one of your senses already knew what was coming. The anticipation had you feeling sick.

When the trees began to open up again ahead, your eyes landed on another crimson mass in the snow. Your feet stopped on their own. Your hand went to the hilt of your knife and you pulled in a long, nervous breath. Daryl heard it.

“What is it?” Daryl’s voice from behind you.

“Another kill,” you said. “Come on.”

You pushed forward again, but more slowly, and you kept your footsteps in the snow as silent as possible. It was slippery where the horde had been, the snow compacting into ice that was spotted pink and red. There was another, larger clearing ahead and it slowly came into view. Behind you, Daryl was so concerned about watching the rear and flanks that he almost bumped into you when you stopped abruptly at the edge of the meadow. The next thing he was aware of was the rapid, agitated sound of your breathing.

“No—oh my God,” you breathed out, more to yourself or maybe to the ether than to him.

Daryl stepped around you and looked ahead, getting his first glimpse of what had you so frozen and rigid. Bathed in the winter light was a meadow that looked like a warzone. The snow was stained with many ponds of blood and gore and among them were endless elk carcasses nearly picked clean. The bodies of a few infected lay motionless in the snow, perhaps killed during some struggle with a bull. The mountain air carried the sickening tang of copper and the stink of decomposition, masking the usual fresh and invigorating scent of pine.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered, your eyes moving frantically over the scene. “Holy fucking shit.”

Daryl could hear and sense your panic. The dogs could too; they were on either side of you and stayed still, ears alert and noses sniffing furiously in the air. Bear seemed to be scanning the surroundings just as Daryl had been.

Daryl took one further step out into the clearing and studied the tree line. Carcasses everywhere. Carcasses as far as he could see. Hundreds. He adjusted his grip on his bow. “We should leave,” he said, his blue eyes frantic as he watched for the dead. He finally glanced back at you over his shoulder when you didn’t respond.

Your eyes were wide and glassy and all color seemed to have drained from your face.

“Y/N?” He walked over and you finally looked at him. His expression was grim, his mouth tight and concerned.

“We—we hunted bulls from this herd—me and my dad,” you stammered. “Every fall since I was ten. There—how could—”

Daryl gulped, for the first time realizing there was a barely suppressed feeling of panic in the pit of his stomach. “’M sorry,” he murmured. “But we can’t stay here. We gotta go.”

You didn’t seem to register what he’d said. Your eyes drifted back to the gruesome, brutal scene over his shoulder. A tear broke out onto your cheek.

Daryl touched you lightly, sweeping a finger under your chin and along your jaw so you’d meet his eyes. “Y/N, we have to get outta here. This just happened this mornin’. Whatever horde did this is probably still around and we dun wanna be caught by surprise out here. We gotta go. ‘M sorry…”

Finally, you nodded and seemed to come back to yourself some. A swell of nausea rose in your stomach and bubbled nearly to your throat. Sick. You felt horribly sick. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah. You’re right. Come on.” You turned away and started back down the trampled path you’d come in on, hurrying to get away from the smell of death and the brutality that had been done in that place.

_ _ _ _ _ _

When you and Daryl arrived back at the cabin, the tense silence that had nearly suffocated both of you the entire journey home remained. Unlike after the view of the valley, Daryl was determined to talk with you about what you’d just discovered. After seeing the massacre of the elk herd, he realized the issues of the infected and the new terrifying runners were even more pressing than either you or he first realized. The snares being full were a warning, the dead at the cabin during your recovery were a warning, and the infected popping out of the snow were warnings—more dead than you thought were already up the mountain.

You were hanging up your wet winter gear as Daryl stood on the rug in front of the fire. He gulped, wringing his hands anxiously but his voice finally cut through the silence. “Y/N…” he drawled gently.

You turned, but it took a long moment before you lifted your eyes to him.

“I think—we should talk ‘bout—”

You sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of your nose. “I don’t want to talk about it…”

He took two hesitant steps toward you. “I know. But we gotta.”

“I just need a little time, okay?” You were still trying to fully process what you’d seen and what it meant.

But Daryl wasn’t going to give up. This was dangerous and urgent. “We might not have time,” he said, his voice more insistent. “It woulda taken… hundreds and hundreds of infected to do what they did to that herd—”

“I know. I saw it.” There was a rising edge in your voice now, but Daryl plunged ahead despite it.

He crossed the room to stand in front of you and his voice was almost pleading. He wanted to reach out and touch you, but your body language was guarded and closed off. “Y/N, please listen to me. Ya can’t stay here. With how many of them have already made it up the mountain—shit could go real fuckin’ bad real fuckin’ fast up here now. A horde like that? Especially with those runners? They could tear the cabin apart.”

“You think I don’t know that? I was there too, Daryl. It was my idea to go to the lookout. I saw the fucking valley! I saw the—the elk—what they—” you stopped, swallowing another swell of nausea.

Daryl went rigid for a moment at the sharpness in your voice but softened again when he saw the expression on your face. Your eyes were wide, almost wild and desperate, and they were glassy. “We can’t stay,” he said again softly,

“I know what—I know what it all means, okay?” you said more quietly. “And right now, that feels like losing the last fucking thing I have from any bit of my old life.” Your voice broke as you said those last words and Daryl’s heart ached.

“I get that. I do, and ‘m sorry but—we gotta make this decision now and get the hell out before we can’t.” He finally reached for your hands and took them in his. “Come with me. We’ll load up more supplies, get the dogs, and we’ll head out, go back home—to my home. Please.. I made it before. We can make it back there together.”

Your eyes were searching his face, your expression unreadable.

“Look, I know it ain’t the easy way but—”

You abruptly pulled your hands from his and took a step back, looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Easy? Easy? Is that what you think it’s been like up here? You think surviving here alone has been easy?” Your eyes were wide as you stared back at him, flitting between his. “You think staying here, surrounded by the ghosts of my dead fucking family, was easy? You think surviving alone in this world as a woman was easy? Early on, three men broke into the cabin and tried to abduct me, take me somewhere. I killed them. You think that was easy? Groups have moved through here when the weather is good, found me, found this place and tried to take it or do worse. I’ve had to do shit to survive that no one should have to do. You have any idea how many times I just wanted to give up?”

“No—that ain’t what I—” But you were already walking away. “Y/N, that ain’t—I didn’t mean—” He was desperate to get you to look at him. You had to know that wasn’t what he’d meant. In the moment, all you wanted to do was not think. The dogs trotted behind you, tails down and ears pinned, as you made your way to your bedroom door. “Y/N—”

“None of this has ever been easy,” you said, turning back to glance at Daryl. “None of it. And neither is this shit.” Daryl flinched at the slam of the door behind you.

“Fuck,” Daryl swore, angry at himself and had how you wouldn’t just stop for one second and listen. How could he have chosen his words so poorly? He found himself lashing out at the nearest thing which happened to be a stack of books and old magazines. His hand flicked out at them and they toppled to the floor in a jumbled heap. He rubbed a hand over his face and paced the length of the room, consumed by a jittery, anxious energy. His eyes kept going to the closed door of your bedroom.

Inside, you found yourself shaking as you walked to your bed and collapsed onto the edge in a seated position. Bear gave a soft whine and laid down at your feet. Strider ambled over and rested his chin on your leg, looking up at you with big, chocolate brown eyes. You stroked his head a few times before collapsing backwards onto your bed, your legs still dangling off the side.

It felt like there was a weigth on your chest, pressing on your lungs.

Leave? How could leave? But you had to leave.

Your mind careened between these two thoughts endlessly.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl looked away from the frosted window where night had fallen and his eyes landed back on your door. He hadn’t heard a sound since you’d shut it and him out. He chewed on his bottom lip and climbed to his feet, restacking the books he’d shoved off the coffee table in his anger. He hadn’t managed a fucking thing since the argument. He felt unsteady and sick. He’d only accomplished taking a shower and he’d blasted himself with cold water like some kind of punishment…

He gulped and paced over to your door, hesitating with his hand ready to knock. He just needed to hear your voice. He needed to know you were at least somewhat okay in there. Shoving down his anxiety, he softly tapped his knuckles on the door. “Y/N?” His voice came out more gravelly than usual.

“Daryl, please just—just leave me alone. I need some time...”

He was relieved to hear anything from you, but the worry in the pit of his stomach didn’t vanish. He sighed and shut his eyes but no magic words to convince you to open the door came to him. “I’m—‘m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. But I need some time,” you interrupted him.

“Alrigh’. I’ll be—I’ll be in the other room if ya need anythin’,” he finished lamely. When you didn’t say anymore, he drifted away to the other bedroom and laid down on top of the quilt on his back. At some point, he heard you move through the cabin, speaking softly to the dogs. He deciphered the clink of their food bowls and then the creaking of the cabin door.

He rushed to the doorway and looked out toward the front door, suddenly seized by worry that you’d decided to go off into the night for some unknown reason, but when all your winter gear was still hanging by the door his panicked eased. In a moment, you came back in with the dogs and looked up to see him standing in the doorway across the cabin. Daryl felt an electric jolt up his back like he always did when your eyes met, but it was quickly replaced by a chasm of space in his chest at how sad and drawn you looked. Your eyes were a bit red and puffy, a clear sign that you’d been crying and he found himself desperate to put things right.

“Y/N, I—”

You lifted a hand gently to stop him. “I know that isn’t what you meant. I know. But I just can’t right now, okay? Let’s just go to bed and we can try and—and talk tomorrow. Alright?” Daryl nodded, but the look on his face was agony. There was a sharp, insistent pang in your heart as you looked at him. The man thought he’d ruined everything.

To Daryl’s surprise, you wove your way across the room and stopped close in front of him. Your hand came to land lightly on his cheek, and although you didn’t smile and your expression was still drawn, you leaned in and press a kiss to his other cheek.

His eyes closed at the soft touch of your lips and when you stepped back, much of the distress was gone from his face. His blue eyes flitted over your features as you withdrew. “Tomorrow. Okay?” you whispered.

He gulped and managed a nod and watched you until you disappeared into your bedroom again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

At some point, perhaps from sheer exhaustion, Daryl had managed to fall asleep. You had too, despite the churning and biting anxiety in your stomach. But sometime in the early hours of the morning, Strider sat up in bed beside you and growled. It shot you awake immediately.

The room was dark, the fire in the hearth having died down. Even the coals were cloaked in a fresh layer of still hot ash. You sat up and strained your hearing, but for a long moment you didn’t hear anything. You reached for the light on your nightstand and clicked it on. Still nothing you could hear. The only sound was the thumping of your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Then Strider growled again. And Bear was alert where he had been lying in front of the fireplace.

Then you gasped as you heard a dull thud on the wall of the cabin. Your breaths came quickly now. Silence. Then a dragging along the outside wall. Strider growled again and you calmed him and continued to listen, trying to identify if this was animal, dead, or human…

Another bang and a growl, which was clearly not an animal. Then a deranged yell, the kind those fucking runners made. Another thud, but in a different part of the wall. A scratching sound. Shit.

You were frozen, sitting up in bed, straining your hearing to its limits. Please just let them move on. Please. Worried that some of the light from your lamp would show around the edges of the building, you clicked it off, but that only increased your unease. You wondered if Daryl could hear them on his half of the cabin.

There were a few final sounds, but eventually everything was still and silent again and it seemed that any infected outside had moved on. The dogs had settled again, easing your concern further. You felt for the hilt of your knife beside you on the nightstand, and being reassured it was within easy reach, you laid down again and settled into the pillow. Sleep took you again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Another jolt awake. It was still dark. Barking. The dogs were barking. Your throat burned. You coughed, sitting up in bed, disoriented. Your hand flew to your knife on the side table. Smoke? You smelled smoke. You tasted smoke. Fire. The cabin was on fire?

You flopped out of bed onto the floor, the dogs moving around you urgently, chaotically. Why hadn’t the smoke alarms gone off? You crawled, coughing from the thick, hot air and groped for the light switch by the door. Nothing. No power? There was no power. No power, no smoke alarms. Had the main fireplace caught? Had an ember gone unnoticed somewhere?

What the hell was happening? Everything was happening so fast. Your thoughts were racing.

You reached the doorknob but let out a yell when it burned your palm. Your pressed a hand to the wood of the door experimentally and it was entirely too warm. Your eyes went to the bottom of the door and keyed in on the reddish—orange glow. Fuck! A big fire. Outside your door. SHIT. Out. You had to get out. Daryl? Was he awake? Was he okay? You couldn’t stop coughing. Every breath singed your throat. You pulled your shirt up over your nose and mouth in hopes of filtering out some of the smoke and soot. “Come on, boys! Come here!” you yelled to the dogs, and that’s when you finally registered the noise. That pounding, dragging, growling, scratching sound was loud in your ears—loud enough you had to yell over it. The dead.

You continued your crawl to the window, calling for the dogs to follow you, and as you approached it the volume of the cacophony of noise grew. You stayed hunched on the floor below the sill, panicked, frozen. Infected. The dead were outside, and by the sound of it, it was a flood of them.

You were trapped. Any moment they could come through the glass on the window. It was rattling in its pane.

The cabin was on fire. And the dead had come. And you were trapped.

[eyebawll]

THRU THE LOOKING GLASS

•°. *࿐ քʀօʟօɢʊɛ ➻

.·:*¨༺ 𝘼 𝙂𝙖𝙯𝙚 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙒𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙༻¨*:·.

Thru The Looking Glass is a creepypasta x f! reader fanfic I started writing months ago but only just now published. Now, I'm here to do the same for this silly little site! Warnings and story under the cut.

WARNINGS: This story contains content that may not be suitable for any of my younger followers. This story contains heavy depictions of gore, violence, murder, death, abuse, childhood abuse, SA, derealization, mental health issues, and other topics. + my over the top writing (oops)..This is a more realistic approach while also having fun with it. I needed something new to work on while I go about with my other stories.

word count: 5,722

summary: In this OC-worthy tale of horror and pain, we follow the story of Y/N, a young woman whose life has been shattered by tragedy and abuse. Haunted by hallucinations and plagued by violent outbursts, Y/N is trapped in a cycle of torment, unable to escape the clutches of her controlling and abusive father. A retired doctor with a zealot's faith, he subjects his daughter to a range of experimental treatments in his quest to purge her of demons that he believes have sought refuge in her pure form.

As Y/N struggles to retain her grip on reality, wonderland and real life alike, she must unravel the thick web of her father's madness, and reclaim her identity before it's too late.

A large building loomed over the street, its windows black and empty. The darkness outside was all-encompassing, the kind that seeps into your bones and fills you with a deep sense of dread. The wind howled like a wounded animal, rattling the windows in their frames and sending shivers down the spines of anyone brave enough to venture out. The streetlights flickered sporadically, casting an eerie glow over the empty sidewalks. There was no sign of life, no sound except the wail of the wind. It was a ghost town, a place where nightmares come to life. And for Y/N, it was hell.

Y/N stumbled into her old cramped bedroom, her heart hammering in her chest. She locked the door behind her, feeling a fleeting sense of safety. But the feeling was fleeting indeed, as the dark room seemed to close in on her. The vintage wallpaper, once vibrant and lively, now peeled and faded, hung like a veil of sadness around the room. The creaky floorboards groaned in protest beneath her feet, as if they too shared her burden.

She let out a ragged sigh and collapsed onto her bed, her limbs feeling heavy and uncooperative. The mattress, worn and lumpy, offered no comfort, and she winced as fresh pain shot up from the bruises on her arms and legs. Her eyes, swollen and red from tears, took in her surroundings: the small desk and chair, both rickety and unsteady, pushed up against one wall; a dresser with a chipped mirror in the opposite corner; and the twin-sized bed with a faded floral bedspread, now more depressing than cheerful. The room was still and quiet, save for her ragged breaths that echoed off the walls. It felt like a prison, and she was the only inmate.

Soft eyes slowly opened to the sight of an unfamiliar space, filled with nature and elegant wildlife. The plush bed she lied in was covered with a down comforter and fluffy pillows, the area's furnishings exuding a timeless charm. A vintage dresser with an ornate mirror stood high, while a side table held a delicate antique lamp that cast a warm glow that seemed to produce a warm barrier of protection despite its irrelevancy,  the sunlight covering the wooded area with a blanket of warmth. She could recognize these items as her own, however they seemed to look brighter. They looked as if she had just gotten them. As she sat up, Y/N felt a soft breeze settle against her skin, rustling the trees--almost like a nurturing embrace from mother nature.

She looked out into the forest beyond, where the trees stood tall and majestic, their leaves a riot of colors in shades of green, red, orange, and gold. The forest was kind of quiet, yet alive with the soft sounds of chirping birds and other forms of wildlife. There was an atmosphere of mystery and enchantment within this queer place. She looked around, noticing she wasn't in her bedroom, or even in a building. Her bed, the dresser and the table were placed in the middle of a plethora of trees in which surrounded her, a long, endless pathway splitting feet away. Curious, the young woman pulled the covers over her side, kicking her legs over the bed as she further took in her surroundings.

She shivered as she stood up, the lace at the bottom of her nightgown flowing with the breeze that swept over her body. She took a deep breath, the scent of damp earth and crisp leaves filling her lungs. The forest seemed to stretch out endlessly, the trees towering over her like sentinels. The ground was soft beneath her feet, the fallen leaves cushioning her every step. She wondered how she'd gotten here, and why she was in the middle of a forest. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her own bed, her father's voice echoing in her mind. Here she is now, surrounded by the beauty of nature. She felt a sense of calm wash over her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. In this moment, a blurry cloud filled her mind. All she knew were the sights before her.

As she looked around, she noticed something strange. Moving along the brown trail, she began to see dolls. These dolls hung by thread, some even from rope with a tight loop around their necks, creating a noose. They were a mixture of old and new, ranging from simple cloth dolls to elaborate porcelain ones. The closer she looked, the more she realized that some of the dolls had an uncanny resemblance to her. Most were in one piece, while there were also random doll parts such as heads and legs, swinging with the wind.

She continued, the dolls on the branches seeming to multiply as she walked further. Some of them were cracked and broken, their once beautiful, fresh features now twisted and corrupted. The air grew colder, and the sky turned from a calming blue to a deep, foreboding red. The trees themselves began to ooze from their trunks, a mysterious liquid easing into the forest floor. This liquid was rich and thick, possessing a deep shade of red, matching the sky. Y/N could feel her heart sink as that calming feeling dissolved, replaced with a painful twist in her stomach.

The dolls seemed to come alive, their heads turning to watch her as she passed by. Their once happy faces twisted into expressions of anger and disgust, their eyes seeming to follow her every move. The path became more treacherous, the ground uneven and full of roots and rocks. Y/N stumbled, her foot catching on a branch and sending her tumbling to the ground. As she picked herself up, she noticed a doll lying on the ground next to her. It was cracked and its eyes were closed. Its skin was pale and its hair was tangled, a familiar red liquid oozing from the creases of its broken cheeks. She rushed away from it, stumbling as she made her way deeper into the infinite amounts of trees.

Y/N felt like she had been wandering for hours, the path ahead of her only seeming to stretch further. The forest grew darker as she pressed on, the sky overhead seeming to darken its hue. The once tranquil sounds of nature had been silenced. It was quiet. Too quiet.

She stumbled upon a clearing, the ground beneath her feet soft and spongy. She looked around, noticing that the trees here were different from the rest, their bark gnarled and twisted. As she stepped forward, a voice suddenly spoke from the shadows, causing her to jump in surprise.

"Who are you? What brings you to my domain?"

The voice boomed, deep and menacing. Y/N looked around frantically, trying to locate the source of the voice. She saw a large wolf-like animal standing before her, its coat a deep red with a black mane and tail. Its glossy white eyes glinted in the dim light, and its sharp teeth were bared in a grin that sent shivers down her spine. The dog took a step forward, its powerful muscles rippling under its sleek fur. Y/N couldn't help but feel both confused and unsettled by the sight of the creature. It was like no other canine she had ever seen, and the way it spoke only added to her confusion

"I-...I appear to be lost," she stammered, her heart pounding in her chest.

The dog stepped closer, its eyes seeming to glow in the darkness as it revealed itself further from within the trees. "Lost, you say?" it hissed, its breath hot against her face. "Perhaps I can help you find your way."

Y/N took a step back, unsure of whether to trust this hound. But with no other option and a clouded mind, she nodded.

The hound turned around and began to walk, its massive form barely making a sound as it moved through the forest. Y/N hesitantly followed, her senses on high alert as the silence around them grew deafening. The once beautiful trees now looked twisted and gnarled, their branches stretching out like long fingers. The ground was littered with fallen leaves and broken twigs, and the red hue of the sky made the forest appear even darker.

As they walked, Y/N couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being watched. Every now and then, the hound would pause, as if sensing something that she could neither see nor hear. She shuddered, feeling as if the forest was closing in around her.

Her head was spinning, and the scent of blood grew stronger, overwhelming her senses. She felt her stomach churn, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. Something felt terribly wrong about this place. Just then, the hound stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, and Y/N watched as he silently dissolved away into a mist. The mist surrounded her, and she was left standing alone in the darkness. She couldn't see her own hands in front of her face, and the smell of blood was suffocating. The mist, thick and ethereal, stretched out before her, obscuring her vision like the veil of a widow.

"Hell- Hello?" She croaked in a small voice, seeking out for her new friend. Where could he have gone?

She pressed on, eventually giving up. Determined to find her way out., time seemed to blur as she walked, her senses stuffed with cotton. After what felt like forever, she began to notice the mist was starting to clear. In time, she found herself deeper in the dim-lit forest. The sun, barely visible through the dense canopy of towering trees, cast fragmented rays of light that danced upon the forest floor. The air was heavy with the earthy scent of rain, hinting at the recent downpour that had bathed the woods.

As Y/N ventured deeper, the bark of the trees became darker and more weathered. Their branches reached out like gnarled fingers, seemingly whispering secrets to one another. Shadows played tricks on her eyes, making it difficult to discern the true path ahead. Despite the sickening feeling inside, Y/N's building fight or flight sent her forward. She yearned for the warmth of sunlight on her skin, or better yet, to find herself entangled in the covers of her thick blanket in her own bed. The mist persisted, swirling around her like a cloak, but she refused to be once again consumed by it again.

A sense of relief washed over her as she found herself in the presence of this quieter, more secluded part of the forest. The soft filtered sunlight offered a flickering respite from the shadows. The air was gentle and easy on the senses, scents of rainwater and fresh grass replacing the stomach-churning scent of blood. It felt familiar, comforting. But as moments turned into minutes, a growing unease crept back into Y/N's consciousness. It started as a prickling sensation at the nape of her neck, an instinctual warning. She strained her ears, trying to decipher any peculiar sounds within the natural symphony of the forest.

Suddenly, a faint snap shattered the growing atmosphere of ease. Y/N's head snapped in the direction of the noise, gasping involuntarily. Her eyes darted through the dimly lit surroundings, searching for the source, but all she saw were dancing shadows and swaying branches. It was as if the forest itself played tricks on her, taunting her, keeping its secrets hidden from view. A shiver raced down her spine, casting a chill in the air. The forest, of which was peaceful and quiet, now seemed to become more ever twisted than before. Y/N quickened her pace, fear fueling her steps. She refused to be consumed by fear or doubt. All she wanted was to get home.

She pressed forward, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. She knew she had to keep going, as the answers she sought lay somewhere within the heart of the trees. A darkness loomed in her mind, urging her to turn back, but she refused. Guided by a glimmer of hope that rested deep within her trauma-trenched soul, she ventured deeper, making sure to follow each step of the path that only seemed to stretch further and further, edging her with the chance of safely finding her way.

The world around Y/N felt as though it had ceased to exist beyond the immediate circle of shadows and rustling leaves. Every nerve ending tingled with an acute awareness of impending ruin. As she strained her senses to decipher the source of the sounds, she felt herself submerged in overwhelming dread. It was an inexplicable dread, one that didn't just linger in the air but seeped into her flesh and clawed its way into her core. Then there was a smell. The stench intensified—a putrid mixture of decay and coppery undertones—coiling around her like a serpent. 

Feeling sick to her stomach, Y/N couldn't bear to move. Her mind raced with fearful thoughts. Was it a wild animal? Was it a corpse?

A twig snapped with a crisp sound, closer this time. Y/N's heart lurched into her throat, rendering speech and movement impossible. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the silence now an unbearable weight pressing on her shoulders. She strained to pinpoint the origin of the noises, but the darkness thwarted her efforts, rendering everything beyond a few feet an empty abyss. Each and every second felt like an eternity, as if time itself had chosen this moment to stretch and distort. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, the cold air burning her lungs. The once comforting rustle of leaves became a taunting chant, mocking her. Daring her to move.

Summoning every ounce of energy and courage she could possibly find, Y/N willed herself to move, to break free from the shackles fear had locked on her fragile limbs. But her limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if held by an unseen force. The forest seemed to converge upon her, the trees closing ranks, confining her within them. Desperation clawed at her chest as she fought against the panic threatening to consume her entirely. She had to escape, had to find a way out before whatever lurked in the never ending darkness closed in on her. But with each passing moment, the forest's malevolence seemed to intensify, never ceasing to remind her she wasn't alone. 

She slowly brings her leg to push forward, taking a step. She slowly rested her foot upon the dirt trail, like a child sneaking into the kitchen to find their way to the cookie jar. With a shallow exhale, she pushes her body forward, gently resting her other foot beside her left. Although tense, she seemed to relax, convincing herself if she were quiet, she wouldn't startle whatever it was that had desired to make itself known. In the thick shroud of the oppressive darkness, just before she was about to take another step, a queer and haunting clicking noise pierced through the silence, sending shivers down Y/N's spine. It was a sound that liquidated explanation—a disconcerting blend of a whine and the creak of an old, rusted door. The unsettling cry echoed around her, the trees seeming to tremble in fear.

She kept still. Nothing. She then took a few hesitant steps forward, her pulse thundering in her ears, each beat she felt in her flesh. But as her foot grazed the forest floor, convinced she would make it out, a sudden, heart-wrenching cry shattered that hope. It was a mournful sound, tinged with an unbearable sadness that clawed at the deepest parts of her soul (not to mention her ear drums). The cry seemed to emanate from the same entity, the trees now beginning to literally shake in shared anguish of the young woman.

Y/N's steps faltered, her breath hitching in her throat. Despite her fear, she felt a surge of empathy flood through her—a strange connection to the mournful sound from what could have been an injured animal. Her heart ached, entwined with the dread that held her. As if in response, the darkness seemed to coalesce, thickening around her. The forest itself seemed to draw even closer, pressing in on her from all sides.

She strained to discern any movement. But the more she strained herself, the more the shadows seemed to morph and shift, concealing whatever lurked just beyond her line of sight. Time seemed to warp and twist, elongating the moments into an eternity of psychological torture. The air around her crackled with an otherworldly tension, growing bitter and cold. Her every muscle tensed, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Yet, she found herself stuck by some force, held captive by an invisible barrier.

The cry echoed once more, only this time, it was closer. It was as though the injured creature sought solace in her presence.

She wanted so badly to run. A foreboding sensation crept up her spine, adding on to the building tension, causing her muscles to tense, locking themselves up so tight it was nearly painful. Her eyes widened in alarm, the adrenaline urging her to move, to flee. Yet, her strength allowed her only to do the bare minimum—a cautious, subtle glance, an attempt to discern the source of her dread without confronting it head on.

Slowly, her gaze shifted, almost sidelong, toward the space behind her. She dared not make direct eye contact, fearing whatever it was that lurked from behind. Her heart pounded furiously, echoing in her ears like a funeral drum, while her throat ran dry. The air was freezing by now. She felt as if she could get frostbite, feeling nips on her fingers and her bare toes, rendering her limbs tremulous and her breaths shallow. The clicking sound persisted, as the creature crept in from behind her. 

An ache spread within her skull as she tried to catch a glimpse of what it was, only met with moving twig-like parts, what she could only assume to be arms. Her vision was obscured, offering mere glimpses of disjointed blotches. She discerned the unsettling silhouette of blotchy limbs, strange colors melded together. The creature's form appeared surreal, an amalgamation of beige tainted with splotches of crimson that resembled dried blood, twisted in abstract patterns across its strange horror-novel-esque frame.

Her breath hitched as she briefly caught sight of its torso—a bony structure, taut around its ribs, adorned with protruding spikes that seemed to glisten in the faint dim source of light. The sight sent her fear into overdrive, a primal instinct warning her of imminent danger. And then, she thought she saw its face—or what could pass for one. Black voids for eyes seemed to peer into the depths of her own, unnerving in their emptiness, devoid of any emotion or life. A hole of a mouth gaped open, revealing jagged, serrated teeth that protruded like sharp daggers.

In the shifting darkness, her gaze traced what she could only assume were its arms—twig-like appendages that moved sinuously. They were twisted and unnaturally long. The creature appeared to be tall, taller than her, and for its arms, hooked at the very edge where its hand would be, to touch the ground, she realized this was no wild animal. Y/N's mind reeled at the sight, grappling with the horrifying reality that stood before her—she was in a nightmare. She was in hell.

In her mind she screamed at herself to run before it was too late. Yet she still couldn't. Her bones felt fragile, as if the weight of her fear could shatter them into a million shards. She stood, transfixed by terror, caught between the compulsion to confront the creature and the overwhelming urge to book it. Straining her senses, specifically her sight and her hearing, caused her physical damage as she snapped her gaze back ahead, shutting her eyes tightly. 

Suddenly, her ears began to ring. It numbed the back of her eyeballs while also sending a sharp pain through them. Instinctively, Y/N throws her hands up to her ears in attempts to blocking out the noise. She's unsure of whether or not that was the extra push she needed, but regardless, she found herself running. Her joints were unlocked, each movement swift and fluid. She just kept running, running through the dark, the tips of her fingernails digging into the sides of her head. She could feel herself scratching her hair follicles, digging into her skin as her faced scrunched in agony. She didn't dare open her eyes just yet, allowing her legs to carry her wherever they ended up. 

In a sudden burst of light, a flash erupted from the depths of the forest. The light filtered through her eyelids, nearly blinding her as they shot open. She could feel herself stumble back, completely caught off guard. She stood there, head darting around the area. She found her footing light and her breath heavy, heart racing as she tried to process it all at once. It was as if the world around her transformed, and she found herself in a clearing bathed in filtered sunlight. The forest gave way to a serene oasis, where the gentle sounds of rustling leaves and distant birdsong filled the air. Y/N took a moment to absorb her surroundings, her senses recalibrating to this sudden peace. The trees, though still towering and ancient, now seemed to share a quiet wisdom rather than wicked darkness and sheer terror. The ground beneath her feet felt soft and mossy, inviting her into a haven of comfort and warmth.

Every ounce of unease and fear slowly but surely began to melt away as she calmly strolled through. All of this was too much—all she wanted was to go home. Perhaps it's this way? 

It was fairly uneventful, her journey. She would take occasional twists and turns, following the path etched into the dirt that was awfully gentle on the skin of her bare feet. In this strange contrast to the previous forest, Y/N wandered along the winding paths, enveloped in its atmosphere of charm. The vintage allure of the surroundings added a familiar home-like touch to the scene. Oil-lit street lamps cast a warm, golden glow, illuminating the path as if guiding her through a bygone memory. The air was filled with fluttering butterflies, their vibrant wings painting the air with kaleidoscopic hues.

As she ventured deeper, she was swarmed with curious sights that felt oddly enchanting. Hanging delicately from branches were dolls, but not suspended by rope around their necks as she had seen before. Instead, they dangled by slender pastel and rich-colored ribbons tied around their wrists, and sum even by the cuffs of their blouses and shirts, their porcelain faces serene yet haunting in their stillness.

Elegant decorations adorned the foliage, ornate carvings and nostalgic old trinkets nestled amidst the tapestry. It felt like a stroll through a forgotten memory, deep within the core of her mind, where time stood still.

However, as she tip-toed further along the trail, the ambiance began to shift once more. The air dropped, becoming cooler, and the light dimmed ever so slightly as if a cloud had passed over the sun. A peculiar sensation settled over her, a feeling that she wasn't alone. It wasn't all that threatening, however. Strange noises began to merge within the symphony of the forest. Heavy footsteps echoed in the distance, accompanied by laughter that seemed to reverberate from somewhere unseen. Intrigued, while also apprehensive, Y/N couldn't resist the urge to investigate.

The noises grew closer, drawing her towards the edge of the path where it abruptly ended. Peering around the corner, she encountered an inexplicable sight—a fuzzy distortion, as if the fabric of reality blurred before her eyes. Through the haze and the surrealistic feeling she felt brewing inside of her, she captured glimpses of an odd scene—a pair of dark pants, knives glinting in a faint light. She strained her senses, having recovered from earlier, picking up what she could only discern into screams. They were faint and muffled, though, before she could hear something more. A low, infernal growl, or was it a groan? It settled into her ears, bringing a physical sense of warmth over her, however it wasn't anything positive.

Splashes of crimson caught her attention, vivid against the strange blurry backdrop. Then, from the distorted void, something popped itself forward, its head emerging through the blurry portal, locking eyes with hers. Y/N gasped, her breath catching in her throat.

Without a second thought, she turned and fled, her heart pounding in terror. She ran aimlessly, jumping over twigs and large rocks, completely disregarding the rest of the trail that seemed to go in many directions until, by sheer chance or fate, she nearly ran into a rusted brown door reminiscent of the one in her bedroom. It rested, open just a crack. Without hesitation, she yanked the doorknob back and leaped through, the metallic clang echoing behind her as she slammed it shut.

She had practically jumped into the open space, and her body went rigid, her muscles tensing on impact. But instead of the anticipated collision with a harsh surface, she found herself sinking into something soft, almost cushion-like. Confusion began to cloud her fear as her hands met the padded interior of what seemed to be a room. Her movements were sluggish, almost as if she were submerged in water, every action a struggle against unseen resistance. Crawling on hands and knees, she blinked repeatedly, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim, eerie glow that emanated from the sparse lighting in the room.

A solitary window perched high above caught her attention, moonbeams casting soft shadows across the room. The faint glow of moonlight offered her some kind of comfort. At least she wasn't in a ditch somewhere. The light, guiding her unsteady steps towards the distant window, felt kind of warm compared to the awfully cold air that nipped at her skin. Disoriented and off-balance, she stumbled, her senses still reeling from the transition.

As she approached the window, her hands brushed against the padded walls, seeking stability. She raised her gaze, fixating on the distant glimmer of the moonlight filtering through the solitary window.

Fumbling and uncertain, she traced the contours of the walls with her hands, feeling the padded surface in an attempt to ground herself. But before she could fully process her surroundings, a sound—a shuffle, perhaps footsteps—outside the door snapped her attention away. Her breath hitched as she stared at the door, her heart thundering in her chest. The faint glimmer of light danced across the space as a slider on the door moved, revealing only a pair of eyes peering in at her. They glinted with curiosity, holding her gaze in a silent exchange.

Y/N's mind raced with questions, her mouth parting as if to speak, yet no words came. A chill crept down her spine as a surge of apprehension washed over her. Her hand involuntarily pressed against the padded wall, seeking a false sense of security as she struggled to comprehend the oddity of her situation. 

Y/N watches intently as the person on the other side of the door turns the knob, the hinges creaking as it swings open. A blinding light spills into the room, causing Y/N to instinctively avert her gaze and squint against the sudden brightness. Slowly, her eyes adjust to the illumination, allowing her to steal a side glance at the figure that stood just at the doorway.

Recognition flickers across Y/N's mind as she discerns the person before her—a woman with fair skin and ginger hair elegantly tied up with swept, fluffy parted bangs. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she notes the woman's attire—a surgeon's uniform—with a mask loosely hanging under her chin. However, the most startling detail catches Y/N off guard—the absence of the woman's eyes. Instead, there's an unnerving expanse of smooth, featureless skin where her eyes should have been.

Confusion mingles with disbelief in Y/N's thoughts. She blinks repeatedly, hoping to dispel this surreal image that feels like a figment of her imagination. Her mind races with questions, her mouth opening as if to voice her bewilderment, yet still, she was silent.

Desperately seeking some form of reassurance, her hand instinctively presses against the padded wall behind her, though it offers no comfort against the unsettling reality she's confronted with. In a state of disbelief and growing unease, Y/N froze. Her eyes were wide, eyebrows high. She felt so cold, despite the warmth that spilled into the room from the other side. The woman's plump, glossy pink lips held a cigarette. She seemed confused, arms crossed as she leaned on her hip. A dent formed in which her eyebrows were meant to be, as if she was contemplating how this stranger got here. 

For an eternal moment that feels suspended in time, Y/N remains frozen, unable to process the nightmarish sight before her. Yet, as she blinks, a sudden change unfolds. The woman, initially standing at the door, now leans in, her hands extending around the doorframe as her body seems to elongate. Her foot juts forward as if ready to step inside, but something is different.

The woman looms taller, her head protruding into the room, and a ghastly grin spreads across her face, her jaw extended to an inhumane rate. Y/N's horrified gaze fixates on a single, glistening eyeball resting upon the woman's tongue. The eye seems to fixate directly on Y/N, the same tint of amber from the slider on the door. Unable to contain her ever-growing (and never ending, it seems) fear, Y/N chokes up, her breath catching in her throat, a primal instinct compelling her to scream. But before the scream could tear from her throat, the woman, now twisting her body with a series of bone-cracking sounds, begins to crawl into the padded room. Her movements contort unnaturally as if defying the laws of physics, each bone-crunching twist amplifying the discomfort building in the atmosphere.

The cigarette that dangled from the woman's lips moments ago falls, landing on the padded floor. Strangely, it doesn't extinguish upon impact but continues to burn, creating a sizzling sound against the padded surface. The acrid scent of burning material adds to the sensory overload of the scene before the innocent woman, feeling herself begin to slip from the fingers of reality. If, that's what you could call this.

As the woman morphs further, her form distorts into something incomprehensible. The room seems to warp around her, shadows elongating and contorting with her every movement. The mask that rested underneath her chin disintegrated, along with her fair skin that seemed to burn away in Swiss-cheese like patterns until patches of the meat and muscle became apparent, her skin just barely hanging on. Her hair seemed to thin and fall out, while the cap dissolved, the faint sound of cracking bones intermingles with a low, guttural growl emanating from the creature, now towering over Y/N, its jaw hanging for its eye to continue to stare down upon her. 

It drew nearer, emitting a stomach-churning odor of decaying flesh and bone and blood that overwhelmed her senses. Tears welled in her eyes, her brows and lip quivering as she recoiled, attempting to move as far back as possible while the creature advanced. In the depths of its mouth, its eye swiveled around, a soft clicking resonating through its towering form. Y/N's fingers dug into the wall behind her, desperately seeking something to hold onto.

"N—No. . ." A feeble protest escaped her parched throat, the words torn from her with the anguish of a thousand blades slicing through her vocal cords.

"NO!" A shriek tore from her throat, a mix of revulsion and fury contorting her face as she glared up at the creature.

Sliding down the wall in a final attempt to escape, she scrambled to the corner of the room. Only upon huddling up into the corner and snapping her gaze toward where the creature would have been did she realize that it was gone. The overpowering stench that had made her wanna hurl had dissipated, leaving a heavy silence in the air.

Reluctantly, Y/N lowered her gaze, turning her attention to the woman by the door. Standing with arms at her sides, instead of moving forward, she was stepping back. Her wide amber eyes shook with fear, her cigarette burnt to the butt, a small mound of ashes on the cold floor beneath. Her skin remained intact, her entire form unaltered. If anything, she seemed just as terrified as Y/N. Before Y/N could comprehend what just had happened, the woman forcefully shut the door, the lock clicking into place. Breathing heavily, Y/N was left in her confusion. She squeezed her eyes shut, the sounds of heavy footsteps and soft creaking floorboards settling into her ears, the light fading away, dominated by the darkness.

For a while, the world remained distant, her mind a jumble of fragmented thoughts and sensations before it all began to slip away. She felt herself floating, while she began to feel her limbs spread underneath a warm, familiar fabric. The creaking of the floorboards continued, accompanied by the gentle click of an opening door. Then, a soft breath caressed her ear, and a delicate touch brushed against a strand of her hair. She froze, every muscle tensing as a gentle hand continued, tenderly stroking her hair. As the fingers trailed down the strand, Y/N remained motionless, her body unresponsive. A voice, momentarily unfamiliar, deep and paternal, settled through her eardrums like melted butter.

"It's time for your medicine, my dear," the man's voice resonated softly, hardly above a whisper.

[siconetribal]

Wishing You Were Here

Tag: @vbecker10, @harlequin-hangout

Pairing: Loki x Y/N

Warning: Fluff, angsty, Loki feels, all the feels, poor Y/N I'm always so mean to you

Author Note: So, I promised way back that I would do another Loki piece, and I've been working on this idea for a bit of a while. I hope you all like it, it's not as humorous as my last stuff, but I wanted to do something more serious.

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There was no denying that life was a force that was impossible to control. It was wild and free spirited, one moment and leisurely and demure the next, a wild stallion with a spirit that with an indomitable spirit, beautiful and exhilarating. An ocean with depths invisible to the eye, majestic and frightening. Life was many things, and at this moment it was unfathomable to Y/N’s mind. For almost one year now, she was living in the Avengers tower and sharing a flat within its walls with the Loki. Who knew a simple online ad was all it took to meet with people who were literally from out of this world?

Sighing for what felt like the umpteenth time, she glanced over the walls of her cubicle at the large analog clock on the wall. Only two minutes had passed since her last check. Leaning back into her computer chair, she slumped and silently groaned. This day was going to one of those long days that never end.

There’ve been a lot more of those recently. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took in a deep breath. I don’t get why it matters. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and it’s most certainly not going to be the last. It comes with the territory. Loki will be out on missions more often because he’s proven himself worthy of trust and that it was the mind stone that corrupted him. Though, with a tragic backstory like his, it’s no surprise. That all aside, this is a good thing for him. He needs this, and he finally gets a chance to be with his brother. I don’t care what he plays at, he’s a happy younger brother excited to be included with his big brother and his friends, finally. Sitting up properly in her seat again, she picked up a pen and began to slowly tap it against the desk. This was a great thing, and she was happy for him. She wanted him to grow and heal, he deserved this and then some. And yet…there were days like this.

The inky goop slowly rose up, cloying and clinging inside her as she sank deeper into its swampy depths. The thick strings wrapped around her heart, sharp thorns digging into her heart whenever it wrapped around tighter. This heavy guilt was never too far behind the emptiness that lingered at the lack of his presence. There was no denying it anymore, she missed Loki. She missed his witty remarks, his infuriating way of toying with her that left her spinning and dumbstruck, his posh way of speaking, his graceful motions that made her feel like a mole trying to walk on land-awkward and fumbling. She missed his laughter, his sarcasm, his silent companionship, and just everything about him.

Who am I kidding, I love him. She leaned forward, elbows on her desk, as she hid her face in her hands. I love Loki, and there’s no point in beating around the bush. Not like I can do or say anything, though. He’s a prince, an Asgardian god. I’m just some random human that just happened to be in need of a flatmate. He can have anyone. Who knows what sort of beautiful geniuses he’s dated on Asgard, but he’s gone to premiers and events with supermodels, A-list entertainers, and actual human nobles and royals. I’m some girl from a town where nothing amazing happens that landed in NYC with hard work. A huge bookish nerd that’s always falling for the guys in the pages who are as perfect as they can be. I went from spending all my time imagining what it’d be like if they’d existed to actually living with one, and now I know how impossible it is for me to pull them.

Her chest hurt. Her throat constricted and the corners of her eyes stung at the harsh reality that slapped her in the face. She inhaled sharply and cleared her throat. This was not going to happen. Not now at work, not today. “You’re fine, Y/N. You knew this would happen if you accepted these feelings.” She scolded herself. “Chin up, get to work. He’s busting his butt out there on some mission and you’re having a self-pity party? No way,” she sat up straighter. And what a fine booty it is. “He’s one of your best friends, that’s good enough.” Cracking her knuckles, she pushed her computer chair in and got back to researching the locations you were tasked with for potential Avengers intervention.

_______________________________________

Loki sat at the edge of a cliff, watching the blue sky burst into orange and purple as the sunset in the distant horizon. The gentle ocean breeze caressed his face. He took in the crisp salty air and let out a deep relaxing sigh. Why was he such a fool? There was nowhere in the nine realms that he could go that would get her out of his mind. The mission had ended almost a week ago, but he was unable to go back. Not yet. Like a shooting star, she came crashing into his life and he was never the same. The once aloof and independent second prince who had a need for nor no one was now stuck to some Midgardian? Preposterous.

No, she is not some comet. She is the ocean. Shapeless and all encompassing, he stared out at the water stretched before him. The waves lapped against the shore. Unassuming and everywhere, and yet I’m always searching for her.  How long had he been like this? So overwhelmed by her that it was getting harder to tread her waters? When did her waves that licked at her heels start to come crashing over his head. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath with his lips pressed thin. It’s not her fault. It is foolish of me to blame her. She did not come to drown me, and yet here I am tumbling in the depths. 

For many years he lived just beneath the surface, barely surviving was his only purpose. The sins of his past, the horrid and vile emotions of disgust, hatred, and shame hung over his head every day. His traumatic past and the consequences of his poor decisions haunted him every night. It was a routine he had grown accustomed to, and his existence was merely just that, an existence. Who was he? What was he? He needed to find himself once more. “And my overly eager brother was happy to assist me,” he mumbled as he opened his eyes to see the blackish-blue sky slowly begin to dot with stars. “Which led me to her.” He sighed.

When did the darkness turn to light? When did I, Loki of Asgard, begun to look forward for something? No, someone. The one who changed everything was her. It was a random afternoon in the tower when it was brought to the forefront of his mind. Y/N was out of town for some family reasons, and he had been alone in the flat for roughly three days at that point. His training was done for the day and there were no meetings until later in the evening when the recon would return with more data. He had the whole day free to do as he wished. A rare moment of peace, which he took and ran straight to their flat to read the book he was unable to finish because of work. 

Comfortably settled in his favorite leather chair, he picked up the leather-bound tome and opened it. Before he could focus on the words, a flat piece of wood slipped out from between the sheets and fell silently on his lap. There was a hint of sandalwood infused in it with intricate and delicate designs carved into the body with a green braided rope and tassel looped through the hole punched at the top. A birthday gift from Y/N. He had no need for a bookmark. His memory was excellent and there was no need to celebrate his birthday. There was nothing worth commemorating, and he told her as such. Her shoulders had dropped a smidgen at his words, but her smile never faltered. She pushed through with the same energy as she pulled out a small cake she had made for him. 

“Your birthday is important to celebrate because you were born. Had you not been born, I would have never met you, and I’m grateful you were!” Such simple words had struck him, the God of mischief with a silver tongue, silent. She was sincerely happy. His heart thumped rather uncomfortable at his ribs and his mouth felt dry. It was as if he was slowly drowning in a tub of lukewarm water. It was awkward and heartwarming, something he had forgotten long ago. His icy disposition was beginning to melt. He looked around at the well furnished apartment that suddenly felt larger and hollower than the royal halls of the Asgardian castle. He fidgeted in the deafening silence before grabbing the bookmark. Snapping his book shut, he stood from his seat and left. To where, he was not sure, but he could not stand being in there anymore.

He roamed the halls of the tower aimlessly before heading to the cafeteria to eat. He heard a female voice and quickened his pace. Y/N, he eagerly stepped into the kitchen area only to see it was a group of women and none of whom were her. He flashed them a perfect smile, earning a few squeals and giggles, before he excused himself. I should go to the library, that’s it. I need a change of scenery when reading. He straightened his back and turned on his heel. As per usual, there was scarcely anyone there. His favorite spot by a large bay window was empty, as per usual, which made him smile. Just how it he liked it. He walked towards it but stopped at the call of his name.

“Loki, look! Isn’t this cool?!” He turned at her voice, only to find no one there. When did he so desperately wanted to hear her voice call his name? To hear her laughter and ridiculous banter? When did the lack of her presence made his world seem so empty? He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into fists when he felt something dig into his palm. Glancing down, he saw the bookmark broken in half in his palm. He had not realized he was holding it this entire time, and it was now just like him, broken. Pocketing the pieces, he made his way out of the library and sought out Thor. He needed to get out of here before he lost it. 

So he took on the earliest and left before she returned. And now here he was, sitting under the star-studded sky of New Asgard, and he was still thinking about her. He knew he was infatuated with her, but it was so much more now. He wanted to possess her, keep her with him. She consumed his mind, burrowed a hole into his life and permanently occupied the spot. Even now, he knew she would have loved to have seen the blazing setting sun or quietly observe the great burning balls of gas burning millions and billions light-years away. She was always everywhere. He gently rubbed at his aching chest.

“Brother was right, this is not a simple passing phase. I,” he paused for a moment. Something about saying it seemed so final. As if putting it out into the ether would seal his fate. “I love her.” He sighed, the weight on his mind vanishing, but a new weight pressing on his heart. He wanted to see her again. Pulling out his phone, he looked at the many unread messages from Y/N. Each of them wishing him the best, success on the mission, praying for his safety, and anticipation of his return home. Home, he snorted at the thought and shook his head. He sat silent for a moment before he let out a small laugh. “She is home, what have I become? How much of a fool do you wish to make of me, Y/N?” He asked aloud, shaking his head at himself, unlocking the device and hitting the phone icon by her name. It rang a handful of times before she picked up, the sound of the phone tumbling and her fumbling greeting him.

“H-hello?! Loki?!” Her groggy voice came from the other side.

“Hello darling, were you sleeping?”

“Mmm, no, just sorta knocked out on the couch.” She mumbled, he could imagine it now, her slowly sitting up with her hair a bit of a mess and as she rubbed her eyes. He chuckled softly. “Are you done with your mission?”

I’ve been done for a while now, but I can’t tell you that. It would break your heart, but the worst of it is that you would never hold me accountable for my selfish whims. You would be understanding and supporting, as you always are. “Yes, we stopped by New Asgard along the way.”

“Oh? Hopefully not for work?”

“No, no, nothing like that. A simple little reprieve to clear the mind.”

“That’s nice, you deserve it.” Her sincerity stabbed at his heart.

“I’ve found a nice cliff where there is a perfect view of the setting sun over the ocean. I watched the cascading colors over the waters and sky transition from brilliant, bold colors to the dark night. It was breathtaking, much like you.” He smiled as he heard her cough from shock. She must have been drinking some water. “I know how much you love seeing these sorts of things, I wish you were here. And sitting here, watching it without you, just didn’t feel right without you. I had to call.” I wanted to hear your voice. “I wish you were here.”

“Aww, that’s really sweet of you. I wish I could be there too. It’s been really lonely here without you, but I know you’re busy, so I can wait. You’ll come back when you’re done”

Oh, how I miss you too. His chest swelled with such happiness at her confession. It was as if he was given the greatest new in all the nine realms. He wanted to run back to the tower right now and hold tightly in his arms. “Only a few more days until we will be reunited again.” He assured her. “I miss you too, my love.” He heard a hitch in her breath and some clattering and her muffled shock. She must have dropped the phone somewhere and is trying to fish it out. Little did he know, she had dropped it on her face and was currently rubbing her nose.

“My love, that’s a new one.” She finally answered.

“Yes, yes it is. Do you perhaps not like it?”

“What? No, no. no! Not at all! I mean it’s uhm, could be a little misleading.”

“Misleading, how so?” He smirked at how flustered she sounded.

“Uhm, well, you know, it could give someone ideas.”

“Someone ideas? Who is that someone and what are these ideas?” She fell silent on the other end, and he did his very best not to laugh, knowing she was probably dumbstruck and trying to gather the words to explain to him what she was implying. Did he know what she meant already? Of course, but where was the fun in that? Though he did miss seeing her expression for himself.

“Well, not just one someone…but one of them could be me.” She finally answered. “And uhm, the ideas, well, you know, love is a very strong word. Could make people think serious things.”

“Serious things? I suppose that would be concerning if that was wrong.”

“Exactly, so you shou-what?!”

“I said it would be concerning if it were wrong. But it’s not. This is not “giving ideas”, I’m being quite up front. But this is not something that should be discussed over the phone. I’ll make sure to make it very clear for you and everyone when I get back. I’ll see you soon, goodnight darling.” He hung up before she could respond, smiling with utter satisfaction as he got up from his spot and made his way back to the city to speak with Thor. They needed to prepare to leave as soon as possible, because poor Y/N will be an utter mess until they return.

[thewizardsarcasm]

Just hopping on here from the WBN birthday livestream to thank @quiddie for asking Lou the important questions! Thank you your majestic majesty!

Update! The #Horny-Jail thread is popping off with ideas about what DnD spells have the best uses in the bedroom so feel free to comment below with the spell and what it could be used for!

Quick smutty drabble cause "Eursulon's song" made me giggle 🤣

Eursulon thrust a final time and felt his knot swell as he released his song into the innkeepers daughter. He kissed her as she clenched around him and for a moment all was as quiet as the honey at Grandmother Wren's cottage.

Sky felt her control, leaving her a Silver's silver tongue and thick, war calloused fingers worked their magic, and a crackle of lightning raced across her body as she screamed her control to the sky...

Ame felt her breathe grow ragged and shallow as she ground down on her pillow and chased her freedom. She was so close, and she picked up speed, moving her hips back and forth, chasing that rush. Like flying on a broom, the ecstasy that came with freedom. She pinched her nipples and felt her body contract as suddenly she was flying higher than she ever had before. Her body was weak, and she rolled onto her side and felt freedom. It was the most magical feeling in the world.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The Thief has Now Committed Arson

The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 2 Scene 2

June of Doom Day 14: "What were you thinking?" / Surrender / Human Shield / Outmatched

Prompts List | Masterpost

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- Previous | Next -> (coming soon!)

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1800

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: deception, thievery, being watched, monster, scratches, claw wounds, stress position, explosion, fire, book burning, arson, swearing

A/N: You read that correctly.

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The Draigo archives was a majestic building, second only to the Council chambers with its detailed stone pillars and intricately carved architecture composed of both wood and stone. Rift mentally calculated the cost of the construction as he entered through the massive double doors made of thick, dark wood inlaid with reliefs. 

This building alone was worth almost as much as the entire city of Valdove, by his estimation. The Draigo could certainly afford to miss one of their fancy little gemstones. Even if it was supposedly rarer than a kind-hearted magician.

Rift chuckled to himself at the analogy as he surveyed the archives. Shelves upon shelves packed near to bursting with books and tomes and scrolls sprawled before him, a nearly endless maze of knowledge. Artifacts rested on open display on wood and stone pedestals scattered throughout the archives, not even a barrier of glass between them and potential onlookers.

It was almost too easy.

Almost.

He had to find the damned gem first.

His employer had given him a detailed description of the specific gemstone he wanted stolen. Notably, it didn’t even appear to be a gemstone at all, but rather a pretty shard of opaque sea glass, yellowish orange in color. Of course, his mysterious employer had refused to clarify, so Rift was left to wonder why in the depths it was so valuable.

Rift was unlikely to find out even after he delivered the cargo, so he put the thought out of his mind and entered the archives proper, casually strolling through the standing bookcases and pretending to read the titles printed neatly on some of the spines. He subtly scanned each artifact display that he passed, seeking a gemstone that matched the description.

He was so engrossed in his search that he nearly ran into the Draigo woman before noticing her. “Oh!” he exclaimed, grabbing her arm to stabilize her as she stumbled back in shock and nearly fell into one of the nearby bookcases, “my deepest apologies, madam! I was so captivated browsing the tomes that I didn’t see you there.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, tucking a lock of curly red hair behind her ear, “I must apologize as well. I assumed we wouldn’t have any visitors until after the meeting ended and Miss Sorro returned.”

“Of course,” Rift agreed, chuckling softly, “I would be at the meeting as well, except I have only  just arrived from a long journey.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “If I may be completely honest, the last thing I want after my journey is to sit in a crowded meeting hall listening to a bunch of stuffy officials talk in circles.”

The woman smiled at that. “The only reason I’m not there myself is because Miss Sorro—Skylyn, the head archivist—is attending on behalf of the archives and there always has to be an archivist here.” She shrugged. “Everyone volunteered, but she chose me.”

“If she’s the one in charge of this wonderful place, I certainly trust her judgment.” Rift gave a slight bow. “My name’s Theodoric Graves, and I am an agent from the far east stronghold.”

“From across the ocean?”

“The very same. I’d always heard wonderful things about this archive, so I decided to visit while waiting for the meeting to end. And you are…?”

“Oh!” The woman blushed. “My apologies. I’m Amari Kieran, acting head archivist. What sort of business brings you from so far away?”

Rift shook his head. “Unfortunately, that information is classified.”

“Oh… of course, that is to be expected. Apologies for prying, my curiosity got the better of me.”

He shifted from one foot to the other, nervousness curling in his stomach. How much longer was the Council meeting going to last? “Say… I’ve heard many things about the artifacts displayed here, and I’m very curious about some of them. Why don’t you show me around the archives for a little while, until the meeting ends?”

“Oh!” Amari brightened. “I don’t think the meeting will last for much longer, so how about I start with my personal favorites and we go from there?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Okay!” She spun around and started walking, not even checking to make sure he was following behind her. Rift almost had to run to keep up, her pace was brutal.

The first artifact display they stopped at was a stone mask, carved with intricate symbols that Rift recognized to be runes. “This one here,” Amari began, “belonged to one of the Cardinal Points, the magician of the south herself. The runes are incredibly complex, and….”

Rift tuned out most of her words, pretending to nod and listen while keeping an eye out for the gem. He’d already clocked most of the items he saw as objects of immense power or historical significance, sometimes both, setting them at hundreds of millions worth of gold each for the right buyer. Shame he was only here for one item….

Amari finished whatever she was saying about the mask and moved on, walking just as quickly to the next artifact, this one several rows of bookcases deep into the archives. “This gauntlet is composed of a metal rumored to grant its wielder strength equal to that of ten sang.”

Rift blinked in shock that wasn’t completely feigned. “I… what? Ten sang? From a glove?!”

Amari nodded earnestly, smiling at his surprise. “Indeed! No other artifact has been found across all four strongholds that matches its worth. Of course, we can’t have something like that out in the world to be used for evil purposes. Its first documented appearance was in the year….”

His stomach churned as his eyes darted around the archive. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? No one else was around but Amari, and she had no intention of harming him, no knowledge of what he planned to do.

So why did he feel like he was being watched by unfriendly eyes?

Amari moved on again so suddenly he almost didn’t notice her departure, swiftly vanishing ever deeper among the maze of knowledge and danger. When he reached the display she stopped at, his mouth almost dropped.

There, draped on a smooth chunk of stone, was the gemstone he sought. It truly did appear to be made of sea glass, yellowish orange in hue. The gem was attached to a thin chain of dark metal and didn’t look anything more than a pretty necklace. But Rift’s employer wanted it, so that was what Rift was going to steal.

“What’s this?” He finally said, shoving down his excitement.

“It doesn’t appear like much, does it?” Amari asked, noting the look on his face. What she thought of it, he couldn’t guess, her expression of excitement remained unchanged.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Then why do you want it so badly?”

Rift blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

Amari’s expression was now cold as ice. “You came here searching for something. Something to steal from the archives, while everyone else is busy at the Council meeting. You deceived everyone you came across, and you attempted to deceive me. Explain yourself, and perhaps I may let you live.”

Rift forced out a laugh. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Amari. This is ridiculous.”

“You’re right. It is ridiculous.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ridiculous how a common thief such as yourself thinks he can just waltz into the archives and take what he wants!”

“A common thief!” Rift exclaimed, heart pounding in his ears. “Quite the accusation.”

Amari’s eyes darkened, and this time when she spoke, a lick of flame darted from her lips. It winked out immediately. “You continue to lie to me. You had your chance.”

Before Rift could ask what she was talking about, she snapped her fingers. The sound echoed eerily throughout the archive, bouncing off the stone walls and floor. For a long moment, nothing happened. He wondered if she was bluffing.

And then he was tackled from behind.

Rift cried out as sharp talons dug into his left shoulder, slicing through skin and muscle and sinew and scraping against bone. Pain coursed across his nervous system as his arm went numb and the claws that wounded him began to lift him off his feet and into the air. 

White light streaked across his vision as he screamed, fire flowing through his veins, burning in his shoulder and at his right side.

Wait. His side? That was where… where….

Rift slowly reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the strange object given to him by his employer. It was hot to the touch, like it had been left in a flame for too long. Why was it burning…?

Oh.

Oh!

Rift slowly, the movement sending more pain through his shoulder, more white light through his vision, ever so slowly, withdrew the object from his pocket and, before he could second-guess himself, flicked it behind him, at whatever creature was holding him in place.

No sooner had the object left his hand before an explosion rocked the archive. Rift was flung out of the grasp of the creature and slammed bodily into the stone pedestal, ears ringing, the scent of singed something filling his nose.

He groaned, shoulder throbbing, head pounding, the taste of heat and ash in his mouth as he opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by fire. Starving, ravenous fire that surged towards the bookcases, hungrily devouring the tomes and scrolls that rested on their shelves. Amari was nowhere in sight.

Rift quickly got to his feet, gritting his teeth as his head spun, and frantically searched for the gemstone. His eyes finally found it, lying on the ground a few feet away. He scooped it up and shoved it into his pocket before immediately taking off at a sprint despite how his body screamed at him to stop, to bandage his wounds, to do something other than run.

But if he didn’t get out now, he would never leave.

Either the fire got him, or the Draigo did.

He passed by the gauntlet on his way out and snatched it from its pedestal. “What were you thinking?” He cursed himself as he altered his course and grabbed the mask as well. “You’re just asking to get yourself hunted down!”

He was dead either way.

Disguise or no, he didn’t believe Amari wouldn’t track him down with whatever abomination from the depths she’d used to catch him. Which was why he needed to get as far away as possible with his prizes before the Draigo regrouped.

He’d blown up the Draigo stronghold.

Celestials.

He was so fucked.