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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 4/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Word count: 10 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Another long chapter, but it's the last one, so... Enjoy! ^^

The next night, you dream awake.

You didn’t want to sleep with your back turned against him, and König didn’t even need to scoop you into his arms. You went there by yourself, completely willingly. You were disappointed when he didn’t even try anything; he just fell asleep like a baby after the hangover that left him weak.

Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart, as you listen to his soft snore. It’s like the whole world has shrunk into this bed, like your entire life suddenly consists of him. You can’t even hear the birds, the occasional gust of wind, or the pair of sandals outside the tent going to a nightly pee. The only thing you can hear or see or feel is him.

His heart under your palm. His chest against your cheek. The slow, steady rise and fall of it, the push and pull of it like a tide. His leg, draped across your hip, enclosing you under a heavy body that clings to you like he never wants to let you go.

And…

No.

It’s too stupid.

“Love” is something bards sing about. There’s no time for it in the real world; lust brings people together, and they multiply like birds and beasts. They simply flock together for warmth, food and survival. Love is the property of dreams and songs, something that happened at the dawn of time but now only occurs in tales and plays. Surely, a mountain giant knows nothing about love… He just wants to stuff his cock inside you and alleviate the burn of his loins.

But his words still linger.

”I have fallen in love with you.”

You repeat them over and over again in your head, snuggling even closer to him, your heart flaring into a small bonfire when he squeezes you in return through sleep. The warmth spreads across your chest, it makes your toes tingle, and the tingles rise up to your head like ale, bringing tears to your eyes.

Why does he have to be like this…?

There’s a sudden crack of thunder outside, and it makes you startle and clutch him tighter. It’s soon followed by a downpour of rain, the weight of it like a blanket spreading across the land. The drops beat the tent with so much noise you fear the whole abode will collapse from the force of them.

Another crackle sends you to grip him with fear; a violent rip of lightning makes you bury your head in his neck. König mostly wakes up to your distress rather than the sounds of thunder and hail, rumbling softly to the crown of your head and drawing you closer to him. You’ve always been afraid of thunder because nothing can compete with the fury of the Sky Father. You whimper as another roar shakes the bed, the very earth beneath you, and the rain begins to beat the tent in full.

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” König mutters, unafraid and clearly about to fall back to sleep again. “Only sky father making love to his woman...”

His explanation of the horrible display of the sky god’s power wipes your mind blank for a moment. He uses the same name of the god as you, but the viewpoint is thoroughly foreign. Is this the sound of lovemaking to him?

“Safe here,” he squishes you against him until it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is still beating in your chest as König falls asleep, the arms around you relaxing just enough to allow you to breathe again.

In the morning, you try to correct him on his strange thoughts about Sky Father. You tell him your people believe he’s fighting his enemies when it thunders, not… making love to anyone.

“Fighting or fucking,” he only shrugs. “Same noise.”

You open your mouth to explain the difference between fucking and lovemaking next, then decide it’s no use.

The weather is warm and the land is lush after the abundant rain. König takes you to a small stream and you risk to take a dip, delighted and relieved to have the opportunity for a quick wash. When you threaten to gut him when he sleeps if he takes a peek, König only laughs. Probably thinks it’s an exciting threat. Then he sits on the bank to work on a small piece of wood while you have your cold bath. He’s been carving it for a few days and has refused to show it to you, no matter how “nosy” you’ve been. It’s an unfinished piece, yes, but it still feels silly that a grown man is so secretive about a chunk of wood. You only now begin to understand that perhaps the statue of the Great Mother is not stolen. It’s not bought, and he hasn’t had it made. He carved it himself.

Shocked, you forget to keep an eye on him while you scrub and rub yourself in the stream. You never thought of him as a sculptor or even a carpenter, but apparently, some soldiers spend their leisure time in other activities than fucking and drinking and gambling.

Your hands meet the leather string of the necklace as you wash your hair, and you remember your vow. It makes your heart sink: it’s a beautiful day, the first of summer, and you have to let go of the loveliest thing König has ever given to you. You peek a glance at him: he’s looking so peaceful while carving the small figurine, with that signature smile his that always reveals itself through his eyes, warm and jovial, like he’s just a hunter or a fisherman having a break from a day of toil.

You strip yourself from the necklace and release it with a sullen breath. The spirits accept it hungrily, pulling it underwater the instant you let it go. The current carries it far away downstream, and you find your chin trembling, and not from cold. You have given your moonblood to Mother many, many times, but this gift is infinitely more valuable. Still, the most important thing is that the man you prayed for is alive and whistling happily on that bank.

And you’re not an oathbreaker… But König is.

When you rise from the water, he steals a glance. Actually, he stares at you like you’ve particularly asked him to never rip his eyes from you.

You pay the adoring beast no mind and rise from the stream with the pride of a queen, only to have it all robbed from you as you notice there are flowers placed there where you left your clothes. The crazy giant has actually plucked flowers for you.

It’s an odd thing to do because in your land, only children pick flowers. Usually, people give flowers to the gods. Or, mainly just to the Great Mother... It’s because She appreciates them.

And you also notice your old dress is not where you left it.

“Where is it?”

He extends his hands to the sides and shrugs, faking innocence so poorly that you don’t know if you want to shove or kiss him. You’re desperately trying to cover your womanhood from his searing stare – an attempt that, of course, makes your tits press together even more cutely than before. König doesn’t even know where to look when there’s so much of your sweetness on display.

This man is so stupid and childish and simply unbelievable; hiding your dress the instant you are vulnerable and in your thoughts. You look around you, then up, and notice that he’s thrown the dress over a pine branch far above your reach. Of course.

“You’re a bully,” you turn your accusing gaze to him, hands now slowly curling into fists by your side. You’re not even angry: you’re just feeling... hot, and frustrated, and embarrassed, having to stand here in bright daylight, dripping wet and about to have another tantrum while naked. You’re starting to suspect that he probably enjoys it when you get in a pet. Maybe it makes his cock hard: to watch you stomp your foot at him, especially if you do it without clothes.

“Bully?” His eyes smile at you like he’s the son of Sky Father himself.

“It’s someone who… who tortures people,” you blurt, a bit more dramatically than you initially meant to. He bursts into laughter and laughs for a long time, either because you just called him precisely what he is or because you called him a torturer for doing a silly prank.

“Ach… Well, you are pretty,” he says after surviving something that was veritably not meant as a joke. As if you being pretty is some kind of an excuse for doing this stupid, childish stunt...

His stare sweeps over you like you’re merely property, his eyes darting between your pouty face and the glistening sex between your legs now that you’ve blessedly moved your hands out of the way. Then he notices that something’s missing, that there is no necklace resting above your breasts anymore. He takes a step and raises a hand, and for the first time ever, you wouldn’t even dream of shying away from his touch. He brushes your bare neck with a silent question and brief hurt in his eyes.

Gods, he can’t think you got rid of it because you despised it, can he...?

“The river took it,” you explain quickly and with genuine regret. It’s a lie, but you can’t tell him the real reason it’s gone. You can’t confess that you had to sacrifice it for his safe return.

“I really liked it,” you whisper while looking him straight in the eyes, stomach heavy with both lies and the horrible, sweet truth. König recuperates surprisingly fast and nods slowly, the caress rising to your cheek to console you.

“Don’t worry. I can make you a new one,” he promises stoutly, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right there in front of him. “With wolf claws, if you like?”

“I don’t know… Sounds dangerous.”

“Hah. I kill my first wolf when I was fifteen.”

Your heart is bursting inside your chest – the songs of the bards never tell about someone being so goofy that you want to hug them until they stop speaking silly things.

“I’m sure you did,” your lips quiver with a whisper of a smile. König takes in every crumb of your affection like it’s a blessing from the Mother below: his shoulders draw back everytime he senses you are appreciative of him or admire his strength. He’s even more proud when he presents the small carving he’s been working on.

You’re now absolutely, vehemently sure that he has made the statue of the Great Mother himself. Because what you’re looking at is very similar to that statue, only far more detailed. The breasts and hips on this figurine are more proportional, and you could almost swear that the statue he just gave you is trying to depict you. It has your hair and your face, or then he has tried to capture the slightly pouting face of some other ungrateful woman. But you can’t shake the thought that you may very well be looking into your own eyes.

“For you,” he says above you, and you swallow tears for gods know how many times today. He even winks at you, incredibly playful, like this statue is now a cute little secret only you two know about.

“It’s–I didn’t know you… Uh. Thank you,” you stutter like a fool. You can’t ask if it’s you – you can’t ask a simple question because to hear his unabashed, proud answer would mean that you won’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him.

You are starting to feel like… an idol of worship, almost.

He lavishes you with gifts and flowers, he feeds you grapes and wine, he brings you his bloodied loot and asks you to bless his sword. He honours your purity and respects your wishes not to be touched and pilfered.

What else are you if not a goddess?

Even the Mother in his satchel doesn’t get such fevered attention. He even carved a new statue for you. Of you.

Your senses become eagle-sharp as you realize just how much your suspicions are proving true. You think about the way he is always at your tits, as if calling forth good luck and abundance when he squeezes them every day and night. It’s almost like a ritual. Or how he tries to dress you in fine clothes, not just to show you around, but to make you feel appreciated. The way he protects and shelters you and lets you – no, demands you to – ride his horse while he exhausts himself on the road. How the selecting of the necklace now seems like a test, to prove whether you are a true goddess who favors a gift of bone and blood and amber over the pathetic shiny trinkets of men.

And the way he hasn’t touched other women all this time; no, because he doesn’t keep other goddesses...

Just you.

Only you.

…

He knows your tongue so well that you don’t practically need the translator anymore. König sends him away after you whisper in his ear that you don’t like him.

It’s another lie because what you really don’t like is how bothered he looks when forced into the company of you two. You don’t like the deep sighs and the weary looks he gives both you and your supposed lover who always insists that you sit on his lap even if there are other people in the tent. You don’t want to make the poor man uncomfortable, so you come up with a reason for König to send him away. It's quite apparent that you could ask for the moon and stars, and he’d figure out a way to give them to you.

When you ask him why, for the love of all the gods, does he even want to keep a Roman slave, he says it amuses him. You always thought it was an odd thing to do because you’ve never seen König spend time with his soldiers. He never gambles with them, never eats with them, never hunts with them. By separating himself from them he keeps up an illusion of himself as a walking, fighting myth who has forced half the world to its knees, and whose quirks are to keep a Roman slave and, now, a foreign fairy in his tent.

You start to understand that it's because he doesn’t feel like he belongs.

He doesn’t even want to belong. He doesn't make an effort to be a Roman even if, legally, you suppose he’s a citizen or at least a free man. You wonder if it’s his only weakness: being so different from everybody else.

You walk in and out of camp like a free woman with him. To the forest, to the stream, and one day, to the ocean, not too far from where you used to gather clams. If you walked the shoreline long enough, you would end up near your old village.

You spend your entire day there, collecting pink and white shells, giggling as König takes a dip in the shivering sea. He even throws the hood away before walking into the foaming waves. You have to hold your breath as he comes out because his face is the complete opposite of what you thought you would see. He has stern features and some prominent scars above his lip and crossing the bridge of his nose; there’s one above the left eye, and his nose has been broken at least two times. He looks mean and dangerous and suffering, it’s true, but you’re not scared at all. In fact, your embarrassingly wet while he furrows his brows and looks down at his feet, otherwise proud and happy in his skin but now suddenly concerned that you might not like what you see.

“Ugly?” He asks bluntly, with such distanced but sharp pain that your breath leaves you entirely. The vision of him might have frightened you on the first night, it’s true, but now, you only think he’s handsome. In a crude way, perhaps... But still handsome.

“No,” you shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him. König takes in air as if he has been granted a pardon from a horrible crime, and your heart hurts – is this the reason he has clung to that hood? To conceal some old scars and to appear more menacing to friends and enemies?

He’s stronger than ever as he walks to you, unclothed and smelling of seabreeze and salt, like he was just born from there, sired by the ocean and the wind. You ought to pray to Mother but you know it will do you no good. It’s a rotten joke to want a man who has massacred your people, the ones you used to call friend and neighbour and kin. You feel like you’re betraying the memory of your whole village by wanting to sleep with the enemy. The enemy who worships you; who looks at you like you’re a goddess when you lean back to watch the night sky come alive with indigo and stars. The enemy who teaches you their names in his own tongue...

He points you to the Head of the Serpent and the Smith’s Street, then to the Nail that holds the sky in place. You have your own names for the stars but you like it when he introduces them to you, clumsy and excited. When he shows you the long cock of the hero your people call Hunter, your cheeks heat up. You try to repeat the name in his tongue (whatever lewd, brash northern hero it may be), and it makes him happier than ever to hear you speak his words.

“König,” you ask him when he's shown you all the stars he knows. “Why do you fight…?”

He turns to look at you, perplexed, and you word the question differently.

“What do you want?”

“...What do I want?”

“Yes. In this life.”

His brows furrow as he starts to think, and your love for him only grows. Has no one ever asked him that before? Has he ever even given it a thought...?

He grabs a handful of grass and rips it from the ground, absentmindedly and deep in thought. He fiddles with it for a while, then throws it away, looking somewhere to the distant, generous sea.

“I want…children,” he says. “I want a home.”

König turns to look at you, so stern that it forces you take support from the earth beneath you.

“Home. Richtig?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “A–a home.”

But it can’t be...

It can’t.

It’s simply too crazy that the brutal, callous giant has been searching for a home all along. That the man who cuts off heads and spits out the flesh of his enemies is simply someone who has lost his home and has yearned back ever since. It’s too wild a thought that the Titan wants to raise a family and have many children.

“Don’t you have a home somewhere in Rome…?”

“It’s only a house.”

He fidgets with more grass, then turns back to you again with honest curiosity.

“Do you want children?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Fee. You would be a good mother,” he determines right then and there, saying it so casually that you have no choice but to believe it. You want to change the topic, and quickly, now tugging at the grass yourself because you're feeling shy.

“König… What is Fee?”

“Fee is… They are small women? Live in trees. Or flowers. Or everywhere,” he gestures vaguely all around you.

“You mean fairies,” you whisper, and he shrugs. If you say so. But you know you're talking about the same thing: curious little earth spirits, lively and wild.

Your heart is burning; it’s scorching until there’s nothing left but sweet molten gold. Usually, this kind of burning has stirred in your chest when some old crone has told a good story at the fire during the turn of the year. Usually, you’ve felt this kind of thrill when you’ve heard the piper play for the forest during springtime, lulling the devious spirits back to the trees so that they wouldn’t enter lambs and goats and make them sick. You’ve only felt so alive when you’ve walked at the beach during midsummer with a desperate aching between your legs because you’ve felt so alone and yet so, so alive.

“They said you were a Titan,” you whisper, another hushed question on this night of nights. You feel like you’re having a conversation of the ages, even if it’s clumsy and plain. The night sky is blooming with stars, the sea is whispering its secrets, and there are so many unsaid things between you two, finally washing up on the shore. König is ripping out more tall grass, but only because he’s searching for the right words.

“No. No titan. Just king,” he shakes his head as if sorry that he has to disappoint you. “I was the king’s son. Before Rome came…”

He’s suffered the same fate as you then, a long, long time ago. You wonder where his people are now or if they are even alive anymore, if he is the last giant standing, the last remaining man of his folk from the mountains. If the ruins of his proud house have already turned to dirt and dust and soil, if his father’s head was left to rot on a Roman spear, his riches and wealth taken back to Rome as spoils and exchanged for wine and whores and slaves.

You can only imagine the fury and despair when a tall boy’s future and dreams crumbled into dust, to blood and tears and screams, to a tale that no one ever told.

“You’d make a great king,” you say, meaning it with all your heart. His whole face lights up with a smile; the sorrow is still present in his eyes, and you know the depth of its roots now. But the Romans never managed to kill his will to live.

“If I was king… I would choose you for my queen,” he says softly, and you thank the wind for drying an escapee tear that rolls out. Fate is shaking your ribcage like a rattle; the wind steals your tears like they’re a long-withheld gift.

He tells you his tale under the safety of the vast starry sky. It's only bits and pieces, but you understand enough from his clumsy words.

He tells you how he was brought to Rome as a slave, sold to the pits and how he rose to manhood and fame there. He fought in the great arenas you’ve heard so many gruesome tales about; he fought until he could buy his freedom. He forgot his people, his revenge, that he was a king. Not knowing what else to do, he took up arms again and became the thing he hated the most: a Roman soldier.

He tells you about a woman who can see things that have not yet happened. He asked this seer if there was anything else for him in this life but death; he would give any offering that was needed if only he could find more life instead. He had already given money and offerings to all the fertility goddesses of Rome, to no avail. He had carved a statue of Venus to attract love, but it didn’t work. So many times he had wanted to throw it in the sea. Until the woman who sees told him he would find what he was looking for in his next campaign. When he promised he’d come back to kill her if she lied, the old crone had only laughed at him.

The next day, he was discharged from his old unit and separated from those who spoke the same language as him. Everyone was afraid of an uprising that would have a giant at its head, so he was offered money and whores, even a position in politics, and lastly, a place in an elite unit with a better wage. They told him the troops were about to leave for the harsh frontier: a new campaign to bring glory to Rome. He chose the latter option immediately.

He turns to look at you. Bloodless, thin-lipped, shivering you.

“She said you would be pretty. Like a fairy.”

You hear the distant rumbling of the sea, endlessly soft. You feel the wind suddenly passing through the field, filling the cloak of a northern king who came all this way just for you. Even the stars are waiting for your next move.

“I…” you start, already breathless. “The necklace… König, I’m so sorry. I had to give it to Mother.”

“Mother?”

“To the gods. So that you wouldn’t die in battle.”

Realization dawns on his face, driving away all doubt and confusion. He’s just as pleased as the day he gave you all those gifts, if not even more so.

“You make sacrifice for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You can’t help it: a sob wrenches out of your chest as the first tears fall. “I’m sorry. I really liked it... I’m so sorry–”

König rises immediately, only to come to you and fall to a crouch. He draws you against his chest, your weeping face soon held right against his heart.

“Never say sorry,” he kisses your head, over and over again. “Never say sorry…”

The wind surrounds you both, soft and warm, as he rocks you back and forth. You hug him with all the strength a little fairy can muster, then raise your chin to look at him. You’re probably the most pathetic creature he has ever seen – you could swear there is no woman alive feeling as weak as you feel now. König cups your face gently, the look in his eyes that of a hunter who has finally caught up with his prey. Warm, merciful, loving.

“Fee… I can still taste you,” he says.

“I can still feel you,” you whisper back. A deer, felled. “But I don’t… I don’t like biting.”

“Biting…?”

“Teeth.”

“Ja. I noticed.”

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You would let him bite you anywhere and everywhere now. You would actually kill for it if he only laid his mouth on you...

You laugh with leftover tears in your eyes, and your giant smiles back at you, so endearing that you feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life.

“Do you like bath?”

…

You ease into the warm, almost too warm water with a sigh.

The slaves have had to toil the better half of the evening to heat such a large body of water, and you can’t even begin to imagine where König has gotten the pretty little clay bathtub. It’s the largest pottery you have ever seen; far too small for a giant like him but just enough for a fairy woman like you.

You wash yourself languidly, feeling like the queen of the whole wide earth. Someone has even poured some of the scented oils into the bath, and you could cry from happiness as the sweet scents envelop you. You wonder if the wife of any chieftain has ever experienced such luxury and warmth.

König has the most pleased smile on his face when he sees how much you appreciate yet another gift of his. He pampers and spoils you so much that you threaten to turn into an overripe grape, too soft and sweet and juicy, unable to keep intact anymore. But there’s a price to be paid, apparently, as he watches you from across the tent, sitting in his chair and pulling back the tunic to reveal the the erection between his legs. It’s the biggest cock you've ever seen, and already standing tall and proud, like a soldier about to go to war.

Your lips part on their own; heat shoots between your legs so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He seems to love your attention and awe, because his cock gives a few pulls just from you staring at it. Pearl-white seed leaks out of the tip as he grabs it inside a strong fist and gives himself a few unhurried strokes.

“König…?”

You’re breathless, but he’s not: he’s breathing heavily in that chair, powerful thighs spread wide, stroking the thick weapon between his legs while you feel like fainting in your bath.

“When will torture end?”

He's dark, dark and done with patience, and you don't know how to answer such a question. You don't even know where to look.

“Hm? You like to torture men?”

“No,” you whisper, cheeks hot and cunt ridiculously wet.

“Yes you do. A little bully, hmm?”

“König–”

“I’ll show what happens to bullies.”

He lets himself go and rises from the chair. Your mind is of no use to you now: all you can do is stare at that thing between his legs, pointing towards you like a road sign.

He walks to you, cock and gaze equally heavy, and gets rid of his tunic. Then he gestures for you to rise from the tub. You’ve spent enough time there in his opinion, and the water is indeed turning unpleasantly cool – but if you go to him now, you won’t be able to fight him. Not when you’re in such a pleased, lax, purring state. Perhaps that was the whole idea...

You rise slowly, then step out carefully, taking support from the edge of the tub and from his shoulder – and still almost collapse all over him as you try to remain on your feet. He holds you upwards while you try to avoid the murder weapon between his legs, but your giant is not as shameful as you: he grabs your butt and guides you flush against him. You meet his chest with a gasp, the length of him now trapped between you two.

“Wait, I’m—I’m still wet,” you try to peep, but it’s no use. He sweeps you off your feet, no doubt with the intention of carrying you to the bed.

“I will lick you clean,” he looks at you like you’re already trapped, caught, and bled: such a weak little creature in his arms, trying to beg for mercy with its last dying breath. You cling to him as such, that’s for sure.

“Just... No biting. Please?” You whisper as he lays you on the bed.

“No biting,” he gives his valiant promise, accompanied with a confident flash of a smile.

Gods…

If he’d gotten rid of that stupid hood earlier, your legs would’ve been pudding. They would’ve been as far apart as the two villages east and west of here. That smile would have allowed him to infiltrate everything in between. Perhaps it’s a good thing he is not that clever…

“Oh gods–” you gasp as he shifts down and lowers himself for worship. His breath hits you first, and the next thing you feel are his lips – still smiling – then the gods-forsaken beast gives you a kiss.

“Oh–”

There is a sudden silence following your moans, then you hear soldiers bursting into laughter outside your tent. They’re warming themselves by the campfire, no doubt, sharing stories about war and women, and now they’ve heard the first mewls of surrender from their hero’s tent, after weeks of quarrelling.

Your cheeks heat up as one of the soldiers utters a hurried sentence and mentions König’s name, after which the merry crew booms to laughter again.

Gods take the Romans and their stupid, lewd jokes...

You try to concentrate on the warmly lit burgundy ceiling as König carries on without paying any attention to what’s happening outside. They could march into the tent and try their best to rip him off your cunt, but you doubt if they would get him to move an inch. He's simply that drunk on your taste.

You wonder if his chin is already covered in your juices because his kisses are open-mouthed and hungry – he even tries to push his tongue inside you. The man has absolutely no shame when he's buried down there, groaning with approval as you roll your hips. You're rutting his face as shyly as you possibly can, and it makes him purr and rumble with bliss. The noise he makes is enough to make you sing too, so filthy that it earns you a whistle from outside.

Shit... They probably think he's fucking and hurting you with his cock – a scary prospect, yes, but you'll have to cross that bridge when you get there – and they couldn't be more wrong. If they only knew what their champion is doing to his slave, lapping and sucking his disobedient woman like a starved dog...

“You like mouth?”

It’s hungry, so dark, the way he asks if you like what he’s doing to you. It’s not the mad lust of a drunken man from a few nights ago; it’s sober, fierce greed with a clear purpose behind it. Your fingers find his hair and tug at it weakly, not to cheer him on, but to take support from something relatively stable.

“Yes… Yes, just–"

“Gut,” he grins into your folds, coarse stubble scraping you deliciously raw. “I like this too. After I lick you enough, I will fuck you.”

Your fingers curl around his hair, giving him another involuntary tug.

Gods, make him stop talking... Just tie his tongue or something, make him shut up.

Please…

“I will bully you all night with cock. I know you will like. Hm?”

He prattles more nonsense in your cunt, and you can’t hear the men outside anymore. You can’t even see the lamps. You’re in a womb of pleasure, which is funny because there’s a grown man between your legs, dragging his tongue over your slit until you're shaking and crying on the bed. Yes, if this is a womb, you never want to leave...

And he’s not eloquent; you don’t even know what he is trying to do to you. He probably doesn’t know it himself. He’s not trying to fish for cues on what you like: he just does what he feels like doing, which is everything. He tries every single thing. He’s just happy to be down there, flicking and circling his tongue over your nub until you can’t take it anymore.

You're dangerously close, and rise halfway to push his head away because it’s just too much; it’s too much pleasure in one go. He gives you a husky laugh and fights your weak attempts to make him stop, the damned bastard. You’re too frail to resist him, and he knows too much already, repeating the torture until your hips buck up.

“Gut... Like that...?” He asks again, so eager to please that you have to stifle a sob.

“Yes... Yes, just like that,” you sigh while trying to stay in one piece.

“Guide me, little fairy,” he demands, excited like a young, hot recruit. Apparently it's no big deal for him to have his head tugged and shoved and dragged just for a woman's pleasure. It doesn't take away an ounce of his power to be your toy for a moment. Your sharp tongue has left you completely; it is you who is humbled as you guide him back to the right spot, jerking when he licks you just the way you wished.

It’s bad enough that you make a mess on his bed and moan like a paid woman, giving everyone in this camp a taste of what it sounds like when a giant bullies his fairy to the full. But can’t he keep his stupid, lovable mouth shut...

He’s making so much noise that you can both feel and hear him. His moans are hoarse, needy and deprived; they echo somewhere in your core, somewhere inside your most sensitive, aching place, just before he finds it, the right spot, and pushes his tongue inside you.

“Wait…” you gasp, convulsing on the bed now. What the hell does he think he’s—

“Wait—I’m…”

And then you cum, right into his mouth, with an arched back and quivering thighs, with such lewd sounds shooting out of your mouth that complete silence follows outside.

Whatever those soldiers had thought to happen here tonight, they clearly didn't expect to hear that… Nor the cries that follow, so nasty and wanton that König doesn't withdraw, not before you have clenched and cried your fill. He enjoys your peak to the last tremble, but you barely get to catch your breath before he leaves you. He doesn’t even give you a chance to caress his head as thanks for what he just did to you.

His mouth leaves you empty and cold as he rises, watching you like you're his best conquest. His cock is so hard it juts out, immovable like a rock and so intimidating that you stop breathing for a moment.

And he doesn't allow your breathless, shocked state go to waste: he grabs that horse cock and sets it on your flush, soaked lips, and pushes the head inside. More than just the head inside.

“Oh gods, oh fuck–”

Your legs are completely useless, falling to the side as he eases himself into you. He looks at you curiously, tilting his head when he hears you curse for the first time in his presence. More than just amused, he goes deeper still, delighted that he made you say a naughty word with his cock.

You can feel the stretch; you can feel every ridge, every vein, all his thickness filling you with purpose. You can do nothing but flutter your eyes as he takes you, finally, as his own.

And it must be some cruel joke of both Mother Earth and Father Sky that it prolongs whatever bliss he just gave you with his mouth. Your body won't stop having its pleasure; it welcomes him with a string of helpless whimpers. Even your cunt starts to squeeze him like it's the best thing in this world.

And he sees it. He feels it.

“Ja, little one. Time to fuck.”

He continues his journey inside, one massive palm landing on each side of your head as he leans over you.

“Einfach so… Trust me. Hmm?”

You only nod, completely silent and tame, waiting for him to give you more gifts. Mother knows this man is your downfall: your heart and soul are about to burst into flame when you look at him. You want him with your whole being; you want his love and praise so much you could cry.

“You want cock?”

“Yes,” you look up at him, eyes surely shining like stars. “Yes, yes, yes–”

“I will give you. Don’t worry.”

You sob as he withdraws, pulling the long, delicious cock almost completely out. He returns immediately when you whine from the loss. He feels so good, and so, so big… Fulfilling you entirely, every bit of you that was hollow and empty, every little space that needed loving is now his and filled with love.

“Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng,” he huffs and looks down as if to check if it’s true that he’s finally inside you. It could never fit in fully; you both probably knew that. But he’s trying his best.

“What does that mean?” You pant, impatient that he stopped moving.

“Too small... For me...” he laments. Or brags.

“Any woman is too small for you,” you mope underneath him, thinking about whether he has had women who have been able to take him fully in. Women who haven’t been “too small”.

König raises his eyes to you and smiles, revealing a row of white teeth, the scarred lip making his grin look pure and sweet even if he is a menacing man.

Stupid mountain giant… He's just proud of not being able to fit inside you. Your lower lip juts out with a pout, and the cock inside you responds immediately with a pulse. You can feel it — he's fucking excited about you getting angry at him again.

There is a flash of mischief in his eyes – darned bastard – just before he swoops down to attack your neck. Your tits get crushed under a solid chest as he nuzzles close to your ear and gives you lots of love and little bites. He starts to fuck you slowly, and there's nowhere you can escape now, nowhere you can flee his mouth or teeth or cock.

“König, you promised–”

“Aber… You are more tight this way?”

The breathless laugh that follows leaves you blinking. Of course he can feel the way you tighten around him every time he gives you a little bite.

“Gods, I hate you…” you whisper on his shoulder, thinking about biting him there in return. König laughs in your neck again – your threats of hate have long past lost their intimidating nature and are more like love confessions to him now. And perhaps that’s what they are.

He makes love to you hard and good, and it’s embarrassing, how you're about to cum again around his cock. You were supposed to have your revenge by showing him you have teeth too, but find yourself biting your lip instead, trying to tone down at least some of the filthy sounds that try to escape you.

He's not too rough, at least not yet, happy with listening to the poorly stifled whimpers that follow his every thrust. You thought he'd rail you like an animal, but he seems to settle for making love to you while biting and groping you all over. He savours every thrust like he savoured those grapes you fed him: slowly and intently, with passion instead of greed.

You're squeezing him with everything you have as he rocks you back to the edge. His grunting only make it all worse: he doesn't even try to be quiet and decent, and it's driving you to madness. Why does he have to be so noisy? Why does he have to fuck you so that everyone can hear just how good you feel?

Every soldier in this camp can hear both your moans, his hoarse ones and your weak ones, merging together until you do sound like animals in heat... You’re so wet that some of the men must hear the music of that, too. You never knew your cunt would be so hungry and needy, least of all for a man like him. You grip him as the waves approach, rich moans turning into pathetic little cries as his cock works you open.

“Again…?” He smiles a surprised laugh on your neck. The waves hit you before you can tell him to shut up.

The noise you make is even more obscene this time, and you barely catch a glimpse of his drowsy, victorious stare before your head falls back. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to take in the most powerful orgasm and the most powerful cock of your life without having to see that stupid, happy face of your lovesick giant.

“Nein,” he grabs your jaw inside a huge but gentle hand. “Eyes open.”

He won't even let you cum in peace, but you do as you’re told, finding him watching you like a stormcloud or a god. He watches your every tremble, every whimper, every sigh. He sees the full-blown love in your eyes, and you wonder… Is this what the bards sing about in their stupid songs?

…Weakness?

Because your heart hurts and your eyes sting, your thighs tremble and your cunt is far too wet and open for him to plough. If this is love, it hurts; it burns far too sweet. It leaves you utterly weak.

“Little one is needy,” he comments softly on your second downfall.

“You’re the one who’s needy–”

Your already weak argument ends in a gasp as he reminds you who you belong to with another good, deep thrust.

“I will put a child in you,” he rumbles, a threat or a promise. “If we do this every night… You will have my child.”

“Then let’s do this every night,” you whisper beneath him, your own purr of a threat. As if you didn’t know how babies were made… To your silent joy, König stops to catch his breath or your words; you’re not entirely sure which. You decide to up the stakes, just to make him fall with you.

“And every morning too?”

“Ach, du kleine–” he crumbles, voice turning to dust from your innocent suggestion.

If you thought he was a little too in love with you before, the look on his face now is worth all the gold in the world. You could swear that your kind question is the sole reason for this man cumming on the spot. Perhaps your body is to blame for it too; he couldn't keep his paws off when you were being sulky and difficult, so how could he take it when you're pleased and loving and all puffed up?

You see the brief flash of vulnerability, the mortal fragility in his eyes just before he shoots his load with a painful-sounding groan. The sound that leaves him is a mixture of desperation and release – even giants can cry, you think as you watch how beautifully he comes undone. He makes sure his seed is sent deep inside you by burying his cock into you, as far as it can go; the intention behind it is so clear that you wouldn't be surprised if you got heavy with a child after this first time.

He falls on top of you after, drained and spent and body heaving from exertion. There’s no other sound in the night but the satisfied panting of you two: the soldiers outside are rendered silent by the sounds of true lovemaking, even the wind spirits are hushed tonight.

You’re completely filled, and with his cock still inside you, he’s preventing any precious seed from escaping. You’re only glad he’s too weak to move because you’d happily keep him here forever, inside and on top of you like this.

“You are pleased…?” He turns his head a little, sounding worried enough to make you hug him tight.

“Yes. Very much,” you whisper, and he moves to rise and look you in the eyes.

“Gut.”

It’s cute to be nose to nose like this with him, eyes locked together, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. He looks so intoxicated and happy without even being drunk that you break into a small laugh, eyes brimming with happy tears, the washing away of relief. He smiles too, then laughs with you.

The soldiers outside might think it an odd business: to make a woman moan and laugh with a cock. You were brought to this tent screaming, and he made you scream again, just not the way they thought.

The sound of your mutual laughter rises in the tent, up towards the heavens, surely making even the Sky Father smile above.

…

You do it every night, and every morning, too.

Sometimes, you do it during the day after bathing in the stream. After washing and playing in the water, you rush to the shore together, but König is always faster than you. He throws your dress away or holds it up above his head, far from your reach, smiling like the most innocent man in the world. He's far from innocent, though: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, swelling just from seeing you angry and flustered and wet.

“Bully,” you accuse, utterly in love and out of breath, earning you another attack of a love-hungry giant. You forget the dress when he kneels on the grass, kisses your stomach and your thighs, keeps you in place for his mouth with two strong arms and a love that turns your whole body weak.

“Pretty,” is the only thing he breathes as an answer before he scoops up your leg and spreads you open for his mouth.

Your head rolls back with a choked sigh, the drops on your skin dry on their own. Somehow, you end up on the grass with his mouth glued on you. The sun plays in your hair; it dances on your face as he gives you more and more until you know, you just know that if you do this every night and morning and day, you will definitely have his child.

He tells you his real name, his true name, the one his mother gave him. You moan it in his ear just before you cum around his length. Sometimes, it makes him purr; other times, it makes him grunt. Once, you hear a soft, pitched whine.

He’s more rough when you’re on your knees. You’re shy and wet when he commands you to prop yourself on your elbows and show him your cunt. He licks you from front to back, feasts on you until your breaths turn to shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut from how obscene the scene must look; you hope to all the gods the Roman slave won’t come to ask his travel guides back when König finally rises and takes a wide stance behind you. He sets himself on your opening and pushes in, fat and greedy.

You can only whimper as he starts the thrusts, starved and slow, picking up the pace and holding you in place by the hips when you approach the brink of another collapse. You fear you will lose your mind if he keeps doing this to you every day. The only thing you hear are the breathless, warm grunts of encouragement behind you.

“You can take it. You can take it. Already took it, little one…”

He won’t stop, not even as you cry out loud, the cock hitting you in places that make your legs nearly give in. He won’t stop even as tears brim, not even as you start to sound like a tortured animal; no, he just tightens his grip on your waist and pounds you harder. You cum with a moan that would make Roman whores blush, but your lover doesn’t mind at all. He cums right after you, with a roar that could raise the reverend dead from their mounds.

Afterwards, he’s gentle again. He gathers you in his arms like his most valuable possession, caressing and breathing you in, giving you a soft kiss behind your ear.

“You’re... mean,” you try to remember how to breathe as he gives you more of those hungry kisses. You already know he likes it when you’re so spent you don’t have the strength to squirm or fight him.

“Ja. And you become more nice when I bully you,” he whispers in your ear. “More calm… Less difficult.”

“Well, you don’t,” you turn inside his hold, eyes shining brighter than the stars or even the sun. “Crazy man…”

“You have robbed me of my sword and shield, it’s true. Robbed my heart too. Little thief.”

“Thief? You’re the one who stole me…!”

“And I’ll never let you go.”

You wriggle a hand to cup his face, meeting his eyes with such helplessness that it’s not even funny anymore. If he’s joking or playing with you now, you’ll kill him with his own swords.

“You promise?”

“I make a vow,” he declares ceremoniously, with a hand on his heart. But you doubt that he’s playing any games; you wonder if this man is even capable of lying or deception. You hug him so tight that he has to let out a grunt – surprised and pleased – after which you have to bury your face in his neck so that he won't see your tears.

“I am in love with you, Fee,” he whispers in your ear while caressing your hair, ever poetic for such a simple man. “Tell me. Do you like me too…?”

“Yes,” you breathe a half-cry, half-laugh in his neck. “Yes, you crazy giant. I like you too.”

You rise just enough to kiss him. It’s hungry and delivers everything you can’t say. You can’t tell him you love him; you simply can’t. You’re not ready for the painful happiness it would bring forth. He stabs you full of it anyway.

“I will never let you go. Never. Not when I finally found you, little one...”

…

Summer comes.

The camp moves lazily to its next destination, but when the next battle comes, König refuses to fight.

His soldiers blame you, of course. You have bewitched him with your softness, making him soft and spineless as well. It is unheard of that a warrior like him would fall like this: out of some woman’s underhanded spell rather than dying gloriously in the field by a barbarian blade or two. Even poison is considered better than this.

No one understands that there is no hex. The war is still being fought, this time inside his soul. It’s not just you preventing him from taking up arms; it’s something else, something old and deep-rooted you've managed to stir in him. Something ferocious, something that has been asleep for a long time, something that is far from all things soft.

You two sneak out from the camp after the bulk of the army has marched away. He takes you to the seaside again, to a wild, roaring shore. You laugh and bask in the sun, swim in the sea and eat the first berries of the season. You lie on the tall grass, naked as the day you were born: it's simply too hot to wear anything except your glowing skin. König starts to ask you peculiar questions while tracing the soft line of your spine.

He asks what kind of house you would like to live in, and tries to find out in a roundabout way if you would like to live in a forest or in the hills. You treasure the sound of waves, and König likes the sound of the wind in trees, but you both love steep hills and the open view of plains. You get the idea that he may want to retire somewhere in the near future.

He tells you he is not a good fisherman but can hunt everything that moves. He is good with a spear, with traps and the bow, and he’s tired of hunting humans who only wish to live in peace. The arena he could understand, but the war on foreign lands, not. And if you begin to swell with his offspring, the Roman encampment at war is the last place for a sweet little fairy like you. He asks what kind of village you used to live in and is somewhat sad to hear all the things you tell him. He says it sounds like home, the one he was taken from many years ago.

When you return to the camp, it’s like you two are a different species altogether, two wild animals who sneak from the gates back to the flock, back to being human, back to being caged and tamed and stunted. The grumpy, tired soldiers witness your wildness and happiness with sullen distaste. To them, your appetite for freedom is the filthiest, most treacherous thing in the world.

The commander of the troops summons König at his feet and threatens to flog him if he ever skips a battle again. He’s told that only barbarians ignore orders like this: at the turn of a whim or a woman or wind. If he doesn’t remember who he is, not the reckless murderer of his youth but a man reborn, a noble Roman citizen, he will risk descending into apathy and greed again. Was this the case, Rome will guide him back to fold again by the crack of a whip if it has to.

That night, you tell him that you love him. Wherever he goes, you will go. That night, when you’re lying in his arms, sweaty and spent and thoroughly happy, he speaks words so wild it shakes the whole tent with a wind.

“If I kill the soldiers, will you come with me?”

It’s only a mutter, a murmured, careful whisper, but it makes you rise to sit and place a hand on his chest for extra support.

“Kill the soldiers? You mean… Kill the Romans?”

“Ja. All of them.”

The shock quickly makes way to disbelief. Can such a thing even be done? He’s a giant, but he’s still just one man. But König doesn’t look restless at all; he looks like a man who has finally made a decision he should have made years ago. He looks like someone who is at peace with their soul.

"Where would we go?" You whisper weakly, unsure if he has given this enough thought or thought at all. It’s now the wanderer in him who speaks, the adventurer who fears nothing because he has already lost everything – and found the most precious, essential thing.

You. Himself…

Free will.

“Wherever you want.”

“What if you get killed…?”

“You take treasure and horse and go.”

…

Your mother always said that it's useless to sway a man if he has chosen to stand up and fight. She told you that the best you could do is go grab a sword and join him.

That is why you give him your blessing – your full, ardent blessing.

It makes him stronger than ever: were he to go out there with nothing but his skin, he would be victorious. The oak that hears your magnificent spell shivers from fear above you as you call down earth, fire and wind.

You call the spirits from below to guide his feet and make them swift and silent as a feather in the wind. You call down the lightning from the sky to accompany his sword as he deals his blows. You cloak him with the fury of the dead; they will smite down his enemies when they catch even a glimpse of him. You shroud him with the Mother's blessing so that he will be untouchable, unstoppable, invincible as he deals death among the Romans.

It’s a terrible spell; even the moon withdraws into a cloud when She hears it. Not even the lady of silver twilight dares to reveal this giant to the Romans as he’s about to descend upon them.

He rises with the power of fifteen men and gives you a kiss that nearly topples you. He smiles before he leaves you, and never looks back as he goes to do the deed of a legend.

You watch the massacre up from a hill. A safe distance from the camp, but close enough to see how König destroys a whole cohort by himself. The plant you mixed into the “reconciliation wine” he gave his soldiers and the commander before nightfall makes it laughably easy because most of the men are still half asleep when they burn inside their tents. The oil spilt on the dry dirt and linen roars aflame now with the help of the wind and earth spirits as König torches the camp. The occasional few soldiers that rise to meet him with fear in their stare are already broken by your spell before his swords impale them.

The old translator is the only Roman who wasn’t given a cup of foxglove wine because he was König’s slave, and now he can see that he is blessed among men. The God of War faces him with swords pointing to the ground, fury planting his feet wide, and it takes the old Roman a while to understand that he’s the only man who gets to walk out of this camp unharmed. As grumpy and unsociable as he is, you wish him good fortune on his future journeys, even utter a quick protection spell to shroud him as he leaves towards his destiny on enemy land.

The slave women, sober, confused, and free, run amock to gather weapons, cloaks, food, and valuables before escaping the camp. König doesn’t even notice them, and they pay little mind to the enraged god ramming through puny mortals because they’re too busy getting out of the burning castra.

How fitting it is that the only people escaping the hellfire are a few beaten women and an old, weak-calved Roman – every able-bodied soldier burns inside his tent or meets their end at your lover’s blade.

The wind spirits help spread the fire so eagerly that you begin to fear that König won’t make it out in time. You whisper prayers into your fist, curled around the Mother who has already given you so much. She has also taken away everything; like seasons, she has reaped and sown, but if she reaps your lover now, you will walk into the sea.

Mother is merciful and returns him to you, unharmed and glorious. He's the same ferocious beast you saw half a moon ago, and also the same ferocious man who was inside you this very morning. You see a god of war, and he sees the mother of life and death, perhaps, because his first words to you are a ripe offering.

“I avenged them all,” he says when he reaches you, thrumming with victory and smelling of smoke and ruin and blood.

He has been born again; he has walked to a new dawn through fire and death and returns to your arms like you two have known each other since the beginning of time. You’re not sure if he talks about his fallen ones or your fallen ones, or everyone who has fallen to these particular Roman spears. You’re not sure if this is his downfall because what you’re looking at is only the downfall of the Roman campaign on your lands. You and König are very much wild and spirited and free. If this is a downfall, it feels like being lifted towards the sky. You see in his eyes that he feels the same as you.

The whole world is new as you leave towards a new life. Sun rises, and takes years off your backs. You wash him in the sea and kiss the salt away from his lips, and it feels only right that he takes you on the grass after slaughtering your enemies.

You bury the statues and the bronze sword in your old village, long abandoned and thoroughly looted. The old woman is in her hut, dead as a stone, and she finally looks happy, with a calm little smile on her face and flowers in her hand. She looks like a young girl, almost, ready to meet the spring of her life.

"Ready for adventure, little one?" König smiles as he raises you to his horse. He takes direction from the sun while you look down at his happy, golden form – your god, your life, your love.

Your new beginning.

...

Translations:

Richtig? - Right?/Correct?

Einfach so - Just like that

Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng - Damn… Gods, you are tight

Aber… - But…

Ach du kleine… - Oh you little…

Scheisse - Shit/Fuck

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x female reader #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut #könig fluff #könig imagine

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axelsagewrites · 5 months

Text

Where Am I?*Part Four

Pairing: modern!f!reader x (to be determined...) Ubbe, Ivar, Sigurd, Hviserks, Bjorn

Word count: 2146

Warnings: drinking, Sigurd making a cripple joke, drunk reader

Series Summary: After falling head first the reader wakes up face to face with a group of strangely dressed men who look eerily like the vikings she studies

Part one Part two Part three

Masterlist Here

Something your arrival seemed to have distracted from was the success of the latest raid. “You’ll love it,” Hvitserk told you over breakfast. He, you had soon noticed, was the only morning person of the bunch. Ivar looked even more homicidal while Sigurd was still too asleep to piss him off. Meanwhile Ubbe was still in bed, threatening to cut off whoever’s hand tried to wake him, “We pull out all the stops. Wines, mead, ale, -“

“Is anything not alcohol related?” you joked just as Bjorn walked in. You’d honestly expected him to have breakfast with his father, but Bjorn said nothing as he took a seat beside you. You knew he was tall but him sitting shoulder to shoulder with you made you realise just how not only tall, but wide he was. The man was built like a bear.

“Hello?” Hvitserk said, waving his hand in front of your eyes, “I swear none of you appreciate the morning,” he tutted.

“Die,” Ivar grunted, earning an agreement from Sigurd. You chuckled a little at seeing them finally on the same side.

Still, you shot Hvitserk an apologetic smile. “Sorry Hvitserk I just spaced out,”

“Spaced out?” He asked, even Bjorn looking down in confusion.

“Like got distracted?”

Hvitserk nodded in understanding, but Bjorn wasn’t satisfied, his head tilting even further in confusion. “Why do you say ‘like’ all the time? You always say like at the start of everything its strange,”

“I guess it’s like,” you said, pausing to chuckle at the accident though he didn’t laugh, “I don’t know it’s just how we talk where I’m from. Like how in every conversation someone threatens someone’s life here,” you said, finally earning a crack of a smile from him, “Where I’m from that would be the weird thing,”

“It’s not as if we mean it,” Hvitserk said.

“It’s brotherly love,” You turned to look at Ivar and Sigurd who both just kind of shrugs.

“It’s something all right,” Sigurd muttered. Ivar’s glare said enough on his behalf.

You ignored them both and turned back to Hvitserk with a laugh. After all they were brothers after all. It was all just talk. Surely. “So, if I go wake Ubbe up right now he won’t actually cut off my hand?” This time they all shared a concerned look. Okay maybe not.

“Take back up with you,” Ivar said. “Just encase,”

You sighed and rolled your eyes at the dramatics of all of them “Seriously? Right come on then,” you said, nodding your head at Ivar as you stood.

For a moment you actually saw a slight look of fear wash over his face, “But I’m still eating,” he tried to weasel his way out of it making Sigurd laugh. That was until you turned to him, hands on hip and his eyes suddenly dipped to the floor and the laughing stopped.

You threw your hands up, “He cannot be that bad!” you protested as you headed to Ubbe’s room.

As you headed for the door you heard someone’s chair scrape against the floor following you. You knocked on the door before quickly pushing it open, “Rise and shine sunshine- “

A loud groan came from the lump under the furs that was presumably the grumpy Ubbe everyone had warned you about. He quickly went to sit up and you jumped back when you saw the axe in his hand. Right back into what you soon realised was Bjorn’s chest.

Realization dawned over Ubbe’s face when he saw you, “Oh,” he said, dropping the axe onto the furs, “Sorry I didn’t realise it was you,” he mumbled, collapsing back into bed.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you mumbled, stepping away from Bjorn and hoping he didn’t see the blush covering your cheeks from the previous closeness. Then they went even redder when Ubbe sat up in bed and you realised he had nothing on. “I’m just gonna,” you span around, trying to leave, before almost smacking right back into Bjorn’s chest. You almost gulped before looking up at him, “Sorry,” you mumbled, rushing out past him, not noticing the smirk on Bjorn’s face or the way Ubbe laughed at your antics.

Ivar had finished eating by the time you’d returned, and you very quickly insisted on him showing you the market like he’d promised last night. He almost jumped at the chance and debated flinging his knife into Sigurd’s chest when he insisted on joining you both. However, you weren’t out for long before Aslaug sent a thrall to fetch you.

Aslaug had arranged for you to receive another dress for tonight’s festivities since “our guests represent our honour,” and you weren’t going to turn down the clean clothes.

The boys had gone out to do some training leaving you to get ready. You debated doing some makeup, you did have a couple items in your bag after all. “What is that?” Aslaug asked as she and a woman you recognised as Helga walked into the room. You’d been sat at a table in the middle of the house to utilise the little light inside and hadn’t heard them walk in, “Its eyeliner,” you said, showing them the black on your eyes, “Like how you use charcoal on yours,”

“Can I watch?” Helga asked, excitement written on her face as she sat across from you, “What’s this?” she asked, picking up the liquid blush, “It’s so bright!”

“It’s blush,” you laughed, “It’s for your cheeks,”

Aslaug sat next to her, eyeing over the cosmetics, “Like berries?”

“Kind of?” you said, gently taking it out of Helga’s hand so you could put it on to show them,

“See?” you asked patting it in, “Same sort of thing but this lasts a bit longer,”

“Can we try some?” Helga asked and even Aslaug looked interested at the idea. For the next while you helped them apply some moisturiser and blush to ease them into it. you were honestly scared to show them your eyeshadow pallet considering how Helga reacted to a pink blush.

then it was your turn. Apparently, the hair problem was long overdue. Helga was gentle when she brushed but you winced as Aslaug took over the intricate braids. “Do all girls fuss where you’re from?”

By the time she was done however you had to admit it looked beautiful. “You almost look like one of us,” there was almost fondness in Aslaug smile.

Helga looked up with a large grin, “You’ll get used to the pain. You looked wonderful though,”

Walking into the bustling hall by Aslaug’s side was both comforting and terrifying. On one hand it meant no one would question you but on the other, everyone was staring. When the boys finally returned Hvitserk was the first to greet you and you happily accepted the ale he offered.

You were sat at a table with the five of them, Hvitserk and Ivar on either side of you, and Bjorn, Ubbe, and Sigurd across from you. However, something the group were quickly realising was their tolerance to ale was far higher than yours. “Do you not drink where you’re from?” Ubbe teased as your cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

“We do! I swear I’m not a lightweight. This stuffs just strong!” you laughed.

Apparently, the laugh was infectious as soon they were all giggly. All but Bjorn but for once there was a permanent smile on his face, “What’s a lightweight?” Bjorn asked.

“Someone who can’t hold their alcohol,” you told him, very matter of factly making them all laugh at your drunken confidence, “You lot wouldn’t last one second on a night out at my campus. I’m talking tequila shots, body shots, Jello shots,” you began to drunkenly list off as the boys tilted their heads in amused confusion.

“What’s a shot?” Hvitserk asked making you face palm.

“Oh, I have so much to teach you,”

Unfortunately, while the boys were great company and had adjusted well to you being in their groups your presence seemed to disrupt everyone else. It was Hvitserk who first noticed everyone staring at you, but you were too tipsy too care. However, as Ivar and Ubbe drank more both began to glare at the men whose eyes stayed too long.

Despite all the boys warning you about Ivar’s temper they all seemed to ignore Ubbe’s even when he insisted on you all leaving because a drunken Viking tried to hit on you. You however were happy enough to follow them all the edge of the lake and sit on the cold sand with a flask of ale being passed around.

As you were all walking down to the lake Hvitserk, and Sigurd were in a heated debate over which slave girl was hotter while Ubbe carried a giggling Ivar on his back. somehow, you’d ended up at the back of the pack, stumbling down the hill beside Bjorn.

“Woah,” he gasped, grabbing your waist before you could stumble and fall over a tree branch. “Steady,”

“Careful Bjorn,” you grinned up at him, holding onto the arm he offered you so you wouldn’t risk falling again, “Someone might think we’re friends,” you teased.

A smirk quickly showed on his face, a teasing light in his eyes, “Oh? Are we not friends already? I am wounded,”

“Friends don’t try kill their friends,” you pouted but you weren’t able to keep the charade up for long before grinning again like a Cheshire cat.

Bjorn just rolled his eyes with a smile however, “We weren’t friends then. We are now,”

“So, you won’t try kill me again?”

Another eye roll, “I won’t try kill you, no,” he said, shaking his head as he helped you to where the rest of the group had begun to sit.

“Pinky promise?” you asked, pulling out of his grip and extending his arm.

His eyes narrowed, head tilting, “What’s a pinkie promise?”

“Its where,” you said, stepping closer to grab his hand, “You lock pinkies,” you said wrapping yours around his, not noticing the smile on his face, “And promise something. And if you break it, I get to break your pinkie,”

“So, an oath?”

“An oath with a threat,”

“Of breaking a finger?”

“Pinkie specifically but yes,” you grinned, “So do you promise?”

“I promise,”

“Good,” you grinned, pulling your pinkie away from his grip before turning to join the group. You plopped down on the ground next to Ivar who was staring off into the sea, “Hi,” you grinned.

Ivar turned to you, laughing when he saw the wide grin on your cheeks, “Hello,” you could hear a slight drunken slur in his words. “Want some?” he asked, passing you, his ale.

You gladly accepted it, taking a drink of the alcohol you first hated but soon grew to love, “Thanks. You’re always so sweet to me,” you smiled before taking a drink, missing the way Ivar’s cheeks went red at your sweet words. Sigurd however didn’t want you to miss it.

“Aww look at the cripple,” he teased making Ivar scowl, “He’s blushing like a baby,”

You passed Ivar his drink back, noticing how tense his jaw was and quickly checking to see how close he was to his axe. After all you didn’t need to be here when the fall out happened, “Why do you care so much Sigurd?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

Everyone’s eyes seemingly went wide, shocked that your bubbly attitude had so quickly dropped. “you don’t get it,” he tried to brush off, “you’re not from here,”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, sitting up straight, “Explain what’s so funny about Ivar’s legs. Ill wait,”

“Well its just,” he tried to stutter earning a snigger from Hvitserk, “I don’t know it just is. Why do you care?”

You were honestly a bit hurt by that, “because he’s, my friend?” you said it like a question because the answer seemed so obvious.

“Okay well I’m sorry,” Sigurd shrugged, his eyes focused on the ground.

Luckily the night quickly moved on from the brief ugly confrontation however Ivar couldn’t get the reaction out of his mind. He was so used to fighting his own battles that he never even expected someone else to back him up, let alone speak up before him. Despite his bruised ego Sigurd thankfully stayed civil for the rest of the night.

A few hours passed before you all decided to walk home. You were in a world of your own at this point, your eyes fixed on how bright the night sky was with stars with no city skyline or factory gases to ruin your view. You didn’t even notice the stares from the boys or hear Hvitserk and Ubbe talk about how you stood up to Sigurd. For the first time this week you didn’t have a care in the world.

Part five

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shady-tavern · 1 year

Text

Vampire’s Lullaby Part 2

Part One

Warnings for implied harm and death that happen off-screen. Otherwise, this chapter turned out to be rather soft.

***

The morning came, pale and peaceful and nothing was amiss. If anything, when she passed by the other hunters of their street on her way to work, they were in good spirits. They wished Dion a speedy recovery and told her to talk to them if she or her family needed anything.

She did not walk too fast, as she did all mornings now since saving the monster boy, making sure the shop was bathed in pale light by the time she arrived. It was almost strange, how normal everything was. She set the shop up as usual and greeted Mr. Bell when he arrived.

She had half expected things to go wrong, for some kind of punishment to come down upon her head for mingling with night creatures. Or that the vampire herself was going to do anything. But nothing.

The day passed like any other and that night the vampire was back once more, sitting on the roof and keeping watch. They spoke with each other for a moment and the vampire was polite and even friendly. Annabelle once again fell asleep to soft singing and woke to pale morning light, everyone she knew safe and sound.

A week passed in this manner and Annabelle started to look forward to the nights a little. To how quiet it had become and to the soft bit of conversation she shared with the vampire.

Right up until Mr. Bell sharply called her name during work, startling her out of her focused work.

Hurrying out of the back, she drew to a stop when she saw the man standing on the other side of the counter. Dressed in expensive, embroidered brocade, a necklace heavy with emeralds hanging about his throat and buttons gleaming golden. He must be one of the nobles and he looked very impatient.

His attitude did not improve as they took his order. The baron, as he introduced himself, was less than eager to be here, but apparently he needed to get something done fast and they had been recommended to him. He promised a pay hefty enough that Annabelle nearly gasped out loud and left them with a handful of gems he wanted to be part of the front cover.

"You're a true treasure," Mr. Bell whispered as soon as the baron had left, getting into an equally gleaming and elegant carriage, drawn by two snow-white horses. "You worked so hard even the upper crust heard of us."

Annabelle felt a small, hysterical giggle escape before she bit back the rest. Mr. Bell and she stared at each other, before they both started grinning and bustled into the back, chattering back and forth as they rapidly got to work.

If this man was satisfied or even happy with his order, they might get more expensive clientele. Mr. Bell was singing a cheerful song that usually was usually heard in taverns over an ale and Annabelle joined in, neither of them caring that they were not great singers in the least.

The day passed far too fast and even though Mr. Bell stayed until the final bell of the evening, they weren't quite done with the baron's order yet. The baron wanted to retrieve his book first thing in the morning and while such an order would have been nearly impossible for anyone else, they really wanted to get it done.

"We best get going," Mr. Bell said with great reluctance. "I'm sure we can finish it at dawn."

Annabelle glanced down at the book, then outside, gauging the position of the sun. "I'll finish up and run home," she said. "It should be done in just a few more minutes, right? Half an hour at most, it will still be bright enough that not many night creatures are out and about."

Mr. Bell hesitated, then sighed, "If you are sure?" At her nod he grabbed his things. "Alright, but don't come in first thing in the morning, understood? You deserve to sleep in after all this. And no matter what, your life is more important than money, understood? If you get worried or scared, go home right away."

She couldn't help but smile and nodded, focusing back on the book as he left. It was going to be a beautiful piece, made of dark green, thin leather, embossed with gold letters and decorated with the gems the baron had left them with.

When she was finally done, feeling satisfied and her back cracking as she straightened, she looked up and felt her heart drop into her stomach. It was pitch-dark outside.

How? How had she gotten so lost in her work that she had missed the way light had disappeared, only replaced by the lanterns and candles Mr. Bell had left on. Her mouth turned dust dry.

There was no way she'd get home safe. Maybe, if she was really, really quiet, managed to extinguish all light and hid under her desk, no night creature noticed her in here. Maybe she could hide here and hold out until morning.

The tinkle of the bell of the front door made her flinch and startle onto her feet. Had Mr. Bell not looked the door? Had he left the lights on out in the shop as well?

"Hello?" a woman's voice called out, curious and a little befuddled. "I saw the lights on, are you still in?"

It took her a second to recognize the voice over her panic and pounding heart. It was the vampire she had asked for help. What was she doing here?

"You didn't return home," the vampire continued and Annabelle heard the muffled sound of steps, as though the night creature was walking slowly up and down the shop. "If you are done for the day, I will wait outside for you. Unless you'd like to walk home alone?"

And be eaten? Surely not. "Thank you," she found herself saying, her pounding heart finally easing a bit.

"I told you I'd look after you and yours," the vampire said and Annabelle heard the tinkle of bells. "Those books are beautiful, by the way."

Then the vampire was gone and she exhaled in a rush, sagging a bit as tension drained out of her. Her hands shook a little when she rubbed them over her face, before she reached for her shawl.

She was scared to go outside, but she couldn't stay here. If she stayed, so did the vampire and then who would look after her family? Extinguishing all the lights, she wrapped the shawl tightly around herself and stepped outside.

Nerves made her hands a bit clumsy as she locked the door, glancing around. It was quiet and no street lights were lit in the crossroads, since no one lived here and the city had considered it a waste of resources. It took her a moment to notice the large shadow in the dark, wings half unfolded for balance as the vampire crouched on the ledge of a roof.

"I'm ready," she whispered, shoulders tense and heart still pitter-pattering nervously. She tried to calm down, taking a few deep breaths until she felt less like she was going to scream in fright at the next thing that moved too fast and too unexpectedly.

When she started walking, the vampire followed easily above her. It was surprisingly calm all around and she neither heard nor saw anything. The vampire didn't have to snarl or hiss, just paused once and tensed, clacking her claws warningly against shingles, then moved on like nothing had happened.

It made her wonder how powerful the vampire must be, to so easily command the space she walked through. By the time Annabelle hurried down the main road towards home, she felt...safe. Unexpectedly so, considering she was outside in the dark.

The other hunters of their street were worried and glad to see her, escorting her to the front door of her home and reprimanding her for staying out so long.

"You were very lucky," a rough looking woman said, the one Dion always chatted with while waiting for the sun to disappear. "What would I have said your brother if you got yourself killed while he's not there?"

"It won't happen again," she promised, before the door swung open and her ashen faced mother dragged her inside and into a hug.

Annabelle endured the scolding and worrying of her family and after a quick dinner, she excused herself. She hesitated, then opened the window.

"Miss Vampire?" she whisper-called, leaning forward a bit.

When the vampire appeared, upside down, between one moment and the next, she bit back a startled scream by the skin of her teeth. Instead she inhaled sharply and flinched back a step, pressing her heart over her chest.

"Was that necessary?" she found herself gasping out, glaring at the vampire who tilted her head, mouth opening into an impish grin and wings twitching. "You're impossible." She took a calming, deep breath. "But, thank you, for bringing me home safe."

The vampire chittered at her almost softly, then waved a hand towards her bed in a shooing motion.

But Annabelle was a bit too awake now to consider sleeping. Instead she lit a candle and glanced between the clothes she had to mend and the book she had intended to read. With a soft sigh she reached for thread and needle first. Work before pleasure, her parents had always said.

A tap of claws against iron made her glance over and the vampire was gesturing at the book. Did she wish to read it? Annabelle hesitated, then picked it up.

"Return it to me before you leave," she said as she walked to the window. "Treat it well, please. Books mean a great deal to me."

The vampire took the book with visible care and disappeared. Annabelle turned back to her sewing, when she heard the vampire's voice, clear and close enough that she must be right above the window on the roof. Reading the book out loud.

Annabelle sat still for a long minute, then she found herself smiling a little and started to sew. Two chapters in however, the vampire had clear opinions on the book.

"Is this considered romantic?" her voice was full of disbelief and offense. She pitched her voice, re-reading a sentence she had just read out loud, "'Not to say you aren't beautiful, however this hair style simply does not match you.' Who asked for this fool's opinion?"

Annabelle had to bite back a startled laugh and she couldn't help but agree. The book was dreadful. However, as the vampire continued reading it genuinely got better from there. Not because the book got better, but because those affronted comments were quite funny and very amusing.

The vampire got increasingly more offended at the contents of the book and Annabelle found herself laughing at last, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

"I'll bring you one of my books," the vampire groused, audibly thumbing through the book at rapid pace. "Three hundred pages of this nonsense? How are you still sane?"

"I haven't read it yet," Annabelle answered, mirth bright in her voice and that was when she realized that she had stopped being afraid.

Somewhere between being guarded for a week, being brought home safe and being read to in an increasingly incredulous, pained manner, she had stopped fearing for herself. "I have another one you could read instead," she offered.

Instead of answering, a pale hand appeared at the top of the window, still holding the book with care. The vampire wore a delicate gold ring and a golden bracelet studded with topaz. The long sleeve that fell down to nearly her wrist was black with pale, shimmering embroidery.

Annabelle took hold of the book and traded it with one Mr. Bell had given her a couple of days ago. She settled down again as the vampire began to read and she seemed far happier with this book. In all honesty, Annabelle enjoyed this tale far more as well.

She listened to the story of a young boy who found a lost star and their journey to bring the star back home. It was the first time in far too long that an evening truly felt peaceful.

It was quiet outside, no monsters to be heard and the breeze drifting inside was cool and brought with it a refreshing scent.

Had the world been like this once upon a time? Before the dark had to be feared like it was feared today? Had there been a time when people sat together to read and chat beneath the starry sky? She had only heard about such things in stories and in this moment, she couldn't help but dream of a world so different to her own.

Something gentler, something almost peaceful. She wasn't foolish or naive enough to believe danger would disappear forever just because she wished it, but there had to be a way to make the world better than it was now.

"May I have your name?" she asked when she finished mending and the vampire paused, having read the last sentence of the book. "I would like to call you something."

The vampire hummed softly, thoughtful, but answered, "I'm Charlette, and who are you, sweet human that I guard?"

Feeling a little surprised and quietly flattered at those unexpected words, Annabelle hurriedly put away her needle and thread. "I'm Annabelle and I can honestly say that it is nice to get to know you."

Charlette chuckled. "You're the first human to say so." Annabelle heard her close the book. "Are those the sort of stories you enjoy reading?"

"Among others." Annabelle leaned back, her chair creaking softly. "I mostly love stories with happy endings."

Charlette hummed thoughtfully. "I see. I think I can find some of those." Her arm appeared at the top of the window again. "Here, I quite enjoyed this one."

Annabelle accepted her book and her breath caught in her chest when her fingertips brushed Charlette's accidentally. She was cool, but no colder than Annabelle's hands would be if she were outside right now.

"Why do you night creatures hate us so much?" The question slipped out unbidden in a soft whisper.

"I don't hate you," the vampire answered without a moment's hesitation. Then she added, "I've never had much of a problem with humans."

"Then what have we done to earn such wrath from the others? So much bloodshed and death?"

Charlette was quiet for a long moment. "I've heard rumors," she answered at last. "That humans killed the Night King."

That was the first time Annabelle heard of such a thing. "Who was the Night King?"

"A powerful and old night walker," Charlette answered. "You wouldn't find them anywhere anymore, he was the last one. I don't really know what he was like, but I know that the night folk felt safe under his protection. I don't really know much else, I haven't been long in the city and I lived in a remote, rather isolated place before that."

Annabelle frowned to herself in thought, absentmindedly tracing the letters of the storybook. "Is there a way to find out what happened? Or how to change what's happening?"

Charlette hummed, a strange, inhuman note underlying the noise. "I could look into it, if you'd like," she offered and Annabelle heard the faint tink of claws tapping thoughtfully on shingles.

"You would?" Annabelle couldn't stop the hope from singing through her voice.

There was a soft, near chirping kind of noise. "I find I'm...I quite like you, Annabelle. It won't be much trouble to bug some acquaintances or to poke around."

Relief made her feel lighter than she had in years. She peered out the window, though she saw nothing of the vampire. There wasn't even a shadow to watch tonight, not with clouds gathering in the sky and quiet disappointment shadowed the relief. She would have liked to see her face right now. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Charlette shifted on the roof and a moment later, Annabelle saw half of an elegant, black shoe dangling into view, along with the hem of a black dress, studded in clear crystals.

"Would you like anything in exchange?" Annabelle asked, finding herself leaning forward a bit and peering up, as though she could finally spot a glimpse of the vampire's face. "I would owe you a great deal if you could uncover this mystery."

And possibly bring an end to all the death and pain and horror.

Charlotte chuckled, low and darkly amused. "That's a dangerous promise to make to my kind. What if I'd like a sip of your blood? All your good dreams for a year? An invitation to your house so I can feed on you and your family while you sleep?"

Annabelle frowned, head tipping to the side. She didn't feel worried, not when Charlette had never done anything to her or threatened such a thing.

"I don't think you would." She swallowed and stood up straighter, even if there was no one to see her posture. "Not if I asked you not to."

This time the chuckle sounded less dark. "You seem to have me figured out. Then I'll think about what I'll ask for," Charlette answered, then her voice turned mock-dry and she sighed theatrically, "Since eating you is so evidently off the table."

Annabelle had no idea why that made her laugh, the sound quickly muffled by the hand she lifted to her mouth, half horrified at herself for liking such a macabre joke. It seemed Dion wasn't the only one in the family to enjoy such humor.

"I'd be pleased to find them all alive in the morning, thank you very much," she answered.

"Then you shall." Charlette sounded both amused and unexpectedly sincere. "I would hate to never hear your laugh again."

Annabelle felt surprised and touched at those words and found herself biting back a smile, lifting the book as though to hide her face from prying eyes. She hadn't known that night creatures, no, the night folk, could be so...sweet. Strange and frightening, yes, but also sweeter than she had thought. And kinder.

She didn't know what to say to that, lightly clearing her throat. "Well, if you keep doing what you're doing I guess I'll be laughing more in no time."

"Oh, consider it done," Charlette answered in a near purring tone that made heat gentle rise to her cheeks. "I don't think I could spend my nights any better than I currently do."

Flustered and flattered and having no idea what to do with any of those feelings, Annabelle shuffled away from the window.

"Speaking of night, it's, um, it's pretty late. I think I'll head to bed now," she said, pressing wind-cool fingertips against her heated face. "Good night."

She hurried to get ready for bed, accompanied by Charlette's quiet, throaty laugh.

"Good night," Charlette said as she slid beneath the sheets. "I'll keep watch until sunrise."

Curling up beneath the blankets, Annabelle kept watching the window. "Thank you." Ever since the vampire was there, Annabelle had felt safer than ever. Had slept better than ever.

When Charlette started to sing, the song was quiet and soft and Annabelle fell asleep, silently wishing the vampire could stay forever. Could be here every night, even once Dion was all healed up.

.*.*.*.

Annabelle visited Dion the next morning, using Mr. Bell's order to show up late to drop by the clinic first.

"Is everyone well?" her brother asked in a heavy voice, while looking as though he was going to fall asleep again at any moment. "Mama and Papa don't seem to be very alright."

Their parents looked worn and tired and Annabelle worried they weren't sleeping well. Her other brothers were quiet and withdrawn, faces tense and marred with deep frowns. It made her wish she could tell them that she had a deal, a promise, of safety from a vampire. At least until Dion was fully healed.

They would not react well to that at all, however. She'd be dragged to the priests right away, to make sure she hadn't been thralled or otherwise influenced. Someone would then stake out in her room to try and kill Charlette. The very thought made her stomach clench and her heart ache.

"They're fine," she reassured Dion, offering a calming smile.

She quickly distracted him by telling him about everything that had happened yesterday. She had visited him on her free day last, her parents and older brothers dropping by more often, since they were a bit more flexible with their time.

Halfway through her tale about the baron's visit, his eyes fell closed and his breathing deepened into slumber. Annabelle exhaled quietly and smoothed an edge of the blanket down. Sunlight shone through the windows, the bars casting thin shadows across his sickbed.

Her mind kept snagging at what Charlette had told her last night. The hope that had been ignited within her that this horror could end. That Dion could heal and go home and never again would he or anyone else be forced to pick up cold, hard iron in order to keep their loved ones alive.

She got up after another minute. Dion was fast asleep and he would remain like this for a while. He needed his rest. She left with a polite, grateful goodbye to Dr. Under, who waved her off with a vague noise, taking care of another injured hunter.

Mr. Bell was bustling around the shop when she arrived, in high spirits and praising her for how beautiful the book had turned out. The baron showed up an hour later, turning his ordered book this way and that, sniffing in acceptance, somehow simultaneously looking satisfied and not happy at all. He handed over more money than Annabelle had ever seen at once.

"It will do," the baron said in parting, sweeping outside as he added, "I think I shall be back."

Mr. Bell and she watched him leave with wide eyes, before they looked down at the money, at each other and then they were giggling like children, excited and almost speechless.

"Look at this!" Mr. Bell exclaimed, immediately starting to divide up the money. When he handed her what he said he owed her, she felt her breath catch. That was more than they had agreed upon first.

"You'll be able to hire a hunter now, while your brother heals," Mr. Bell said with a smile, waving off her sputtering protests. "We can always buy another printing press later, don't you worry. Besides, I'm sure we'll see that sour fellow again sooner or later."

She felt her eyes sting a little and couldn't help but pull Mr. Bell into a hug, who laughed and gave her a grandfatherly pat on the shoulder.

"Now, none of that, you hear me? There is no need for tears. Besides, we have more than enough work to take care of."

She nodded, sniffling once and pulled back, quickly pocketing the money before she took a deep breath and got to work with renewed determination. Mr. Bell chuckled and sat down at his desk, humming a soft, happy tune under his breath.

It was a good day and they kept working in high spirits, the other clients who dropped by to pick up their orders remarking on the good atmosphere. Mr. Bell left as he always did, a spring in his step and he told her not to stay too long, that she deserved to go home early as well.

Annabelle sang to herself as she finished up the last work of the day, the bell of the clock tower warning her about the setting sun. But for once she didn't feel scared, didn't startle into a flurry of hurried motions in order to get home in time.

She cleaned up and locked the door and went home with a smile on her face, nodding at people along the way and wishing neighbors a good night. The hunters on their street waved at her and she waved back.

Her family looked exhausted when she arrived, but they were glad to see her happy.

"We're safe," she tried to reassure them. "Everyone says they'll keep an eye out until Dion's back."

Guilt ate at her like sharp teeth when she kept the money she had made a secret. She wanted to save it, for when Dion was healthy again and Charlette wouldn't watch their house anymore. She wanted to buy her brother some more restful time if possible.

Charlette didn't show up that night, to her surprise. Instead, Annabelle heard a rumbly sort of growl and looked up, inhaling sharply in startled surprise.

"It's alright, you're safe," the large werewolf across from her on the other roof said quickly. "Charlette asked me to keep watch tonight."

Then the werewolf straightened, ears perked and placed a hand on its chest. "Thank you," it said with utter sincerity. "For saving my son."

Oh, this was the boy's mother. Now that she took a closer look, her heart calming back down from it's frightened beat, she did recognize the werewolf.

"You're both well?" she couldn't help but ask, remembering the limp, whimpering and bleeding lump the werewolf had been in Charlette's arm.

Those ears flicked once and the werewolf grinned, making her look even more frightening and fearsome, but her yellow eyes held a spark of warmth. "We are. He's been talking about you, you know. Says he forgot to ask you if you liked his picture."

"I did," Annabelle slowly, cautiously approached the window. Just because Charlette hadn't hurt her didn't mean other night folk wouldn't take the chance when they got it. "He seems to be a sweet kid."

"He is." The werewolf preened in pride, then settled down, looking relaxed. "And don't worry," she said, a growl slipping into her voice. "I'll keep you lot safe." She snorted, amused. "Not that I'm necessarily needed here, considering Charlette thoroughly claimed this area. But she said you'd feel safer if I was there."

Annabelle felt her heart warm at those words, a smile tugging at her mouth. "That's sweet of her."

"She can be," the werewolf agreed, elbow on her thigh and chin resting in her palm. "But only if she likes someone. My son and I were the only ones she cared for for a long time, so I'm glad to see she's found someone else whose company she enjoys."

Annabelle's smile grew. "Well, the feeling is mutual. Tell her I'll miss her and that I hope she's safe. And thank you, for being here."

The werewolf grinned again and this time it looked a little less frightening. "She'll be very happy to hear that. And of course, after you saved my son and made Charlette's nights better, it's the least I could do. But don't let me keep you up if you're tired."

It was probably for the best to get some rest. "Good night. Oh, if any of the hunters notice you, just leave, they won't abandon the houses they protect."

The werewolf nodded. "I'll be careful not to be spotted, but they don't have to fear me either way. I never hurt people who don't try to kill my family first."

Fair enough, Annabelle would not act very kindly or sweetly if someone tried to harm those she loved in front of her eyes. She got ready for bed and decided to leave the window open, in case the werewolf needed to get her attention for something.

When she laid in bed, she found she struggled to fall asleep. It was simultaneously too quiet and not quiet enough. There was no pleasant singing, no vampire on her roof and somehow that absence was loud in the gentle, calm of the night.

She fell asleep after long minutes of staring up at the dark ceiling, trusting in a promise being kept and a fierce werewolf guarding the house.

.*.*.*.

It took three nights before Charlette came back. By then Annabelle had gotten to know the werewolf, whose name was Ophelia.

Since Charlette had apparently claimed this part of the city as hers, Ophelia pretty much had nothing to do. They had ended up talking quite a bit with each other as a result and Annabelle had put books on her windowsill for Ophelia to read.

Still, Annabelle had missed the vampire, had missed her company and singing and the steady, calm and unshakeable safety she brought with her presence alone.

It had been a bit of a shock at first, to realize just how fond she had grown of Charlette. How there was a quiet sting of disappointment every night she saw Ophelia instead of her, even if she liked the werewolf.

"Welcome back," Annabelle said when she saw the large bat land quietly, a glad smile appearing on her face before she knew it.

"Finally," Ophelia said with good humor, leaning closer to Annabelle since she was sitting right across from her on the edge of the roof. The werewolf lifted a hand in front of her face to mock-whisper, "This one's pinning had gotten bad."

Pinning? Annabelle barely had a moment to properly process that, before Charlette tackled the werewolf straight off the roof and into the alley. There was growly laughter and hissing and startled shouts from a nearby hunter.

The two night folk quickly fell quiet after the hunter's warning yells and a few moments later, Ophelia hopped back onto the roof, while Charlette appeared suddenly in front of Annabelle, hanging upside-down in front of her window.

Annabelle smiled again, not even startling a little. Others probably considered this to be the height of foolishness, but she didn't fear Charlette. She didn't even find her nightmarish bat-form terrifying anymore. Oh, she knew Charlette was still frightening, that she could rip any human apart like wet paper, but Annabelle didn't think it was going to happen. Not to her, at any rate.

"I hope you're well?" she asked and Charlette swiftly ducked out of sight again, her voice answering a moment later.

"I am. I hope my friend took good care of you?"

"I'll take offense to that," Ophelia answered dryly. "But I'll forgive you this once. Now, please excuse me you two, you can make moon-eyes at each other without me having to bear witness."

With a jovial wave, the werewolf left, easily hopping across roofs and Annabelle heard a soft, aggrieved grumble from Charlette.

"Meddling friends," the vampire muttered.

"I wouldn't know," Annabelle found herself saying, Charlette falling silent. "I haven't really had a friend in years."

Not since their old neighbors had moved away when she had been twelve. After that it had been hard to connect with others and nowadays she spent all day at work and was locked up at home afterwards. It didn't leave much time for socializing and the few times people had flirted with her at work hadn't really led to anything.

"We could be friends," Charlette offered. "And Ophelia likes you as well, she said as much every time she came back at dawn. I'm pretty sure she already considers you her friend."

"Are other humans and night folk friends as well?" Annabelle asked, genuinely curious. Charlette and Ophelia couldn't be the only nice night folk in the world, after all. "I've never heard of such a thing."

Charlette huffed, amused and wry all at once. "Of course not. From what I could gather, you humans don't take well to such connections. But there are a couple of friendships and relationships across the city."

There were? So she wasn't strange or alone in not hating or fearing the night folk? Or rather, Charlette and Ophelia. She still feared the others and what they could do.

"Speaking of which," Charlette continued before Annabelle could answer. "I think I found out what happened to the Night King and why there is such carnage now."

Annabelle stepped forward, fingertips brushing the windowsill. "Please tell me."

"It's not pretty," Charlette warned, then continued, "The night folk demand revenge for the murder of their king. Until the price is paid in blood, there will be no peace."

Annabelle knotted her fingers together in worry. "I understand that, but it isn't fair to punish all of us for the transgression of a few." Then she frowned heavily. "And it's been so long already since the attacks started, the ones who did it are most likely already dead."

A moment of heavy silence followed. "I forgot," Charlette murmured, an unhappy note to her voice. "You humans don't live all that long."

"We live plenty long enough," Annabelle answered, feeling a little affronted. "It's you lot who live a ridiculous amount of time."

Charlette huffed a gentle, amused noise. "I guess you're not wrong."

Annabelle felt her lips twitch into a small smile, before it fell again. "Is there something that can be done?" she asked softly. "To make the night folk stop?"

Charlette exhaled heavily, almost sighing. "Someone strong enough could." She sounded reluctant now. "Once someone seizes control and calms the frenzy, things could change."

"Why won't anyone do that?" Annabelle found herself staring up, as though she could will Charlette into view to look straight at her. "Hasn't this gone on long enough?"

"It doesn't feel that long to them," Charlette answered. "Many night folk have fallen into mindless bloodlust and they cannot regain their senses by themselves anymore. There are only a small handful left who could take control, but they like to eat and drink as much as they please. They like terrifying humans too much to stop."

Annabelle was silent for a long moment, arms wrapped around herself in a imitation of a hug. "So this is it?" she found herself whispering. "We just have to endure this until one of the strong night folk decide they've enjoyed themselves enough? Or until they've killed us all?"

A low snarl curled through the air. "I would not let them," Charlette answered, voice hard. "Nothing will happen to you."

"I believe you." She really did. "But...this is no way to live, Charlette. To cower and hide and...and just endure until I'm old and frail and at last my bones return to the earth."

She felt exhausted and bitterness wrapped around her like a too-heavy cloak. Annabelle closed her eyes, trying to fight back the burn of tears. Weeping wouldn't change anything, no matter how much she wanted to cry.

Shattered hope was a horrible feeling, she realized as she stared down at her hands, cold and ink stained. She had only realized how fiercely she had hoped for an end for all of this now that there was nothing to be done. All she could do now was endure and that...that was no way to live, was it?

Charlette was silent for so long that Annabelle started to get ready for bed, her heart a heavy weight in her chest and her mood dreary and dark. She just wanted to lie down and not get up for a long while. She blew out the candle, casting the room in darkness when the vampire spoke up.

"You're right." Charlette's voice was soft. "I want more for you. And better."

Annabelle swallowed past her dry mouth as Charlette added, "That is really no life worth living."

Annabelle made a quiet, slightly rough sound in agreement. She couldn't keep living like this for the rest of her days. Frightened, small, scurrying. Scraping together what coin she could, working herself to the bone during the day, only to be terrified of all that came at night. Worrying she'd bury her brother, then her parents, then her other older brothers, until she was all that was left.

Even if Charlette would guard them all her days, something could always happen. Besides, other people still died. She would see the blood in her way to work, would see the haunted faces of hunters who stared at the sun like it was pure salvation.

"I'd do anything for things to change," Annabelle found herself saying, voice hollow and tinged in bitter sadness.

"A dangerous promise." Charlette's voice was soft and utterly devoid of teasing. "Don't give that promise to someone else, they'll ask for things you won't wish to give."

"Like what? My blood? My beating heart?" She'd give both if it meant the night folk stopped their rampage.

"No." Charlette sounded grim. She was quiet for a second, then asked, "Would you invite me in, Annabelle?"

"I think the bars are in the way." She wouldn't go and unlock the door, not when Gerard was still awake and weaving and Charlette could be seen entering the house by one of the hunters.

Charlette huffed, darkly amused. "Those are child's play. They don't keep me out, but I cannot enter a home I'm not invited to. No vampire can."

She hadn't known that, but it explained all the warnings to never answer any luring, sweet calls. And why one should never get thralled. Did she want Charlette in the house? In her room?

She did, she realized. She felt so cold and hopeless, she wished to at least finally see Charlette's face. Annabelle turned towards the window.

"Charlette, I invite you into my home, please enter," she said, soft but clear. A moment later that elegant hand came into view and slowly, steadily, pried the bars out of the brickwork.

Charlette was careful enough to avoid making a noticeable amount of noise, taking the time to wriggle the bars out bit by bit, until she could pull them away entirely. Annabelle found her heart beating a little faster. She had never invited anyone into her room since she had been twelve and her friend had left.

A moment later, a tall shape dropped onto the windowsill. For as much as Charlette looked like a human now, she did not move like one. There was a predator's grace as she smoothly stepped inside, feet utterly silent on the floor. Only her long dress made a soft sound as the fabric fell down to her ankles.

Charlette stood with a confidence Annabelle had rarely seen, something unshakeable and true. The vampire knew she was powerful and dangerous and saw no need in proving either by needlessly puffing herself up. For everyone else would know she was dangerous by simply looking at her.

"You don't look at me anymore as though I'm frightening," Charlette said, voice soft and clear and she took slow steps closer, bridging the distance between them.

There was just enough light cast by the moon outside for her to see her face. She was beautiful, her red hair long and her eyes the color of blood.

Annabelle looked up at the vampire, who stopped in front of her. "I don't fear you."

"I'm glad." Charlette's voice softened further, gentling into a near whisper. "I like seeing you happy."

Annabelle found herself smiling a little, almost shyly. "I think I owe you a favor," she said softly. "For finding out what you could about the Night King."

Charlette was quiet for a moment and Annabelle saw the the humorless smile appear on her face. "There is one thing I would ask, but not now. I think I need to earn a bit more of a favor for that."

Surprised, Annabelle tipped her head a little, trying to see her face better in the dark. "What do you mean?"

Charlette didn't answer and instead reached out, hand hovering near Annabelle's face without touching her. "May I?"

Annabelle felt her heart beat a little faster now, realizing it did so in the best of ways. "Yes." Her voice was quiet but clear in the silence of her room and the quiet of the calm night outside.

Gently, almost reverently, Charlette's cool hand settled on her cheek. "I don't think you know how much you captivated me," the vampire said softly, red eyes warm where her skin was not. "Your bravery, your laugh, your sweetness. How fearless you are and how much I enjoy speaking with you."

A cool thumb brushed along her cheekbone ever so gently. "I want to ask for something very brazen," Charlette continued in a near whisper. "Once I earn more of your good graces."

"You could ask now," Annabelle answered just as quietly, eyes caught by that blood-red gaze and she tipped her head a little, turning her cheek into that sweet touch. "Because I don't think you realize how much I enjoy your company, how fond I've grown of you."

This time, when Charlette smiled, it revealed a hint of fangs that would have looked frightening to Annabelle in the past. Now she was merely curious, knowing she had nothing to fear.

"What if I asked for a kiss?" Charlette said. "One you want to give me because you like me, not because you feel indebted."

"Then I'd say you should kiss me," Annabelle whispered back, her heart beating faster in excited anticipation. "If you like me as much as I like you."

"Oh, of that there is no doubt," Charlette breathed the words more than she said them, leaning in and Annabelle rose up on her toes. Long, soft hair brushed her cheek before lips ghosted across hers for just a moment. She smelled like fresh air and something soft and sweet, like flowers.

Before Charlette could pull back, Annabelle rose to her very tiptoes, pressing their lips together gently. Her hands came up, one lightly touching Charlette's arm and the other reaching up to cup her face, fingertips lightly tangling into silk-soft hair.

"Will you let me court you?" Annabelle asked in a soft whisper, opening her eyes. Charlette looked almost unbearably soft and it squeezed her heart in the best of ways.

Charlette laughed, quiet and brief and achingly fond. "I think I'm meant to ask you that. If you allow me to court you as well, I will gladly say yes."

Annabelle found herself grinning, the previous heaviness of her mood gentled and lightened, even if it wasn't gone entirely.

Charlette brushed a feather light kiss against the corner of her mouth, as though tasting her smile, before pressing another one to her forehead. She then gently rested their foreheads together, free hand rising to take Annabelle's, tangling their fingers together.

"I think I know what to gift you," Charlette said. "If you're willing to accept something intangible."

Now that made her curious. "Of course." She gave Charlette's fingers a little squeeze. "I think I have an idea for a gift as well."

They smiled at each other for a long moment, until Annabelle had to pull back, hiding a yawn behind her hand. Charlette smiled softly, brushing fingertips over her hair.

"Rest, my love," she said. "I will stay until dawn."

"Can you sing for me?" Annabelle asked. "I find I sleep better if you do."

Charlette's eyes seemed brighter, now a liquid red. "Of course."

And sing she did and when Annabelle woke in the morning, she found a red rose lying on her desk, on top of a letter.

A letter that held the promise to change everything.

.*.*.

Part Three.

#my writing #short story #chapter two #vampires #lesbians #can you tell that I squished all the soft into this chapter?#it's rather less dark than part one #but we still got part three ahead of us #which will be the last part for these two #they be lesbians Harold #I'll be honest with you I suck at writing flirting scenes #these two made me despair #hope this part turned out well!#and that I didn't overlook too many spelling errors #part three should be up either at the end of this week or early next week #dark fantasy

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ilexdiapason · 11 months

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"what is the pearl the bard au, ilex?" im SO glad you asked: a primer

first of all, hello jon, apologies for the deception, but i thought it was necessary to get the traffic people in through their scrunkle, so i didn't call the au by its proper name. this is eswap, the empires swap au, featuring pearlthebard. but i'm gonna tell it from her pov so it's all good

the following is a brief summary of what i refer to as "season one" of pearlthebard, and can be read in its entirety by going to @pearlthebard and reading through the linked directory, but if you don't have time for three months of tumblr rp then here's the gist of it!

Once upon a time, cruel gods named Watchers brought in just over a dozen people to play participants in a sick little game of death and betrayal. Pearl was not there. She was there when they did it for a second time, but she didn't win, so she can't remember it. The third time she prefers to forget, for the most part: it's a big awful blur of self harm and mania and dying and killing and losing everything she ever loved without ever really knowing why.

At the end of Double Life, she stands on a hill and watches the man who would not be her soulmate light himself ablaze, and when he blows up it takes her with him.

At this point, we step out of the narrative briefly, because Pearl the Bard doesn't actually begin with Pearl, not really - it begins with my friend Al going "hey i should make an au where the empires smp season 2 characters are role swapped", and hitting number thirteen Oli TheOrionSound, and going "ah shit well i guess i'll swap him with santa perla that works". Thus, Saint Oli, and Pearl the Bard. However, notably, Pearl cannot map neatly on to Oli's backstory of being isekai'd in from the end of Afterlife SMP, because she wasn't there.

At the end of Double Life, Pearl is blown up, but she does win. And a winner, by the usual metrics, earns a prize.

Saint Oli catches her when the blast flings her soul from her lifeless body, looks this incredibly wet cat up and down, and decides to give her a second chance.

She lands in the Empires SMP.

If you've seen Oli's episodes, which you probably should there were only four of them for the entirety of ESMP S2, you'll know roughly how the story goes from here, but the faces are a little different. She steals a goat horn from Princess Katherine of Dawn, she is jailed by Deputy Sausage of the Goblands, and while she awaits her judgement by the Sheriff Smallishbeans, she hears an awfully familiar voice from the floor of the cave asking what she did to get put in there.

Mayor Smajor of Animalia is a normal man. He runs his empire with a fairly loose grip, but he's proactive about developing a safe space for all animal folk to live among the pretty amethysts and not have to conform to the standards of human society. He, though, he's not an animal, no way, behind this dark mask he's completely human and not a cat. He has a life here, has lived in the Empires for years and founded a community with his own paws hands that he's very proud of.

The weird girl in the cage, the woman who brought two HUGE dogs to his lands and then somehow decided it was his fault for hissing at them that they didn't get on, and the new bard his neighbour Sausage has been gossiping to him about all seem to be disconnected, until they very suddenly aren't.

Pearl is a mystery to Scott. Despite him never having seen her before in his life, she seems convinced that he's either a regret or a danger, and she even goes so far as to stab him to death rather than tell him what the hell is her problem with him. He gets a little bit obsessed, if he's honest - finds her house to show up at it, insists that Sausage keep him updated on her, even starts to lose sleep. And when he does sleep he has strange dreams, dreams of being far taller, being tailless, being ten times better with a weapon than the Mayor of Animalia would ever need to be.

Pearl, steadfast in the conviction that the best thing she can do is get far the hell away from this weird, tiny Not-Smajor and never speak to or of him again if possible, runs to the distant shores of Sanctuary. And then squats in the Eversea. And then borrows Joey's spare room in the Evermoore. And every time, some coincidence sends Scott dangerously close to her escape path, forces them to make small talk, gives them both another nightmare of another time that Scott can't remember and Pearl wishes she could forget.

And then eventually they do catch up with one another in the streets of Chromia, and Scott refuses to back down until Pearl admits to him the truth of whether she really belongs in this world and what her connection is to his dreams and why he feels so weirdly, encompassingly guilty when he looks at her, and... well, i won't spoil that, that was a good one, i liked that one, you should go read it.

But yeah! Pearl the Bard! It's good! Soulmate drama forever :D

#eswap #empires swap au #pearlescentmoon #scott smajor #and then later we do lesbianism it's great

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

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The Favour

Pairing: Eönwë x Fem. Reader (Elf | Second Person POV)

Themes: Medieval! Ainur | Violence | Soft ending

Warnings: Violence | Mentions of blood and death | Use of weapons | kissing / mild smut (lime, I think) | Alcohol use

Wordcount: 3.1k words

Summary: During the final day of the tourney, Eönwë approaches you, his servant, with a request that shocks everyone.

Rating: 🔥(brief paragraph) | Minors DNI | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

The final day of the tourney dawned as it should: glorious and golden and windy and bright.

The tourney grounds were a sea of silken tents and shields and horses, knights in brilliantly plated armor, and squires running around to do their masters’ bidding. Pennants and flags snapped and fluttered with the wind. The air rang with the sounds of shouts and curses and laughter, hammers striking steel and iron, and it soon grew rich with the scents of bread and mead and meat roasting over braziers.

The royal box was already full. Everyone had been garbed in the most splendid robes and jewels. The king was present, as was the prince. Both were dressed in doublets of black and green studded with a double row of golden flames. Eru wore a crown of gold and emeralds and onyx, and his son wore none. He could not wear one until he was anointed under the light of the stars. Prince Manwë did not seem to mind. He spoke to the others, made jests, and put his name down for a wager.

What a wager it was. The king himself pledged the finest horse in his herd and an opportunity to hunt in the royal forests; a courtier pledged a fat purse of gold coin, and a lady threw in her emerald ring. Many and more threw their names into the pot, and the wager grew and grew. The sheer value was staggering. It was to be expected. The Lord Commander himself was jousting.

The Lord Commander. The Lord Commander, Eönwë Úrion. He commanded the king’s armies and was the fiercest soldier to have ever lived and breathed. A warrior without peer, so the singers said. No one could stand before him.

No one knew much of him besides his skills and prowess in battle either. Eönwë kept to himself. A disciplined man, he would start his day by breaking his fast with a simple meal before heading off to the armory to arm and armor himself. After morning rounds around Ilmarin, he would spend most of his day training himself and others and meeting with the king. He would see himself off to the baths before settling in his private library by evenfall if there were no pressing matters. Even his supper was a quiet affair. You would know; you served him yourself.

You left your mother and brother after the town crier came to the market square and shouted that the palace was looking for new maids. The coin proved too much to resist, and your family needed it. Your brother had been injured in a hunting accident, and your father left one day, never to return. Your family was left destitute. The work would be hard but the king was known to many as a fair and generous master to those who served him well. Leaving your family and the life you knew was a struggle, but it had to be done. A turn of the moon after your arrival, the Lord Commander had seen you and had asked you to serve him instead. A strange request was what it was, but you did not mind. Seeing just him was an easier task. Not having to be at the beck and call of every courtier at the palace was a pleasant prospect. The Lord Commander asked for little and barely spoke in the beginning. Then he slowly loosened his tongue.

He would ask after you, and your family. He would even laugh if you said something amusing. The moment you walked through the door and he caught sight of you, his eyes would light up. They would also follow you everywhere.

You did not notice at first, but you felt it. A strange but pleasant prickling sensation crawled up your spine whenever your back was turned. When you turned, Eönwë would be looking somewhere else. It felt like he was not looking at all. But his cheeks… they always bore the tell-tale sign of a blush. Sometimes, his fingers would brush against yours before he locked eyes with you. He would look at you, his very gaze softening, and open his mouth to say something. Then he seemed to think better of it before looking the other way.

It frightened you. And it flattered you. Eönwë was a kind man, one who treated you with nothing but the utmost courtesy. You soon looked forward to seeing him and talking with him, even helping him with his tasks. His touch, no matter how light or tender, would soon set your heart racing. His smile was enough to make your skin tingle. Slowly, he would find his way into your dreams. They were all sweet and beautiful dreams, filled with promises and magic. Come morning, those dreams would give way to the cold light of day and harshness of reality.

Eönwë would never go beyond brief touches and tender smiles. He was the Lord Commander, and a senior courtier besides. Courtship and marriage were matters of state for those such as him. The king had to approve of his choice, and you knew the king would never approve. You were a servant and lowborn. Eru would never bless such a union; he would expect his general to wed a lady of the highest birth. Any dream you may have had of Eönwë courting you and even marrying you would have to remain just that. A dream. Nothing more.

And now you were here, in the royal box, serving everyone. Of food there was aplenty. Guests of the royal family and the court helped themselves to figs and cheese and the finest berries of the season, and later, delicate pastries, pies, herbed sausages, and roasted corn. There were flagons of beer and flagons of ale and pitchers of cool water for those who had a thirst. You stood to one side after you had served and watched while scores of heroes and warriors rode before the king. Eönwë stood out in plated armor inlaid with golden swirls, and little sapphires and emeralds. He was a vision, tall and proud and fierce, every maiden’s dream made flesh. And his eyes only sought yours.

Eönwë had dreamed of you. He dreamed of you often, and every night. He would see himself chasing you through the empty halls and corridors of Ilmarin, always missing you by mere moments. Your laughter would ring out like a song. "Find me," you would say, and taunt him, and run away from him in a swirl of silk and ribbons. "I am here," you would say again, and then you would call out from somewhere else and say, "No. I am here. Here I am, my lord."

The game you played with him, one of cat and mouse, was both maddening and exhilarating. By the time he caught you, he was out of breath. You would whisper sweet endearments to him while he carried you to his chambers. Your laughter slowly turned to soft moans while he kissed you and lost himself in your flesh. He would grow drunk on your scent and sigh when his cheek brushed against the wisps of your hair. Your nails would rake down his back when you cried out his name. His name. Just his. The very thought of it was enough to send shivers down his spine.

Eönwë was certain he was dreaming now. He glanced up at you, hiding in the shadows, the wind sweeping through stray locks of your hair. Every high-born lady had her gaze fixed on him, but he did not see them. All he saw was you.

Mercy, she is lovely, he thought. And he knew he had kept his true feelings towards you hidden for too long. Today, he said to himself. Everything will depend on today.

He shook his head when the Master of Revels came forth and a blare of trumpets sounded. The first tilts were announced, and riders went to take their places.

The rest of the day passed with warhorses snorting and charging down the lists, silks of red and green and silver and blue and every other color imaginable swirling around their saddles. Their charge would end in the splintering of wood and riders struck and unhorsed, and worse. More than one knight had to be carried off in a stretcher. Some would cough up blood. Those unfortunate few would never open their eyes at all.

Lord Tulkas was one of the riders who distinguished themselves. He rode brilliantly. His armor had been chased in silver and gold, and a golden bear reared on the crest of his helm. It glinted whenever it caught the sunlight. He first unhorsed Sir Tilion of House Archer, striking him with such force that he flew off his saddle and landed on the flat of his back with an awful clangor. The gasps from the crowd were loud, and the cheers that followed were louder still when Tilion rose to his feet and removed his helm to show that he was unharmed. He grinned wickedly and winked at a lady before walking off with his squire.

"Good thing it was not his Lord," Eru mumbled to his son. You were close enough to hear. "Oromë has a most wretched temper, I hear."

You kept your attention straight ahead, looking away only when called to serve. Eru called you and asked for something cold to drink. You made your way around lords and ladies and servants alike, only to slowly sneak into the ice cellar and find something you knew the king would like.

"Ah. Iced lemon water with honey?" Eru whispered, his silvery eyes lighting up with barely disguised glee when you returned.

"The last of it, your grace," you whisper in reply before pouring a cup for him.

Eru accepted the cup with an eager hand. "My gratitude." He drank deeply and sighed in contentment. "Tell me, y/n, how long have you been working in the palace?"

You looked at him, shocked. The king knew you by name. "For… for almost a year now, your grace," you replied quickly after remembering your courtesies.

Eru smiled. "And your family?"

"Just my mother and brother, your grace," you told him. "My father left us one day. No one has heard a word from him since then."

"Is your brother employed?" The king inquired. "Does he have a trade?"

"He helps my mother with the animals and her weaving, your grace. My brother is crippled, you see," you confided. "A hunting accident. He went after a boar and it gored his leg before it finally died."

It was strange that the king asked you such questions about your family. The others were straining their necks to listen, thinking the exchange would make choice gossip. It made you uncomfortable. Eru saw it. He turned and gave the rest such a look they withered into their seats.

"Ignore that lot," he advised, not unkindly, and held up his cup. "And thank you for this."

You smiled and dipped into a deep curtsy before melting into the shadows.

The jousts went on. Lord Tulkas went on to unhorse both Salmar of House Alqualondë and Arien of House Starfield, before losing a hard-fought match against one of his own, the lady Meássë.

“Lady Meássë of House Shield!” The Master of Revels called. “Sir Makar, also of House Shield!”

Someone started another wager. This time it was to decide if Meássë or her twin, Makar, would win. Everyone talked in excited voices. The twins had never ridden against each other before.

They took their places, their inky black chargers pawing at the earth. The twins were clad in armor enameled in the color of blood. Wisps of auburn hair could be seen beneath their helms. That was where the similarities ended. Makar was burly; his twin slender and lithe. Her helm bore a crouching lioness, his none. When the trumpets sounded they rode, the crowds crying out in unison. Their horses met in the center in a crash of wood against steel. It was a draw. They charged against each other a second time, then a third, evenly matched, before Meássë finally struck good fortune and her brother fell to the dirt. Makar, furious, removed his helm and hurled it into the crowd. Someone was nearly struck in the head. They shouted at him. Makar shouted back. His curses carried around the gallery. The jeers were loud. His twin laughed, and it enraged him. He would have done more had his lord not walked into the field and pointed to the king.

Makar stood to attention, his entire body tense. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles slowly turned white. He refused to leave, when custom demanded he do so. Finally, Lord Tulkas had to grab Makar by the arm and drag him away after giving an apologetic look at the king. Meássë followed, snickering to herself.

"Looks like Lord Oromë is not the only one with a temper," Prince Manwë observed. "What are you going to do, father?"

"Leave him be for now," Eru replied. "He has already made a fool of himself. That should serve for the present."

The next match was just as anticipated as the match between the twins.

“Sir Ossë, freerider in the service of House Alqualondë!” Came the Master of Revels cry. “Against Lord Commander Eönwë Úrion of House Ilúvatar!”

All the ladies spoke in hushed, excited tones. As an unwed lord, Eönwë could ask a favor from any unwed lady he wished. You observed discretely how they fiddled with brooches and rings and wreaths. Eönwë removed his helm and rode slowly around the gallery before stopping beneath the royal box. His dark hair had been pulled into a neat braid for the jousts. The other ladies sat up straight and smiled brightly, thinking he would address them, and them alone. The Lord Commander let his eyes skim over the crowd before they found you, keeping to the shadows as always.

“My lady y/n," he addressed you directly. "I was hoping to ask for your favor."

The entire gallery went silent. You stood where you were, struck dumb by the request. The other ladies turned to look, not all of them kind. Eönwë kept looking at you, fear and hope warring in his eyes.

His throat had tightened when he rode over to the royal box and found you still standing there, a glass pitcher in hand. What he was about to do was unheard of. Eönwë would not just be asking for your favor; he was hoping to court and wed you, a servant no less. The revelation would unleash quite the scandal at court, and he would have to take you away to wait out the storm. Eönwë considered the storm worth it, but everything hinged on your answer.

The crowd waited and watched. Those in the royal box waited and watched. You could not hide. Not now. Not when everyone was looking at you, expecting you to do something. And you had to do something. Answer him, at the very least.

"My lord," you said nervously and stepped out into the sunlight. "I... I am but a servant... your request... it... it may not even be proper."

"I do not care that you are a servant," Eönwë replied, more confident this time. "I would be honored to wear your favor. And court you, once this is all over."

There was an uproar. The other nobles were scandalized. Your heart pounded even as your ears filled with the shouts of hundreds of people. You glanced at the other ladies, those who were hoping the Lord Commander would seek them instead. They were furious, their eyes ablaze with anger. It made your blood run cold.

If he left me, you thought, frightened. I would be at their mercy.

"No one will harm you." Eönwë had seen the looks and was less than pleased. He expected this to happen, but not so brazenly. "Even if you refuse," he said, his heart gripped with fear. Eönwë feared you would refuse him. "No one will harm you. I give you my word."

You looked at him and saw only him. For once, you did not see the battle-hardened warrior of legend. All you saw was a man full of hope and fear and dread. What was it that he dreaded? Your refusal?

"My lord," you said, forcing yourself forward, each step a struggle, and turning a blind eye to the stares. "What you ask of me... the king..."

"The king already knows," Eru declared to everyone's shock. "And the king approves. And once you decide on a day, the king will gladly issue a proclamation."

You turned to face the king, as stunned as the rest.

The questions, you reflected. The king knowing your name. Him asking after your family. Did the Lord Commander approach him already?

“Lord Eönwë approached me with his intentions," Eru said, his eyes glinting with good humor. "Go on. This king is not getting any younger."

A smile worked its way across your face. Some of the others laughed. You turned back to Eönwë. His shy looks, his attempts to speak with you, they all made sense now. He wanted to court you. He even went as far as to ask the king for his blessing. All that remained was for you to give your answer. You licked your lips nervously, remembering your dreams, how sweet they were.

There will be a storm, you thought when you caught the ugly looks. And a price to be paid. Will he be worth it?

You looked at Eönwë again. He was looking at you expectantly. Perhaps the price would be worth it, with him by my side. Finally, you said, "I have nothing for a favor, my lord. Just a ribbon."

The way his deep blue eyes lit up, like they had been lit by the light of the sun itself. It took your breath away. "Then I will gladly accept it."

You placed the pitcher on a small table before removing a thin strip of embroidered silk bound around your braid. You walked right up to the balcony, hesitant to let go of it. "My mother made this for me."

"I will guard it with my life," Eönwë promised, even as he smiled at you. The fear that gripped his heart ebbed away into nothingness. His smile widened and grew when you finally let go of the ribbon and it floated down to him. He caught it and brought it to his lips. The act was simple, but the meaning was understood by everyone. He was choosing you and forsaking all others. The thought made your eyes grow wet with tears.

"I will see you when this is over, my lady," he said, before turning his horse and riding back to his place, your ribbon firmly in his palm.

tags @cilil @edensrose @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese

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willshipanything-blog · 2 years

Text

Rules of the Game- Chapter 22

A continuation of the small vignette scenes of Al and Y/N. Not too plot heavy, but that will pick up again next chapter!

Thanks again for lovely mutuals who requested certain scenes and ideas- hope you enjoy @fierytteokbokki @drag-ghoul @grabberwife42 @gremlinology @reborn-ghost and others for inspo! 🖤✨

Chapter Index Here

Or find on AO3 here

Detailed tags on AO3- MINORS DNI

Chapter 22- Still Life (2)

The Dawn

“Y/N.” Al’s soft melodic voice sailed through your mind on a gentle wave. It took you a moment and a few more utterances of your name to realize it wasn’t part of any dream. Still, you were puzzled when you opened your tired eyes, the pale grin and shining eyes floating above you in the semi-darkness, a soft grip on each shoulder. Too early for breakfast; even your half-awake mind could determine that. What it couldn’t figure out through the grogginess was Al’s newest little scheme.

“Uhh? Time izzit?” You drawled out a lethargic response.

“It’s before dawn. C’mon, dove, I got a surprise for you.” Al’s grip tightened a little to pull you up to a sitting position. You blinked hard trying to dissipate your sluggish state, adjusting to the dim light you gleaned from behind heavy eyelids. The sudden cold as the blanket tumbled from your body, combined with a vague mention of a surprise helped awaken your senses. As Al grabbed each of your hands and hauled you to your feet, the force on your still listless body crashed you into him. Jolted awake, your eyes finally locked onto his, and you smiled. It was Al. This was going to be something good.

Guided to the kitchen, Al gestured to the table, where a pile of clothes sat: a pair of jeans, a sweater, a winter coat and socks. These weren’t Al’s clothes- he’d bought the ensemble specifically for you. This felt new, and you eyes Al apprehensively as he went to grab his own coat from a chair, throwing on a dark suede jacket lined with fur. One brow raised when he saw you hadn’t made a move.

“What’s going on, Al?” You trusted him, you truly did. But in your mind, that microscopic black speck that you’d fortified inside a dark cavernous abyss, reared its head. Where were you being taken? What was he planning to do with you? After all this time, was he just going to let you go- or something much, much worse?

Al had obviously seen the panic in your face and your rapid breaths, and in two long strides across the kitchen had his arms wrapped around you, putting your head in his chest and stroking your hair soothingly.

“Hey, hey, calm down dove. Shhh it’s ok,” Your breaths evened with each reassurance, “I got you, it’s ok,” He held you at arm’s length. “We’re just going to the garden, like I promised, remember?”

You recalled that vow, one made during your rift. You worried it might have been a ruse to get you to talk to him, but here he was, following up on it. Keeping a promise, as he always would. You steadied yourself, your breath settled, and dressed quickly in the dim light. By the door, (where Al had quietly clicked open the padlock as you dressed), he had placed your shoes in a neat pair. They were yours, from before. You’d had no need for them until now. You slipped them on quickly. Through the window pane in the door, the sky had shifted from deep black to a dark indigo since you awoke; daylight was fast approaching. You looked up towards Al, unsure of how this would work, but waiting on his next move.

A pair of handcuffs was produced from deep within his coat pocket, the familiar metallic clack calling to attention the current state of your situation. After everything- he still didn’t trust you. Then again, you weren’t sure if you trusted yourself. It was a strange, almost incomprehensible sadness that struck you like a thunderbolt in that moment. That Al would do (almost) anything for you, but both of you knowing that if a promise was broken, it would be yours. He wasn’t going to give you the option to even try and escape. You preferred it, you thought. No impossible choice between choosing to stay or trying to run; if Al took away the decision, there was no chance of making the wrong one.

You held out your hands freely, but he flicked the metal around your right wrist only. The other he clamped onto his own left hand. Both of you tethered to the other, though that would remain a fact with or without the chain connecting you now. His hand moved to clasp the doorknob before he paused, pivoting his face towards you. You gazed back into his eyes, steadfast and sure. When your hands held together, interlaced tightly, you were almost positive you’d both moved to grip each other.

The door opened, and you stepped outside. Before you had time to react to the sudden chill, Al was whisking you around the side of the house, ushering you through a gate that led to a small backyard. You both stepped onto a patchy, frosted lawn. Evidence of previous life lay scattered like ashes- some wilted flowers with frosted petals lay half-dead at one end of the small yard, and fallen leaves from a now bare-branched tree had turned to mulch beneath it. The area was bordered by tall evergreen bushes; well-concealed from any prying eyes of neighbors who might choose to wake at such an early hour, though it still afforded a view of the tall peaks of the distant Rockies. In the approaching dawn light, it was truly dazzling; the sky had lightened to a muted blue, and the jagged, snow capped mountains were every hue of purple and black. The same shades as the bruises that found their way onto your skin by Al’s hand. Truly breathtaking.

“What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” You replied simply, “But we couldn’t have waited until a warmer day?” The view had momentarily averted your attention from how chilly it was, but your nose felt red and raw and your fingers that weren’t clasped in Al’s had started to numb. Al let out a soft laugh behind the false toothy smile. You glanced his way, to see him taking in the view. Seeing him out in the open, a faint uneasy sensation began to crawl over your skin, like ice crystallizing on the surface of a pond.

Your eyes flickered between Al and the distant rocky ridges. He was all you had, your entire world. The mountains were so far away, so unattainable as to be meaningless. They might as well have been made of torn purple paper on a blue canvas. The brisk wind felt suddenly like tiny blades cutting your cheeks; the bordering trees may as well have been steel bars. The cold wind stung your eyes, but it wasn’t enough of a cover to explain your sudden tears.

Your muffled sobs and sniffling noises weren’t muted by the sounds of life around you, and Al gripped your chin softly to turn your reddened face towards him. Your eyes met his through tear-stained lashes.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” You couldn’t see him clearly through your watery sobs, but his concerned voice sent tears streaming faster down your blotchy cheeks.

“I think this was a bad idea, bringing me outside. It was- it was cruel.” You croaked, trying to keep your voice quiet despite choking back pained tears.

“Oh dove. You were looking outside, that night…I thought…I want to give you what I can. What you want.”

What you wanted- it sounded like a vicious joke. The unspoken rule that freedom was the one thing he would never give you. You had looked outside, sure. Was it to reminisce? To wish? Maybe you weren’t even sure. Either way, this wasn’t even close- this was a cruel simulation of what freedom felt like, what it could be.

“What I want?!” You retorted, suddenly angry and incredulous at his choice of words. How could he possibly think this was anywhere near to what you were forbidden from having? A shushing noise blew out from behind his mask, and he moved to stand in front of you. A large hand slowly caressed your cheek to soothe you (and likely in an attempt to quell your raised voice).

As he pressed his forehead to yours, he whispered- almost pleadingly.

“I thought you wanted me, Y/N. You said you were mine.”

That injected a chill deep inside you, disseminating through your bones, deeper than any bracing wind ever could. He was right. You had wanted only two things: your freedom, and him. One had been impossible, so you had leaned into the other. And it felt good. You felt things for Al that you couldn’t describe- or didn’t want to admit.

“I know what I said. Just- please- let’s not argue.” You turned your face away, and his hand left your cheek exposed to the elements once more. You planted yourself onto the hard, frozen ground, not caring about the tug of pain caused by your cuffed, upstretched hand. Al sat beside you wordlessly after a brief moment, but you didn’t look his way. You needed to think, to ground yourself. Closing your eyes, you stretched out your legs, the dewy grass slowly seeping into your blue bell bottoms. Fingers trenched into the ground, forming dirt-brown crescents in your fingernails. You were sodden and cold, but it helped. Everything you felt, touched, heard, it was all real (you hadn’t fallen that far into madness). But it wasn’t real to you anymore. Al was your reality.

“Al?” you asked, turning to look at him. His eyes were already waiting to meet yours. “It was a thoughtful gesture. Thankyou.”

“I know it’s not enough.”

Your mouth curled downwards, grimacing slightly at the truth he uttered. It made you pity him. You, who had been taken from everything you knew, felt sorry for your captor. Al was trying. He was showing you a better side of himself: kind; caring; decent. Wasn’t it just as cruel of you to reject those ideals that you had promised to accept?

“I want it to be enough Al. I’m trying too.”

You gripped his hand, the connection in that touch more secure than the chain that shackled you to him. You sat together in silence, listening to the morning birdsong and watching those distant mountains as the sun began to rise behind them, bright flames of orange and magenta streaking the dawn sky.

After a while of quiet contemplation, Al indicated it was time to go back, get a hot shower and some breakfast. Out of the real, outside world, and back into the dreamworld of you and him. You would scrub away the dirt from your fingernails, banish the cold from your bones, shake the snowflakes from your hair. You’d wash the reality from your skin, as if it was never there. Back to the illusion. The safety. The comfort. The dream. Al. Maybe it was a pale imitation of real life, a shoddy facsimile, but you’d promised to be content with it.

Why did this feel wrong? In his haste to bestow kindnesses on his love, Al’s gestures somehow seemed to backfire into cruel taunts of an impossible life. He couldn’t bear to see Y/N spend her days in the stone prison he’d built. But Al felt the more he tried to imitate any resemblance of normality, the more he fucked it all up. Like always.

His darling dove said she was trying- but she shouldn’t have to, Al knew that. He’d regretted the things he’d forced on her: the violations he’d inflicted against her will, the assaults and defilements she hadn’t asked for. That was behind him, behind both of them. But was this more of the same? Forcing her to try and feel the way he did? Maybe that was even more cruel.

He couldn’t force reciprocation on her part- it was an impossible situation he’d thrown her into. Still, a part of Al thought that it could be possible. Some semblance of a real future together. The way she spoke to him, looked at him, made love, smiled and joked. Were those actions, those expressions on her perfect face, that of devotion and happiness? Was it akin to love? The smallest sliver of hope told him it could be.

The Gift

Christmas was coming. It hadn’t been mentioned openly, but you’d heard a few festive songs on the radio over breakfast, had seen a Christmas movie or two flicked hurriedly past on the television set. All the commercials were for wildly overpriced kids’ toys: the Atari VCS; Hungry Hippos; Star Wars action figures. You didn’t want to miss the holiday entirely, even if it wasn’t going to be some Norman Rockwell, postcard-perfect idyll. You tried to picture those sickly-sweet scenes: Al bringing home a tree, lifting you up to put a star at the top, carving a roast ham at the dinner table. Still, you’d always done something for the holidays. It felt strange that Al hadn’t mentioned any festive plans- where else would either of you spend the day? You resolved to ask him about it before you missed the season completely.

“Al?”

“Yeah dove?”

“What date is it today?” You had been playing solitaire with a deck of cards while Al sat by you on the couch, intermittently gliding his fingers through your locks or rubbing soft strokes along your back. One of his old 60s records played softly on the stereo console. You couldn’t swivel round fast enough when he mumbled how late into December it was.

“The twenty-third?!” you cried. You were flabbergasted, mouth agape at his answer. He looked a little uncomfortable, shifting slightly on the couch, but you didn’t relent. “Al, it’s nearly Christmas! Were you not planning on doing anything?”

“I mean, I don’t normally-” he stumbled over his words. You’d never seen him squirm like this, awkward at admitting how solitary a life he lived. “Max sometimes comes over, but he’s over in Reno this year. I’ve never really done much.”

A tight knot formed in your stomach. Of course, if you weren’t here, what would Al do? He only really had his brother, who seemed…less than reliable. You didn’t like to pry, but from what Al had revealed to you about Max, he’d painted a picture of a man whose life consisted of cocaine, cheap motel rooms and even cheaper hookers. Maybe Max thought that was preferable to a life like Al’s, a pretty lonesome existence. The knots in your abdomen twanged as you pictured him, sitting by himself on the couch, another lonely day passing by as the rest of the world celebrated with loved ones. But Al didn’t need your sympathy now; he had someone. He had you.

Your relationship worked on the basis that he was in charge. It always had. But right now, you were putting your foot down. You were going to get your own way, and Al was going to submit to you. You were unsure where your audaciousness had come from, but you slithered across the couch and planted yourself firmly over Al’s lap, straddling him with each of your knees trapping him in place. He instinctively gripped your hips, though was clearly taken aback when you mimicked the gesture and dug your nails into his broad shoulders.

“Well, you’re doing something this year.” You wondered if your attitude would be seen as cute, or whether it would only serve to antagonize Al. Not knowing whether he would be exciting or enraged fed your morbid curiosity and stoked the fire already simmering in your belly.

“Am I now?” His grip tightened, his own nails now burrowing into your skin, etching four small red arcs on each hip. He continued in an amused tone “Then tell me, little bird, what exactly I’ll be doing.”

“Well, I’d prefer not to eat eggs on Christmas. I’m sure the store will have a ham or a turkey left, even on Christmas eve.” You sounded like a petulant child, a spoiled brat, but you relished every word that dripped from your mouth (even if there were to be consequences to your insolent behavior). Those shiny eyes looking up at you told you there likely would be.

“And,” you added, somewhat worried you may be pushing your luck, but feeling particularly assertive with Al trapped beneath you, “People usually buy presents on Christmas.”

“Hmm,” Al seemed to ponder this statement for a moment, turning the tables to tease you now, “If you’re wanting something, you have to tell me, dove: have you been naughty or nice this year?”

You imagined the pale horned mask swapped out for a crimson Santa hat, and couldn’t suppress a wide smile at the ludicrous image: Al as some deranged mall Santa, asking whether you deserved something sweet, or a lump of coal. An exuberant laugh left your mouth, with Al’s throaty chuckle joining soon after. You both knew the answer- you’d been naughty and nice, both Al’s perfect little dove and his naughty girl.

“It’s a shame,” you sighed, winding a wisp of Al’s ashy hair in your finger, “I can’t get you anything.” The words sounded sorrowful, but the tone in which you spoke them was a little disingenuous, teasing even- and you wondered if Al had picked up on it. Your other hand had begun to crawl across his chest, fingering the top buttons on his shirt. You rocked your hips ever so slightly, and felt the strain pressing against his trousers. Desperate to spring free.

“I don’t deserve anything.” His hands still hadn’t strayed from your hips, but his grip had somehow tightened even further. You were curious how long he might hold out for, waiting for you to give him the release he so clearly desired. The power you felt was electrifying; you understood a little of how Al might feel during your lecherous games.

“Everyone deserves something at Christmas.” Your fingers had begun to unbutton his shirt, revealing his firm chest and soft stomach that all too easily enamored you.

“I certainly don’t deserve you, my little dove.”

“Well, you’ve got me.” Finally, you acceded, and quickly unbuckled his belt, dragging down his trousers until his manhood stood tall in front of your own burning heat.

“Yes. I. Do.” There he was. Finally free, the wicked side had overcome him so quickly. He moved like a man possessed, fondling under your shirt at all the places he’d held off from claiming until now, nibbling at your neck hungrily, leaving a trail of red marks charted across your skin. In this position, he simply yanked your panties to the side before positioning you above his cock, ready to lower you fully onto his eager manhood.

You chuckled to yourself at the thought you had in that moment- there was no harm in Al opening his present early.

The Wait

Now that Naughty Girl had become a regular and expected part of life with Al, you found that he loved to play the game with little variants. Sometimes it might be that he used his hands rather than the belt, heaving you over his lap and leaving your ass covered in bright red handprints for days. Sometimes he’d use the handcuffs, sometimes the belt to bind your hands together, or simply use his brute strength to hold you helplessly down as he ravished every inch of your amenable, willing body. He’d even pretended to be asleep, belt still loosely in hand, only “waking” once you’d deliberately rattled the bike lock loudly against the door frame. The thrill of being chased down and taken right there on the hallway carpet had been exhilarating. Your front had been left with all manner of bites and scratches, and your back littered with carmine-red rug burns.

You wondered whether these deviations in the game were for Al’s own twisted amusement, or to keep you on your toes. Perhaps both. In any case, you’d summoned the game that night by misbehaving, a wordless signal between the two of you that it was time to play. A plate this time; broken neatly into three chunks as you dropped it purposefully at his feet. His hands almost immediately snatched at your upper arms, curling his strong fingers into your skin before hurling you roughly backwards onto your ass (thankfully onto the mattress). He’d then calmly picked up the porcelain pieces before tutting emphatically and leaving with the plastic tray. The door thudded shut, but no lock clicked into place. The fierce, lasting look in his shiny black eyes felt more tangible than the red marks beginning to form on your arms. You were excited to play again.

Another anomaly in the usual game greeted you when you creaked open the wooden door to the kitchen to find … nothing. Al’s chair sat in the center of the room, unoccupied. A throne without its King- that was the thought that inexplicably came to mind at the scene before you.

Perhaps his plan was to worry you, but instead you chortled to yourself- maybe he’d just gone to the bathroom? Admittedly, you had waited an excruciating amount of time from when Al had left the basement. It was hellish waiting- but Al was even more impatient than you, even more likely to play rough if his little dove made him wait. But Al knew that you’d come eventually, sure as night follows day. He must be somewhere in the house.

You thought he might be lurking in some shadowy corner of a far room, waiting to spring a trap, so you were startled when you stepped over the threshold into the living room. From across the room, shining eyes looked fixedly at you between the pale horns and the downward grimace. Al sat casually, legs crossed with the belt laid across his lap, its brass buckle catching the light in a menacing fashion. You knew by now to wait for a command before acting; this was Al’s domain, his game- you were his pawn to direct and sacrifice as he saw fit.

“Hands and knees.” As gravelly and stern as ever during the game, though you took a second to react- a second too late as he growled again:

“Now, naughty girl.”

Your body and brain caught up with the command, and you dropped to the floor on all fours. Waiting again for the next move, eyes at first boring into the soft carpet but daring to glance up towards him. He hadn’t moved. He was making you wait, as you had done to him. You just hoped your shaking, jittery limbs would hold while he played this petty game of cat and mouse.

“Come here, little thing.”

You began to crawl towards him, your face reddening at the humiliating act, though that familiar heat in your stomach had begun to intensify: you enjoyed this. Just like the rest of the game, which you knew to be wrong in every conceivable way, this was another forbidden act, one which thrilled you, giving complete control to Al. You stopped when you reached him; he’d uncrossed his legs as you had crawled to where he lay in wait, and your lowered head was now dangerously close to his bulging pants.

As much as you had tried to steady your erratic, excited breaths, those breaths were snatched from you as Al suddenly gripped your throat, dragging you up to your knees, and to eye level with those two onyx voids staring out at you from behind the mask.

“Oh dove, first you misbehave, then make me wait to punish you?”

There was no right answer here. It didn’t matter, it would all end the same anyway. Al’s other hand worked at odds with the one wrapped around your throat, stroking wisps of hair from your face and delicately tracing your jawline. He was waiting for an answer with gestures of both kindness and threat.

“I’m sorry Al. Please- punish me.”

“You're not the one giving orders here!” he roared suddenly, his grip around your throat tightening, constricting your airway. Your watery eyes looked pleadingly at Al, desperately scared and desperately hungry in equal measure.

“You’re forgetting your place, wild little thing.” He released you from his vice-like grip and you inhaled deeply, spluttering to catch your breath. You noted his voice had cooled, that true rage extinguished for now. Sometimes, you forgot how truly savage he could be, but you were ardent in your belief that Al would never take things too far in this game.

He now stood, walking slowly behind you, but you knew better than to look back. He dropped to his knees behind you, legs on either side of yours, his front pressed close into your back. One quick tug and your panties were around your knees. He’d know soon enough how much this game aroused you.

“Remind me, Y/N,” he cooed, his rumbling voice transformed into his playful tone, like cloyingly sick treacle in your ears. “Who do you belong to?”

You allowed his fingers to gently brush along your folds before answering, knowing what would happen when you did. Making him wait yet again would mean rougher treatment, but that’s exactly what you craved by his hand.

“I’m yours, Al.”

Wordlessly, but with an animalistic growl resounding in your ear, his fingers entered you, mercilessly pumping and curling whilst his thumb found your bundle of nerves and stimulated it without remorse. Your toes curls and stuttered moans began to escape your lips as Al’s skilful fingers brought your orgasm ever closer with each movement. You weren’t sure how, but your trembling legs held steady as you approached your climax, your fists curled into balls with the oncoming-

His hand retreated completely, and you crashed back down to earth. An anguished moan left you, and your head swiveled to the side, where the mask uttered a sadistic laugh. He’d found a new way to torment you, then.

“Looks like you’ll have to wait now, dove,” he sneered, gripping your chin and forcing your head to face forward. “Stay there for me, and do not move.”

That bastard. Of all the things he’d inflicted on you, at this moment you thought this may have been the worst punishment of all. Leaving you on the brink of release and then yanking the rug from under you. You felt winded from the sudden emptiness inside you. Al had switched off your pleasure like a light, but your body wasn’t wired that way. It still needed that electrifying stimulation. His body pulled away from yours, and you were left alone.

As much as you wanted to obey Al’s commands, the want, the impulses your own body yearned for was greater, and after an agonizing half-minute wait, your urges could hold no longer. You sneaked a hand slowly towards your dark curls, picking up where he had cruelly abandoned his task. You found your own pleasure soon enough and came quickly, stifling your moans to keep your misbehavior a secret. You resumed your position afterwards, praying your transgression hadn’t been observed. Both the release you’d achieved, and the fear of being caught in that furtive act, made your body sweat and shake.

Just seconds after your hand retreated to its original position by your side, Al’s slow, gravelly voice hissed in your ear, just inches away.

“I hope that was worth it, dove.”

Oh no. Shit. Shit shit shit. He’d seen, of course he had. You doubted whether he’d even moved from his position behind you, instead waiting silently to see how long you’d last before you disobeyed him. He probably knew it was a guarantee, having left you so needy and wanting. Every inch of your skin goose pimpled and your mind plagued with thoughts of how Al might punish this insolent act. You tried to come up with an excuse, though you knew any defense you’d try and argue would be mercilessly cut down.

“You didn’t let me-”

“You will take what I give you, naughty girl,” he interrupted, grasping your hair roughly and yanking your head backwards with a sharp tug, causing you to cry out. “And for that little solo performance, you will take everything I have.”

With a swift, fluid motion, he grabbed your body and flung you across the carpet like a ragdoll. Your panties, still around your knees, caused your body to lurch and you fell awkwardly on your back. Before pain might even register, Al had done away with your underwear altogether. Gripping your waist harder than was needed, he flipped you onto your stomach. You were disorientated, having no control over your own limbs as Al maneuvered your pliant body to his whims, tearing your shirt off above your head and bringing your hands roughly behind you back. You put up no fight as you felt the rope knotting your hands together. More rope wound around your ankles; you were completely bound and at the mercy of your captor. But you knew- there was no mercy to be had tonight. Had this been months ago, you would have feared for your life at the violations he was inflicting. Instead, your mind hazed over with a euphoric cloud and your whole being, inside and out, trembled in anticipation of his next move.

Al raised your ass in the air, an exposed target for his wild machinations. A ringed hand moved softly over your backside, but you knew this step. You readied yourself for the first hit, pressing your face into the carpet to muffle the assured screams that would soon emanate from your lips. You were ready when the belt hit your ass, settling into the rhythm of the harsh slap of leather on skin, allowing your mind and body to freefall into that ambiguous liminal state between pain and pleasure.

Al deemed that fifteen lashes would suffice for your defiance to his commands, and discarded the belt at this number. He swapped taut leather for soft, warm caresses with his hands, momentarily soothing your fresh red welts. Lining his now freed manhood against your cunt, the tender strokes were replaced once more with frenetic movements as he slid into you fully, filling you completely. He began to thrust ferociously, his jutting movements slamming into the fresh wounds- so painfully beautiful. Your bound feet added more restriction, and Al screamed out repeatedly how tight you felt around him. Your own excited squeals might have matched his, were they not muffled by the carpet. You attempted to howl his name just as he roared yours, though in your dazed state it sounded an incoherent cacophony of vowels.

If he had cruelly denied your satisfaction before, he had careened in the complete opposite direction now; coaxing fresh pleasures from you until you were screaming into the carpet (to stop or continue? Even you weren’t sure). His hips bucking into your stinging ass, his rough touches to your hips, your breast and clit, his carnal grunts indicating he was near his climax. And the ropes that dug deep into your skin, denying any further transgressions on your part- completely at the mercy of the beast rutting into you. An overwhelming spark fizzed throughout your entire body, all too much, but craving more at the same time. You and Al came almost simultaneously, and he held himself inside of you for a moment as you both rode the comedown. He pulled out of you slowly, holding your elevated hips still as he gave one final command.

“Let’s see if you can be a good girl this time. Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

Al left you reeling on the floor while he fixed himself, before you sensed him wandering around the living room. You knew he wasn’t tidying, but instead leaving you in your uncomfortable predicament because of your insubordination during Naughty Girl. You cursed yourself silently for being so impatient, unable to wait for his touch. You tried to still yourself, urging your body not to writhe around in such an uncomfortable position. You wanted to behave, to be freed from your bonds. You wanted the softness that came after the game.

It came eventually. Al hoisted you up to stand, using his sturdy frame as a support while he cut loose your wrist restraints. He picked you up bridal style, before moving to sit on the couch, shuffling you gently back so your feet lay across his lap. He quickly pocketed his knife after cutting the rope around your ankles and rubbing them fervently, massaging the deep rope marks embedded in your skin. He did the same with your wrists next, pulling you into his lap to softly caress and kiss your delicate skin. Striped red with evidence of his punishment, but soon forgotten by the tendernesses he applied. You watched him intently, the lower mask gone now, replaced with a real, genuine smile, perfectly crooked and reassuring. You burrowed placidly into his chest, the soft sounds of his thudding heart and low breathing such a soothing reminder of how the game always ended. Al was back, taking care of his little dove, keeping his one promise. The rings you’d forged together through shared promises reflected pale moonbeams streaming through the window.

“Perfect, Y/N. You’re my perfect thing.” Those words of affirmation always greeted you after a game well-played. No longer his pawn, but the Queen to his King. Your lips finally met, both of you smiling through the passionate kiss. Al still cuffed both of your wrists in his hands. Free from your restraints, but unequivocally bound to him. You still knew. Knew how sinful and depraved this all was. But even a corrupted version of perfection felt in every way right to you.

The Plan

Al sat in silence in his armchair, a much-needed whiskey in hand. He’d reluctantly left his little bird sleeping in the basement, as he did every night. More and more, Al found these solitary moments especially somber, giving way to melancholy when his mind wandered through past memories.

Moments alone were necessary, though thankfully quite a rarity these days. He relished the company of Y/N, spending every moment he could in the presence of his exquisite thing. She warded off the loneliness he had felt for years- and in return, what had he given her? A dank basement cell. Pain, violence, scars that would never heal. Even if she had relented, given in to his sadistic torments, those facts would remain.

Yet, despite her suffering, she had given so much in return. Her whole being, her goodness, her forgiveness, and her freedom. No, Al realized sadly, taking another sip of alcohol, burning his throat as he tried to drink away the anguish- she hadn’t given her freedom. He’d taken that from her. That’s all he’d ever done, really. Taking what he wanted without pity, without remorse. It was not an equal exchange and Al would be forever in debt for what he’d inflicted on Y/N. He’d never be able to pay reparations to even come close to what was required.

He was trying though- and he knew she could see that in everything he did. The good far outshone the bad these days, but Al still pondered over the past, wondering if those awful things tainted the present. Another burning sip of whiskey to try and drown the hurt.

Al tried to picture better times in his mind, like flicking through old family albums of summer holidays and celebrations (a difficulty when Al had experienced so few of those comforts in his own life). But he thought of the pleasures he and his dove enjoyed, warm touches and soft kisses, the games she played willingly. The love he felt. The type of love he’d never given to anyone before. He had loved so few things- his mother, and Max- but this kind of love? It was reserved for only her. No-one had come before. No-one would come after.

He hated these feelings of remorse and anguish that burned his insides more than the cheap whiskey. But he deserved them, he knew that. He wondered if those feelings might ever be abated. He could let her go, give her the thing she desired the most. But no, Al thought, downing the rest of the glass tumbler, she was far too precious to give up. And he was far too selfish and scared to allow that to happen. He was a coward.

Such wild ideas. Al surmised the alcohol had gone to his head- even considering the thought of letting his most precious possession go. Rage and madness must have overcome him, as he looked down to see the glass in his hand smashed in an iron grip, blood pouring down his arm. He hastened to the sink to throw away the mess and clean up, forming a new plan, one of clarity and purpose.

He had a surprise planned for Y/N, just a few days from now. If it went well, he would muster the courage to say aloud the things he felt- to speak the truth to her. That he loved her. He was unsure of what the response might be, but he would say it regardless. Al regretted how seldom he made brave decisions. But this time, he thought this act might be the hardest thing he’d ever done, a brave choice for once in his pathetic life.

#the black phone #the black phone fanfic #the grabber x you #the grabber x reader #grabber x you #grabber x reader #albert shaw x you #albert shaw x reader #slasher fandom #the grabber #albert shaw

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soygarlicsauce · 2 years

Text

(Joongdok)

An oldie from my notes app. Kdj has a one night stand with a drahn (a man with draconic features) and lays three adorable eggs.

🏷: mentions of mpreg 👍

————————————————

Kim Dokja woke with an aching head and equally aching body. All he could recall was going to town to meet up with Han Sooyoung, friend and fellow mage, but she didn’t show due to an emergency at the her research facility. Since he was already at the pub, he thought it would be a waste not to have a sip of their special spiced ale and a warm meal. He might of had one too many cups but why did he feel like his limbs were gonna fall off.

He looked over and realized why. What laid next to him was an Adonis who looked as if he was sculpted by the twelve deities themselves. Along his built body were black scales, he had curved horns and a long thick tail. It then dawned on him that he had slept with a stranger… Not wanting to confront the handsome drahn, Kim Dokja tried to get up before falling off the inn room bed. Were they wrestling in the bed? He didn’t think intimate activities would render someone immobile. Unable to move, he mustered as much mana his tired body had to teleport home.

A day since “the incident”, as Dokja called it, had passed and he felt like shiet. He was craving all sorts of delicacies his limited cooking abilities could not make. His stomach was also growing. Kdj panicked but settled for rolling himself in a giant blanket, smelling the shirt he stole from the handsome stranger to comfort himself. Kim Dokja wasn’t a creep, he swore on the twelve, it’s just the smell was too good. But it got to the point he needed to call for help. Kdj was going to call for Han Sooyoung but felt like Yoo Sangah and Jung Heewon might be better at handling the situation.

Kdj: hey guys ^^

Ysa: Dokja, what happened now? ^^

Kdj: I think I’m pregnant…

Ysa:…

Jhw:…

Kdj: surprise :D

The two were immediately on site. Male pregnancy wasn’t common in this world, but there was a case right in front of them. Sangah looked through tomes to figure out why Kim Dokja was having children. As for Heewon, she put a firm hand on making sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid or life threatening. Strangely Han Sooyoung wasn’t answering her communicator.

Jhw: I’m surprised the first one out of the group to have kids is you.

Kdj: Me too.

Jhw: Did you even sleep with anyone? This seems more like a magic incident than anything else.

Kdj: I did…

Ysa and Jhw: YOU WHAT?!

They scrambled to find the mystery man even though he said it wasn’t necessary. But there wasn’t a single clue on who or where the mystery man was. And so a week passed and Kim Dokja gave birth to 3 healthy…eggs?

Then it dawned on everyone… The reason why they couldn’t find the baby daddy. Kdj had slept with a dragon…. Well that didn’t matter, cause kdj vowed to raise these eggs well.

Jhw: Do you think he’s gonna be ok… We all just found out that he slept with an ancient dragon that are supposedly extinct.

Ysa: It’s alright, we’ll figure it out. Let’s just enjoy the moment for now ^^

Things were going great. Dokja was raising his eggs well. He sang them lullabies, read to them every day and held them close. Sangah, Heewon and Hyunsung came to visit often, but Sooyoung was still out of reach. Kim Dokja felt content until one evening after tucking his eggs in bed, he heard a rumble.

Outside his cottage was a giant black dragon with a golden eye. Kim Dokja clutched his eggs close and peeked outside. The dragon stared straight at him.

Yjh: I’ve finally found you… Let us go to my nest.

Kdj: I don’t know who you are but my home is right here.

They were locked in a staring contest before the dragon broke the silence.

Yjh: Dokja… You blatantly propose to me and now you ask who am I?

At this point the memories were flooding in and Kim Dokja really did propose. Drunk. But it was never to a dragon. It was to the drahn man. With black scales. And a glowing golden eye.

Kdj: You’re the stranger?!

- end

#orv #joongdok #soygarlicwriting

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wanderyears · 2 years

Text

a (modern) OFMD rec list

or, do it again, but make it *au*

a small adventure by gangnamstiles @sassygwaine “So, you’ve seen the Stede Bonnet shit,” Jack says, plunking down his tankard and straddling the stool.

“See, you all keep saying ‘shit’. That’s so vague. Be specific for fuck’s sake,” Edward says, locks his phone and tosses it on the table in front of him.

“This pompous little amateur had the nerve to ask for a review on his new podcast,” Izzy spits the word like that’s not what they’re doing.

had we lived by nasri Izzy is always the first one to arrive at the pub, signing off on shipments and taking stock, and if Edward shows up it will be just before last call, when Izzy is dead on his feet and can’t say no to a single thing. Truthfully, though, he rarely can.Every day starts and ends exactly the same way, until a particularly chatty history professor begins sharing his morning commute.

like a flower in bloom, how the ink flows over your skin by changethecircumstances Stede finds that being a convicted felon makes job searching near impossible when the owner of a flower shop takes pity on him and gives him a job. It starts as just Stede fulfilling the requirements of his parole. He certainly didn't agree to the offer with the thought the business and the people around it would change his life.

squid-life crisis by nerbert Ed begins to tell fun facts to the strange fancy man who visits the aquarium each day.

dealt a soft hand by mintly @mintly “Are you sure you’re not married?” Stede swallows. Something is tickling the back of his mind, a memory or dawning realization or the hangover exasperated by the flashing lights of Las Vegas spilling onto the disheveled bed. Stede pulls at his left glove, alarm coiling in his gut.

Ed snorts in amusement. “Yeah I’m sure. I think I’d remember if I got hitched.”

“Would you?” Stede says shakily. He holds his hand between them. Around his ring finger is a band matching Ed’s exactly. Brand new, without a single scratch on it, golden and lovely.

we should just kiss (like real people do) by al_ex_an)d_er_hamiltons @al-ex-an-d-er-hamiltons “I mean, I can read a little.” Ed continued, his tone defensive, setting his books down and throwing himself into the chair beside Stede. “The basics, you know. C-A-T is cat, whatever. But big words trip me up, and sometimes the letters get blurry and move around the page.” Ed ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. Stede watched as Ed tried to gather his thoughts, unable to keep himself from admiring his dark eyes and long, salt-and-pepper hair.

“And when is the exam?”

“In four weeks,” Ed said miserably, slumping over the table.

“Ah,” Stede murmured. “Well, we’d better get started then, eh?”

clean slated state by justkeeptrekkin @justkeeptrekkin Stede is ready to 'get back out there' after his divorce, but he's more than a little bit intimidated by the concept of online dating. After a series of truly terrible first dates, he's close to giving up on love altogether. Perhaps he's too old for all this Grindr nonsense.

And then, along comes a bartender called Edward Teach.

on an aisle in the sun by macbetha @macbetha When Stede formed Lighthouse Wedding Planning, LLC, the last event he imagined himself organizing was his ex-wife’s wedding to her long-standing boyfriend, Doug.

then the smilin’ starts to hurt by bayaningbituon Ed is trying to relax on the beach, and gets interrupted by two kids and their handsome dad.

this tired world could change by gangnamstiles @sassygwaine One summer day, two unlikely paths cross in the alley behind Bonnet Group’s towering skyscraper: Stede is at the end of his rope, and Ed’s just taking a smoke break. Of course, after they’ve become inseparable, Ed’s past catches up to him as Stede tries to find a way out of his own obligations, and the solace they’ve found in each other is threatened.

i wanna take you (to a gay bar) by tenely He was honestly quite flattered the fellow had messaged him, despite the circumstances. Too bad he’d have to let him down. Since this wasn’t Stede’s kind of thing. He was only on the app as the result of a prank, after all, even though he couldn’t see the humor in it for the life of him.

awake and unafraid by animosities Five times Ed borrows something of Stede's and one time Stede borrows something from Ed.

or:

There’s a man in Ed’s poetry seminar who equally baffles and intrigues him.

kiss my lipstick on by vera_dragonmuse @dragonmuse Ed stumbles into a drag bar, then a relationship. He might as well fall into a fresh understanding of himself while he's at it.

#blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd #steddy hands #rec list #our flag means death #mine

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snackleggg · 3 years

Text

Another day in the life (another night in the afterlife)

~~~

Danny has some unconventional pals

~~~

The wind was cold that morning. The streets empty.

It was early. It was also one of the two days in seven where humans didn't rush around as much.

The sun hadn't risen yet but the sky was quickly lightening into a paler blue. The clouds in the distance began taking on a pink hue as dawn was on the verge of breaking.

It was peaceful, quiet.

She landed at a familiar window. The room was dark but a form shifted under the covers of the bed.

She pecked the window with her beak to alert the resident of her presence.

Slowly, and with a muffled groan, the heap of bed sheets rose until they fell, revealing a young human-looking boy with black hair and piercing blue eyes. She made eye contact with him and they stared at eachother for a moment before a sigh escaped him and he opened the window.

She flapped her wings a bit at the sudden warm air that came rushing from his still-dark room but she also welcomed the warmth.

"Edra... you know you don't have to wake me up every Saturday morning. I would never forget to come by The Nest" The young boy said, referring to the raven by the name she had liked the most out of the ones he had suggested he call her.

She quickly flew inside the warm room and landed with practiced ease on the human-looking boy's desk. She refers to him as 'human-looking' because she, like many other creatures, could tell he was not human, at least not all human. The humans called them 'ghosts' but that didn't sit right with her either. He was not completely human and he certainly was not completely ghost. There was a word, an untranslatable word in her native tongue for what he was. For now she would settle for Twilight critter, just like the time of morning she woke him up at every seven days.

A huff escaped him as he got out of his bed "You know I'm starting to think you only come here in the morning because it's warm" He said with a playful smirk.

She skwaked in response, a sound humans and other creatures would not understand the meaning of but she knew that to him it would come out roughly as "Ungrateful! Edra comes all this way for you Twilight and this is how you treat her? Oh! Grounding for Twilight! Grounding for three cycles!" In just as playful a tone.

A laughed escaped him, a foreign sound to her but one she knew meant he was happy "You can't ground me! You aren't my mom! And anyways who will tend to The Nest if I'm grounded?" He got up and began retrieving things from around his room.

She took a dramatic moment to consider this with a tilt of her head before she responded "Edra supposes Twilight is not grounded for three cycles on the condition of extra head scratchies for her and her children"

"Deal" He said as he pulled a hoodie over his head.

He opened the door to his room but paused. He held the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie open and she happily jumped in, quickly maneuvering around in the pocket to make herself comfortable. With her head poking out the side she came in from she gave a small head bob to let him know they could go now.

The journey out of the quiet house and towards the nest was peaceful, with Twilight critter humming a melody she did not recognise but liked anyway.

They quickly made it to an abandoned house on the edge of the town. The "For Rent" sign still in the window despite everyone knowing the old place had long been claimed by nature.

He passed through the rotting locked door with one of his strange not-human abilities. The sensation made her shiver and huddle a little deeper into the hoodie's kangaroo pocket.

As they entered she heard the sounds of all the residents of The Nest. She could hear the cats scratching on the old furniture and the pitter patter of their paws on the wooden floor were accompanied by a few soft mewls as they noticed Twilight had arrived. She could hear the owls and bats in the attic, the nocturnal creatures settling down for sleep as day broke. She could also hear the ravens and crows on the second floor of the house, waking up and fluttering their feathers getting ready for the day.

"Remember, all bones and inedible left overs go in the compost pile in the back yard!" He called to the cats sprawled across the ground floor's furniture and elevated surfaces. She could smell the scent of blood that told her they had already caught a few early morning mice, maybe the owls had some left over to give them from their night hunting.

He made his way up the creaky steps, each one letting out a familiar creak that she had heard many times before.

Now on the second floor she could hear her children calling out to her so she decided to take her leave from the comfortable hoodie pocket. Her sudden departure didn't even phase him, they had done this many times before and she hoped they would continue to do this many times to come.

As she landed in her own personal nest where all her babies called to her, she watched on as he checked with the crows and ravens that shared the second floor. Making sure that none of them had any fights or disputes with any of the other residents of The Nest.

She quickly made herself comfortable in her nest, her babies hiding themselves in her feathers. After he was done he came up to her nest which layed on a lower shelf of an old empty bookcase.

As promised he gave her and her children extra head scratchies, her children chirping out with joy at the familiar presence.

"Twi! Twi!" They called, the sounds of their native language still not coming naturally to them as they were still learning.

"You guys know my name is Danny, or Phantom. I don't know why you all always insist on calling me all these different nicknames" He chuckled before getting up to check with other residents.

She shook her head. Such names were for humans and for ghosts. The creatures of the nest knew better though. They knew he was not one or the other, but a little of both and a little of something new. Something unique.

So while the cats meowed to him "Doorway mouse", and the owls and bats chirped "Walking cadaver", she and the ravens and crows would skwak "Twilight critter" for he was a small thing but something between the night and the day.

The dawn finally broke and light filled The Nest through the old broken windows.

All Edra could think was that Twilight was fleeting but beautiful.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom fic #my writing #animals #tw blood mention #phic

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snowbellewells · 3 years

Text

Self-Promo Sunday: “Into the Unknown With You”

Another one shot from my assorted collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” - this one playing with some of the ideas I would rather have seen in 6x10 and 6x11, it certainly diverges from canon at that point...

Summary: As Emma searches for a way back home from the Wish Realm, help comes from a surprisingly welcome source...

{One more Author’s Note: The “awfully big adventure” bit is a tiny nod to J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.}

Can also be found on AO3 or ff.net

“Into the Unknown with You”

by: @snowbellewells

‘No, no, no!’ Emma’s mind reeled horrifically as she stared at the spot where only moments ago the portal had been whirling, her way home to her son and her pirate wide open. She wanted to scream; it couldn’t just be gone, and yet, a second too much hesitation, and the chance was lost. She looked to Regina anxiously, her fists clenched so tightly she felt the impressions her nails cut into her palms. It was all she could do not to rail at Regina, this whole twisted world, and her own bad luck.

‘What now?!?’ she wanted to demand, wanted to shake her former nemesis turned tentative friend, but one glimpse at the other woman’s stunned, disbelieving face staring across the shoreline at her presumed dead True Love, and Emma knew it would be a lost cause. Having stood beside a grave in grateful stupefaction at her own love’s miraculous return to life not so long ago, Emma couldn’t find the heart to remind Regina just yet that she had spent the last day preaching that none of their surroundings or those they encountered in the Wish Realm were real, and hurry her along. She too found herself blinking dazedly at this other – very convincing – version of Robin Hood for a few moments.

Even if her heart was still crying out for her home and her family, for Henry’s soft hair tickling her nose when she placed a kiss to the top of his head, and Killian’s arms enfolding her, she didn’t know where to go in this topsy-turvy version of the homeland she had never actually lived in, and so she had to wait – more impatiently by the minute – until one of these two, either queen or thief, snapped out of their spell and led the way…

As it turned out, Robin Hood was not the sort of outlaw who would truly do harm to two ladies passing through his territory. He wouldn’t have even made to steal their jewels and furs once the same trance that had overcome Regina seemed to strike him mute as well, but Regina offered him a pouch of coins that had been strapped to her waist and a ruby ring, pressing it into his calloused palm with a quirked smile and the assurance that “she insisted, she was much more partial to his cause than he knew”.

Emma wanted to snort at the ridiculous understatement those words were, and she only barely managed to hold back a roll of her eyes, which she sensed the thief saw but let slide with a conspiratorial wink.

Before she could make an argument for trying to catch up to Gold – or Rumplestiltskin here, she supposed – or ask where they were going to find another bean, it was evening, they were entering a forest in the gathering dark, and soon they had been welcomed to sit around a roaring fire with Robin’s motley crew, and even been offered the ale and venison passed around the circle as if they were part of the merry band.

“Now,” the archer began, seated beside Regina, his boy nodding drowsily on his lap. He looked around her to meet Emma’s gaze head on. “You must be thinking that I owe you an apology. Clearly you were about to leave this place, and because of me, you missed your ride.”

She tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, not wanting to get them kicked out in the cold, or to lay blame on him for something he couldn’t have known, but instead, to her own mortification, she felt hot tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Though her sight grew glassy, Emma refused to let them fall. “So,” she tried for flippant, even if it fell horribly flat, “does that mean you know where we could get a replacement bean and want to help us get it?”

“Actually, Princess Emma,” Robin winked, a knowing sort of mischief in his eye, “I just might.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The following morning dawned misty and cool, but fair, and Robin greeted Emma at the simmering coals of the previous night’s campfire with a welcoming grin, Regina at his side on the stump they used for a seat, looking as soft and at ease as Emma had ever seen her, her head resting on his strong shoulder seemingly still half asleep. She and Regina had talked at length the night before, and at long last Emma had accepted that Henry’s adoptive mother wasn’t returning with her yet. “I know he isn’t the same Robin, that this whole place is built on a whim, but I’m not losing him again,” she had whispered vehemently. “There has to be another way to get back…one that he could take as well…if he wanted to…” The emotion welling in Regina’s dark eyes had been raw enough that Emma finally consented to go on without further fighting to change her mind, only giving a nod in affirmation when Regina had asked, “You’ll explain to Henry? Tell him I mean to return as soon as we both can?”

“Ready, your Highness?” the sandy-haired outlaw asked, breaking into Emma’s recent memories once more and looking down at her from where he now stood at the ready. “We should make the harbor by noon, if we set out now.”

“The harbor?” Emma asked breathlessly, dazed for a moment by what this could mean. Her heartbeat kicked up in both anticipation and dread. Surely he wasn’t here too…was he?

“Yes,” Robin answered her spoken question with an amiable nod as he kissed the back of Regina’s hand in farewell and turned to head off with Emma on his heels. “I happen to know a pirate with whom I sometimes trade my less than lawfully acquired goods. He might have just the sort of thing you need to return home…”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The sound of gulls crying and wheeling overhead and the creak and groan of the wooden docks as they reached the edge of the shore town and neared the sparkling blue harbor was enough to take Emma’s breath away. Robin took a step forward to lead her down the docks, already offering to make introductions, but Emma stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

There before them, as recognizable as always, was the Jolly Roger, bobbing proudly at anchor. Though most might be intimidated by the sight, Emma drew in the first full breath she’d had since remembering herself in this strange realm – as if she had gotten her first real glimpse of home at last. He might still be the vengeful Captain Hook in this reality, but somehow she wasn’t afraid. He would never truly hurt her – and she only wanted to be at his side again without further delay.

Reassuring Robin that she could take it from there, Emma bid him goodbye. Though he looked uncertain, the archer took her at her word and left her with his best wishes. If she clutched his hand a moment longer and a bit tighter than would be normal and bid him be safe a little too fervently – well, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone here…

At her first step onto the gangplank, a shudder of recognition ran through her, as if the vessel itself was welcoming her back aboard, shivers skittering along her spine. At first glance, the ship seemed deserted, her crew perhaps gathering supplies or unwinding at the nearest tavern, but the air around her wavered, charged suddenly, letting her know she was not alone. Emma felt even before she heard heavy footfalls on the planks or that deep, commanding voice at her back, asking who went there, that she had not gone undetected by the ship’s captain.

Turning, her eyes found him, hungrily drinking in the details; altered, but still without doubt the man she loved. The dark hair was windblown and unruly, practically begging for her fingers to delve into its soft abundance and brush the fringe back off his forehead. Though the strands might be shaggier and generously shot through with grey, it made him no less attractive to her starving eyes. In fact, she only wanted to stare at him all the more, to catalogue every difference, trace the deeper crow’s feet around his eyes and the added lines on his forehead. Those fathomless blue eyes were lined so liberally with the kohl she hadn’t seen him use for some time in their modern Storybrooke life that she almost wanted to chuckle at the effect until she registered the way the blue of his gaze also looked paler – as if washed out by too many tears shed alone and without comfort, or dulled by pain held back because he couldn’t afford to let it show.

Brandishing his moniker, and that dastardly, flirtatious mask he had long since let drop around her, to full effect, Captain Hook stepped well into her personal space. “And who might you be?” he questioned, breath warm on the shell of her ear as he leaned in, hook lifting the heavy rope of her golden braid and tucking it back over her shoulder. It was an achingly familiar gesture and he stood much too close for calm comfort, sending her pulse fluttering again, and yet no recognition lit his gaze as he studied her; the fond devotion she had come to rely on more than she could say was utterly absent, making her heart ache and crack in her chest.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” she answered as sturdily as she could, raising her chin and meeting his eye with as much confidence as she could muster. “I had hoped to speak to you on a delicate matter of some importance.”

“A delicate matter, is it?” he asked, his enunciation and the way his tongue caressed his words seductively had not been altered or diminished in the slightest, whatever else had changed. He stood back to his full height, fingers in his waistband, hips thrust forward and looking every bit as sinfully irresistible as he ever did, complete with that wide-open, chest-exposing red vest she had witnessed once in their trip to the past through Zelena’s portal. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have been fooled by the bravado, but knowing his heart as only a True Love could, she saw the emptiness behind the lascivious look, the pain within the façade – the proper, honorable lieutenant he had been, hating the persona his course had forced him to adopt. Even as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, letting his eyes trace her curves from head to toe almost lewdly, she could see the regret clouding the pupils and the wistful longing – as if he could sense what might have been.

Unable to stop herself, Emma reached forward impulsively, grasping both his hook and hand tightly as she spoke, “Yes, very…but just maybe…I was meant to find you. Maybe you’re the only one who would believe me.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Another hour found them below deck in his cabin, seated at the scratched, weathered wooden table which had served him in his lonely meals for ages, Emma’s hand still clinging to his hook where it rested on his thigh, but the other reaching up tentatively to trace that faded scar she knew so well beneath his eye. Hook – though more and more her Killian with every passing moment – had scooted closer to her on the roughhewn bench, blinking in awe as she saw hope returning to his face. He appeared both afraid to believe her words, but also desperate for them to be true.

“So you’re telling me that all of this around us – this whole life – is an illusion?” he asked haltingly, not daring to move his eyes from her face, as though he thought she might disappear as quickly as she had come to him.

“Well, yeah, basically,” she tried to explain. “Or more like…it’s a possibility that didn’t actually come true. There’s this v-villain in my home, in the real timeline that I come from, who made a wish that reset things, and I was sucked into it. I have a son, family and friends, a-and another version of you…who’s my True Love…there missing me. And I have to get back to them.”

“There’s another me?” he breathed, and where anyone else would have been skeptical, he looked merely stunned, wanting. “And…we’re…together?”

“Yeah, we are,” she whispered, laying a hand over his rapidly beating heart and drawing comfort from its rhythm. She already felt stronger, more certain, even with this iteration of her pirate. Her watery smile quirked up into a bit of a smirk at one corner, “And don’t worry, he’s still devilishly handsome.”

Her captain’s eyes fell to their joined hand and hook in his lap, huffing out a laugh at her words. “More so than I, I’d wager,” he murmured.

Emma hummed under her breath, reaching out to run her fingers along a grey streak in his longer hair. “I don’t know about that,” she offered. “There’s something pretty appealing about this model, grey hair and all.”

“You flatter me, Milady,” he teased, that voice still a sinful purr rumbling from his chest as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to its back. Still, emotion welled up beneath the flirtation, making his magnetic gaze all the harder for her to escape. She was blinking, nonplussed and floundering for some audible response, when he straightened and pulled her to her feet with him. “Enough lollygagging then! I’ll prepare the old girl to set sail. It’s time we got you back where you belong!”

For a moment, Emma was stunned anew. This full-on piratical version of her True Love, who didn’t really even know her and had no reason to do anything she said, had not only chosen to believe her story, but was going out of his way to help her – just as he had ever since he turned his ship around to take her to Neverland. The lump in her throat was almost too much to speak around, but Emma managed to croak out, “You really would give anything to help me, wouldn’t you?” even as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Aye,” he affirmed, looking a bit like he was marveling at that fact himself. “I am not sure I fully understand, nor can I explain it to you, but I sense that I would – that I am almost compelled – to help you in any world or time you would appear to me.”

“Thank you,” was all she could really say in response, her wondering smile nearly blinding him with its brilliance.

“Come then,” he offered her his arm, his speech all business again, even while the pointed tips of his ear flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and praise. “Above deck, and we’ll be off. I know someone who deals in nigh impossible to procure objects.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Standing beside him at the helm just a few short hours later, wind in her hair and the salt spray on her face, it struck Emma that though she was desperate to get home, to make sure her son, her family, and her Killian were alright, she didn’t want to simply abandon this pirate captain beside her. She didn’t know what would happen to him, if he would find something to live for, something to be part of, or if she was dooming him to his quiet desperation…even if he might simply vanish into nothingness with the rest of this ill-fated wish. She didn’t know what happened next, to be completely honest. Laying a hand on his forearm, she gazed up into his face, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what becomes of you, or this realm, when I leave here and go home,” she admitted. “I’m not sure if you all just go on like it never happened, if you cease to exist, if you wander here aimless forever…I just…I don’t know…”

Covering her hand with his, he guided the ship with no more than his hook rested capably on the wheel. “Worry not, Princess,” was his confident response, fervent resolve painted over his strong, careworn features. “We shall still set things right, as they should be. Whatever comes after this – infinity or oblivion – will be an awfully big adventure.”

Tagging: @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @wefoundloveunderthelight @apiratewhopines @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @ineffablecolors @drowned-dreamer @thisonesatellite @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @xhookswenchx @hookedonapirate @blowmiakisscolin

#self promo sunday #cs canon divergent ff #season 6 divergent one shot #into the unknown with you #wish realm fix-it fic #of a sort?

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hp-nextgen-fest · 4 years

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2020 HP Next Gen Fest Reveals!

The time has finally come for the 2020 @hp-nextgen-fest reveals! Thank you so very much to everyone who has made this fest such an amazing success! We were incredibly impressed with the overwhelming enthusiasm you all have for our favorite Next Gen characters. Everyone who submitted stories and art, and those who read, reviewed and recced: You guys are amazing!! It's been really great seeing everybody's fantastic creations, and we hope you all enjoyed the fest as much as we did! Without further ado, here's a list of all the amazing participants who worked so hard to create fabulous things for this year's fest!

ART

@miakagrewup drew AcciDental Magic [Rose, Hugo, & Grandparents | General] Hermione and Ron are called away for a case and left without their usual child-minder when Molly falls ill. Hermione’s parents step up to keep Hugo and Rose, in spite of Hermione’s warning that the two little ones have some big issues with accidental magic. The story is told comic book style, with illustrations and voice bubbles.

@eleonorapoe drew Woke up married! [James Sirius/Teddy | General] They get well and truly bladdered at Albus's stag do and wake up in bed together with matching wedding bands...

@mad1492 drew Sunday Practice [James Sirius/Teddy | General] Teddy thought that morning practice on Sunday was going to be something he would soon regret, but things may turn more interesting than expected.

@julcheninred drew Introduction [Albus, Severus, & Albus Severus | General] Albus Severus Potter gets to know the men he's named for by asking them about the experiences, memories, and motives that shaped their lives.

@garmrr drew Eyecandy [James Sirius/Teddy | General] After months of extensive Auror training, Teddy comes with the Potters to the beach. James. Cannot. Stop. Staring. At. Teddy. Shirtless.

FIC

@cassiaratheslytherpuff wrote We Keep Loving Anyway [Albus Severus/Scorpius | Explicit | 7.1k] After Albus finds out Scorpius is part vampire he can’t stop thinking about being bitten. He can’t stop thinking about Scorpius in general, but that’s been the case since he was fifteen. At least, when it comes to Scorpius he’s used to not getting what he wants. He’s happy with what he has, or at least, comfortable. That is until he accidentally asks for it, then it all starts to change.

@polly-darton wrote The perks of Veritaserum [James Sirius/Teddy | Explicit | 5.1k] James drank a long-lasting version of Veritaserum and is miserable and Teddy is having the time of his life. That is, until they’re both having the time of their lives.

@gracerene09 wrote Thunderstruck [Charlie/Teddy | Explicit | 2.6k] There’s not a lot for dragon tamers to do when stuck inside during a storm, but looking at this particular new recruit―well, Charlie can’t help but think of a few ways they could pass the time.

Quentin_threepwood wrote Hair Today, Hair Tomorrow [Albus Severus/Scorpius | Mature | 1.7k] Away on a book tour Albus Severus Malfoy grows a very creepy mustache, much to the horror of his still at home husband Scorpius Malfoy.

vitruvian8008 wrote Mission in Nairn [Draco/Lily Luna | Explicit | 7k] Lily Luna Potter is paired with Draco Malfoy for her first Auror Mission. On their last night, she decides to act on the lingering tension that had been building up between them.

@nerdherderette wrote No Other Alpha But You [Albus Severus/James Sirius | Explicit | 7.1k] Scorpius Malfoy has applied to be Albus' heat partner. There's no way James is letting that happen.

@aneiria-writes wrote The Scorpion King [Albus Severus/Scorpius | Explicit | 3.8k] Scorpius Malfoy, AKA the Scorpion King, has ruled Britain ever since his father turned his sights to conquering Europe. With his right-hand man and most trusted advisor, Albus Potter, Scorpius has a life of elegance and power. But he's had enough of the beautiful women that usually grace his bed. Scorpius has decided he wants something else in bed. Something more. Scorpius Malfoy wants Albus Potter.

@motherofmercury wrote Islands of the Upper Air [Lily Luna/Luna | General | 1.5k] Lily Luna has never liked her namesake, or her strange and sometimes absurd way of looking at the world. But a weekend full of ancient rituals and mountain forests is an eye opener, in more ways than one.

@shipperysails-bookofspells wrote Expecto Patronum!! [James Sirius/Teddy | Mature | 45.7k] James Potter had always known exactly what he wanted; to open a pub of his own, maybe travel the world, and live a simple life with the only man he’d ever loved. For years he waited, quietly determined to help Teddy see what could be between them. But just when everything he’d ever dreamed of was finally within his reach, it was ripped away in an instant. With Teddy missing, and presumed dead, James is left to pick up the pieces. John has no idea what he wants. He doesn’t even know who he is. But when he hears a strikingly familiar voice – on an otherwise ordinary day – he sets out to discover everything he can about the man that occupies his dreams. And Harry, well, Harry just wants to put his failures behind him. Until a series of unexpected events forces him to reexamine a case that he’d given up on solving. With the help of an unexpected ally, he just might find the answers he’s been looking for.

@lovealpenglow wrote lily's potter [Lily Luna/Lysander & Lily Luna/Draco | Mature | 8.3k] "But what if I keep it? What’s the contingency plan there?” She took a seat next to Lily. She spoke slowly, as if she was thinking about it for the first time, too. “Well, I mean, you keep your baby. You raise it. You love it. It goes on to do wonderful things because it’s a Potter.” Lily snorted. “It’s a Potter?” “Why not? I mean it’s just as much you as whoever is the father. Why shouldn’t it be a Potter first?”

@micheleblack wrote Snaked a Claim [Albus Severus/Scorpius | Teen | 1.6k] Everyone knew Albus was gay from age five when he would dramatically swoon every time Goncalo Flores the Quidditch player was mentioned. Twenty years later and Harry still tells the tale - much to Al’s embarrassment.

@ladderofyears wrote And I Fell Heavy (Into Your Arms) [James Sirius/Teddy | Explicit | 9.1k] When James Sirius Potter travels to America for three weeks, the turquoise-haired Healer Teddy Lupin misses his boyfriend very much indeed. Luckily, Teddy has (sexy) floo calls, charmed obsidian pendants and hastily made chastity promises to keep him busy. Based on the following prompt: Absence makes the heart grow fonder... Right? Smutty phone!sex? Longing letters? All up to you!

@veelawings wrote Dirty Duelling [Albus Severus/Draco | Explicit | 6.1k] Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want (Or — fucked up Dirty Dancing with wand fights)

@eleonorapoe wrote Albus’ Private Lesson of Sex Education [Albus Severus/James Sirius/Teddy | Explicit | 4.5k] Albus has some doubts about sex. Luckily he has an older brother, who can initiate him. How does this lesson go? James will be the teacher, Albus his good and obedient student and Teddy will be more than happy to serve them as a learning tool. In which a delicious Teddy sandwich is served.

@faeheyjesper wrote Four Reasons [James Sirius/Teddy | General | 8.1k] There were a couple of things James should've considered more seriously before coming back to work at Hogwarts as the new Flying Instructor. His dad being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor there, for one. The fact that he hadn't really flown since a career-ending injury had put an abrupt end to his Quidditch fame two years ago, for another. His ridiculous, teenage crush on Teddy Lupin, his friend and Hogwarts' newest Charms professor, perhaps most of all.

@26timesbrighter wrote An Interlude [Lavender/Victoire | Explicit | 4.9k] Victoire is supposed to be chasing a serial killer, not shagging her uncle’s dead ex-girlfriend.

@drarryruinedme7 wrote Mint & Apples [Harry/Teddy | Explicit | 4.3k] Teddy Lupin's not-quite-wolf has chosen Harry Potter as his mate, that's all. He hasn't got a crush on his best friend's father, really. He also definitely isn't obsessed with Harry Potter's scent.

crazyparakiss wrote This is Love [Albus Severus/Scorpius | Explicit | 24.8k] Most of Albus’s bad life decisions can be summed up in a word: James. When he got a shitty tattoo in the Fifth Year—done by some bloke in a dirty flat—well, that was James’s idea. When he got picked up by Aurors for doing hallucinogens—James was the one who’d convinced him to do them at a party. That time they stole the flying motorbike Dad gave to Teddy—James was the one who insisted it was a rite of passage to drive it over London at dawn. Neither Dad nor Teddy was impressed with that explanation. Now, here Albus is living another bad choice that was born of James’s influence.

@gaeilgerua wrote The Balance Between Studying and Relaxing [Rose/Teddy | Explicit | 3.7k] Rose has been studying non-stop for her upcoming barrister exam. With Hermione attending Hugo’s Quidditch trials for moral support and Ron away on business, there’s only one person available to keep an eye on her. And Teddy is only too happy to take the role.

@r00wscribbles wrote The last ones to know [Albus Severus/Scorpius | General | 5.2k] Albus and Scorpius have a very close relationship. Everyone can see it. Perhaps they are the last ones to know jus how close they are.

@ohdrarry wrote You've Got A Second Chance (You Could Go Home) [James Sirius/Teddy | Teen | 16k] “What about James?” James, dear Merlin, not James, not again. His boy, his son, the brightest star in the constellation of Harry’s patchwork family, not him. “I think he’s relapsed.” – They tried this when James was nineteen and Teddy was twenty five. It crashed and burned. Teddy ran away to Finland and James... well Teddy's about to find out what happened to James, now that he's back two years later.

@maraudersaffair wrote Falling for You [James Sirius/Scorpius | General | 1.2k] Scorpius didn't care about Quidditch until he saw James Sirius on a broom.

@diligent-thunder wrote Heart-Shaped Ottoman [Draco/Teddy | Explicit | 6.3k] Draco has had interns before, but none so bothersome as Teddy Lupin.

@whenshereads wrote Living With Our Eyes Half Open [James Sirius & Scorpius | Teen | 5.5k] James didn’t mean to get his brother-in-law kidnapped alongside him that morning, but that is definitely what happened.

@shiftylinguini and @gracerene09 wrote Faim [Albus Severus/Scorpius | Explicit | 9.6k] "So, this is the city of love!" Scorpius declared, adjusting the straps on his backpack. Albus wrinkled his nose. "City of pigeons, more like," he corrected, stepping around another fat, grey bird Or: Scorbus go to France.

@articcat621 wrote Unexpected [Lily Luna/Pansy | Explicit | 1.2k] Draco and Harry's engagement party brings about an unexpected, but not unwelcome, event.

@fidgetyweirdo wrote Remember to Forget [Albus Severus/James Sirius | Mature| 17.5k] The moment they kissed, James and Albus knew that they'd never be able to live without this -- too in love to walk away. Years later, and well into adulthood, the possible repercussions of their relationship feel very real and very scary. Without the strength to break it off, they're left with a single solution: a company that specializes in erasing and altering memories. Now the only thing left to do, is to say goodbye.

#scorbus #jeddy #jalbus #pottercest #jorpius #scames #dralbus #HP Next Generation #hp next gen #harry potter next gen #hpnextgenfest #hp femslash #hp cross gen #masterlist #reveals #2020 fest #mod post

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brasskier · 4 years

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Inspired by @valdomarx, @therogueheart, and that one anon, here’s a post-mountain Deaf!Jaskier story. Read it under the cut below or find it on my ao3 here.

Geralt stumbled upon Jaskier for the first time since the dragon hunt early the next spring, at a crowded market a week or two northeast of Oxenfurt. He'd stopped into town to stock up on supplies and maybe pick up a contract or two before moving along. If asked, he'd insist it was a series of hunts that brought him so close to the Academy, that he might as well follow the coin. And if he happened to run into his bard (ex-bard?), and happened to have the opportunity to apologize, and the bard happened to choose to follow him again? Well, so be it.

He smelled Jaskier before he could see him, head perking up and eyes searching the crowd for the flash of a colorful doublet and that soft brown hair. The market was teeming, thrumming with chatter, and just as vivacious as Jaskier himself.

"You goin' ta buy that or not?" The stall keeper asked, jarring him back to his abandoned transaction. He dropped a few coins on the stall, pocketed the herb, and disappeared without so much as a grunt. Weaving through the throngs of people, he relied on smell - on that familiar chamomile and saffron - until he finally spotted a glint of emerald green, and the strap of a lute. He watched from a distance.

Jaskier's hands were flashing about as dramatic as ever, glancing back and forth between the balding man tending the stall and another man standing beside him. His companion was as flamboyant as he was, dressed in a regal blue and arms waving about just as exaggeratedly. But then Geralt realized he couldn't hear Jaskier, which was unusual, because the bard had never in the two decades he'd known him been able to keep his voice down. The crowd was certainly cacophonous, but not that loud.

"Jaskier?" He drew a little closer and called his name tentatively. The bard didn't seem to react, carrying on with whatever he was doing. He tried again, a little louder, and then a third time, increasingly forcefully. He was getting irritated now - how dare he pretend to not hear me - and was tempted to simply move on. With a heavy sigh, he approached even further, lingering just a few paces behind him. "Jaskier?"

"Think someone's calling you," the stall keeper announced, jerking his head in Geralt's direction, and Jaskier waved his hands again before turning to follow the man's gaze. He blanched when his eyes finally met Geralt's, mouth hung open and hands dropping to his side.

"Geralt?" He squeaked out finally, dragging a hand up to his heart. There was an unusual quality to his voice, Geralt was quick to note. Not hoarse, like he'd heard him after many a late-night performance. Just different.

"Jaskier," he repeated, casting his gaze down to the russet dirt at his feet.

"Gods," Jaskier breathed. "Just - melitele's tits - I just…" He trailed off, wringing his hands together. Geralt couldn’t help but think he looked like one of the stray fawns that would occasionally stumble upon his campsite and linger frozen for a few moments, cast in the firelight and trembling with fear.

"It's okay, I know." He kept his eyes trained at his feet, trying to pin down the bard’s tone. The way Jaskier produced certain sounds, dragged over his vowels, a little bit of its usual edge missing. He must be overwhelmed, Geralt concluded, but he wasn't particularly convinced. "I'm sorry." He waited patiently, uncertainly, for either his acceptance or rejection.

"I need you to look at me," he said instead, surprising Geralt. He did as he was told, lifting his chin to face him. "Can you repeat that?"

"I'm sorry," he reiterated. He felt frustration welling again - he got his apology, does he really need me to repeat it? - but he quickly quashed it.

"Thank you, Geralt." He could see the emotion brimming in Jaskier's eyes. "We have a lot of catching up to do." Jaskier glanced sideways for a moment, fidgeting with one of his rings. "Perhaps we could share a drink? There's a tavern not far from here." He jerked his head to the right. Geralt grunted, and Jaskier raised an expectant eyebrow.

"Sounds good," he clarified. He was becoming increasingly convinced that Jaskier was toying with him for pleasure's sake. He knew full well how to interpret the Witcher's grunts, after all. And yet the expression drawn across his face looked impressively genuine. Humans are weird.

Jaskier uttered his thanks to the stall keeper and turned to face his companion - who'd been waiting patiently behind him - again. He wagged his hands about wordlessly, and it finally dawned on Geralt that this was not his usual theatricality - this was common sign language, and he wondered when exactly Jaskier had picked it up.

Jaskier was quiet most of the way to the tavern but seemed to perk up once they were seated - in the far back corner, Jaskier's choice. Geralt spoke first, determined to get this apology over with and behind him.

"I'm sorry about what happened." Jaskier tilted his head as he listened, chin resting on folded hands. "What I said was wrong. I shouldn't have blamed you, and…" he exhaled sharply, as if apologizing - or, more specifically, being honest and vulnerable - caused him actual pain. "The best blessing life has given me is finding you again." Jaskier's head tilted impossibly further, and then came the tears, and - fuck - did Geralt say the wrong thing?

"That's awfully sweet, Geralt," Jaskier eventually choked out, and he relaxed a little. "I'm sorry, I just--" He dragged a hand across his face. "That was so kind." He sniffled into his sleeve before finally re-righting himself. "I guess I'm just a tad sentimental." Geralt forced the best smile he could manage across his lips. "Gods, it's been so long. Go on, tell me everything you've been up to."

"Not much," he replied between sips of ale. "I'll tell you everything later." He chided himself as soon as the words left his mouth for just assuming there might be a later. "How have you been?"

"Hmm?" He sighed, fighting hard to keep from rolling his eyes.

"How have you been?" Jaskier seemed to spark to life again at this.

"Oh," he said simply, pushing his hair behind his ear and chewing on his lip. "Well, I returned to Oxenfurt, taught for the winter. I just headed out, actually. I've been a bit preoccupied." He leaned in closer, stared past Geralt at the wall behind him. "I, uhh, I got sick, coming down from the mountain." Geralt hummed, drawing a slow sip of his ale. "I mean, I kinda woke up sick, but then there was the dragon and…" He rubbed his thumb against the rough wood of the table. "Well, I was a little distracted. I don't even really remember making it off the mountain, to be honest."

"I'm sorry I didn't notice." Geralt might as well get all his apologies over with at this point, he thought. Jaskier waved a hand to hush him.

"I woke up at a healer's. Apparently someone had found me not far out of town and dragged me in." He let out a shaky exhale. "He said I'd had an infection in… In my brain." Geralt watched him with a sour mix of pity and regret, unable to shake the feeling that he should've been there. The image of Jaskier, waxy pale and slumped unconscious, trembling in a stranger’s arms, burned into his mind. "Anyway, I'm lucky I survived. But my hearing did not." Oh. Fuck. Suddenly the pieces slid into place - the sign language, the strange quality to his voice, the incessant requests for Geralt to repeat himself.

"Fuck, Jask, I'm sorry." He rarely shortened Jaskier's name, but he knew the bard liked the nickname, and it was the least he could do for him. His mind reeled with regret. He should've been there. A random stranger shouldn't have been the one to find him and rescue him. If he'd known, he'd have never - no. No, what he did was wrong outside of the context of what'd happened next, and he was not about to qualify it. Jaskier, for his part, seemed relatively unfazed.

"Nothing you could've done about it, really," he insisted, running his finger along the rim of his glass. "The healer said I just needed to fight it off on my own." This did absolutely fuck all to ease the guilt gnawing in Geralt's gut. Questions swirled in his head - how was Jaskier going to sing or play anymore? Could he still compose even? How was he going to survive; that was how he procured coin, after all? Was he… was he happy? Did he blame Geralt?

"I know, I just… can you still sing?" This question seemed to amuse Jaskier, who laughed heartily.

"Yes, Geralt, I can still deliver my fillingless pie." Geralt couldn't tell if he was serious or not, and while he used to be able to read his voice a little more consistently, he was unsure now and kicking himself for not making a better study of the bard's facial expressions and body language when they'd been together.

"You know I didn't…"

"I know. I know you didn't mean that." They sat in silence for a beat while Geralt wracked his brain for his next question.

"How? Do you sing, I mean, if you can't hear. How are you even talking to me?" He shrunk behind his tankard, suddenly embarrassed by the utter lack of tact that'd never bothered him before.

"Well, one of the perks of teaching at a premier Academy is access to some of the finest physicians this side of Nilfgaard. I'll be honest, it took a lot of work to relearn how to sing and speak; I was mute for most of my travels back to Oxenfurt, mostly out of shame." Geralt's stomach churned, imagining Jaskier entirely and utterly silent. That wasn't the bard he knew. His Jaskier never shut up, mouth constantly running faster than a horse, always a story to tell or a song to share or a joke to crack. And certainly never worried about whether anyone else wanted or needed to hear him. Jaskier was not quiet. "But fortunately I still have a tiny bit of my hearing - on the lower end, mostly, which is good for you. Plus I have decades of muscle memory, so it wasn't so bad. And as for right now? I'm mostly lipreading, though the pitch of your voice is helpful." Geralt couldn't tell whether he was being genuine or just trying to placate him. "It's just different. Have to feel it more than hear it, which if you ask me more musicians should try."

"I'm glad," Geralt gritted out, nodding at the bartender to bring another round of ale. "That you can still sing." Jaskier beamed.

"I knew you always liked my singing," he declared triumphantly, arms folded across his chest.

"Did you already know common sign?" Geralt asked instead of retorting with something snarky; let the bard have his victory.

"A tiny bit, but the language professor at the Academy was fantastic at teaching me." Geralt closed his eyes and tried to envision the odds and ends of common sign he'd picked up over his years of travel. "I made a lot of Deaf friends; they've been so supportive of me." With a sigh, Geralt decided to give it a try.

"I know a little," he signed, tentative and deliberate. Jaskier's eyes lit up.

"You do?" He signed back, eyebrows raised and grin spread across his face.

"Not much. I can…" His hands slowed, wracking his brain for the sign for learn. He sighed again and said it aloud instead. There he goes again, assuming Jaskier will stick around long enough to warrant learning more. Jaskier teared up again, and he cursed inwardly, wondering for what must've been the trillionth time that afternoon if he'd messed up.

"You'd do that? For me?" Jaskier squeaked, pawing at his eyes with a hand tucked in his sleeve.

"Of course." For a moment Jaskier looked like he might fling himself across the table and into his arms, but instead he fidgeted in his seat.

"That's enough about me now, isn't it?" Jaskier asked, always a master at changing the topic when he grew bored with it. "Tell me about your hunts." He leaned over, fished around in his pack, and plucked out his notebook and pen.

"First was an infestation of drowners," Geralt began, taking extra care to face Jaskier as he spoke, and pausing when he went to scribble something in his notes. They spent the next hour like this until, just as Geralt was beginning to wonder if the bard was going to force him to talk all night, Jaskier was tugged to the front of the tavern while excited patrons clamored for a performance. Jaskier obliged, as always, and Geralt watched, as always.

When Jaskier dropped back into his seat, shuffling his lute unceremoniously to the floor beside him, Geralt expected him to bid him a hurried goodnight, get on his way, and leave. Just a nice day catching up shared between two friends (?), and decidedly not the start of their next joint adventure. But instead of any of that, Jaskier called to the bartender for another mug, busied himself fixing his hair and his doublet.

"Told you I could still sing," he said with a wink as the bartender deposited his ale on the table in front of him. "And something to eat, please," he added before returning his attention to Geralt.

"I never doubted you," Geralt's reply came easily. It was, perhaps, the truth.

"Now then, would you say it has more or less filling now?" He leaned forward on his elbows, cheeky grin and narrowed eyes, and even Geralt could recognize the facetiousness of his words. Before Geralt could answer, he waved a hand, as if dismissing himself. "So, where were you? Something about a missing cow?" Geralt nodded, leaning back in his seat.

"So the boy told me his father would pay me, if I could find the cow. So I said, 'how much?'" He continued on with his tales, no matter how excruciatingly mundane they felt to him, until Jaskier's head dips forward and then picks back up for a third time. "Think it might be time for you to get some sleep?" He asked, and Jaskier blinked away the sleep in his eyes.

"Yeah, probably," he muttered, scrubbing at his face with one hand, the other dipping down to reach his lute. "Are you staying overnight?" He asked, and immediately flushed at the confused look he received from Geralt. "I just mean… I don't… you can't leave before I get to say hi to Roach."

"It's too dark now. I'll get a room at the inn." Jaskier’s face lit up, and he followed him in rising to his feet. "Just have to grab Roach first," he said when they finally made it out the door and into the cool early-spring night.

"M'kay," Jaskier hummed with a fond smile. He rested a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'll see you in the morning." It was a firm statement, certain and unquestioning.

"See you then," Geralt replied, heading back to the stable where he'd docked Roach so he could bring her closer to the inn. And he, too, was certain.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #henry cavill #joey batey #mountain breakup #deaf jaskier #deaf character #fanfiction #the witcher netflix #ao3

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mattelektras · 3 years

Note

hii jessie, I recently got a ps4 and I was wondering if u had games recommendations :)

oooooh i do!! a lot of these are kind of obvious choices but they’re obvious for a reason

first off i think going for remastered games is a good move because they tend to be cheaper because they’re older games, and a lot of them you can buy in collected editions and get multiple games for like half the price of a single new game

control - linear story based, kinda trippy and weirdly lovecraftian??? genuinely one of my fav games in recent years

remastered uncharted!! a classique. 4 games following the same characters (plus a dlc) so u really get Into It

the outer worlds - generally just a fun game w some surprisingly unique features despite it being a fallout/mass effect mash up?? the story isn’t it’s strongest area but i think it’s aim was mostly to like. make u have fun and u will so

borderlands!!! 1, 2, pre sequel, 3, tales. the old ones are remastered and bl3 is huge i had so much fun with it for such a long time. which to be fair is the case with all of the main games?? they’re a lil stupid and humour is a huge part of them so. they can be ridiculous but there’s some serious shit too. probably my favourite franchise??? i think???? story and action/murder based. side missions for daysssss AND a lot of dlc

dishonored & dishonored 2 are some more classics. story n character based and has the unique high/low chaos mechanic which makes it very replayable imo. very atmospheric w great world building

the witcher 3 has its problems because cdpr is… not the best company in the world. but it’s a great game objectively and the main characters are hugely lovable and for a game with a lot of murder and monsters the driving force behind it is familial love which is super nice. and i say this as someone who does not enjoy familial love. also your choices will matter more than u think which is neat

god of war is honestly beautiful to look at n the story is just as good. a lot of interesting mythology i did not know about before i played it

if you like stuff that’s less traditionally difficult and action based then there’s choice based stuff like life is strange (et al), heavy rain, until dawn (if u like horror), erica (honestly i’ve never played anything like this i don’t even know how to describe it. it’s like. a movie that. you play?), oxenfree, the wolf among us, dark pictures anthology: man of medan (more horror), everybody’s gone to the rapture

both spiderman games!! marvel does not make good games so the fact that they’re BOTH great and incredibly satisfying to play is a miracle

ghost of tsushima - last years best game for sureeee. the supporting characters are SO good, it’s gorgeous and the story is great too

there are a LOT of assassin’s creed games for ps4. the newer ones like valhalla and odyssey are good and have new mechanics like romance and choice in playing male or female which i love. but they’re HUGE and. kind of a grind which the main story can get lost in imo? a lot of the earlier games have been remastered for ps4 like ac2, 3, brotherhood, revelations, rogue. and i think of the newer ones, syndicate is the best. imo??? it has the most classic assassins creed vibes

wolfenstein - nazi murdering time babyyyyy. AND the added bonus of it being a genuinely great game. very like. smart too

if you want to a) get your feelings hurt or b) stick with a character that you create and build for 3 whole games then mass effect is the One For You!!!!! super recently remastered so you get all 3 games plus essentially every bit of dlc for all of them for the price of one. it’s not a game it’s an experience. the same goes for dragon age but unfortunately the only one you can play on ps4 right now is inquisition

tomb raider (followed by rise of, then shadow of) - classics again!!!!! women are so pretty!!!!! similar to uncharted so if you like one you’ll probably like the other

honourable mentions: bioshock, red dead redemption 2 (unfortunately, the first isn’t available for ps4 which kind of sucks because i think you enjoy 2 more if you’ve played 1), resident evil 2 & 3 remakes, the arkham trilogy remastered, sekiro and prey

#q & a #anonymous #this got long but i wanted to give u OPTIONS

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remedialpotions · 4 years

Text

Dawn

As a thank-you to the lovely folks on the HPRomione discord who made my job organizing the inaugural Secret Santa gift exchange so easy and delightful, I wrote this toothache-inducing fluff. Special thanks to @al-in-the-air for schooling me on how to *properly* make a cup of tea; I will never speak the words ‘fire kettle’ in your presence again. 😘

ffn ao3

Ron yawns and stretches his arms up over his head, revealing a sliver of pale skin below the hem of his shirt. Hermione likes him like this, bedraggled, warm from sleep, peaceful. In these pre-dawn hours, having been coaxed from the warmth and comfort of his bed, he is the most natural, authentic version of himself.

“Remind me again,” he says, sitting down next to her on the carpet. “Why couldn't we have done this last night?”

“Oh, we could have done,” replies Hermione briskly as she taped a piece of wrapping paper into place around a box, “if you and your brothers hadn’t got so invested in your game of charades-“

“Erm, have you forgotten that George cheated at one point and we had to redo it? We may be business partners, but I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen-”

“-then we could have left at a reasonable hour.”

“Ahh, well,” Ron chuckles. “Worth it to see Percy trying to mime ‘The Wizard and His Hopping Pot’.” He stretches his long legs out before him and surveys the scene beneath the lowest branches of the tree. “Looks like you’ve got most of this done already, have you been down here a while?”

“Oh,” says Hermione as she picks up a gift tag and a quill. “Yes, I woke up a bit earlier than we planned.” At the tilt of his head - he’s clearly about to ask why, since they didn’t Floo home until well past one in the morning - she quickly adds, “but everything we left out for Father Christmas is still over there. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Right!” With remarkable energy for such an early hour, Ron jumps to his feet and retrieves the tray they left near the hearth the evening previous, which bears a plate of biscuits, a few carrots, and a small glass of whiskey. “This is the best part of being a dad.”

Halfway through addressing the gift tag - to Rose, with love from Father Christmas - Hermione looks up and quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Eating stale biscuits at seven in the morning is the best part of being a dad?”

“Maybe not the best, but definitely a perk.” Ron sits himself back down on the carpet beside Hermione, tray in front of him. “It’s a bit too early for the whiskey now, though, innit?”

“You can probably just leave it,” agrees Hermione. “I don’t know that Rose will really notice it’s different.”

“Yeah, I suppose she’s not even two yet,” says Ron as he snaps one of the biscuits in half and pops it in his mouth. “But I’d like to at least try to keep up the illusion.”

Hermione affixes the gift tag to the box and sets it under the tree. “Do you know how I figured it out? That there wasn’t a Father Christmas at all?”

“I assume you did the maths and realized there’s no way some bloke in a sleigh can make it round the world in one night,” says Ron with a grin.

“Close, but no.” Hermione helps herself to a biscuit - then quickly realizes it’s the last thing she wants to eat, and sets it back down. “Actually, I realized that Father Christmas and my mum had the exact same handwriting on all my gifts.”

“And were you gutted to find this out?”

“Not particularly. I was a bit relieved, actually, it always seemed rather unsafe to let a strange man break in through the fireplace and eat our food.”

Ron lets out a deep, delighted belly laugh and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek. “Only you would worry about that.”

“So how did you figure it out?”

“Oh, the twins spilled the beans before I had the chance,” says Ron flippantly. “Not that it mattered much anyway, he usually only brought like, new socks and things like that.” His features turn pensive. “I hope Rose doesn’t cotton on to it for a long time.”

Hermione nods. She’s suddenly acutely aware of every tiny detail: the hush over their sitting room, the ever-present twinkling of the fairy lights adorning the tree, the knowledge that their daughter is sleeping soundly upstairs. She is not often one for sentimentality, but things right now feel perfect, just as they are.

“I hope so too. But,” she adds, more businesslike as she unfurls the roll of wrapping paper, “it’ll be quite a long time before we have to worry about that.”

“Is this the last one?” asks Ron, picking up a box containing a toy dragon that breathes warm, kid-friendly fire upon command. “I can do it.”

“Oh, I’ve got it under control.”

“You’ve done nearly all of them though.” Carefully, he prises the wrapping paper out of her hands. “You could have woken me when you got up, you know. I don’t actually mind.”

“I know you don’t, but it’s fine. I supposed at least one of us should get some sleep.” As Ron used his wand to sever the paper (he was missing out, Hermione thought, on the glorious sliding sensation that comes only when using scissors to cut wrapping paper), she hauled herself to her feet. “Do you want some tea?”

“So we’re not going back to bed after this, then?”

“There isn’t really time, Rose is going to wake up soon.”

Ron’s gaze shifts toward the sitting room window, where the first vestiges of grey winter light are just streaming through the curtains. “She does rise with the sun these days,” he agrees. “Yeah, tea sounds great, cheers.”

Hermione pats him on the shoulder as she walks to the kitchen, where she sets the tea kettle to boil. As the water heats up, she opens the cupboard below the sink and peers into its dark and disorganized depths. There, among bottles of cleaning solution and spare sponges, is a small parcel wrapped in shiny gold paper. She retrieves it from behind the drain pipe, and as she does, her stomach flutters with nervous excitement. It’s been doing that a lot the past few weeks, and now that the moment is upon her, she finds her hands trembling as she drops tea bags into mugs and pours the hot water.

It feels different than it did the last time. This time around, she knows how this is going to go, and she can’t wait.

In her eagerness, she scoops probably too much sugar into one of the mugs (which, considering Ron’s standards, is really saying something), and carries both back to the sitting room with the parcel tucked under her arm. Ron’s just taping the corners of a box closed when she reaches him.

“What’ve you got?” asks Ron, extending an arm up to take his tea from her.

“Oh, erm.” Hermione deposits herself onto the carpet beside him. “This is for you, actually.”

She places the box onto his lap. With his mug of tea halfway to his lips, Ron frowns at it, then looks up at Hermione.

“We said we weren’t getting each other gifts this year.”

“I know, but can’t you just say thank you and open it?”

“No, I feel bad now, I’d have got you something if I knew - I even had ideas-“

“If it makes you feel better, it’s really for both of us. And Rose, actually,” she adds. “So just open it.”

Ron’s brows knit together in confusion. “How could it possibly-“

“Will you just open it already?” Hermione blurts out. “For God’s sake, you are impossible sometimes.”

“All right, all right,” Ron relents with a laugh,”I’m doing it.”

Breaking through the tape, he pulls the gold paper away from the box. It’s just plain white, a garment box, which Ron turns over in his hands to pull off the lid. Hermione’s heart thumps wildly in her chest as his hands push away the tissue paper and pick up an impossibly tiny jumper: retina-searing orange, with black interlocking Cs on the chest.

Quiet falls again; seconds drag on like hours.

“This is for a baby,” says Ron softly, and Hermione sees that his hands are shaking too.

“Right.”

“And… this won’t fit Rose.”

“Right.”

Their eyes meet. Ron’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly in a silent question; Hermione’s grateful he can’t find the words, because she can’t either. All she can do is nod… but it’s enough.

His arms engulf her, pressing her face against the soft fabric of his shirt and flooding her senses with the scent of his skin and his hair, everything about him that makes her feel safe and loved and whole.

“I can’t believe it,” he breathes, lips brushing the side of her neck as the words tumble out.

Hermione pulls back just enough to look at him. His blue eyes are shining. “Why can’t you believe it? It’s not like we haven’t been trying.”

“I know, I just-“ He leans in and kisses her, soft and sweet. “I still can’t believe this is my life. I can’t believe I get to have this life with you.”

Without the words to properly express just how much she agrees, she simply kisses him again. Even with eyes squeezed tightly against the tears now threatening to fall, she can sense the new light filling the room. Rose will wake soon, to tear through wrapping paper and eat biscuits for breakfast and spend the day in her pyjamas, but Hermione hopes to cling to this moment for just a few seconds longer.

“So, all right.” Ron’s smiling at her, so broadly that his cheeks must ache. “When did you find out? How did you - I mean-“

“I’ve known a couple of weeks,” Hermione confesses, sheepish. “That’s why I was up so early today. I’ve had horrible morning sickness.”

Ron shakes his head in amazement. “You’re barking.”

“You’re not angry, are you? That I didn’t just tell you?”

“What - no - why I would be - it’s perfect, it’s all perfect.” Ron lips find hers again, working their way over to her ear. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Hermione settles contentedly into his embrace, but hardly has a chance to appreciate it when a small yet insistent yell sounds from the second floor.

“Dada!”

“Oh, that’s me,” says Ron cheerfully, releasing Hermione and clambering to his feet. “Shall I go get her? Are we ready?”

“Yes, we’re ready.”

#romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #2020 hpromione discord secret santa #tw: pregnancy #this idea has been rolling around in my head for SO LONG YOU GUYS

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codenamewitcher · 5 years

Text

Mistress of Death Part Two || Geralt of Rivia

Title: Holy Water Cannot Help You Now

Pairing: Geralt x assassin!reader / Geralt x half-elf!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Smut (18+)

Song: Seven Devils - Florence & the Machine / Worst Behavior - ALMA, Tove Lo

— ‡ —

The night that I'd met Geralt and the bard Jaskier was a strange one. I'd refused to let them run me off from camp. Yes, they'd saved my life, but I had still sat up camp there before them, and Geralt had agreed. It was that decision that caused Jaskier's face to turn so red it had almost looked like it was going to start steaming. I'd also learned that the wolf pack I'd killed was what Geralt was hired to hunt and kill, I'd told the witcher that I wasn't going to claim the money, that instead he could.

It was before dawn when I started preparing to leave. Geralt had woken up when I'd started packing, first it was silent between the two of us, him just watching me, until he decided to finally speak.

"You could've easily killed all of those wolves with chaos." I knew that his statement had a hidden question behind it, 'why didn't you'?

"I was itching for a fight." I hooked some of my bags onto Sonja's saddle. Wanting to fight was only half of the truth and the witcher knew it. When I turned around to face him again, he was leaning up against a tree, arms crossed in front of his chest, and an eyebrow raised as if saying 'that's a fucking lie'.

"You have no idea on what it's like living under Ramerd Gamward's thumb." I grabbed the last of my bags, the zhefar and arrows, and hooked them to the saddle. I climbed onto Sonja, ready to leave but I paused before I did and turned to the witcher.

"Thank you for saving me."

Geralt grunted in response, but there was something that seemed to glow in his amber eyes. I couldn't put my finger on it but when I reached the road, I knew some type of bond was formed between the two of us that left me wishing to see the witcher again.

It had been four months since I'd met the duo. I hated were I was currently staying, I hated being this close to Vengerberg.

Even though it got drilled into my head at a young age by Ramerd Gamward — who ironically was an elf himself — that neither elves nor humans would want me, I'd pick the elves over humans any day. I understood elves distrust and distaste for humans. It was a human that killed my mother. It was humans that slaughtered hundreds and hundreds of elves.

Even though it was Guleta, it was still too close to Vengerberg, it made my skin crawl and body kick into high alert mode. While I normally did this, I made sure there was no removing my cloak or its hood while I was here, but unlike normal I made sure no one could even see my face. I made sure that I was nothing but a shadow because if one of these humans found out I had elf blood in me, they'd want my head. My identity wasn't the only thing the cloak was covering, it was also hiding the elven bow and arrows, eleven sword, and multiple blades that were strapped to my body.

I found an inn in the outskirts of Guleta, it was shitty but necessary because no one would question whether or not they should let me stay. I tied Sonja to a hitching rail, already smelling the stale ale from inside, I grabbed a bag of ducat coins, and walked in. The smell hit me in the face when I walked in, but I held my composer. The inn was filled with drunken men and some wenches were spotted in some of those men's laps, the floor was sticky with spilled ale, I fought to not make a face in disgust. I walked up to the bar and asked for an innkeeper and it wasn't long after a round man with a face redder than his hair came up to me - he drank too much.

"What do you want?" He placed a large hand on the bar, leaning into it.

"I need a room for two nights and no one bothering me." I toss two golden ducats onto the counter; it was more than enough but I was in no mood to haggle with the man. The coins were gone the moment they hit the counter and a key in its place.

"Upstairs, second to the last room on the right." I grabbed the key and turned to leave when I heard a certain bard singing. I turned my head to his direction and find Jaskier drunkenly singing one of his stories about the white haired Witcher he followed around.

I turned back to the doors and walk out to see if the stable across the street would keep Sonja. I untie her and lead her over to the stables, stable boy sat outside of it playing cards by himself.

"How can I help you?" The boy asked looking up from his game when I stopped in front of him. The boy was nothing but skin and bones.

"Is there a stall available?"

"Yes, a silver ducat for a night."

"I need one for two nights," I hand him two golden coins. "Keep the rest for yourself."

His eyes widen in shock, "Thank- Thank you. Right this way." He got up and lead me to the stalls and stopped at an empty one towards the middle. "Is this one good?"

"Yes."

"I'll leave you to it then." He walked back outside, leaving me alone. I lead Sonja into the stable and started taking my bag, her saddle, and lead off. I pick up my bag once I got everything off her and dug into the bag for an apple. Once I find it, I hold it out for her, and she took it from my hand. Before she leaned down to eat, I stopped her and held her head up, so she'd look me into the eye.

"Behave."

She responded by giving me a huff of air, I shook my head and patted hers. I slung my bag onto my shoulder and left, making sure the gate was latched when I shut it. I looked up into the stall across from Sonja's to find the witcher's mare occupying it. Great.

I walk back into the inn and this time I spotted a head of white hair sitting in a dark, back corner while the bard sang one of his tones nearby. I quickly went up the stairs and found my room, I unlocked the door, and wasn't surprised to find nothing but a poor excuse for a bed that sat in the middle of the room and a little desk was off to the side.

I sat my bag on the desk and untied my cloak. I threw it on the desk and unstrapped my bow and arrows, I sat both on the side of the bed, I laid down on the floor, held my breath, and scooted underneath it. I made quick on strapping the bow towards the edge of the head of the frame, arrows right beside the bow, and got out and up once I felt like they weren't going to fall. I frowned as I dust my back off. I grabbed my cloak and slipped it on, sinking back into the shadows yet again. I picked up my keys, slipped them into my pants pocket, and left the room, locking the door as I walked out.

I wasn't thinking much as I walked and before I knew it, I was downstairs and headed towards the witcher. I didn't know why I was making my way through the inn towards him, but something was telling — pulling — me to go to him, then before I knew it, I was in front of his table.

"I don't want any company." He didn't look up from his mug of ale.

"I'd thought you'd have more of a finer taste in ale, not this stale shit." I leaned up against a support beam that'd connected itself to the bench opposite of Geralt. A smirk formed on my lips when his head shot up at my remark. I knew he could see my face hidden in the shadows of the hood with his catlike eyesight.

"Y/N." He breathed my name out with ease, a smirk played on his lips too at the sight of me. The bond that I had felt four months was back and pulling hard towards the witcher.

"May I?" I tilt my head down to the bench. One of his hands that were wrapped around his mug gestured for me to sit. I slide onto the bench with feline grace and placed both of my arms on the table, clasp my gloved fingers together, and leaned into them. We stared at each other like this for a bit both of us still keeping the smirk on our lips, his eyes almost seemed like they were sparkling as he stared me down.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, finally breaking the spell that we seemed to be in.

"What do you think?" I lean back against the back of the bench, hands still clasped on top of the table, enjoying whatever game it was that we were playing. He hummed in response. "What about you?"

"What do you think?" He shot my response to his same question back at me; this was definitely a game. I let out a low chuckle, a genuine smile gracing my lips and from the looks of it, his too. "How long?"

"A couple of days." I look down as I unclasp my hands and flatten them out on the table, I could almost feel the sexual tension between us on my skin. I fluttered my eyes a bit and looked up to meet his own again. "Why, did you miss me?"

He hummed again. "Just curious."

"Is that so?" I drummed my fingers against the table once. "Wh-"

"Who's this?" Jaskier interrupted me and stood at the edge of the table with his hands on his hips. I tilt my head back just the slightest so Jaskier could see my face, I gave the bard a shit-eating grin.

"Hello Jaskier." I purred out the words to fuck with the bard.

"Oh no, no, no, no. I don't know what's going on here, but no." He shook his finger in my face, I made a biting motion, he quickly pulled his hand back and held it to his chest, I laughed at his reaction. He turned to Geralt, "You must have you lost your damn mind? She's the devil incarnate."

There was a mischievous glint in Geralt's eyes, he just stared at the bard.

"You can't be serious?" The bard gasped.

"Well," I cut in and stood up, standing close to Jaskier, he took a step away. "It was nice seeing you two, but I've got to go." I fix my hood so the average human couldn't see nothing but shadow. "Goodnight Jaskier. Geralt." I flicker my eyes to the witcher, letting him see the playful look in my eyes.

I stepped away from the two and started for the stairs, I swayed my hips as I walked towards my room even though they were covered by the cloak, it swayed with my hips. I felt the witcher's eyes burning into my back, so I turn my head enough for the hood to move with it as if I was looking back at him.

I had gotten to my door and unlocked it when I felt the witcher's presence at the end of the hall. I turned my head to face him to find him swiftly moving down the hall, his eyes pinpointed on me. Once he reached me, I let him push me up against the door, his bright amber eyes were dark with lust, we were so close to each other our breaths were mingling together.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, my words dripped with lust. I laid my hands on top of his chest and brought my face closer to his, our lips inches apart, I flickered my eyes to his lips and back to his eyes.

He didn't say anything but placed his hand to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. So close that my lips were brushing against his. I finally kiss him, not being able to handle the proximity that our lips were at. He let out a low growl, deepened the kiss, and pushed me into the door, his knee pushing its way in between my legs, pinning me to the door.

I blindly reached for the doorknob and once I found it, I twisted it open. We both stumbled into the room but fought to keep our lips connected, he kicked the door closed once we got far enough in. I finally broke the kiss for air but he continued kissing me but down my neck as I gasped down air, one hand tugging at the tie that held my cloak in place and the other was gripping the ends of my hair and pulling my neck back so he could have better access to my neck. After I got enough air in my lungs and my cloak pooled at our feet, I turned us around and pushed him onto the bed. My eyes didn't leave Geralt's as I took my jacket and weapons belt off and let them fall to the floor. I moved to straddle his lap and he wasted no time to connect our lips once again. In the midst of our kiss, I started unbuttoning his shirt. When I got his shirt off, my hands started to roam around his chest and arms, his did the same to me but also pushing my shirt up in the process. I broke the kiss to let him take my shirt off. He's hands pushed down on my hips grinding me down on him, I bit my lip to hold in the moan.

"Stop biting your lip." His voice smokey as his thumb dragged my lip out from underneath my teeth. I held eye contact with him as I took his thumb into my mouth and sucked. I released his thumb after I was satisfied when I felt him get harder underneath me.

I rolled my hips down on him as I leaned in, brushing my lips on the shell of his ear, "Fuck me."

As if a switch flipped in him, a growl rumbled through his body and then he flipped me over, he nipped at my collar bone and undid the wrap around my breast. They met air but it did not take long for him to take a nipple into his mouth, he sucked on it a little and then moved to the other. The blast of cold air on it in contrast to his warm mouth caused me to moan, I could feel a smirk forming on his lips against my skin.

He moved away from my beast and grazed his teeth against my neck. "I'm going to ruin you."

His naturally low voice got darker with lust, another wave of pleasure pooled down at my heat. I gripped his hair, one hand pulling at the tie that held his hair back and the other pulling his head back so I could look him in the eyes. "Do it then."

"With pleasure." His smile was filled with sin, he moved down my body, his hair slipped through my fingers. His nose and lips danced across the skin of my abdomen. His fingers danced as he undid the laces on my pants, he started tugging at the waist and I lifted my hips up so he could pull them off. A loud thunk was heard when my pants, undergarments, and boots hit the floor due to the multiple knives there were strapped to or hidden within the clothes. He raised an eyebrow as if he was saying 'really', I smiled in return and sat up. I looked up at him as my fingers fumbled with the laces on his own pants and placed a kiss on his abdomen while still holding eye contact. When I got the laces untied, he pushed me back into the bed, and was already on top of me before I could sit back up to watch him strip. He grunted, fire in his eyes as he said, "I'm ruining you, not the other way around."

His lips brushed my legs with feather like softness. My back arched off the bed with his feather like touches and he took that as his opportunity to slide an arm underneath my back and he placed his other on my hips, holding me down. He bit the inside of my thigh, so close to my heat that I let out a quiet whimper, his glowing amber eyes flickered up to me and held my gaze as he licked a stripe up between my folds, a moan slipped from my lips. "You're so wet." He tutted and pressed a finger at my entrance as his tongue circled around my clit, my fingers gripped the sheets, it had been way too fucking long since I felt this kind of pleasure. Without a warning, he pushed his finger in me, so painfully slow, I bucked my hips up to try to get him to go deeper, but the arm that was behind my back was quick to move at pushing my hips back down. His tongue pressed down on my clit and he added a second figure, stretching me out while his fingers fucked me. I couldn't help the whine that I let out as I pushed my head into the pillows and squeezed my eyes shut, I needed to be fucked now.

"Geralt," I panted as his fingers sped up and I gripped his hair. "I need you now."

He pulled away from my heat, crawling his way up my body oh so slowly. He continued his torture by brushing his lips across my own. "Is that so?"

"Yes," The word was barely a whisper, but by the way his amber eyes flared, I knew he heard it. In a blink of an eye, his lips connected with my own. I could taste myself on his tongue and by the time I was fully detracted with his lips, he slowly sunk himself into me, causing me to gasp for air and him to groan. I sink my nails into his shoulders looking for a release due to the bliss. Once he was balls deep, he pulled out and slammed back into me again.

"Fuck, you're so tight." He grunted, burying his head in the crook of my neck and bit my skin as his hips fell into a steady pace and my legs wrapped around his waist. The pain from his bites and pleasure from his dick filling me and pounding into me was so overwhelming it was hard to think; all I could seem to do as he attacked my seizing body was moan and claw at his back. I could feel him as he pushed against the knot that was slowly forming in my stomach, every stroke brought me closer and closer to the edge.

"Ger... Geralt," His named was broken up by moans, I clung to his body.

"I know, wait." He grumbled into my skin, his forehead pressed into my shoulder, I tangled a hand into his hair. His pounding sped up and a hand slipped down between our bodies, one of his fingers pressed down on the swollen bud of my clit and made hard circles, I clenched around him as another wave of pleasure crashed down upon me. "Now."

The demand was all it took to send me over the edge, I screamed out in pleasure. He watched as I fell apart underneath him, my walls clenched and unclenched around him causing him to growl and bring him to his own release. My walls milked the witcher as ropes of his hot come shot deep inside me.

He fell on top of me after he finished and groaned in my ear, "Fuck."

Our chest pushed against each other as we came down from our highs, I closed my eyes and pushed my head down into the pillows, basking in the afterglow. After we both caught our breath, Geralt rolled over, pulling out of me as he did. I exhaled at the feeling of being empty of him and my body feeling heavy from the ecstasy I had just experienced.

A moment and then Geralt turned to face me, propping his head up on his arm so he could look down at me, he brushed a piece of hair away from my face. His chest was shining with sweat and I knew I wasn't any better, I was still taking deep breaths as I looked into his golden eyes which sparked with mischief.

A smirk ghosted his lips, "You know, not all of us are spoiled assassins that get the luxury of drinking expensive ale."

"What?" I laughed. He grabbed my hand, his thumb messaging my palm, a smirk played on his lips.

"My taste in ale."

"Ah," I laughed yet again, my heart felt like it was blooming with joy, something I hadn't felt in years. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face and while it felt strange, I didn't want it to leave. "You should feel honored."

He raised an eyebrow, now smiling. "Oh really, why's that?"

"Because I haven't smiled and laughed like this in a hundred years."

A chuckle rumbled through his chest; his hand now cupped my face. We laid like this in silence for a bit, just starring at each other, enjoying the rare moment of happiness we shared. It was then that I decided I had to protect this happiness and despite wanting to stay in this sunshine like feeling forever, I knew I had to change the mood between us in order to keep this same ray of light I found protected.

"Whatever it is you're doing here; I'd get out of town in two days." I say in the silence, hating that I took away the light and airy feeling around us.

He grunted and sat up and started moving to the edge of the bed, his back to me. I closed my eyes and took a breath trying to calm the empty feeling spreading back into my heart.

"I'm serious." I spoke so softly that Geralt wouldn't have heard the words if it wasn't for his enhanced hearing. "My target is going to cause the city to go into high alert and they'd think you to be the murderer." His body whipped around, his eyes burning into mine, his eyes squinting into a glare.

"Who?" It was more of a command than a question. I move to get out of bed, but his hand clamped down on my wrist.

"I can't t-"

"Who?" He cut me off, his voice darker with the demand.

"The Duke of Eysenlaan." I whispered low enough that only Geralt would hear, I didn't need any wondering ears hearing who it was.

He clenched his jaw, "Why?"

"I don't know." I looked away from him and towards the ceiling trying to blink away the tears. I hated not only the tears and the way my voice cracked at those words but also because Gamward shut me out on this one. He'd always given me a reason as to why I was killing someone, it gave me a peace of mind knowing that it was evil I was killing and not someone good, he'd known this. Not knowing why I was killing the Duke for tore at my insides, for the first time not trusting Ramerd’s intentions on this kill.

Geralt's hold on my wrist loosed and disappeared altogether, the silence killed me. I was terrified to look into his eyes. I felt the bed shift, but I didn't dare to look towards him, not wanting to see him leave. I let out a gasp as he started to pull my body towards him and wrapped his arms around me, my eyes widen in shock, this was the very last thing I'd expected him to do.

"What did he tell you would happen if you didn't follow his orders?" I felt his chest rumble along with his voice against my skin, I turned away from him.

"You don't want to know."

"Tell me anyways." I took a breath and told him everything, the amount of torture and pain that Ramerd had promised if I didn't do as he said, tears slipped down my cheeks. Geralt's arm tighten around me when my voice cracked from telling him the horrifying details. I could feel the anger rolling off him once I finished telling him.

After my confession, my body and mind were tired. And I was tired. So tired of this life. But for some odd reason, Geralt's arms around me brought a comfort to me that I didn't know I needed until now.

— ‡ —

When Geralt had first seen the assassin that night, he couldn't explain the pull his heart felt towards her, almost as if something had bound the two together, the bond hadn't stopped pulling at his heart until he had pulled her up against her door; his head pounded with thoughts of fucking her, as if he was under a spell. And now, all Geralt could think about as the assassin slept in his arms was four months ago when she'd uttered the words, 'you have no idea on what it's like living under Ramerd Gamward's thumb.'

She was right, he had no idea. He knew he had no idea when she'd said those words, but the reality of those words didn't hit him until she'd confessed the promise of torture her master gave her if she didn't complete his request.

'Her master.' Those words burned him with anger. It made him want to squeeze the life out of the man that had not only taken the life from others, but the life from the girl that lay in his arms.

The witcher knew when her voice broke while telling him she didn’t know why Gamward wanted her to kill the Duke, this normally didn’t happen to her, and that it tore at her not knowing the reason she was about to kill someone.

So once Geralt finally feel asleep, a smile found itself on his face as he dreamed about taking Ramerd Gamward's life and freeing Y/N from the bastard.

— ‡ —

Masterlist

There will be a part three! Idk when because I have to start preparing for a conference that’s in two weeks, but there is a third part in the works.

Geralt Tag: @alwayshave-faith

Tags: @pippin248 @american-duchess @agentdedf1sh @didi0666 @ayamenimthiriel @a-dorky-book-keeper @boiblunder @stretchkingblog97

If I missed anyone, please let me know. Also if you want to be added, let me know!

Also I’ve only written smut once and that was YEARS ago, so I apologize if this was complete shit.

#geralt #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt smut #geralt fanfic #the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #the witcher smut #geralt x assassin!reader #geralt x halfelf!reader #geralt z rivii #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader

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