#fiery-red horse

[tiredassmage]

is it really official if i haven't done a text post dump? /lh

last one in particular w/thanks to @eorzeashan for reminding me i had it saved already with this comment xD <3

[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding night (1) -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: general marcus acacius x virgin!wife!reader

content warning(s); dual pov, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, period typical misogyny (Ancient Rome), mentions of violence/warfare, mention (1) of sexual violence (not against reader), mentions of pregnancy, attempted bedding ceremony, reader has hair that can be pinned back, steamy kisses, crazy amounts of sexual tension, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, virgin!reader, SOFTTTTT marcus acacius, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: this has been living in my head for weeks now, along with every new photo we get of general marcus acacius because of course. this can be read as a prequel to bloodlust, or read entirely on its own. the reader insert is written as the same character in each fic.

this will be part 1 of the wedding night, and part 2 will include smut :)

---

You considered bolting as the sun rose on the morning of your wedding day. Stealing one of the nobleman's horses, putting as many miles as you could between yourself and the General's country house.

But, from what you've heard about the General, there would not be a corner of the earth that he would not find you in.

Your palms were clammy with sweat as the handmaidens pinned your hair back into a style of a bride. You wondered how they couldn't possibly hear the quick, panicky beating of your heart as each moment brought you closer to what you considered a life sentence.

General Marcus Acacius is venerated like a god in Rome, and anywhere else. Men boast about his wartime accomplishments as if they were their own, and ladies whisper about his scarred face like they would a demon within the walls.

So many rumors swirling around the Emperor's most esteemed general.

His hands were permanently stained red with blood, he burns the heads of his enemies in sacrifice to the gods, he kills men with icy calculation, takes women with fiery passion.

You could only imagine what kind of monster was waiting for you at the altar.

---

Marcus was in no good spirits on the day of his wedding, the marriage forced on him almost as much as it was forced on his...

Gods above, his bride.

The idea of having a bride was almost as foreign as you yourself were, since never once had Marcus even considered marrying anyone. With all the bloodshed and near-death experiences, he never exactly considered himself a man that was meant to be a husband. Or a father, for that matter.

Marcus tried not to shudder at the end of the aisle as the chorus began singing, sounding all to close to a death march.

At the sound of the choir, you entered into the wedding hall, for all gods and men to see.

His bride.

The world seemed to be brighter, the flowers bloomed more beautiful, and Marcus' vision turned clearer as you stepped into his sight.

For a moment, he forgot all about the blood of men on his hands. The shame that burdened him was cast off. Maybe he wasn't completely condemned to the Underworld.

The very possibility of you being his bringing him more relief than any wine or fine lady. The possibility of you being in his life was... redeeming. Redefining. Remaking.

One look, and he made a vow, but not to you. To himself.

If any harm were to come to you, he would unleash the fury of the gods upon them. He would protect you to the end of his days. Honor you, and serve you, however you may wish.

---

Fear coated your every nerve as you beheld your soon-to-be husband.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how mighty General Acacius was. Tan, broad, and mighty, dressed in fine white robes similar to yours. His bare hands were strong, made for swinging axes, throwing punches, and taking what he wanted. At the altar, he seemed to be near brooding, speaking his vows quietly, his voice like a roll of thunder.

You managed to keep your voice steady while you spoke your vows, but there was nothing you could do to keep your hands from shaking as the priest brought out the rings.

The general reached for your hand, and you were unable to keep from trembling.

His touch was warm on your skin, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he slid the gold wedding band onto your finger. You found the nerve to meet his brown eyes, finding something utterly unreadable as he held your gaze. Could it be... fondness?

Gods, he was beautiful.

His touch steadied you, though you still exchanged rings with a thundering heart.

"In the sight of Gods and men, you are now Husband and Wife. You may kiss your bride, General."

The priest's words echoed in your head.

Husband and Wife.

The general leaned forward, an unspoken question in his warm eyes.

Swallowing, you gave a near imperceptible nod.

For such a harsh man, such a dominating man, his kiss was utterly... soft. Tender. Almost coaxing.

After a moment, he pulled away first, and you could've sworn he lingered, cherishing the air between you... before turned to the cheering wedding party.

In an instant, he changed, switching from the gentle kiss of a lover to a commanding force, a man that drinks in praise like fine wine.

A mighty man, indeed.

---

Marcus tried his best to not feel too wounded that his new wife was completely terrified of him.

He felt the thundering pulse in your hand as he slid that ring on, and he wondered if you saw the wedding band as a chain, a set of shackles. It's all too true for other women in Rome.

You barely spoke to him during the wedding feast, only giving small nods and forced smiles in between sips of wine. He had a good feeling you were resisting the urge to swallow it down in one gulp.

Marcus couldn’t help but study you— at first innocently, taking in the curve of your lips, the shine of your eyes, the polite smile you gave when someone offered congratulations.

Damn his dirty mind. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued beyond what he would’ve liked, he tried, and failed, not to eye your body as a means of distraction from the rowdy feast.

It started with your neck. He traced the slope of it with his eyes, marking every freckle and curve. He prayed to all the gods that you would want him to leave his marks on you.

Downward, he peeked slightly at your breasts whilst cursing himself. Of course, they appeared perfect beneath your wedding stola, and he wondered what manner of sounds you would make when he took them into his hands, into his mouth.

And then… Gods, those hips—

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” Emperor Geta jeered, pulling you from your seat with a firm jerk of your elbow. His eyes were greedy, scheming. “Let us see what is underneath that—“

Your face flushed with either embarrassment or fear or both. And that was all Marcus needed to see.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Marcus lowered his voice to a deep warning, the kind that has sent men running for their lives.

Geta scoffed, still holding to your elbow. “It’s a wedding, Acacius, it’s your wedding. Don’t you want to show off the prize of your latest conquest? Distribute the winnings? Strip down that—“

Marcus stood, towering several inches over Geta’s slimy face. “I said… there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Geta kept his hands on you, and Marcus’s vision tinged with red hot fury.

His voice was a rumble, a threat in itself. “It’s my wedding, is it not? And I say there will be no bedding ceremony.”

People were watching now, the feast gone silent at this standoff.

Marcus knew how to pick his battles, cut his losses. But when staring down Geta, the most powerful man in the empire, he realized that for you, he would pick every single one if it meant he kept you safe.

The moments that passed were crackling, the tension between the two men sucking all the air from the celebratory hall.

Geta saw something in Marcus’s unyielding gaze, something that told him he would not win this fight, and decided the bedding ceremony wasn’t worth the scrutiny.

As the Emperor walked away, Marcus took your hand, and led you to your marriage bed.

—

You couldn’t find the words.

The general nearly trembled in rage on the walk to the bedchambers, but still, he maintained that odd gentleness, holding your hand as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

Servants opened the grand doors as you entered, showing a large room with a massive four poster bed and elegant tapestries lining the walls—

Then the doors shut. And you were left alone with the legendary, bloodletting general.

And you still couldn’t find the damn words.

You knew what came next. The husband will take what is now his.

In this case, you expected your husband to take you in the same way he took lands for the empire— violently, mercilessly, with the intention of forging new legacy, through a son of Rome.

“Before you ask, my General, I wish to assure you that I am untouched,” you blurted, quoting what your mother taught you to say before you were to be… intimate. “I am pure, though I can only hope to be worthy—“

“Darling wife,” the general said quietly, so different from the commanding force from the feast. He held your hands in his, leaning down and kissing your knuckles in reverence.

You went silent, shocked at the soft fondness in his tone.

He peered at you with curiosity, and almost amusement. “The only thing I wish from you is for you to call me by my name, not title. No general, no lord, but my name. I hear it so little nowadays that I will look forward to hearing it from your lips.”

“As you wish… Marcus,” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

Marcus let out a little sigh, like he was relieved. “It’s much prettier when you say it.”

You drop your head in bashfulness, more confused by the moment. The way he spoke so kindly, so fondly.

“You know what is meant to happen tonight?” Marcus asked, almost hesitantly. You nod, undeniable fear curling in your stomach. “I need you to understand something, my darling, so listen very carefully.”

He pulled you toward the bed, sitting you both down on the silken sheets. His eyes on yours were discerning, and intent, like he was searching for something within your stare.

“I will never, ever, force myself upon you. Not in this life, or the next, or the next. I know what you might’ve heard about me, and much of it is true, but never would I take a woman without her permission. You belong to yourself, and if you never should like me in your bed, I will honor that to the end of my days."

You blinked at him in confusion. "So, you do not... you do not want me?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, looking down at your intwined hands. "That... that does not matter."

"Why not? A husband has the right to take what is his--"

"No man has any right to take a woman's body for himself, husband or not. What... what do you think is to happen tonight?"

Heat rises to your face, embarrassed at the question. By the look on his face, he was embarrassed, too.

"I don't... I don't know how it works, but some of the other wives at court say that the consummation of marriage is one of the more... painful duties of a wife. What you are meant to do to me... it's painful," you murmured, and quickly begin stammering. "B-but is it a great honor to serve you, my--"

"May I kiss you, darling?"

Some candles had been left burning, illuminating him in a warm glow. Marcus's eyes were soft, a rich, chocolate brown in the light of your bedroom, and something about them made your core flutter like one of the candles.

"Yes... yes, please."

Marcus smiled softly, and moved his hands to the sides of your neck. They were scarred, and calloused... and so warm.

His lips met yours almost hesitantly, like he was holding himself back. They were tender, tasting of sweet wine. Fingers curled lightly into your pinned hair, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours.

You moved your mouth with his, suddenly feeling the need for... more. You didn't know what, but you just knew you needed it.

His tongue slipped against yours, and the groan that left his throat left your pussy throbbing.

"Marcus--" you gasped, losing your breath as his lips traveled down to your neck. You could've sworn he moaned in response, sucking at your pulse point, leaving it a delicious shade of red--

"Do you want me to keep going?" He gruffed, trailing light kisses along your throat.

Oh, gods, how you wanted him to. "Yes, but..."

Marcus withdrew instantly at your seemed hesitation, pulling his mouth away but keeping his hands in your hair.

"I'm fearful," you admitted, holding his tunic to keep your hands from shaking with both desire and nerves. "Not of you, but... the rest of it."

Marcus nodded, swallowing. "We could continue kissing, if you like."

You laughed lightly, the nerves mellowing for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to have you in that way, but I know that I want to. I know that I... I want you."

Marcus's soft eyes shone with fondness, but had a wicked edge to them, like he was plotting something.

"I know I want you as well, darling. I promise, I will make sure you are prepared to have me... perhaps even over-prepared."

Your brows furrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

The general smiled. "I'll show you what I mean."

Part 2 here!

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Hellbound Angel

Male Yandere Demon x Male Angel Reader (CW: Noncon, drugged reader, drugged sex, drug-like cum, drug-like saliva, big ol' horse cock, literally equine dick, belly bulge, armpit kink, scent kink, musk, underwear sniffing, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, temporarily mind-broken reader, religious themes, dehydration, forced feminization, reader has minor injuries not inflicted by yandere) Word Count: 2.2k

In the never-ending war against the legions of Hell, the middle ground where most of the fighting was done was on Earth. However, the heavenly forces sometimes deemed an incursion into Hell necessary.

You had been sent on a mission to scout ahead and take note of the coming forces.

Angels were stronger than most demons. Even so, almost your entire squad had been wiped out in a bloody ambush. The other survivors had used the one holy recall scroll to teleport themselves back to heaven.

Each squad sent into Hell is given one and only one. They probably thought you were dead already when they left still with demons in pursuit. They had to act quickly. You didn't blame them. Without it, you were trapped here. Unless you could find a demon's gate that could take you to Earth. That's how the demons made it out. But there would certainly be legions of the enemy at such places.

You had managed to escape the slaughter of your scouting party, but you were injured. Your wings had been hurt as had your leg. Relatively minor injuries, but in a hostile land, they certainly made things more difficult.

To be honest, you weren't exactly the strongest angel on a good day. This was not a good day.

You limped along the rocky landscape, using your holy staff as a walking stick. You stayed low to remain unseen by any wandering beasts or demons as you made your way out of the fiery wastelands and into the white sand desert. Hell wasn't all fire and brimstone. It was the most popular depiction of Hell's most dramatic landscape, but there were other biomes, too. Now you were getting into one of the many deserts Hell had to offer.

It was cooler than the burning wastes, but by no means was it comfortable. Water and food were scarce, the white sands were nearly blinding, and the swirling black sky was a constant ominous reminder that you were not safe.

You could go a long time without food and water. You wouldn't die without them, but after a while, you would wither up and be unable to move. You'd go into a kind of stasis. And then you'd be defenseless.

For days, you wandered. At least... you thought it was days. Despite the perpetually black sky the sun never set. Your lips were chapped, your wounds aching, hope dying in your heart. You had to find an oasis to rest at. Build up your strength. From the limited maps you had seen of this region of Hell there should be one at the heart of this desert, but with your wings and legs messed up it would still take many days still to reach it.

There were several more days of endless marching, hobbling on your injured leg that was getting harder and harder to walk on before you finally saw the oasis in the distance. You tried your best to approach stealthily, going behind dunes and sand drifts whenever possible, and wrapping your white wings around you to provide some measure of camouflage with the white sands. As you got near, it disappeared in a puff of smoke. And out of the smoke stood a demon. It was a trap.

Dark brownish red skin, sharp horns, a tail flicking back and forth, and he stood at least a foot taller than you. He was very muscular, his sweat coated abs glistened in the sunlight. He wore nothing. His long horse-like cock and big nuts swinging freely below a thick patch of black pubic hair.

You caught yourself accidentally staring and looked away quickly before readying your divine staff for a fight. Which was really hard, since you could barely stand without it.

The demon winked and chuckled.

"Do you like it~ There's no harm in just looking, you know?"

He closed the distance between the two of you in a flash and knocked the staff away in one fluid motion.

"As a matter of fact, you can do a lot more than look, little bird. My cum would make you feel so much better~ That oasis you're looking for is still miles away."

"Uh, thanks for the kind offer, but I think I will pass. I'll just be on my way and out of your hair."

You stepped back slowly, hoping to make it to your staff so you could maybe limp away and give him a good smack if he followed. But he wasn't giving you the chance.

"Oh, but you're dehydrated!"

He took a few steps forward until there were mere inches between you. He put a hand on your cheek and thumbed at your chapped lips gently.

"Your lips are all dry. Let me help~"

Before you could decline, he held your head in place and leaned down. He traced and prodded your sore lips with his long slick tongue.

You tried to push him away but couldn't do much in your current condition. And the saliva was having some kind of effect on you.

He slipped his tongue past your lips and kissed you greedily.

Your head grew fuzzy and your legs weak. His spit was some type of drug. It felt... nice...

You resisted it as long as you could, even resorting to biting his tongue, but he ignored it and continued. Moments later, you slumped against him, your head on his muscular chest. The only thought in your head as you passed out was how nice this man in front of you smelled.

He picked you up gently and carried you bridal style. It was fitting since you were certainly his little bride now, as far as he was concerned. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head and then started walking towards the underground dwelling he called home.

When you woke up, your wounds had been healed, and you felt a lot better. Though you were still dizzy. There was an intoxicating smell all around you and you didn't recognize your surroundings.

Your first instinct was to jump up and flee, but you were immediately pulled back down and placed in the lap of your demonic captor. His monstrous cock poking out between your thighs.

You looked down and realized you were naked, your soft cock and balls laying on his unnaturally warm prick.

"Let me go!" You elbowed him as hard as you could but he must have made sure you stayed drugged because you couldn't muster up any strength to put into your struggle.

"Let you go? After all the trouble I have gone through to romance you?"

"Romance!? You kidnapped me and I don't even know who the fuck you are, creep!!"

You struggled with renewed anger, smacking your head backwards, elbowing, kicking, and scratching. All amounting to you gasping for breath, tired, while he chuckled at the attempt.

"You're in Hell! I could have raped you and left you in the sand to be killed by any passing monster and that still would have been considered romance."

He placed his large hands on your legs with his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your thighs.

"I saved you from the desert, treated your wounds, let you rest for days, fed you, gave you water, and bathed you. That is damn romantic!"

He started assaulting your neck with little licks and kisses, enjoying how you squirmed in protest while sitting on his equine cock.

"As for the name that you'll be moaning when I bury myself in you, it's Tevrik."

"My friends will come back for me. You should save yourself the trouble and let me go now!"

This was a bluff, of course. They almost certainly thought you were dead. You didn't know if your deception would work, but you didn't expect him to respond with a cackle.

"No, they won't! Rathiel won't let em!"

A shudder went through you at the mention of your boss who had ordered the mission into Hell.

"He's one of Hell's best agents. Gives us lots of intel."

You were dumbfounded and fell silent a moment before regaining your composure and replying angrily.

"Lies from a worthless demon!"

"I'd never lie to you, sweetie~"

He trailed his hands up and down your thighs as he continued.

"How else did we set up that ambush? Rathiel sent you to us. We needed more angel blood. But not yours."

Your blood ran cold as he began grinding into you.

"I picked you out from a bunch of employee profiles just to be my little princess. I'm half angel myself and wanted an angel bride~ We'll rule this region of Hell together!"

He repositioned you on his lap to face towards him as his flared cock grew fully erect.

"You weren't supposed to be hurt in the battle. I'm so sorry about that. I killed the demons who did it."

You didn't even struggle when he positioned you above his dick, hot precum smearing your hole as his cock pressed against it. The betrayal drained the fight from you.

"After the battle, I just followed you for a bit, so you'd be tired. And now here you are. With me."

The precum and smell of his arousal were making you dizzier. The words he spoke brought tears from your eyes.

"Awe, don't cry. After we have some alone time to adjust, I'll take you to the palace~ You'll be royalty!"

You winced as his cock entered you, expecting pain. Surprisingly, there was none. Instead it was like every cell in your body was filled with pleasure.

This couldn't be right. You had to escape. Sex with a demon was a very taboo thing.

You started struggling but Tevrik held you still.

"Shhh, I know you're upset. But just let it happen, okay? I'll make you feel so good."

As his precum continued to dribble out of his dick and into you and as the betrayal by your trusted higher up sank in you once more lost the will to fight.

Why were you fighting anyway? This cock felt so nice. And he was so kind and romantic to go through all this trouble to get you away from your evil boss right?

You relaxed and lay against his chest as he pumped into you slowly. You looked up at him and realized he had your underwear in his hand and was holding it up to his nose sniffing the crotch.

"You smell so good, girly. So good. You feel good too."

"You smell nice too!" Then your brain caught up with the rest of what he had said.

"A-and I'm not a g-girl." Too focused on your pleasure to really care.

"Nah, you're too pretty to be a man. Too weak too. Plus you have this tight little cunt hugging my dick. You're definitely a girly~"

"O-okay."

You blushed because he called you pretty. You supposed he made a lot of sense. You were clearly a girl. You wondered why you didn't know that sooner. It felt right.

He chuckled warmly as you drooled on his chest and made cute little gasps and moans. He couldn't wait until you were moaning his name.

Tevrik didn't pound you, he didn't want to hurt his sweet baby bird. Instead he just rocked his hips into you and enjoyed the effect it had on you.

After you started making those delicious noises his demonic precum began to make you super cuddly. He continued to breed your tight hole while you started nuzzling him and leaving gentle kisses on his chest. He began grinding into you a bit faster and more forcefully, his cock clearly outlined through your belly as it nestled into you as deeply as he could get it.

"Fuck babe, I'm about to bust."

But you came before he did it. Your cock spilling silvery angelic seed on his belly as you called his name and clung to him tightly. The combined sight of you cumming while impaled by his dick while at the same time calling his name just like you promised he would sent Tevrik over the edge. His large balls filled your tummy with hot demon cum. It made you feel warm and fluttery and loved. Like you could feel his emotions through his seed.

You were so tired from all the emotion and sex that you passed out on top of him, nuzzling your nose into the comforting scent of his armpit as you clung to him.

Tevrik smiled. You were just so precious. Sadly, he knew you'd regress back into struggling against him. But that was okay. He would keep reminding you how the angels threw you away and keep breeding you full of his drug-like semen. Soon you'd crave it. He'd bed you constantly until you needed it. And then breed you as much as you wanted him to after that.

Yeah, it would take a while. But he had all the time in the universe.

Tevrik sighed with content and closed his eyes, taking your underwear and putting it back up to his nose while he relaxed with his cock still deep inside you.

You may have been in Hell, but Tevrik was in Heaven.

[rottiens]

⊹ ˚. RYŌMEN SUKUNA┊ "Not on my legs." He clarifies. "On my stomach." You ignore the flutter that lands on your belly and force yourself to concentrate on keeping your legs steady.

𖤐 about. being taken away from your village, you have to try to live and survive on your own with the king of curses.

𖤐 cw. mdni. true form sukuna x afab!reader, dubcon (since the reader is forced to be a servant), you ride the mouth on his tummy, choking kink, sadistic sukuna if you squint, dirty talk, overstim, oral ( m -> f ), set in the heian era. divider creds: cafekitsune.

Sukuna is not familiar with giving up power, though it is not surprising, after all a man who has achieved so much power to the point of being revered as a god would not expect anything different. He is not used to being commanded, though not many have tried it and lived to tell the tale anyway, yet when you told him you wanted to do it tonight, without his help (you trying to prepare yourself, stretching yourself before taking it), fiery flames charged with lust and pride covered his devilish eyes, turning them a darker red than you are used to.

Drunk with control, Sukuna is always the one who dictates when and how things happen, ordering around those who serve him, as his word is the word of a king. He doesn't remember the last time someone addressed him with such arrogance and pride in their mouth, he should punish you for speaking before he allows you to but tonight he is feeling benevolent.

"Come here." His husky voice gave off hunger and poured over your limbs like honey. The purr in his timbre brought life to your muscles which tensed and contracted with anticipation.

You rose from the floor where you lay on your stomach with your forehead pressed to the ground in submission, and walked silently to where he is. His chambers are covered by a veil of absolute silence that is interrupted from time to time by barely audible vibrations coming from sukuna who lets them out every time he exhales through his nose, something very similar to the purring of a beast.

Filled with insecurity, you get ready to climb into his lap when you are close enough and it is only at that moment when he speaks again, freezing you on the spot.

"Not on my legs." He clarifies. "On my stomach." You ignore the flutter that lands on your belly and force yourself to concentrate on keeping your legs steady.

You take a long look at his figure and end up on his stomach, where you were ordered to sit. To describe sukuna as big is an adjective that would be too small for him, the houses in your village are big, the horses are big, sukuna… was huge. A monster, was what they called it in your village and even that word might not be enough to describe the creature that stood before you.

His four arms are a wonder to behold face to face, especially up close. Two hold him on his elbows gracefully, semi reclining on the futon where he expands his body further to give you the space you need to climb to his belly; while the other two…there is one holding his jaw and another resting above his hips.

Just like his arms, he possessed four pairs of eyes that don't let a single detail escape; all of these were set on you, you could feel them moving on you, there was no way to escape from him.

And finally, in his belly there was a mouth capable of tearing off the lower half of your body with one bite if he set his mind to it.

For how exposed he was, vulnerable even (bare belly and exposed chest, his arms in a resting position), sukuna was very relaxed and which makes you wonder if perhaps he doesn't think you brave or foolish enough to try to attack him, although it's not the right time or place, you couldn't do much if you were to hurt him sufficiently to try to escape, not with his subjects scattered all over the temple at least. Before you could get to the door his servants would have you imprisoned in one of the cold, dark rooms you've already been in.

Clearly impatient, thanks to being too occupied by your mental wanderings, the hand that lay on his hips gently pushes you into the position he ordered you to. You take a quick glance at your new seat, you find yourself just above the curved line of a smile on his lower abdomen. You look up to observe him, rather than relaxed he is now uneasy, concern is marked on your face as you recheck the mouth on his stomach closed in a tight line.

The posture is awkward thanks to the width of his body, your thighs are stretched to the max and your feet dangle from his body like an uncomfortable horse ride.

The imposing mouth suddenly opens suddenly revealing a thick and grotesque tongue and gives you a quick lick immediately wetting your crotch, the moan of surprise that escapes you makes the pair of cocks tremble under the piece of cloth that holds them captive.

Sukuna licks you again slower this time, taking his time to savor your taste. A murmur of approval makes the mouth on your stomach vibrate along with the purring that seems to increase and you hear clearly now that you are close to him. Then you realize it wasn't some noise he was making or your imagination, it was the natural purr coming from a predator and the contrast terrifies you since it sounds as soft as a lullaby.

"Give me more of that sweet taste." You clench. Your eyes, your thighs, your cunt.

The intruding tongue seems to be all over your slit at the same time, it's feather soft yet has just enough pressure to have you sobbing and dripping from how accurate its lashes are.

Soon you feel unsteady, dizzy, you try to grab hold of something firm but there is one of his hands imprisoning your wrists in your lower back and another firmly squeezes your neck making you unable to escape. "You're not going anywhere, little one," sukuna growls.

The soft muscle, coated with an excess of saliva completely covers your pussy in sweet ecstasy, you feel its edges even wet your trembling thighs, the sensation is crushing. Your whole body is charged with a strange static after the intruder moves imitating a wave, attacking your aching clit, squeezing your pussy lips and spilling your arousal into the monstrous mouth that licks and licks and then swallows.

"I want you to ride it." Four fingers pinch your nipples at the same time. "Ride my tongue, you said you wanted to get ready but I do not see you doing anything but being lazy on me," he reminds you, in that teasing tone that could make you cum right then and there.

It's too much. You want to let him know, your cheeks are about to boil and you don't know how much you can hold back the tears. The sensation of pleasure was overwhelming, the line between pleasure and too much of it causing pain was very thin. You wanted to run away, to ask him that you needed to rest at least for a moment but you know what that could cause.

"I do not want to repeat it, woman."

You don't seek to anger him because his punishments are far worse, so you find the last shred of willpower in you and rotate your hips in weak circles along with a broken gasp. He grunts in response.

You're close. Very, very close. The grip on your wrists increases and you slurp through your nose. You rub it desperately up and down, grinding your sensitive clit in the process, you do small bounces on the fully hanging tongue that reveal sticky clicks that expose how wet you are, your own juices mixed with his saliva spilling down the length of your legs and soaking his hips.

"Cum for me." He commands firmly, manifesting small mouths on his hands that are tasked with torturing your tits, sucking and biting your nipples mercilessly as he delights in watching you squirm under his touch.

"Sukuna!" His name feels sweet on the roof of your mouth and rumbles between the walls of his chamber as your movements descend to gradually fade away.

Then you hear a chuckle, the mouth you just rode, a grotesque cackle that bristles your skin and makes you moan at how sensitive you are as it gives you one last lick and then disappears completely into the cavity, showing you just as it did at first a tight line that could pass as a scar if you weren't paying attention.

Abruptly, his fingers dig into your cheekbones, sinking your cheeks so that your lips can pout adorably. His purr is much louder and harder now.

"If you want to make your king proud you will have to do more than that." Your eyes snap open. "You're ready to take my cocks at the same time, I promise I'm going to use that body of yours tonight until you pass out."

This is a repost! <3

[illwilledomen]

At the Riverbank

Steve raised his axe high in the air, and with a swift, clean swing, one piece of wood became two. He chucked the two small pieces into his pile, which had grown to a considerable size as he had worked through the morning. Winter was coming soon. The Stonemason family’s eldest daughter had just had a little baby, and Steve wanted to make sure they stayed warm. 

The soft trickling of the nearby creek beckoned Steve over to take a break. He did just that, throwing his axe aside and plonking himself down into the soft riverside grass. He closed his eyes and listened to the water for a moment. 

It was time to practise.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I like the colour blue. I am something called a person. 

Steve opened his eyes again and frowned. Other villagers could say so much more in an introduction, but Steve knew very few things about himself. 

He tried again, gleaning his mind for any information that he was certain was true.

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I like the colour blue, and my favourite flowers are poppies. I am something called a person, and I am a Man.

No, he wasn’t sure if he was a Man. He didn’t really know what those were, or how they were different from Women. 

My name is Steve. I live in the village of Creek-in-Meadow. I have a horse named Butterscotch. I like the colour blue, and my favourite flowers are poppies. I am something called a person–

A branch snapped, and Steve shook himself awake. He looked around for the source of the noise. 

For a split second, he saw a pale, freckled face watching him from behind a tree, before disappearing with a frightened gasp. 

The water trickled on, and Steve carefully averted his eyes from the tree.

The face peeked out again. Steve slowly looked back, and once again the blur of white and ginger ducked behind the tree trunk. He decided to fix his gaze on the riverbank below them.

Steve felt a little nervous, but not scared. He had seen them before. Not all too much of them, they were awfully timid, but he’d known they were there.

“Hello.” Steve tentatively called out. “It’s a nice morning.”

The face slowly peeked out. It was rounded and thin, framed with fiery red hair, with big green eyes and freckles. Their nostrils flared with nervous breaths as they clung to the tree. 

“Do you live here?” Steve asked. The face didn’t respond, they only stared, flinching a bit when he spoke. 

“Um… My name’s Steve. I live in– I live in a village, and my favourite horse– My fa– Um, I have a horse.” Steve cursed himself for messing up his carefully planned introduction. “Do… Do you know what a horse is?”

The face seemed to have relaxed a tad, and moved out further from behind the tree. Steve could now see their hair was long, tied into a braid. They also wore a stained green tunic. 

“...You can ride them. Horses.” Steve swallowed nervously. “I don’t live here. I live in a village. In case you forgot.”

The face and body was now a person, standing with only their hand on the tree. They watched Steve curiously, their fear ebbing away slowly but surely.

Steve slowly looked back up, and this time they didn’t flinch when their eyes met. 

“My papa is a cleric. He’s not really– He didn’t get married or nothing, but he found me. I’m not a cleric. My profession is doing things for people. I, um, I like to help. I can make… I can make things too.”

Steve rummaged around in his pockets, before procuring a little wooden statue of a villager. Steve held it out for the visitor to see. “You see it? I made it.”

The figure craned forward, before they crouched down for a better look. They looked back at Steve with a blank expression, though Steve sensed no displeasure. 

“I can make other things too. Like houses. I am real strong. I can make things without getting tired. I dunno why, I was born in a funny way. That’s why my nose is small, see.” Steve pressed a finger into his nose. The figure furrowed their brows in intrigue. They lifted a finger, and pressed it to their own.

“Hey!” Steve grinned. “You’re like me.”

The person’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, and they nodded ever so slightly. They glanced to the side, a hint of trepidation in their movement, before they sucked in a breath and pointed to their chest. Out came a toneless, croaky voice, wavering and whistling as if it had not been used for a very long time. “A–leks.”

Steve furrowed his brows. 

“A… Alex. Name is Alex.”

“Oh!” Steve paused, and nodded in understanding. “Hello, Alex.” 

Alex sniffed, nodding back, before pointing at Steve. “Stefe.” 

“Aye! That’s my name.” Steve beamed. “Are you a person?”

Alex nodded. “Yes.”

“So am I. I didn’t know there was anyone else like me.” 

“Me as well.”

“Where’d you come from?” Steve bit back his questions though his mind was on fire. He wasn’t alone! He wasn’t alone!

“Nowhere.”

“Nowhere? Me too. I was found.”

“By village?” Alex glanced to the side nervously.

“Yes. And they are very nice to me.”

“Hm.” Alex trailed off, hunching their shoulders. “Good.”

“Do you want to meet them?” Steve asked, sitting up at the idea. 

Alex shrank back a bit toward the tree. They glanced to the side reluctantly and shook their head. “No.”

“Oh.” Steve hung his head. “Are you sure?”

Alex nodded their head vigorously, their eyebrows knitted together in a fearful expression. “I can’t.”

“Can I still see you, Alex? Outside of the village?”

Alex thought for a moment, before nodding. “Yes. Here.”

Steve’s smile returned. “Okay. Here. I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”

Alex nodded, smiling a bit themselves. “Tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Alex.”

“...Goodbye, Steve.”

The two departed, having arrived as halves and leaving as whole. They were not alone.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Overblot Universe (6) | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Part 1 • 2 • 3• 4•5

From the distance you were struggling to stand, watching gallons of ink warp and grow around the area Riddle had previously been imprisoned

Ultimately creating a giant overblotted depiction of Riddle as the twisted Queen of Hearts that he is 

Black Scribbly eyes searching frantically and maniacally as an axe began to form from the scepter he’d been holding 

“Guys he knows where we are!”

“(Y/n) why do you think that?”

Before you can answer the weight of the crown and the bodice of your inky outfit have you struggling to look up or even stand

And without looking you could tell that the inky rendition was looking in your direction

“REMOVE THAT CROWN AT ONCE. IT MUST BE THE CULPRIT!”

“It’s a little late for that genius.”

It took Jade and Sebek’s combined effort to peel the crown off your head 

The pressure of the inky band finally squeezing off your head was like undoing a stabbing migraine

You almost passed out at the relief you didn’t realize you so desperately needed

“(Y/n) are you alright?!”

“Y-yeah.”

Jack had left managing the mirror to Silver to scoop you into his arms

Ignoring the sneers on everyone’s faces you let yourself relax a little before looking past him

To see Ace, Deuce, and Cater running frantically 

Looking behind them was the hundred remaining blotted guards 

But even in their growing numbers that was not making giant thuds into the ground

That was the giant Riddle stomping behind looking as though he was about to cast a spell with the giant axe

Which would be ridiculous if it wasn’t making a giant glowing ball

“Guys! We’ve got to go!”

“Alright everybody let’s go! In the mirror now!”

“I agree. (Y/n) you first.”

“Wait, Ace, Deuce, and Cater have to get in. We are not leaving anyone behind!”

They all collectively groaned, scoffed, and kicked at the dirt

Thinking that this is something you have to stress from your friends boyfriends was certainly not the best situation 

But now wasn’t the time to unpack that 

Cheering over Jack’s shoulder since he refused to set you down

You tried to ignore the blue glow in the clouds

“Guys do you see that? It kind of looks like those robots that abducted our dorm leaders a while back….”

“(Y/n) was Riddle the only one you encountered?”

You slowly turned to where Epel and Jade were looking at the rest of the group turning that way too

The now visible brigade of Idia’s creations surging closer

Even from the ground you could spot the fiery blue hair at the head of the metallic flock

If that wasn’t enough in the opposite direction was another army the same one that was fighting the heartslabyul students at the very beginning of your journey

And above them was what looked like a green haelstorm but you knew better

A terrifying roar rang out and everyone reached for their ears 

You stopped searching for the other two overblots just focused on going into the mirror as soon as they were close enough

Unfortunately their frantic running wasn’t faster than the surging groups 

There was a red beam aimed at the mirror 

Silver, Epel, and Sebek saved it this time but you couldn’t tell if they’d miss it

“Come one you guys hurry!”

They were closer now just a few paces away before an inky arrow flew past 

A blotted version of Rook was somehow far ahead the other armies aiming with a bow on a nightmarish horse

If that wasn’t enough the ground underneath your group was falling out from beneath you all

Jack and the other’s figured it out quickly when they spotted the blotted trail to a stalking blotted Leona

Thankfully your friends were nearly there just in front of the electric storm beginning to just above you

“That’s close enough in you go.”

“Hey!”

Epel snatched you from Jack, holding you tight jumping into the mirror 

properly transporting you back to the twisted wonderland you know and love and that loves you back

You were safe...right?

7th and Final chapter: Coming Soon

[asoiaf-bambii]

𝔇ornish 𝔅ride

summary: Prince Jacaerys is sent to Dorne to secure their support in exchange for a marriage alliance during the dance of the dragons.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x martell!reader

Jacaerys Velaryon squinted into the sunlight, the wind whipping at his dark brown hair as he flew high above the scorched sands of the Dornish desert, riding his dragon Vermax. The sky over Dorne was cloudless, a vivid expanse of blue stretching from horizon to horizon, with the heat of the sun baking the land below.

The journey to Sunspear had been swift by dragon, much faster than any raven could carry the messages of war. Queen Rhaenyra needed allies desperately, and Dorne—with its vast army and formidable independence—was a prize she could not afford to overlook.

His thoughts were heavy as Vermax descended towards the palace of Sunspear, nestled in the heart of Dorne. The Martells were proud, notoriously independent from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. But Dorne was also practical, and the offer of a marriage to a royal of Targaryen blood might sway them. Jacaerys had never been one to shy away from his duties, but the weight of this mission pressed on him. It was not just about war—it was about securing the future of his family.

The landing was gentle as Vermax touched down in the gardens of Sunspear, the dragon’s large claws sinking into the sandy soil. Jacaerys dismounted with a swift motion, his boots hitting the ground as he glanced around, taking in the surroundings. The gardens were lush, a stark contrast to the barren sands beyond. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, their long leaves casting dappled shadows on the ground, while bright flowers bloomed in vibrant reds, oranges, and purples. It was a place of beauty, but the underlying tension of the political situation was not lost on him.

He stood tall, adjusting the strap of his sword as he waited. He could hear the distant sound of horses approaching, their hooves beating a steady rhythm on the stone paths leading to the palace. Jacaerys knew that this moment, the negotiations he was about to undertake, could shift the balance of power in the war. The Greens had secured their own alliances through marriage, and if the Dornish armies joined Rhaenyra’s cause, it could be enough to turn the tide.

Soon enough, the riders appeared. At the head of the group was Lord Qoren Martell, the ruler of Dorne, a tall and imposing figure with olive skin and a serious expression. His presence was commanding, but it was the figure beside him that captured Jacaerys’ attention.

The woman riding at Prince Qoren’s side was striking, her beauty impossible to ignore. Her dark eyes gleamed with intelligence, and her long, thick black hair fell in soft ringlets around her face. She wore a deep red entari, the luxurious fabric adorned with gold embroidery that glittered in the sunlight. Over the gown, she wore a flowing kaftan, cinched at the waist with a golden belt that highlighted her graceful figure. Her skin was warm, bronzed by the Dornish sun, and her jewellery—rings, bracelets, and a necklace set with emeralds—caught the light as she moved.

This had to be Princess Y/N Martell.

Jacaerys had heard of her—fiery, intelligent, and politically astute, Y/N was said to be a woman who knew her own worth and was unafraid to wield power. As she dismounted with a fluid grace, handing the reins of her horse to one of the guards, Jacaerys found himself watching her with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” Prince Qoren greeted him, his voice deep and measured as he stepped forward. “Welcome to Sunspear.”

Jacaerys inclined his head in a respectful nod. “Lord Qoren. I thank you for your hospitality.”

Qoren’s eyes flickered towards Vermax, who stood behind Jacaerys, the dragon’s golden-green eyes watching the exchange with eerie calm. “A dragon is a rare sight in Dorne,” Qoren remarked. “But I trust you did not come here simply to display your power, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys met the man’s gaze evenly. “I come on behalf of my mother, Queen Rhaenyra. The war has already begun, and we seek the aid of Dorne. In return, my mother offers an alliance bound through marriage.”

There was a brief pause as Qoren considered this, his expression unreadable. “Marriage,” he repeated, his tone neutral.

At his side, Princess Y/N stepped forward, her dark eyes studying Jacaerys with open curiosity. “And who, pray tell, is to be offered in this alliance?” Her voice was smooth, laced with amusement, as though the entire concept of marriage negotiations was a game to her.

Jacaerys turned his attention to her, meeting her gaze directly. “That is to be decided. I stand ready to marry, as do my younger brothers. The decision would rest with your family, should you choose to align with us.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a slow smile, the kind that hinted at hidden thoughts. “And what do you know of Dornish women, Prince Jacaerys?” she asked, her tone almost playful. “Do you truly believe one of us would be content to marry simply for the sake of war?”

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, surprised by her forwardness. “I do not presume to know the minds of Dornish women, Princess,” he replied. “But I do know that the realm faces dark days. A union between our houses could bring strength to both.”

Her eyes gleamed with something close to approval. “You are bold, Prince. I admire that.”

Prince Qoren, however, was less easily impressed. “Dorne has never bent the knee to the Iron Throne,” he said, his voice firm. “We fought for our independence and will not give it up easily, even for a marriage.”

Jacaerys stood his ground. “I do not ask for your submission, my lord. Only your support. Dorne’s armies are formidable, and together, we could end this war swiftly. My mother’s rule would be secure, and Dorne’s influence in the realm would grow.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the rustling of the palm trees and the distant calls of birds. Jacaerys could feel the weight of their decision pressing down on him, but he remained calm, knowing that this was a battle of words and wills.

Finally, it was Y/N who spoke. “You offer much, Prince Jacaerys,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “But Dorne does not act without thought. We will consider your offer… and perhaps, in time, we may find that a marriage between us is not so unfavourable.”

Her words were careful, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes that Jacaerys did not miss. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, a silent agreement that there was much more to discuss.

Prince Qoren nodded as well, though his expression remained guarded. “Come,” he said, turning towards the palace. “We will discuss these matters further. It is not a decision to be made lightly.”

As they walked through the shaded pathways of the garden towards the palace, Y/N fell into step beside Jacaerys. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her lips curving into a slight smile.

“You’ve impressed my father,” she murmured, her tone laced with amusement. “That is not an easy feat.”

Jacaerys glanced at her, his own smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “And what of you, Princess? Have I impressed you?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Perhaps,” she replied, her dark eyes gleaming. “But I am not so easily swayed by titles and dragons, Prince Jacaerys.”

He met her gaze, intrigued by the challenge in her words. “Then what does sway you, Princess?”

Her smile widened, full of mystery and flirtation. “That, Your Grace, is something you will have to discover for yourself.”

Jacaerys chuckled, though he could feel the weight of her words settle over him. Princess Y/N was not a woman to be taken lightly. She was clever, sharp-tongued, and fiercely independent—qualities that both intrigued and unsettled him. But he knew that securing Dorne’s support was not simply about marriage or politics. It was about earning the respect of a people who had never bent the knee and about understanding the woman who now stood before him as a potential ally, and perhaps more.

As they entered the cool stone corridors of Sunspear, Jacaerys knew that the negotiations were far from over. There was much to be discussed, much to be decided. But as he glanced at Y/N, her dark eyes filled with intelligence and fire, he realised that his journey to Dorne would be far more complex—and far more important—than he had first imagined.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he was not only forging an alliance for his mother but also discovering a path that could shape his own future.

[theplotmage]

50 Supernatural Entities to Haunt Your Halloween Night for Paranormal Fantasy Writers:

1. Vampire

Description: Blood-drinking creatures of the night.

What They Do: Feed on the blood of the living, sometimes charming their victims first.

Appearance: Pale skin, sharp fangs, often dressed in dark, old-fashioned clothing.

2. Werewolf

Description: Human by day, wolf-like beast by full moon.

What They Do: Transform into violent wolves and hunt at night.

Appearance: Muscular, covered in fur, with fangs and claws; halfway between wolf and human.

3. Ghost

Description: Spirit of a deceased person.

What They Do: Haunt places they have ties to, usually in a restless state.

Appearance: Translucent, often resembling the person they were in life.

4. Banshee

Description: A female spirit who forewarns of death.

What They Do: Wails loudly to signal someone’s impending death.

Appearance: Gaunt, with long hair and wearing white or gray robes.

5. Poltergeist

Description: Mischievous, noisy spirit.

What They Do: Throws objects, slams doors, and causes disturbances.

Appearance: Invisible but known for chaotic energy and moving objects.

6. Revenant

Description: Corpse risen from the grave for vengeance.

What They Do: Seeks revenge on those who wronged them in life.

Appearance: Decayed and skeletal, with tattered clothing.

7. Wendigo

Description: Cursed, cannibalistic spirit.

What They Do: Feeds on human flesh and spreads madness.

Appearance: Tall, emaciated with antlers and pale, cold skin.

8. Zombie

Description: Reanimated corpse, often mindless.

What They Do: Wander in search of living flesh to consume.

Appearance: Rotting, decayed, with vacant eyes.

9. Ghoul

Description: Creature that feeds on the dead.

What They Do: Raids cemeteries, feasting on corpses.

Appearance: Grayish, decayed, with sharp claws and teeth.

10. Shadow Person

Description: Mysterious dark figure, often seen in peripheral vision.

What They Do: Follows or observes humans, inducing fear.

Appearance: Tall, dark silhouette without detailed features.

11. Lich

Description: Undead sorcerer who achieved immortality.

What They Do: Uses dark magic to control other undead beings.

Appearance: Skeletal, with tattered robes and glowing eyes.

12. Mummy

Description: Reanimated, embalmed corpse from ancient tombs.

What They Do: Seeks vengeance or protects their treasures.

Appearance: Wrapped in bandages, often missing pieces.

13. Grim Reaper

Description: Personification of death.

What They Do: Collects souls of the deceased.

Appearance: Hooded figure in a black robe, carrying a scythe.

14. Succubus

Description: Female demon that seduces men.

What They Do: Drains life energy through intimate encounters.

Appearance: Attractive, sometimes with bat wings and horns.

15. Incubus

Description: Male counterpart to the succubus.

What They Do: Preys on women, draining their life force.

Appearance: Handsome, often with dark or demonic features.

16. Dullahan

Description: Headless horseman from Irish mythology.

What They Do: Rides a black horse, heralding death.

Appearance: Carries their own head, glowing eyes, wearing dark armor.

17. Necromancer

Description: Sorcerer who commands the dead.

What They Do: Raises and controls undead creatures.

Appearance: Dark robes, carrying a staff or book of spells.

18. Hellhound

Description: Fiery, demonic dog from hell.

What They Do: Guards the underworld, hunts souls.

Appearance: Large black dog with glowing red eyes and flames.

19. Draugr

Description: Undead Norse warrior.

What They Do: Guards treasure and attacks intruders.

Appearance: Bloated, decaying corpse with armor.

20. Chupacabra

Description: Beast that preys on livestock.

What They Do: Drains blood from animals, mainly goats.

Appearance: Reptilian, with spines and sharp teeth.

21. Djinn

Description: Ancient spirit capable of granting wishes, often with a trick.

What They Do: Manipulates wishes to harm the wish-maker.

Appearance: Wispy, ethereal, with sometimes human features.

22. Yurei

Description: Vengeful spirit from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Haunts those who wronged them in life.

Appearance: Pale, disheveled, with long, dark hair.

23. Headless Horseman

Description: Decapitated rider seeking revenge.

What They Do: Rides at night, often hunting for a head.

Appearance: Headless, in dark clothing, riding a black horse.

24. Gorgon

Description: Snake-haired monster that can turn people to stone.

What They Do: Hunts or curses those who look upon her.

Appearance: Female, with snakes for hair and a terrifying visage.

25. Kraken

Description: Giant sea monster, often attacking ships.

What They Do: Destroys ships, drags sailors underwater.

Appearance: Gigantic, tentacled beast resembling an octopus.

26. Nosferatu

Description: An older, monstrous version of a vampire.

What They Do: Preys on blood, more feral than elegant vampires.

Appearance: Rat-like features, bald, with elongated claws.

27. Shtriga

Description: Witch from Albanian folklore that preys on children.

What They Do: Sucks life energy from young children.

Appearance: Elderly, shriveled, with a long, pointed nose.

28. Jiangshi

Description: Chinese hopping vampire.

What They Do: Drains life force, hopping instead of walking.

Appearance: Rigid, dressed in ancient attire with a pale face.

29. Aswang

Description: Filipino shapeshifting creature.

What They Do: Hunts humans, especially at night.

Appearance: Changes from human to monstrous form with long tongue.

30. Noppera-bo

Description: Japanese faceless ghost.

What They Do: Terrifies people by erasing their face.

Appearance: Normal human but with a blank face.

31. Kitsune

Description: Fox spirit from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Plays tricks on humans, can possess or enchant.

Appearance: Fox with multiple tails or as a human with fox traits.

32. Rakshasa

Description: Demonic being from Hindu mythology.

What They Do: Devours humans, uses magic to deceive.

Appearance: Animal-like face, often with fangs and claws.

33. Wraith

Description: Malevolent spirit tied to a place of death.

What They Do: Harms those who enter their territory.

Appearance: Shadowy, with skeletal hands and a hooded cloak.

34. Ghast

Description: Larger, more terrifying version of a ghoul.

What They Do: Consumes living and dead flesh.

Appearance: Grayish, skeletal, with sharp teeth.

35. Kappa

Description: Water demon from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Drowns humans and feeds on them.

Appearance: Humanoid with a beak, webbed hands, and water-filled head.

36. Selkie

Description: Mythical seal creature that transforms into human form.

What They Do: Lives as human on land, as a seal in water.

Appearance: Human with soft features, seal-like in water.

37. Manananggal

Description: Filipino monster that detaches its torso to fly.

What They Do: Feeds on unborn children and blood.

Appearance: Upper body separates and grows wings at night.

38. Gashadokuro

Description: Giant skeletal monster from Japanese folklore.

What They Do: Crushes and devours people.

Appearance: Enormous, skeletal, with fiery eyes.

39. Pontianak

Description: Vengeful female spirit from Malaysian folklore.

What They Do: Attacks men, especially those who wronged her in life.

Appearance: Beautiful, but transforms into a blood-stained, terrifying figure with long nails.

40. Strigoi

Description: Undead creature from Romanian folklore, precursor to modern vampires.

What They Do: Rises from the grave to feed on blood or energy.

Appearance: Gaunt, pale, with sharp teeth, sometimes bearing claw-like nails.

41. Demon

Description: Evil entity from various mythologies.

What They Do: Possesses or torments humans, spreading chaos.

Appearance: Often with horns, red skin, and menacing features, sometimes invisible.

42. La Llorona

Description: “The Weeping Woman” from Mexican folklore.

What They Do: Wanders near bodies of water, crying for her lost children.

Appearance: Pale, drenched in white, with a sorrowful, ghostly presence.

43. Kelpie

Description: Shape-shifting water spirit from Scottish folklore.

What They Do: Lures people, usually children, into water to drown them.

Appearance: Often a beautiful horse, but can appear as human.

44. Dybbuk

Description: Malevolent spirit from Jewish folklore.

What They Do: Possesses living people, usually to fulfill unfinished business.

Appearance: Invisible, but exerts dark energy around the possessed.

45. Hag

Description: Wicked, old woman often associated with witchcraft.

What They Do: Casts curses, manipulates people, sometimes feeds on fear.

Appearance: Elderly, with wrinkled skin, often carrying magical trinkets.

46. Mare

Description: Spirit that causes nightmares.

What They Do: Sits on the chests of sleeping people, creating disturbing dreams.

Appearance: Shadowy, mist-like figure, sometimes with a vague human shape.

47. Fenrir

Description: Gigantic, mythical wolf from Norse mythology.

What They Do: Destined to bring about Ragnarok, devouring gods.

Appearance: Massive, fierce wolf with powerful jaws.

48. Tengu

Description: Supernatural creatures from Japanese folklore, part bird and part human.

What They Do: Mischievous or malevolent; protect forests and mountains.

Appearance: Humanoid with bird wings, red face, and often a long nose.

49. Doppelganger

Description: An exact double or duplicate of a living person.

What They Do: Appears to forewarn misfortune or even bring harm.

Appearance: Identical to a specific person, but with an eerie, lifeless presence.

50. Nightmare Horse

Description: Fiery, demonic horse that haunts dreams and the night.

What They Do: Gallops through night skies, bringing fear to those who see it.

Appearance: Black horse with glowing red eyes and flaming mane and hooves.

[oneforthemunny]

hot blooded |boxer!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie's boxing at underground fight clubs to make money. after a victory match, he meets you at the bar. or the beginning of you and boxer!eddie.

contains: mean reader and mean eddie lol. mainly fluff. eddie munson au. happy one year!

Bloodied knuckles raised in the dim light of the bar, a triumphant yell mixed with a grunting of disappointment of those who bet against him when Eddie’s hand was raised, declared the winner. Henry Harrington fisted a wad of cash into Eddie’s hand; six thousand dollars, enough for the entry fee for the middleweight match at the end of the month. 

Mr. Harrington snickered, clapping Eddie on the back. “Help yourself to anything at the bar, alright? On me tonight, Champ, you earned it.” And for a fleeting moment Eddie pictured busting his nose, knocking the smug man clean onto the concrete of the bar, letting his blood pool at his feet. 

Instead, he shoved on the robe they gave, covered up his sticky, sweat soaked skin, blossoming with bruises and cuts he’d still hadn’t gotten to tend to. Maybe Max would still be up when he got back home, she could patch up the ones he couldn’t reach. 

“Double Blanton’s on the rocks.” Eddie grumbled to the cocktail waitress in front of him, not bothering to meet her gaze as he unwrapped his tape from his knuckles. 

She didn’t move. Electric red nails on her hip, the others drumming against the mahogany of the bar. Eddie lifted his gaze, lids throbbing with dull pain that was just beginning to set in. “What?” 

“You’re bleeding.” Your eyes rolled over his frame, stopping at the cut on his jaw, dripping onto his robe, crimson droplets on the bar. 

“Yeah.” Eddie clicked with annoyance. “No shit. Double Blanton’s-” 

“-You’re bleeding all over my bar.” Your nail jabbed onto the counter, next to the splotches of blood dripping there. 

Eddie blinked, unimpressed, annoyed. “Can you make me my fuckin’ drink or not?” You don’t move, staring at him still, nails still clicking against the counter. 

“For fucksake,” Eddie huffs, teeth gritting, reaching over the edge of the bar to swipe the napkins off from your station. Palm slapping on the counter, wiping up the small spot. “There. Happy? Good? Can I get my fuckin’ drink now?” 

Pushing up from your stance, you swiped the glass from the clean stack, setting it on the counter. Eddie huffed, slumping back in his chair. He should’ve just gone home, he bristled, familiar agitating heat rising in his chest, clenching his fists. 

“Harrington’s tab?” You lifted your gaze to his, yanking the cork out of the bottle by the brass horse. 

Eddie’s steely gaze met yours. “What?” 

“Harrington’s tab?” You repeated, slower, tone teetering on an edge. “You’re on Harrington’s tab, correct?” You huffed, nodding down towards the man at the end of the bar. 

“Yeah.” Eddie grunted. 

You rolled your eyes, a heavy pour of the bourbon you didn’t bother to measure. “The fuck is your problem?” Eddie’s palm slapped the bar, an echoing of a hit that the people next to him scurrying away. “Are you just a bitch for fun or do you have something against me?” 

“You came bleeding all over my bar,” You scoffed, brow raised in a dangerously demanding way. “Don’t bother to ask for a napkin, or even acknowledge me, really. And I’m a bitch?” 

Eddie’s tongue rolled over the front of his teeth, knee bouncing furiously under him. “Sorry, I’m not feeling up to small talk. I just got done gettin’ the shit knocked outta me for six rounds. Did you miss that, sweetheart? Not see all the fuckin’ people in the middle of the room?”

“No, I was a little busy.” You were quick, response rolling off your tongue in a fiery whip of an answer easily. “Busy working.” 

“Yeah? What the fuck do you think I was doin’?” Eddie scoffed. “Holding a fuckin’ tea party for the Sunday Social over there? I was working too.” 

“Working?” You snort, rolling your eyes again. Eddie’s teeth clench. “You call that working?” 

“I got paid.” Eddie hissed. “What would you call it? Since you seem to know everything?” 

“Not enough money in the world to make me do that for them.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Hardly call that working, it’s so demeaning.” 

“Demeaning,” Eddie repeated, rolling his eyes. “I provide entertainment, sweetheart. Same as you do, I’m sure.” He nodded down towards your tiny dress of a uniform. 

“Entertainment? That’s entertaining?” You nodded towards the ring.

“Yeah, it is. Boxing? A lot of people find it entertaining. Thought you would know that.” Eddie snapped, viscous, defensive. 

“Watching two grown men beat the shit out of each other, so these other grown men can bet on you like horses?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a sneer. “No, can’t say that’s very entertaining to me.” 

“So why are you here then, huh?” Eddie scoffed, jaw clenching in irritation. “Just here for your wonderful personality?” 

Your lips twitched, the fainting of a smile, surprising Eddie. “Something like that.” Your lips rolled, twisting back to their resting snarl. “Here for the same reason you are, I guess.” You set the glass on a black napkin, sliding it over to Eddie. 

“Yeah, why’s that?” 

You cut your eyes towards Mr. Harrington, loudly talking and howling in laughter at the other end of the bar. “Money’s good. Right?” Your eyes squint, nearly in challenge.

 “Let me know if you need anything else.” You purred, throwing a wink in his direction. Eddie’s head was spinning, and not only from all the punches he’d taken. 

He blamed it on his spinning head clouding his thoughts when he waved you over again, ordered another. And another. And a final one. When his head was swimming, mind a little clouded, nerves a lot calmer, he called you over again. 

“Another?” Your brow raised, snagging his empty glass off the counter. 

“No.” Eddie shook his head, the ache in his knuckles starting to set in. “What if it wasn’t here that I was fighting?” 

“What?” You scoffed. “What are you talking about?” 

“You said it was demeaning in here.” Eddie’s finger jabbed the counter for emphasis. “What if it wasn’t here?” 

You squinted at him, lips pulling in a line that had his heart skipping. “Are you drunk?” Your voice fell flat, unamused. “Do you need me to call you a ride home-” 

“-If it was at a real place.” Eddie continued, eyes never leaving yours, an intensity in them that started and intrigued you. “A real match at a real rink with real people. Nobody betting, just two guys fighting for a title. Would it be demeaning then?” 

You paused, watching him carefully, studying him nearly. “I guess not.” You answered cooly, level and calmly. 

“So you’d watch that then?” 

“What?” You snarled. “Are you alright? Do you need me to call someone, or-” 

“-Would you come watch me fight if it was at a real place?” Eddie asked, eyes narrowed in the same way they were before, burning you right to your very core. “In Bloomington in a few weeks.” 

Your fingers pressed into your hip, willing yourself to stay composed, not falter though your heart skipped at his ask. “Maybe.” You sighed sharply. “I still don’t get the whole beating each other for fun thing-” 

“-You don’t have to.” Eddie rolled his eyes, lighter this time, more playful. “Thanks for the drink.” Eddie pushed his chair back, groaning lowly when he pulled himself out of the bar stool, body stiff and tight. “Sorry for bleeding all over your bar.” 

You bit back a smile, fighting the way your lips twitched, tracking him with your eyes. “No problem, Champ.” You quipped, eyes flashing in a daring way that had Eddie smirking, shaking his head. 

“See you around.” Eddie waved, one last look over his shoulder that had you burning, turning to empty his glass, hoping to hide your fluster. 

You were shocked the next day when two tickets in an envelope were waiting for you in the office, Mr. Harrington’s exaggerated tone about how much Eddie liked you. And he must have, you decided, looking at the small note that had his phone number scribbled at the bottom. 

Eddie never heard back from you, let it slip his mind in the next weeks of training. Of course you hadn’t come, why would you have? You made your opinions abundantly clear to him that night. 

Still, he was shocked to see you, in the sea of the crowd, sitting in the row by his corner, arms wrapped around your torso, looking a little more than unsure. You even waved at him, small and shy, and Eddie was sure his cheeks were going to split with how wide he smiled. 

He invited you back to his locker room after he won, a victory Camel hanging from his busted lip, torso still covered in a sheen of sweat. You had no issues this time when the blood from his busted lip dripped on your sneakers, when it smeared over your own lips when he kissed you, pressed against the cement walls, bruised knuckles and fingers in your hair. 

[yiiyiiwrites]

🏹 | The Hunt |

Eris Vanserra x shifter/spring court reader(Tamlin’s cousin). [Acotar masterlist]

Summary: unable to turn down Beron’s invitation and the equinox hunt, you have to mind where you tread in the autumn court. The scheming Vanserra brothers and the hunt where you could so easily become the hunted if you were to shift. (like Tamlin and the rest of his bloodline, you can shift into an animal). 3920 words

Brothers oldest to youngest: Eris, Theadon, Marcellus, Theron, Sandros †, Deimos † and Lucien. (Not edited).

The autumn equinox used to be one of your favourite celebrations as a child, but as you grew up, it became woven with politics. It had been a week since the fireworks, smoke still hung in the air, curling around the low branches of trees and around your ankles as your leather boots sunk into the mud.

The high lord, Beron had extended an invitation for the hunt. A tradition for nobles and every other sucker who tried to sweeten the Vanserra’s and their court. You however, were not so lucky. Forced to join the men and buff away any conflict before it got worse.

With the past fifty so years under the mountain and the aftermath of Aramantha’s reign, this would be the first of many hunts going forward now that the courts were finding a bit of normalcy.

“You cannot be serious,” you snarled, crossing your arms over your chest and balling your fists out of sight under your elbows.

The thick bodice and riding jacket drew a quick breath from you as you fought to exhale a deep sigh. It had been decades since your last hunt in autumn, your hips a little wider and your breasts fuller. You’d binded your stomach and chest, trying to fit into the traditional garments Beron had gifted you when you were much younger.

Theadon Vanserra’s golden eyes flitted to your chest, smirk tugging his thin lips. “Never complained before,” he said, shoving his hands in a pair of soft brown leather gloves. The second son of autumn, a few years younger than Eris.

He huffed, blowing the curl of ginger hair back out of his eyes. His beauty well crafted as if an artist had took centuries to carve the sharp lines of his straight pointed nose and high cheek bones out of marble. You couldn’t help but let your gaze wander whenever you found yourself in his company. Theadon lapping it up, flirting back with you and trying to inch over the boundaries you’d set with him.

“Can always ride with me, pet.”

The chestnut horse behind you nudged you between your shoulder blades with its muzzle and you stumbled forwards, whirling around and jabbing a pointed finger to the next Vanserra brother.

“You know you’re much more likeable when you don’t speak, Marcellus,” you snapped at the third Vanserra brother. The fiery red hair duller, blonder than the rest of his siblings.

Marcellus didn’t pay you much mind, snorting at your half ass reply and pulling the reigns beside him. The horses long glossy tail flicking you in the face as it circled back to the front of line with his father.

Theadon was a tease and you frequently played into it, using his advances to gain the attention of one particular Vanserra. Marcellus though all talk, nasty venomous tongue, but never did anything to physically harm you.

The seven brothers seemed to be dropping like flies, the middle one leaping from his saddle and blocking your path to Theadon and his sandy stead.

“How about you shift and we’ll chase you, pet.” Theron, named after the hunter of autumn and the meanest of the pack. “So get your ass on that horse and don’t complain again.” He shoved you aside, hand grasping the back of your neck as he guided you back to Theadon.

Theron Vanserra, middle child that went to extremes to gain a scrap of attention from his father. You were yet to see a kind side to him, even when you grew up in their court and ran around with them as kids.

Ever since his twins Sandros mysterious death, Theron made it his mission to make your visits as short as possible. You’d happily let him run you out of autumn if wasn’t for the eldest Vanserra keeping you there.

“Brother, she’s a lady not a pup,” Theadon chuckled, his forced laugh cut short as Theron shoved you towards the horse. He placed his gloved hands on your hips and lifted you over the horse, your fingers wrapping around the reigns trying to pull yourself up. You don’t need to summon any strength though as Theadon pushed against the back of your thighs to help you swing a leg over onto the saddle. Your boot brushed the steads sandy coat, a line of dirt left in its wake.

You don’t bother snapping at him, Theadon a lesser evil when it came to the brothers of the hunt. Eris hadn’t participated in years since he’d become General and took on more responsibilities.

“Mutt maybe,” Theron mumbled, scratching the stubble on his jaw. The leather hunting gear he wore, scratched and worn as if it were his way of showing off his skills and power.

You wished you knew the person responsible for his crooked nose, only to thank them for breaking it.

Theadon grabbed your wrist before you could even curl your fingers and swipe a punch, your arm pinned by your side as you glared down at it. You’d been too consumed with rage that you hadn’t noticed him climb on the saddle behind you, his warmth pressing against your back.

“Comfortable?” Theadon murmured, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. He wasn’t asking though, just trying to distract you from tumbling down and going for his younger brother. Not that he’d let go of you.

He shifted sinking closer to you, back of your head knocking his firm chest. His knuckles swiped the braid down your back and he draped it over your shoulder, giving it a little tug. You couldn’t relax though with Theron snapping at you, every bone in your body rigid and your spine upright ready to defend or attack.

Theron’s face was always twisted with disgust whenever his gaze caught you, like he’d been chewing on a wasp. You still couldn’t believe that Theron and Marcellus had married noble fae. He took one more glance at you and spat on the ground, hoisting the bow and arrow back over his shoulder as he walked to his horse. A grumble echoing away with him.

Fae females were not allowed to ride alone during the hunting parties, an escort always needed. Which is why you found yourself like every other solstice hunt with Theadon whispering in your ear, one hand on your stomach to keep you from sliding away and his other on the reigns as the horse galloped through the rough terrain.

The rising sun broke through the tight knitted trees, sending golden rays over the red rolling hills of autumn in the distance. You squinted, hoping the light would blind the hunters and allow the animals to escape before they met the sharp tip of an arrow or canines of the dogs scrambling near the pounding hooves.

“Must be cold when you hop in and out spring and summer, much like my brother’s beds.” Theadon doesn’t bother keeping his voice low, deep sigh fanning the crown of your head.

“Not your bed though,” you said, wincing as his fingers dug into your stomach. You thanked the gods that you’d chosen thickest bodice, bronze embroidery adding more armour to protect. His warning enough for you to stop before you said too much.

Theadon hummed, pulling the reigns tighter in his other hand and rested it on your thigh. “I do wonder…” he mused, “does Eris know how easy it is for you to lay with another.”

Rumours had followed you ever since you were dumped in the autumn court. A fae of spring raised to act as a bridge between the two courts and smooth out any grievances. And with that task came a lot of talk. How you’d worked your way through the brothers and chased the youngest back to spring. You’d never revealed the truth, the only one that mattered was him and he knew you.

A chorus of howls tore through the forest, horses stomping to a halt as if they all stopped to listen to your reply.

The men ahead were searching beyond, a lone hound escaping the undergrowth of a thorny hedge with a brown fox between its teeth.

You looked away, but Theadon grabbed your chin and forced you to watch the snapping of its neck.

“Is that what you look like as a pretty little fox?” He asked, hand trailing down the column of your throat. “I remember you shifting as a child, just a pup.”

Hunting was the one thing you hated, autumns plea of killing all the runts of their animals. The odd brown foxes that were deemed unworthy compared to the fiery orange coated ones they trained as messengers. The one form you’d taken on, but you were able to blend into whatever court you were in. A fluffy white coat for winter, orange for autumn and silver for spring.

You’d only shifted once in autumn and vowed never to again. Theron and Sandros had chased you through the forest, straight into a badgers home. You still had the scars from their claws on your back as you tried to dig your way out.

“Maybe I’ll shift and rip your throat out. I’m sure you’d like that,” you said leaning your head on his chest and peering up at him. The deep line between his brows softened, lips curving into a smirk.

“Mmm tempting, maybe you can shift some of these layers off later for me?” He whispered, gaze dropping from your lips to your breasts.

Smooth, too damn smooth. You couldn’t help but laugh at him, the way he easily fell back into flirting. “In your dreams Vanserra,” you said, scanning the forest and soon regretting it as your gaze found Theron’s.

The smile dropped from your face as his horse trotted back to the line near you. There was an overall darkness to the middle brother, cherry red locks cut short so it never got in his way. Eyes of bronze that darkened as soon as they narrowed at you. Brawn and brain, even if he played into the brawn more. Everything he did calculated, you couldn’t help but think he’d been plotting your downfall ever since you first stepped into autumn as a child.

“The things you do in my dreams,” Theadon whispered, but before he could divulge all the dirty details a force barrelled into his horse.

The hold around your waist fell away, your body slamming to ground. Pounding of hooves shook the roots beneath the earth and you curled into yourself hoping you wouldn’t get trampled on. Voices boomed in the distance, hounds barking and teeth snapping, but you couldn’t peel your hands away from your face.

Muffled sounds filtered through the shield you’d created around you, your foxes senses picking up the crack of broken twigs at your back. You inhaled, trembling breath trying to push back, there was no way you’d shift. Not in autumn.

Something hard hit your elbow and you lowered your arm, peeking over at Theron. You just wanted to burrow into the ground and be rid of the bastard. He nudged you again, thick mud staining your dress as his boot met your knee.

“Up you get, pet,” he said through gritted teeth, “follow me or don’t follow me, I don’t care. Just keep up.” He didn’t spare another glance at you, his figure halfway up the sloping path by the time you’d stood.

The early morning fog long gone, your surroundings crisp and clear of anyone but him. Even the wind did not carry the yells of the hunting party or the sounds of their movements. The forest too quiet for your liking.

You trudged after Theron, glaring at his back.

“Watch where you’re going,” he called over his shoulder as he side stepped a foxes hole. A hare dove into the bushes at his booming voice, browning leaves showering the earth in its wake.

A whip of wind pushed you forwards, your legs like jelly as you tried to keep your balance. The heel of your boot on the edge of a large hole of a fallen trees ripped roots.

You trailed after Theron, climbing atop the fallen tree and walking across the stream. The trunk slick with moss, slippery beneath you that you didn’t bother lifting your feet but sliding them along. You clutched your skirt, balling it up in your fist as you thought out the best path that didn’t lead to the icy water below.

“Maybe if you watched where you were going earlier, we wouldn’t be trekking through the sodding woods,” you snapped, jumping down to the other side of the stream.

Of course Theadon would hang back and look after the horse, he’d be guaranteed another stead to get back to the castle on. You on the other hand were being led gods knows where into the golden forest of autumn with someone who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.

The hunter, bully. Just like his father, you dread the day if Theron ever became high lord. He didn’t bother acknowledging your words or your presence, his fists clenched by his side as he zigzagged the makeshift path. Horses hooves leading him back the way you’d come that morning.

You scrambled up the muddy terrain, nails scraping against the branch you used as leverage to hoist yourself over. The mist of rain weighing down your riding jacket, another shackle to keep you down in the court.

The howling wind tore through your hair, the woven braid over your shoulder coming undone. Stray strands sticking to your neck and shielding your sight.

You felt the snap before you saw it, iron teeth sinking into the flesh of your ankle. The tears rolling down your cheeks burnt, voice hoarse as you screamed once again.

"I told you to watch where you're going," Theron snarled, crouching down beside you and taking the curved side of the iron trap in each hand.

“Get it over with,” you snarled, regretting the rise of your voice as you moved in anger and felt the searing pain shoot up your leg.

Theron paused, fingers slipping from the trap. “Why don’t you shift? Sure you’ll be able to get out of that one yourself. It will make for good entertainment at least,” he said, his knuckles brushing against your jawline.

Against your better judgement, you spat in his face. Your saliva rolling down his freckled cheek, he froze. His nostrils flaring, body trembling with what you could assume as a blinding rage. He lifted a curled fist and drew his arm back, flames spreading across his knuckles.

You clamped your eyes shut, felt the heat crashing forwards, but nothing came. A chorus of whimpers in your left ear made you dare to peak in front of you.

Three hounds, one by your side sitting patiently for you to greet them. Another sniffing the edge of the iron trap. The last growling at Theron, hair raised on its back as it forced him to walk back.

“Like calls to like,” Theron spat.

You didn’t know if it was the loss of blood or the eldest Vanserra, but as he appeared through the trees your head become heavy. Heartbeat drumming against your chest.

“Mother’s looking for you,” Eris said, head nodding to the pathway behind him.

Walking painstakingly slow, you tracked his smooth movements as he made his way to you. Eris dropped to his knees, lightly pushing the hounds nose away from the trap. He rubbed his jaw, amber eyes flitting from your ankle to your face.

“Do you ever do as you’re told,” he said, prying the iron teeth apart. The lock clicked back into place and his hand cupped the back of your calf as he moved it away from the trap.

“Tell me what to do, I might just do it just for you.”

He shook his head and lifted you into his arms. Warmth spread as you laid your head on his shoulder and draped your arms around his neck. His hounds scouted off ahead, running as quick as shadows that you couldn’t keep up with them.

You slid your palm from the back of his neck and rested it on his chest. His heart beating too slow and repetitive compared to your erratic one. You’d blame it on the wound if he dared to bring it up.

“Where are you taking me, General?” You asked as the trees gave way to golden hills in the distance, a few wooden huts dotted the perimeter.

“The barracks, so keep your mouth shut,” Eris whispered, lips pursed and head held high as he walked through the checkpoint.

Suits of bronze and red parted for Eris, heads lowering in respect and they did not rise till his back faced them. You watched his unit scurry around, your chin propped on top of his shoulder. Foxes weaved through the soldiers boots, bound letters attached to their back.

You’d never been to the outer edge of the generals quarter. Ladies stayed within the centre of the court and were normally accompanied by a chaperone if outside. You however, knew the secret passageways in the castle and ancient crumbling pathways that were rarely used.

Eris’s grip tightened on you, his gaze flitting to the two guards stationed either side of the largest wooden cabin you’d ever seen in autumn. They parted, gloved hands pulling the oak doors open so that the General could enter. Gaze fixed ahead, Eris walked through the narrow corridor to the left.

Lanterns flickered, flames roaring to life as if the General had summoned them himself. The terracotta tiles on the floor were so clean you could see waxy shine coating it and the reflection of his flames dancing between each square.

The last door opened and closed as Eris walked in, large table dominating the room. A map covering up most of it, but it curled up as soon as your gaze wandered the red ink painting the Autumn court. Eris sat you atop a desk, inks and parchment neatly placed to one side.

You shrugged off your riding jacket and let it fall behind you, gaze following Eris whose back faced you. He pulled open some drawers, glasses clinking together in one hand and rags in another. Placing your palms on the desk, you leant back as he walked back to you, brows furrowed as he stared at your boot. He shoved a bottle of green liquid into your hand, head jerking for to drink up.

Popping the cork off you gagged at the stench, but tipped the bottle back and drank the lot. The thickness of the potion coated the back of your throat and you coughed, fist colliding with your chest as you tried to rid yourself of the burnt taste lingering. The ringing in your ears disappeared, vision clearing the haze away.

"It must be bad," he mumbled as he crouched down, fingers untying the knot from your laces. "Not even one word." A smile tugged the corner of his lips, his amber eyes flicking back to yours.

"You told me to keep my mouth shut," you said, brushing the hair out of his face and back over his shoulder. Your breaths quick and heavy, the damned corset cutting into your ribcage. Not at all anything to do with the General on his knees before you making light work of pulling the laces out of your boot.

"So you do, do as you're told."

The banter more to distract you, the iron still swimming around your blood from the trap. You wouldn't lie, it felt like your ankle had been ripped off, never mind torn apart from a hunters trap.

"Like I said, only for you," you said through gritted teeth, Eris's fingers and palm were coated red, boot discarded to one side. You tugged the bow at the centre of your corset and pulled the ribbon free, allowing yourself the room to draw a deeper breath.

Eris raised a brow, but didn't ask what you were doing, only rolled your sock down your ankle slowly leaving it halfway on your foot.

You fanned your face with your hand, a bead of sweat rolling down your chest. "God's it's so hot in here, are you hot?" The iron making you a crumbling mess in front of him.

"You know I'm hot," he said without a missing a beat, he swiped a cold paste on the wound, touch soft and precise. Always so careful when it came to you, just not with words.

"God's this barbaric court, hunting down an animal all because it's not deemed good enough. Why couldn't I get a beast like Tam? I'd happily hunt those...Do you know who broke Theron's nose?" You rambled on, word after word tumbling out before you could stop. Eris's laugh shutting you up, his broad shoulders shaking as his hands hovered a safe distance from your wound.

He leant his elbow on his thigh and his head arched to peer up at you, amber eyes flickering like the flames. "You do realise who you're complaining to?" Eris asked, his attention returning to the cloth in his hand. He wiped the blood from your ankle, wrapping a strip of gauze around the wound and tying it in place.

"I'm just," you said, pausing as he rose to stand. Your gaze trailing his chest and the thick column of his throat. "Just thinking if you're next in line..." you whispered as he leant down, forcing you to topple back, but his palm found the small of your back keeping you in place.

You couldn't blame the corset for the tremor in your breath, heat spreading the expanse of your back beneath his touch. Eris's copper hair fell from his shoulder shielding you from the light, gliding against the bare scrap of skin on your chest. His other hand slid up your thigh slow, but he did not break away from your gaze.

"I broke it," Eris said, nose nudging yours.

"Thank you," you said, you grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and you pressed your lips to his.

Eris retreated from you, hand slipping away from your back. "You want to know why?" He asked, finger hooking under you chin and making your gaze connect with his once again.

The back of his hand traced your cheek and jaw, you closed your eyes melting into his touch. you nodded, humming for him to continue.

"Because he hunted you when you shifted."

You eyes shot open. You hadn't told anyone that story, not even your parents. Eris must have heard his brothers bragging about it back then, as he'd turned up at your bedroom that night and helped you tend to the cuts on your back. He'd held your hand, let you sob in his arms as the cleaning balm set into the wounds. Never asked you asked any questions, his silent presence soothing enough.

"They try to make out that you're as delicate as a flower in spring, but you're as strong as the thorns guarding your borders. I see you," he said, framing your face in his hands. "The way you dance between courts, use those pretty words to escape much worse and how you do it all on your own."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you managed to whisper, tears threatening to spill over your lashes.

"No pretty words for me?" He asked, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"Kiss me."

Wrote this whilst I was sick so might be some errors etc. but I always wanted to write some of the other Vanserra brothers and I originally wrote another Eris fic and this is like a spin off from that. Hope you like :)

[starlight-incarnate]

House of Feänor as Aesthetics:

Fëanor  —  loud voice, commanding presence, analytical, natural leader, piercing eyes, foggy hillsides, black boots, tipping their head back to breathe the air, mirrored lakes and everything below the surface, tearing leaves from trees, blunt sarcasm, long dark hair, deep sleeper, rotting tree stumps, black leather jacket, songs that makes you want to create a storm, rebellious, ambition, unstoppable passion, fast trains, polaroids, empty castles.

Maedhros — walking silently, stronger due to all the stuff meant to kill them, ignoring their mental health issues, fiery red hair, crumbling marble, oversized hoodies, raw voice, lingering touches, faint music in the distance, calming down from a panic attack, long heavy cloaks, cold hands, disillusioned with the world, insomnia, unhealthy habits, sighs made visible by cold night air, strong hugs, never sleeps, loud music, freckles, dark under-eyes.

Maglor — hypnotising smiles, a broken mind, melancholy, driving through mountains and the woods, iced coffee, the faint feeling of raindrops on your cheeks, ripped jeans, tight hugs, whispered compliments, deep conversations, late night texts, nimble hands, thin blades, white lilies, vertigo, unkept journals, lightning and thunder, rhythms so raw the heartbreak is showing, shattered glass, walking alone on a cold night, silver necklaces, regret.

Celegorm — bright eyes, climbing rock formations, cold-hearted, hard breathing after running, wood cabins, gladiator arenas, wicked smiles, twisted branches, wild hair, growing more and more dangerous, night drives, adrenaline rushes, bruises, bloody cloaks, running from society, breathless laughing, that animalistic unpredictability, silver and leather bracelets, strong coffee after a sleepless night, city lights from a high rise, addiction, barking dogs, hurricanes.

Caranthir — ironic smirks, bitten nails painted black, lightning in summer, empty threats, sunglasses hiding dead eyes, thick chain jewellery, temperamental, goes to car races just to watch the crashes, deep glares, tongue/lip piercings, midnight walks, lightbulbs burning out, diamonds, crushed ice, a glint of cat eyes in the dark, gold coins in storm drains, cold hands, storm clouds rolling in, theatres, suppressed emotions, wrought iron gates, motorcycles. 

Curufin — cherries and Diet Coke, white marble, a studio apartment on the 67th floor, tattoos, neon lights, sweetened coffee, smudged makeup, too-loud music, cursive notes written in red ink, veiny forearms, sharp canines, fresh snowfall, high rise buildings, white light, sheer robes with nothing underneath, fog, stained glass windows, colourful hair, slow heartbeats, long-forgotten love, cold mountaintops, eternal silence.

Amrod — burnished copper, feverish eyes, hues of orange and gold, stars and spades, brewing tea, freckles, hardwood floors, poisonous flowers, listens to Hozier, messy hair, fake circle glasses, bullet point notes on a restaurant napkin, comfortable silence, broken wings on insects, old hungers, the whispering of trees, kicking stones on deserted paths, forgotten places, origami stars, old overgrown stone castles, morning mist, horse riding.

Amras  —  misplaced keys, wandering aimlessly, selectively mute, deep lakes hiding secrets, pine trees, restless nights, misunderstood, reliving the same day over and over again, graphic tees, dead moths, visual mind, muffled screams into a pillow, listens to asmr, doc martens, profanity, burned cigarettes, zoning out often, heart fluttering nervously, confusing satellites for stars, comic filled bookshelves, radios, old jeeps, glowing keyboards.

Celebrimbor — ravens, white-hot metal, the darkest shade of black, glittering skin, low waist pants, stars falling, the heat lingering in the evening, petals falling off dead flowers, trusting the wrong people, blue veins, cobblestone paths, linoleum tiles, bruises/scars easily, the heat lingering in the evening, cities awake late, card games, overanalysing everything, shiny fabrics, the slamming of a shot glass, the sting of betrayal.

[prythianpages]

Umbrella | Lucien

summary: You hated rainy days. That is, until, you forgot your umbrella and a handsome stranger became your savior.

word count: 1,660

warnings: none (just rain and fluff)

a/n: did I sing Rihanna's Umbrella a lot while writing this? Absolutely! This is actually a recycled old fanfic of mine since I'm currently in a small writing slump and I thought Lucien fit this best. Hopefully y'all find this a bit cute as I did when first writing it.

You saw the dark clouds ominously forming over Velaris as you got ready for work. Your stubborn mind refused to acknowledge the threat of rain. The past few days had been filled with similar warnings, but the clouds had delivered nothing more than a gloomy sky. Even when you finally stepped out of your apartment and felt light droplets kiss your cheeks, you refused to go back to your place for your umbrella.

It’s not going to rain, it’s not going to rain. You repeated in your head as if the more you said it, the more truth it would hold. Nonetheless, your pace quickens, determined to get to your job as soon as possible. It was only a few blocks away, no more than a fifteen minute walk.

But, as always, fate had other plans.

The smell of impending rain was thick in the air and you cursed your stubbornness for not going back for your umbrella. It was too late now. The light drizzle turned into a downpour, heavy raindrops pelting down with increasing intensity. There was no time to seek cover, you had to press on. It was either the sky’s wrath or your boss’s and your body shudders at the thought of the latter.

I hate the rain, I hate the rain.

"Mother’s tits," you curse under your breath, squinting against the onslaught of rain as you shield your eyes with a hand. To your dismay, a grand carriage and a parade of horses blocks your path, moving leisurely along the street and obstructing your way to the next block.

You didn’t notice the tall shadow looming over you until you felt something change.

Your hand drops to your side as you straighten up. What happened to the rain? As you glance forward, you realize the rain was still there but��

“I thought you needed a savior.” 

You jump back, startled by the male who is now standing beside you. The cold rain striking your face snaps you out of your daze yet you feel a rush of warmth as your eyes take in your savior. He possesses an entrancing beauty, so striking that for a moment you wonder if you had been hit by the carriage and were now being guided to the afterlife by this angelic figure.

He extends the umbrella out toward you, offering you solace once more. Despite the relentless downpour, he seems unbothered by the rain, and you can't help but watch as a single droplet traces the jagged scar running down one side of his face. His fiery red hair begins to cling to his forehead. He clears his throat, drawing your gaze back to his.

“Sorry,” you apologize, realizing you had been blatantly staring.

He smiles at you, his eyes alight with a hint of amusement. It’s then you notice the captivating contrast between his eyes: one a gleaming gold, mechanical and the other a warm russet, both piercing through the gloom.

Sheepishly peeling your gaze away from his mesmerizing eyes, you look up at the umbrella. It’s a vibrant red, matching the exact shade of his hair. The color stands out vividly against the gray backdrop of the rainy day like a beacon of warmth and protection.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, gently pushing the umbrella back toward him.

“There’s enough room for both of us,” he insists, his voice smooth and reassuring.

The umbrella was indeed wide enough for two people to fit under. Although you’d still get a bit wet with the rain showing no mercy, it was better than nothing.

“Are you sure?” You shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling a mix of nervousness and gratitude. “I don’t want to be a burden, especially not to a complete stranger.”

“Lucien Vanserra. Emissary to the Night Court by day and a secret admirer of Velaris’s stars by night,” he says with a playful grin. “Hmm, what else? My favorite color is yellow. I like to read in my spare time.”

His introduction catches you off guard and you can’t help but smile. “Your turn,” Lucien prompts, his eye twinkling with curiosity.

“Y/N. No cool role in this court, unless you count baking Velaris’s best pastries… but that might change if I don’t make it to the shop within the next five minutes.”

His eyes widen with recognition and delight. “Those pumpkin cream cheese muffins have me in a chokehold. Believe it or not, I was actually headed that way. So now that we’re not complete strangers…allow me?”

Lucien offers you his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, you surprisingly take it, hooking your own arm through his. Butterflies dance in your stomach as he pulls you close to allow the umbrella to cover you both. The traffic that had stalled you earlier is now clear.

 Not wasting any more time, the two of you walk together under the safety of his umbrella with hurried footsteps. The rain continues to fall around you and you lean in closer. His warmth seeps into you, offering comfort against the chill of the rain.

“So, you didn’t tell me your favorite color…” Lucien says, just loud enough for you to hear over the rain.

“Red!” You exclaim with a grin.

**

One of your biggest regrets in life stemmed from that day.

Arriving a few minutes late at the bakery, you faced your boss's ire. There was a big batch of cupcakes, urgently needing to be decorated for a catering event later that evening. She greeted you grumpily, tossing a fresh set of clothes your way from the stash kept for inevitable mishaps. 

Yet, her mood shifted entirely upon seeing the male standing beside you.

Needless to say, Lucien saved you in more ways than one that day.

You managed to persuade your boss to let him choose a couple of pastries for free and snuck in an extra pumpkin muffin when she wasn't looking. However, amidst the morning rush of customers, you hadn’t noticed when he slipped away from the bakery.

While you learned more about him during your rushed walk, there was one detail you missed. How to reach out to him. It left you with regret for not inviting him for a coffee (as a gesture of gratitude, of course.)

You sigh as you step out of your apartment. Thankfully, you have the afternoon shift today. It allowed you to sleep in a bit longer, but luck had not spared you from the city's recent capricious weather.

“It was sunny just ten minutes ago!” you huff, glaring up at the sky as if to scold it.

As if in response to your glare, the sky darkens ominously. Before long, rain pours down on you, leaving you stranded without an umbrella. Again. You let out a small groan.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” A familiar voice chimes in.

“By the Cauldron,” you gasp, startled by the presence right beside you. “You really need to stop appearing out of nowhere.”

“Then how else am I supposed to save you?” Lucien teases, moving closer so that his umbrella also shields you from the rain.

You hadn’t found the courage to ask him out that day either, but you had learned that when Lucien wasn't away on emissary business, he lived in the building right next to yours.

**

As you get ready to close up the bakery, you spare a glance toward the window. A frown settles on your face. It seemed that Velaris was in for even more rain, despite the newspaper claiming otherwise. Fortunately, you had shoved your boring gray umbrella into your bag before work. You were prepared this time because surely with your luck, Lucien wouldn’t be there to save you a third time.

You made sure to pack the leftover pasties into your bag before shutting everything off. As you lock the door, the sky darkens and the faint sound of thunder echoes throughout the city. In the blink of an eye, the rain comes down, pouring quickly and relentlessly. Too quick for you to shift the bags in your arms and reach for your umbrella.

“Forgot yours again?”

“Mother above!”

“Unfortunately, no. Just Lucien.” The red haired male chuckles. His intentions were never to scare you but he found it quite amusing and cute. “I saw the gray clouds and figured you’d need me. Come,” he says, gesturing for you to inch closer to him 

“How did you know I was working today?” 

“I didn’t.”

A sheepish smile spreads across his features and a faint blush colors his cheek. You swear there’s a subtle glow about him, his fiery red hair and eyes gleaming despite the overcast sky. He’s like a ray of sunshine.

“Well, aren’t you a lucky male?” You tease, feeling a rush of warmth at his presence.

“I’d be luckier if you joined me for a late afternoon coffee.” Now it’s you who is blushing and you’re grateful for the way he turns his head, tilting it slightly to the left.  “There’s a place only a block away.”

“Only if you let me pay,” you manage to say and when he opens his mouth to protest, you beat him to it. “As a thank you,” you insist, nudging his shoulder playfully with yours. “For your umbrella services.”

Lucien laughs, his smile widening. He offers you his arm like he has the previous two times. This time, you take it without hesitation, feeling a rush of excitement at the closeness between you. As he guides you both through the rain-soaked streets of Velaris, you lean into him even further. He’s always soothingly warm. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re closer to him than usual.

As the sky continues to pour down, the umbrella in your bag seems to quietly smile, and you can’t help but develop a newfound fondness for the rain.

It has, after all, brought you closer to Lucien.

For the sake of this fic, reader can't winnow and let's just say Lucien didn't winnow you to your job because he wanted to get to know you more (:

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming

[sp4ceboo]

CHAPTER 5 ~ VISIONS

beneath a crimson sky masterlist | ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5 | ch 6

pairing: stray kids ot8 x afab!reader

genre: apocalypse au, dystopian, dark, adventure, action, thriller, fighting, eventual smut, romance

a/n: for someone who's terrified of any sort of horror etc i sure get the urge to write it

chapter warnings: gore, lots of vivdly described disturbing stuff, illness, starvation, hallucinations

chapter word count: 2.5k

Hissing in your ears, the shadows bear you up in their arms, whisking you so high that you thrash in their shackles, screaming for them to let you down.

The whites of their eyes show as they laugh at you.

You sob, trying to grab at the inky chains they’ve fixed around your wrists and ankles, but they turn insubstantial the moment your fingers close around them, dissolving away in curls of cold smoke to reform away from your touch. Grinning faces surround you, multitudes of strange faces you cannot explain: an army assembled to mock you.

In a flash, they are gone. Bony fingers crawl over your face. Flailing, you try to bite down, but another hand clamps over your mouth as the fingers creep upwards, digging into your eye sockets and scooping. Cold envelops you, and you spasm, back arching as sight returns to you.

There’s bloody tears dripping down your face.

You weep.

Below you, a vast crowd stretches, wreathed in flames and lined up in endless rows, so far that you cannot see their ends. Dressed in rags that they treat as finery are a man and a woman, standing at the head of the formation, their faces slack and empty. Their bodies are not theirs to control.

The woman’s blonde hair hangs limp and matted around her face. There’s a glint of something metal at her waist. It’s the hilt of a knife, snug between her ribs, and though blood oozes down her clothes and soaks into her rags, she acts as if it isn’t there. Beside her, the man sways, bronzed skin pallid and coated in a sheen of sweat; he looks not entirely healthy, as if he’d just recovered from an illness. 

A figure rides up. Even from so far above, you feel the blaze of his hate. His horse is a steed forged from an inferno, red and fiery, and you catch a glimpse of sharpened iron teeth as its lip curls, tossing its flame weaved mane and pawing at the ground, the air around it undulating with heat. You begin to tremble.

The rider’s face is terrible and beguiling. His flesh drips from his bones, sizzling where it touches the horse's flanks. You are struck through with terror as his eyes find you from where you are suspended in the wine tinted sky; they are deep and endless and full of an ocean of loathing. For a moment, you are drowning in them, and fire tugs at your limbs, ripping your skin off them and gnawing through you until it finds your heart.

A wretched sound leaves you as the rider stretches out his hand and plucks it from your chest. The worst thing is that beneath the fear and the acrid scent of your burning body, there is an unexplainable elation, planted there against your will. It swells in your chest, and you begin to laugh, laugh and laugh and laugh, as the rider brings your heart to his bloody mouth and sinks his teeth in.

Pain explodes through you, and suddenly you are back in the sky. You clutch at the shadows now, pleading for them to keep you away from the rider, pleading for them to make it stop.

Again, they laugh, a chorus of shrieks and cackles, shrill, the sound boring into your head.

Though your limbs are weak with fear, you still find it within you to struggle against them. Wordless, frightened noises leave you, for below, the rider is cradling the face of the woman, close as a lover, and she is transfixed by him. You scream, begging her to pull away, to resist, but a dumb smile crawls over her face and she drops to her knees before the rider. As she falls, he grips the blade in her side and pulls it out. She does not even twitch.

You can only watch in horror as he moves onto the man. He too kneels without a fight.

Pulling the broadsword from where it is slung over his back, the second horseman draws it and rests the flat of it on the woman’s shoulder. For a panic stricken moment, you think he will behead her right there and eviscerate her beside the man, but he doesn’t.

He knights her, then the man next.

The rider gestures at them, and together, they stand, their movements jerky as if pulled on by puppet strings. You cry out when you see their eyes - deep and murky, insidious darkness leaking from their irises into their blood woven sclera.

All semblance of humanity has been erased from them.

They are nothing more than vessels.

Cool hands cup your face.

Moaning, you lean towards them, willing them to stay there and beat back the scorching desert beneath your skin. You can hear voices, but they’re far away. Your breath comes out short and laboured.

It sounds like you’re dying.

The same cool hands ease your jaw open, and water floods your parched tongue. At first, you cough, but you choke it down, so thirsty that you barely pause to breathe. Blearily, you open your eyes, but they don’t make out anything but light and dark blurs.

“She’s drinking, thank god,” the cool hands say.

You frown. It’s Minho’s voice, flat enough that you can’t read the emotions swirling beneath it, but his words sound relieved. You can’t think why Minho would be relieved that you’re alive. The room is slowly swimming into focus, and you spot two smears of black, one a little taller than the other.

A rough palm touches your cheek. “She’s still burning up, though.”

That’s Seungmin. Turning your head, you try to claw your way to lucidity, but it evades you. The cool hands sweep a damp cloth over your forehead as you begin to register his words.

“Burning,” you rasp. “He’ll make them burn everything down.”

Minho pauses, opening his mouth. The shadows sink their teeth into you before you can hear what he says.

This time, they leave you under a reddened night sky devoid of stars. No shackles bind you, but you can sense them slinking in the corners of your vision and where you cannot see, waiting to pounce. Turning in a circle, you scan the darkness, searching for the next horror that awaits you.

The sound of horse hooves rings out. You whirl around, trying to find their source, trying to ignore the tittering of the shadows as they mock you with their derisive faces.

You blink, and then the third horseman is there before you.

She sits astride a horse so black that it had blended into the circle of shadows as it approached. It is glossy and healthy looking, yet it froths at the mouth, snapping its teeth at you. The rider places a soft hand on its flank, and it calms. She smiles at you, saccharine, and it incites so much comfort inside you that you know it’s a lie.

Her extrasolar face is cold and so beautiful it cuts you, her lacy hair like cobwebs where it hangs around her face. It drapes, dripping, over her shoulders - a veil.

There’s blood on your tongue.

You take a step back, and the gentle look on her face turns ugly. Holding up her hand, a pair of scales appears between her fingers, and she places a delicate feather, white as a lamb, in the first dish.

Though there’s nothing in the second dish, the moment she releases the feather, it hurtles downwards - the scales shriek shrilly as they move, and you watch in horror as the feather begins to bleed until it is soaked red. The rider turns to you, and now there is nothing comforting about her sharpened smile. Heart pounding, you back away, but the shadows push you back towards her, and what you believe must certainly be your doom.

She raises her hand and points at you.

Immediately, you collapse, your stomach cramping. You are filled with a sudden craving, a hunger so vast you cannot think; you merely scrabble at the floor, tremors wracking your body as you cry out, needing to fill the yawning cavern inside you. It erodes you from the inside out, so acute it burns like vile acid.

Wailing, you claw your way forward until your vision is filled with the hooves of her horse. You are weak with hunger, so weak that it is a battle to raise your head and look up at her, your mouth hanging open to plead for her to release you from the pain. No sound comes out.

Caressing the horse’s mane, she leans forward and whispers into its velvety ear. You quake as you look up at her, wondering what she said, wondering if she will take mercy on you and knowing she will not.

Whinnying, the horse rears, and you scream as its hooves slam down and punch right through your ribcage.

The combined agony radiating from your crushed torso and the gaping hunger in your stomach paralyses you, locking your muscles so tight it hurts. Your body begins to spasm, and your teeth close around your tongue. Panic spears through you as you begin to choke on your own blood.

Your skin tears, your bones cracking and popping and rearranging within you. You’re aware of protrusions pushing their way out of your back and down your arms, burrowing through your muscles and forcing them to reform around them. When you look up, the rider has dismounted her horse.

Tenderly, she touches your lips.

As if it has its own will, your body bends like a tree in a gale, and she kisses your forehead, her scarlet mouth terrible and searing against your skin, yet upon its touch, the pain in your ribs recedes, reforming you into something new.

The hunger roiling and snapping like a beast within only sharpens its claws.

“Go,” she murmurs. “Slaughter awaits.”

The world shakes with how hard you’re shivering, yet you can’t help but kick off your blankets. Someone secures them more tightly around them and you lash out, but your arms are weak and all it does is flop your hand against their leg. A voice floats down from somewhere in the sky.

“You need to eat.”

“Chan?” You groan, words slurred as strong hands ease you upright. “Changbin?”

“We’re here,” one of them says, although you’re not sure which one.

A spoon is pressed against your lips, and you hold back a cough long enough to swallow - they’ve mashed food so it’s liquid, easier for you to get down and keep down. Your head spins, the faces before you blurring. You realise Jisung is also with them, crouched beside Changbin, his face pale as he watches you.

“What did you mean before, about slaughter?”

Another face swims into view. Jeongin. You stare at him, bewildered both by his question and why he is bobbing up and down in front of you like a rubber duck caught in the crashing waves of the sea.

“I - I don’t remember,” you mumble.

Chan puts his hand on Jeongin’s shoulder. “It’s fine. She’ll tell us when she’s better.”

He says it like it’s final, like he’s sure that you will get through it, like there’s no other option. You want to believe him.

The shadows craft you a leash out of the ephemeral material that clothes them. Laughing, always laughing, they secure it around your neck, so tight that only strained gasps of air make it out of you, and drag you along with them, letting your body get broken and battered by the rocks in their path. Mud chokes your lungs, settling heavy in your chest when you inhale it, and fragments of rubbish and twigs tangle into your hair.

They’re bringing you to someone.

You begin to kick and struggle then, tearing at the leash, but it sinks deeper into your flesh, and your own torn nails leave gashes in your skin. As normal, your screams fall on deaf ears, and you writhe, knowing that who they’re taking you to will be far worse than the previous you’ve seen.

The collar of shadow rings tighter around your neck. Tighter and tighter and tighter until an abyss gapes open below you, and you fall right through, and this time even the shadows forsake you, letting you descend into the blackness as they recede from your vision. Somehow, it brings you no comfort, for they too fear he who has summoned you.

Your bones crunch and snap as you land; it is certain that the fall has ended you, and now your soul is trapped in the cage of your broken ribs, fluttering and trying to shake itself free. You cannot move. You cannot flee.

A pale horse walks towards you, yet its hooves make no noise. Fearful, you raise your eyes to see its rider.

He too is pale, and wreathed in a colourless cloak that casts a shadow over his face, yet you can see his skeletal features, motionless and terribly still within his cowl. The arc of the scythe in his fingers winks at you, even in the dark, and he uses the end of it to hook you and drag you from your body. Your bones clatter as your essence leaves them.

Death holds you in the palm of his hand, and you are captivated by the darkness within his hood. You know that this is the moment that your life rests upon.

“I have come to reap,” he says, with a voice like the slam of nails into a coffin lid. “Yet your time is not up yet.”

Again, you are falling.

There’s someone talking to you. You can see his face, see his lips moving, but you don’t understand a word he’s saying.

You don’t remember his name, nor the name of the one beside him, but you know who they are: there’s the blonde angel, his eyes earnest and worried as they search your slack face, and the dark haired prince, his handsome face etched in fear as he wipes your brow with a damp cloth.

The angel clasps your hands in his small ones, and this time, his words are audible, drifting down to you as if he talks to you from the top of a canyon while you’re tied to the bottom of the gorge, straining to hear his words. You fight to pick them out from the whisperings of the shadows, the freckles on his face swirling like constellations.

“Fight it,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “Fight just a little longer.”

You want to. You want to fight it, but the shadows creep closer, tugging at your limbs, and suddenly you’re just their puppet, them the cruel puppeteers.

You watch in horror as your own hands rear up like snakes and claw at the angel’s face.

taglist: @estella-novella@0bticeo@lixies-favorite-cookie@smashleywow@realrintaro @extremechaoswarning @4l17h4 @hyunjinsjeans @insufferablyunbearable @lovemepie67 @needsumcomfypillowstosleep @loumin908 (let me know if you want to be added)

[stellabk]

FVRY OF THE FIRE

Part I

Summary - Two young daughters and their Patrician father live just outside of Rome in a small village. For the sake of their father’s revolution against the twin tyrant emperors, she and her sister must play the part of lovestruck concubines, even if one of them has too much of a fiery temper to pretend to like the arrogant Emperor Geta.

Warning(s) - binding with rope, abusive behavior (not from Geta), graphic violence, attempted SA, blood, broken bones, not historically accurate. I’m not sure what else, but if you see something else including any edits needed, let me know!

Deianira stirred in her bed from the smell of smoke and the sound of shrieks. Her eyes shot open and she leapt from her bed, brushing the red hair away from her face with her hands as she rushed toward her window. Her brown eyes grew wide as the temple across from her home began disintegrating as it grew more and more ablaze. Soldiers lined the outside, one atop a black horse, as a bulky soldier gripped at a woman’s hair as she knelt on the ground screaming pleas to let her children live. Deianira threw on her clothes in a rush and came rushing down the stairs. Her father stood at the door watching in agonizing silence.

“Father, do something! They’ll kill her and her children!”

Her father only stood frozen, unable to respond. She huffed out a breath of frustration as she pushed past her father, rushing toward the woman.

“We will only ask this once more: where is the man who rules over this village?” the soldier, who you could now see the glinting gold of the Roman insignia on his breastplate, shouted in the woman’s face as he pulled her long hair even further toward the sky. She yelped at the sensation while her two young sons shouted and sobbed for the army to leave their mother alone.

“Let that woman be! What crime has she committed to deserve such callous ruthlessness?”

The soldier’s head shot in her direction, the woman and children now quiet as they stared at their neighbor in fear. The man dropped the woman’s head as she fell to the ground on her face. He began to approach her, tall and burly frame stalking closer and closer like a leopard on the prowl. He stood directly in front of her face, towering over her and spitting on the ground just next to her unclothed feet.

“What right does a bitch have to feel the need to incessantly bark?!” He brought the back of his hand to her face making her stumble to the side. She stayed looking down, her hand slowly moving for the dagger at her side under her dress. He stepped closer to her, yelling blashphemous words at her as he knelt to her ear level just to insult her. He couldn’t get all of his verbal abuse past his lips as her knee came up to meet his croin then her dagger plunged into his throat. He stumbled back several steps with her following, the knife still lodged into his larynx, only pushing harder as he tried to move away. He looked at her with the last light in his eyes as his knees sank to the dirt right beside the woman he had just been tormenting. Deianira spit by his knees before pulling the crimson covered weapon away from his jugular as he fell face first into the red mud.

The general stared at her, unyielding of any emotion but his eyes possessed the faintest hint that he was impressed.

“Forgive my soldier,” the general hopped from the left side of his horse, petting its neck then stepping closer to the petite but obviously dangerous woman in front of him, who still held the dagger chest level and ready to attack once more. “He never has been very tactful. Though I will say, it is a shame you had to kill the fellow.”

“What is it that you Empire scum want with my village?” she hardened her exterior to not let her guard down; he could have only been acting cordially in order to strike her down, after all.

“We have our orders to find Publius, the man who this city follows.”

“What has my father done to incur the wrath of the imperators?”

“Unfortunately your father has refused to send the taxes of the townsfolk to their highnesses, and they took it as a sign he may begin an upheaval.”

“That is nonsense!” your father hobbled to your side. “I would never do a thing to seem like a transgression against my emperors. I beg of you, let me recompense my unintentional transgressions. I shall repay tenfold.”

“Father, you cannot be serious,” Deianira looked at her father. He quickly shot her a look signalling her that she had ashamed him enough. She sealed her lips to prevent any further disgrace to befall him.

“If you and your men wish to wait here for a moment, I shall go inside and wake the servants so they may prepare what you are owed.”

“Very kind, sir. The imperators thank you for your continuous support.”

Deianira’s father nodded to the general before beckoning her back into the house with his hand on her back. Once they were inside, her father closed the door and her sister, Publia, waited with her arms crossed over her chest and yet her wavy blonde hair looked as if it had just been brushed, perfect as ever.

“By the gods, what has happened to you, Deianira?” She brushed her soft cream colored hands across the cheek the soldier had struck, feeling the sting of her touch through the skin.

“Now is not the time. Father, why cower to those soldiers? We have wanted this rebellion to commence for a decade now. Why not stand against the tyrants that sit on the throne?”

“I have my reasons, girl. If you truly want to help our cause–the both of you–I suggest you come near and listen to me carefully. I shall not force on you anything you do not wish to do… We have all discussed the dangers of this revolt, and you both know what is at risk… what you may have to lay down for the sake of the people around us.”

“Father, please. Tell us what you are thinking,” Publia stepped closer to him.

Publius sighed, shaking his head, “I will send the gold and treasures to the emperors, along with my two daughters for an apology.”

“No,” Deianira scrunched her brows, hurt by the notion that their father would pass them along as if they were treasures to be claimed.

“Hear me first, daughter. Your sister is of the meek persuasion. She will make a good fit to tempt Emperor Geta. You, on the other hand, are fiery and hot tempered. Emperor Caracalla will love the challenge of trying to tame the wild beast. If you were to go, you could be a potential consort of the two rulers and bring them to their knees, also giving me the time to build up our recruits and prepare them for the slaughter.”

“But father, if we become nothing more than a consort, we may lose the chance to marry,” Deianira furrowed her brows, holding back her pending explosion of fury from her family.

“She does have a point, father. Not to mention if we are consorts, what shall become of us if we become with child? Should we be exiled, never to see you or any of our loved ones ever again?”

“I understand, and as I stated, I shall not force you both to do this if you do not wish it, but if you do this, we may yet save our people. But you both knew that this revolution could come with great risks.”

SIlence loomed overhead like a broadsword on a small string. Publia was the first to break it.

“I must live up to the name that is yours as well as mine. We are for the people, and I shall be anywhere the rebellion has use for me.”

Deianira hesitated, fighting her head which said to stay under the small blanket of safety in the village, and her heart which cried for the revolution.

“I shall also go. My name my mother gave me might not be of Roman descent, but she gave it to me with purpose.”

Father had the servants carry out gold and treasures in carts, one right after the other. The handmaiden dressed the two doomed sisters in beautiful, luxurious dress for their journey before sending them off with only a few of their close items. The eldest sister walked out the door first as Deia’s father stopped her.

“I want you to heed my words. I do not want you to relent your animosity. Act as if you are being forced to go. Fight them as much as you possibly can until you feel as if Caracalla has “tamed” you. Go forth with the fire of your hair.”

She nodded one last time to her father before he walked her out toward the general.

The general stood beside his horse, waiting for the two women. “Thank you once more, Publius. Your daughters will be well taken care of.”

“Thank you, General Acacius. I am sure they will be taken care of with the utmost diligence.” Your father lowered his head to Acacius in respect.

“However, my men do insist we tie this one to ensure the safety of the rest of the men.”

Deianira smiled with a scoff. “You believe rope will be enough to stop my wrath? If I wish it, I shall bear my teeth to your mens’ throats.”

The rope was tight against her arms as two soldiers wrapped it around her, pinning them to the sides of her torso. A man helped her sister into a carriage, then her, making sure to give her the ample support without the use of her arms.

Before they knew it, the carriage and militia surrounding them made their leave, all of them but two looking back at the smoke from the attack.

The sisters jostled down paths in the carriage that held them, Publia sleeping soundly as Deianira squirmed against the ropes that burned her skin, trying to release some of the pressure. The carriage slowed to a stop, and more bustling noise could be heard from outside it. Publia peeked over the edge where she sat on the floor of the cart, watching as men carried their food cargo in crates and satchels to start camp. She squatted back to her sister’s level ,letting her know what was happening. The women sat as they watched men building tents and a few fires around them as the sun sank further and further down.

General Acacius approached the two of them, “We have a tent for the two of you to share ready if you would like to relax for the night. Dinner will be ready momentarily.”

Deia’s sister pulled her to her feet and led her to the tent. As time passed, she still remained bound, her sister forced to feed her since she lacked the ability to do it herself, and also made up her bedroll. The sun had completely set on the camp, and it grew quieter. The two women slept soundly, though Deianira began to shift in her bedroll at the increase of close sounds. She groggily opened her eyes and looked toward her sister, and was immediately fully awake. A soldier held a knife to her throat and another hand against her mouth, Publia’s skirt showing her loincloth undergarments as she cried quietly and shook. the man had not yet noticed that she was awake, so she knew she had to act fast, but how would she fend him off still bound? In a matter of instinct, she charged for him and threw her full body weight at him like a spear, feet first into his side. The man grunted as he rolled onto the floor, Deia taking it as a sign to head but him with all of her strength. His head fell to the tent floor, rolling over onto hi back as he groggily put his hands against his forehead in anguish. Deianira straddled him, pushing her bare foot against his neck, then snaking the other around to hold his head firm and watch his face turn blue. He grappled for the lost weapon, pawing at her with the other in an attempt to get her off, before he slowly stopped, all light leaving his eyes and head falling to the side still discolored.

Two more guards rushed in from the commotion, seeing the display and their deceased brother. One charged toward Deia, knocking her on her back and off of the dead soldier. He ran toward her with the knife that had been discarded on the floor, but she kicked with both legs into his rib cage, knocking the breath from his lungs. The other grabbed her off the floor by her torso and held her back against him, giving the other soldier an opportunity to attack. He came closer with the knife twirling in his fist and fury in his eyes, panting to try and recover his lost breath. Deianira kicked behind her into the mans knee cap, pushing it into a wrong angle as he screamed before lifting her other leg to kick the man in the same place as the one that was behind her and now on the floor. He cut at her leg, earning a hiss of pain, charging another attack with the blade at her. As if a wild tiger, she ran forward and bit into his neck hard. He screamed at first, then began to gargle. She tasted the metallic taste of his blood, smelled it as it burned at her eyes, but she didn’t relent. If he moved , she bit in harder. He fell to the ground in a heap, still struggling for death, and she still held tightly with her teeth as she collapsed with him. General Acacius stormed in, tens of soldiers behind him now and staring on in horror. Deia finally felt the breathing stop under her lips and let go. Her mouth, legs and arms were covered in a mix of her and the soldiers’ blood sitting criss cross on the tent floor while her sister cowered in the corner. She panted, spitting as much blood from her mouth as possible, tears burning her eyes from the blood exposure.

”Do forgive me, general… they attacked my sister.”

He only nodded, looking at the floor and two bedrolls that had blood splotches scattered on them, then to the girl sitting on the ground covered in blood like a carnivore after devouring a good hunt, and finally to the sister who still remained in her bedroll hat had escaped without a drop of blood or scratch on her.

”We unfortunately have no way for you to clean up, nor anything to change into. Please, get some rest. I shall be outside your tent to ensure nothing like this happens again.”

Publia hugged her sister’s back while the other soldiers dragged their dead companions from the tent leaving a trail of blood behind and the two sisters shared their bedroll that night out of fear for what was to come.

[dany-is-my-queen]

A QUESTION OF LOYALTY XXI

Rhaneyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader

Word count: 4.6k

Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.

From the Hill of Rhaenys, where the Dragonpit loomed, an uproar of angry cries echoed through the streets. The mob, incited by the “Shepherd’s” fiery rhetoric, surged forward to destroy the dragons—a symbol of their oppression.

Within the Red Keep, Rhaenyra paced frantically, her face pale and sweat beading her brow. The queen’s usual composure had melted into sheer panic.

“My son… my son!” she murmured, horror tightening her voice.

“Your Grace,” you called out, trying to ground her.

She barely heard you, her attention snapping back to the balcony. From the vantage point of Maegor’s Holdfast, the golden shimmer of Syrax was visible against the night sky, her massive wings beating as she bore Joffrey toward the Dragonpit.

“No! Bring him back! Every man, every boy—go after him!” she cried out.

You stepped forward and placed a steadying hand on her arm.

“Your Grace, your Grace! Listen to me. I’ll go. I’ll bring him back,” you promised.

Rhaenyra’s wide, tear-filled eyes darted to you. “Are you mad? They’ll rip you apart! They’ll murder—”

“Trust me, my Queen. I’ll get through. There’s no time to lose,” you cut her off, determination firm in your tone.

Without waiting for her consent, you turned and sprinted from the chamber. The fastest steed in the stables was saddled within moments, and you galloped into the chaos, sword in hand, weaving through the panicked streets toward the Dragonpit.

Years ago, when Joffrey was but a babe, you remembered Rhaenyra introducing her sons to Syrax.

“Take them to the skies with you as soon as you can,” you had said, your voice soft but certain. “Better they grow familiar, even before their dragons hatch. So Syrax may warm to them as well.”

You had been there, watching as the golden she-dragon tilted her great head to inspect the toddling boys. To your surprise, she had taken to them quickly, her nostrils flaring in recognition of their Targaryen blood.

Now, as Syrax carried Joffrey toward the Dragonpit, you prayed the bond would protect him.

When you arrived at the pit, the scene was a nightmare. Flames licked the crumbled edges of the dome, the shrieks of dying dragons and frenzied rioters mingling in the air.

“Joffrey! My Prince!” you called out, spotting him near Syrax.

He turned, his face streaked with soot. “Aunt Y/N? No! I need to get to Tyraxes!”

“Your mother needs you, my boy,” you shouted back.

Joffrey hesitated, his eyes darting toward Tyraxes’s lair, where the mob swarmed. But when you extended a hand to him, he relented, rushing into your grasp.

With one arm, you hoisted him onto your saddle, buckling him securely with a strap. “Hold on tight!”

Syrax descended in a furious dive, her claws raking through the mob and scattering men like leaves in a storm. Her tail swept through the crowd, knocking rioters off their feet, and she let out a jet of flame, creating a temporary barrier between you and the advancing mob.

She landed in front of you, her golden eyes locking onto Joffrey. She crouched low, shielding the both of you with her massive body, her wings folding protectively around you.

But even her presence couldn’t halt the onslaught. The mob’s shouts grew louder, and arrows began to rain down. Syrax roared in pain as one struck her side, then another embedded itself near her shoulder. She reared back, her wings flaring as she unleashed another torrent of flame to keep the crowd at bay.

She let out a low growl, almost as if urging you to flee.

“She’ll circle back,” you told Joffrey firmly. “But we have to go now”

The horse bolted forward, and you pushed through the crowd, cutting down anyone who dared to block your path. The mob was relentless, but Syrax’s fiery distraction had given you just enough of an opening to break free.

Then you saw her—Dreamfyre. The pale dragon stood in the open courtyard, her wings spread wide as her silver flames illuminated the frenzied crowd closing in around her. She was cornered, her roar shaking the very foundation of the pit, but the mob pressed forward, undeterred by the carnage.

"Dreamfyre!" you gasped, your heart lurching.

Joffrey tugged at your arm. "Aunt Y/N, I need to—"

“No!” you snapped, your tone sharper than intended. “Your mother needs you alive.”

Your horse bucked nervously as you drew closer, but your eyes remained fixed on Dreamfyre. Her jaws snapped shut on a man wielding a massive axe, flinging his lifeless body across the pit. A burst of flame erupted from her maw, incinerating dozens of attackers in a single, merciless breath.

But then, as if summoned by the gods’ cruelty, a crossbow bolt struck her eye. The scream that tore from her throat was unlike anything you had ever heard—a sound that reverberated in your very bones.

Another bolt struck her wing. Dreamfyre tried to leap into the air, her massive body thrashing against the confines of the pit. But the mob swarmed her, hacking at her legs, her tail, her wounded wings.

“Gods,” you whispered, your throat tight.

Joffrey’s voice broke through your paralysis. “We have to help her!”

You turned to him, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “We can’t, Joffrey. If we stay, we’ll die.”

His face crumpled with despair, but he nodded reluctantly.

Dreamfyre’s anguished roars filled the air as you turned your horse away. Tears blurred your vision as you forced yourself to move, to think, to prioritize the prince’s safety above all else.

“Hyah!” you shouted, spurring your horse into a gallop, cutting through the thinning crowd as the Dragonpit dome shuddered behind you.

Every step of the journey was a battle. You cut down attackers who lunged at you, your sword flashing in the firelight. Two arrows lodged into your back, the pain sharp but ignored as adrenaline carried you forward. A spear found your leg, and you gritted your teeth against the agony, focusing only on getting Joffrey to safety.

At last, the gates of the Red Keep loomed ahead. The Queen’s Guard rushed to your side, fending off the last of the mob as you staggered through.

Once inside, your grip on Joffrey slackened. You slid from the saddle, your body collapsing to the ground. Your vision blurred, the last thing you saw before darkness consumed you was Joffrey being carried into the castle.

“Joffrey… Joff…”

When you awoke, the room was quiet except for the crackling of a nearby fire. Pain pulsed through your body, dulled by milk of the poppy. Rhaenyra sat beside you, her face a mixture of relief and sorrow.

“You’re awake,” she said softly, taking your hand.

“Joffrey?” you croaked, your throat dry and raw.

“Safe,” she assured you. “Thanks to you. You are the Warrior in flesh and bone, my lady. I am sorry for my reaction, I see and acknowledge now that saved the Queen dowager and her daughter out of sincere and selfless care. You made the right choice.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” You closed your eyes, exhaustion and relief washing over you. “Syrax?”

“She came back,” Rhaenyra said, her voice breaking slightly. “Wounded, but alive.”

You nodded weakly. “Dreamfyre…, Tyraxes.”

Rhaenyra’s silence told you all you needed to know.

“They’ve slaughtered the dragons. I can’t keep doing this,” she said after a long pause, her voice trembling. “The city is lost. My children… you… I won’t risk any more lives. In a fortnight we are leaving for Dragonstone."

Her words felt like both a defeat and a reprieve, but as you lay there, her hand in yours, you knew this was the end of something far greater than just a battle.

————

Dragonstone did not come to happen.

When the bells toiled, you knew the time had come, and with it, all the hatred and the ambition that had been brewing for so long.

Silverwing had just returned to you yesterday, perfect timing.

There was no running now. Perhaps there never had been, but that was irrelevant. She had to be protected at all costs.

“Y/N, he has come,” the Queen said urgently as she donned her red and black armor. Two of her guards stood behind her like shadows, awaiting her orders. You made a discreet signal, and they nodded, understanding. She was ready to face her own husband, ready to gamble everything. But you couldn’t allow it. Not because you doubted her strength, but because you remembered. You remembered the devastation that had befallen your family, the helplessness you had felt as your mother fell. Daemon wouldn’t stop until he claimed everything, and you could not allow her to be his next victim, nor anyone else's."

You turned toward the courtyard where the dragons, Syrax (not yet fully recovered) and Silverwing, could already taste the coming carnage. But just before stepping outside, you seized Rhaenyra’s arm with swift motion, pulling her to one of the Maester’s rooms nearby. She fought against you, her fury igniting. “Y/N! What in the Seven Hells are you doing?!”

With a swift push, you shoved her inside, but she tried to break free, her eyes burning with defiance. “Let me go! We must prepare to face Daemon!”

You shoved open the door, practically throwing her into the room. She stumbled but regained her balance, her fury only growing. She rushed toward the exit, but you caught her by the waist, holding her in place.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Your Grace. You must stay here. I will not let you face him,”

Her face flushed with indignation. “I don’t need your permission. I am the Queen. This is my battle. I will not stand here, locked away like some maid in need of protection,” Rhaenyra snapped, her defiance ringing through the room. “Move aside, or I’ll make you."

You leaned in close, whispering with a calm certainty, “I love you.” And before she could respond, you kissed her briefly, a stolen kiss that sealed your decision. You locked the door and ran.

With one final glance, you strode toward your dragon. The chill in the air was biting as you mounted Silverwing, the two of you leaving the Queen behind.

As you beheld Daemon, his insatiable thirst for a Throne that was not his, memories of your mother and siblings surged within you—both of them. Their faces, their gazes, haunted you. You knew that Daemon would not relent until the entire realm was drenched in blood.

Daemon continued to relentlessly direct Caraxes toward you, the force of his assault overwhelming. Dodging him was no simple feat, yet Silverwing’s agility remained her advantage, though you were keenly aware that she had sustained grievous injuries.

The two dragons wove through the heavens, locked in a relentless pursuit, testing one another’s mettle. Below, the battlefield was a gruesome tableau of men being torn apart, their bodies scattered across the land. You knew that with him still breathing, he would make his move toward Daeron—the last threat to his “claim,”. And you were certain he would not hesitate to rid himself of his own wife if it meant securing the throne.

You could have disappeared into the smoke, vanished into the flames, but you chose instead to advance, to encircle him. The armor you wore mirrored that of your mother’s on the fateful day of her last battle, and within your eyes burned the same resolve she had—there would be no surrender.

“īlon kostagon mazverdagon ziry, hāedar. (We can make it, girl),” you uttered. She spared a glance back at you, her sorrow evident in the fleeting look she gave. This would be the last battle you fought together, the last time you soared as one in the skies. Yet despite it all, you and Silverwing became a singular force, releasing all your wrath upon Caraxes, who had grown distracted. His rider reacted swiftly, but you were faster, driving your talons deep into his left eye. Caraxes bellowed in anguish, unleashing a torrent of flame so blindingly fierce that it seared Silverwing’s wings, incinerating them with the fury of a thousand suns.

At that very moment, you perceived Syrax’s approach, her rider, the Queen, coming to your aid—an aid you had neither expected nor desired.

“Damn it Rhaenyra.”

Caraxes, however, arrived seconds after, taking both you and the Queen by surprise. Your face contorted with imminent concern as you deftly steered Silverwing to intercept, pushing Caraxes away. Syrax, though cunning, had never before faced such a battle. Caraxes raked his claws across the smaller dragon’s abdomen, sending Syrax into a momentary disarray. She sought to retaliate, but Caraxes evaded the blow, and you pursued him, chasing until he vanished momentarily among the clouds.

Caraxes returned with a roar, a fiery Dracarys that cut through the air, but you guided Silverwing directly into the path of Syrax and the Queen, shielding them both from the inferno. Just as you readied to strike once more, Silverwing seized Caraxes by the leg, wrenching him away as Syrax rained fire upon him. At last, driven by sheer instinct, Caraxes delivered a savage blow to Silverwing’s chest, while she clamped down on his lengthy neck, tearing it from his body before he could deliver a fatal wound to Syrax.

Daemon’s gaze shifted, a flicker of disbelief passing across his face as he witnessed the fall of his dragon. In that instant, he seemed to lose all sense of direction. Silverwing, her energy drained, released a final burst of flame, sending both dragons spiraling to the ground in a cataclysmic descent. However, despite her best efforts, Silverwing was no longer able to maintain flight, her strength failing, and she plummeted alongside Caraxes in a protracted, helpless fall.

Rhaenyra stood frozen in terror, watching as you and Silverwing fell from the heavens. Time itself seemed to slow.

Her cries echoed through the skies as the two of you crashed into the forest below, a wail so piercing it seemed to reverberate across the continent. Silverwing spread her shredded wings wide, her last act of defiance, creating a refuge from which none could pass.

You lay close to her neck, blood pouring from both of you, a torrential flow that seemed endless.

“Kirimvose (thank you)” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, the remnants of your strength fading. And Silverwing, with one final cry, echoed your sentiment.

The Queen descended swiftly on her dragon, rushing to your side with a sense of urgency. Yet, she was careful as she approached. Silverwing lay still, lifeless, her body cradling yours in an eternal embrace of protection. Rhaenyra fell to her knees when she recognized you, your eyes closed, but still faintly breathing. The presence of her sorrow stirred you, and you managed to open your eyes just enough to meet her gaze. She was in shock, her grip on these fleeting moments of life unrelenting. She could not speak, for she knew there was nothing more to be done. No mortal force could save you now. And so, she remained at your side, her tears flooding forth, uncontrollable.

You clasped her fingers, and she held them with a desperation as if her own life depended on that touch. You had no strength to speak, but she could only whisper, the words trembling from her lips:

“I was fortunate to have known the heart of a dragon.”

A faint smile curved your lips, a smile that would live forever in her memory, etched into her very soul. And with that, your heart ceased to beat.

Rhaenyra felt your hand slip from hers, its warmth fading, but she clung to it, her grip unwavering. And in that moment, Syrax cried out in grief, the dragon’s sorrow echoing the Queen’s. In that instant, the crushing realization struck her—she had lost you forever.

Upon opening your eyes, you were met with faces so familiar, so cherished—it was Laenor and Laena. Without hesitation, you embraced them tightly, and they returned your embrace with warm smiles, their expressions full of love. Behind them stood your mother, her tears of joy threatening to spill as she struggled to contain them. You did the same, mirroring her restrained emotions, though the sight of her filled you with an indescribable comfort.

To one side stood little Jaehaerys, gazing up at you with tender innocence. His tiny hand lifting in a shy wave. You reached out and tousled his hair gently. His simple presence warmed your heart, grounding you in this ethereal moment.

Not far from him stood Jace and Luke, their princely bearings unburdened by worry or fear. Their serenity was striking, their faces calm and full of light. You cupped their cheeks with both hands, holding them as if to memorize every detail of their features.

Further back, a silhouette loomed, unfamiliar at first. As the figure turned, recognition struck you like a wave. It was him—the man from your visions, the one whose face you had seen but never known. His dark hair was as black as the night, his features a perfect reflection of your own. Your father. He stepped forward, his expression soft yet brimming with pride, and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. His eyes, filled with unspoken words, told you everything you needed to hear.

Lastly, two women emerged into view, their presence both surprising and deeply reassuring. Lady Alerie and Queen Aemma. Their gazes held a profound gratitude and quiet satisfaction, as if their very souls had waited for this moment to share their solace with you.

It was then, as the weight in your heart lifted and a deep, all-encompassing peace filled your soul, that you understood. This was the end, but it was not despair—it was release. You could let go, knowing that the realm would find harmony, that those you loved would be safe. That the fight was over, and all would be well.

And so, with one final, peaceful breath, you allowed yourself to surrender to the light.

———-

Your sacrifice had not been in vain. As news of your passing spread throughout the realm, thousands of people, both nobles and commoners, converged upon the Capital. Days later, your funeral was held. Rhaenyra, still the reigning Queen, orchestrated the proceedings with the utmost respect and honor.

The Queen Dowager arrived with the two children she had left, Helaena and Daeron. Both were shattered by the loss, yet forever grateful for the time they had shared with you.

Lord Corlys Velaryon and his heir, Addam—now betrothed to Baela—attended, alongside Rhaena, who had at last returned from the Eyrie, bringing with her the Queen’s three youngest children.

The Starks, the Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Tullys—every house in the realm gathered to bid you their final farewell.

You didn’t wish the sea to claim you, as you always expressed should your demise come. Everyone knew it and that’s why your desire was to be granted with ash & fire, that was who you were.

“Y/N Velaryon was…” The Queen began, her heart heavy with sorrow. The words caught in her throat as she could scarcely believe she stood here, before so many, speaking of you in the past tense. Gathering her courage, she continued. “She was unfathomably brave and bold. Fear never held dominion over her. And though we had our differences, in the end, it was she who brought us together. She saw, and truly believed, that after such slaughter and endless suffering from both parties, reconciliation and a promise of a better tomorrow were still within reach. Lady Y/N’s legacy lives on in each and every one of us. She will never truly depart from us. She fought with the heart of a Targaryen. That blood, that fire, runs through her veins. But she was not just of our blood—she was as humble as any common soul. She cared more for others than she did for herself. She showed resilience in the darkest hours, emerging as a beacon of light and hope. That is something to be admired. She never allowed her grief to turn her to hatred or vengeance. Instead, her heart retained the sanity and wisdom that many of us sorely lacked.” She paused, her voice breaking as she added, “Y/N will always be our heroine. And the life we lead here today is, in large part, thanks to her. The most honorable dragonrider. The noblest lady of them all. May the Seven keep you, now and forever. Ao kostagon rest, issa jorrāelagon, rest. (You may rest, my love, rest.)”

A profound silence fell over the assembly, as many whispered words of gratitude, others offered their blessings, and still others gazed solemnly toward the place where your body lay.

Alicent no longer wore green, nor did any of her sons. Helaena, her face streaked with tears, cradled her young daughter, Jaehaera, in her arms, while Daeron—more composed than his mother, but no less heartbroken—held his mother’s arm. It was then, in this moment of finality, that the young prince commanded his dragon, who had stood watchful beside Syrax.

“Dracarys, Tessarion,” He said, his voice thick with grief, the pain palpable in his every word. His command echoed through the silence like the tolling of a bell. Tessarion, the blue queen, gave a mighty roar, and her flames consumed your remains in a fierce blaze. The funeral pyre blazed brighter than the sun, turning the sky into a canvas of crimson and gold.

————

You had entrusted a few letters to the Maester, to be delivered in the event that something went amiss. And thus, with deep sorrow, he carried out his duty. The two women had gathered in the Capital, where Rhaenyra had invited Alicent to join her for a meal in memory of you. Alicent would soon return to her home, accompanied by her daughter, while Daeron remained in the Capital.

“It is a sad irony that it took such a tragedy for us to all dine together once more. Well, almost all of us,” the Queen remarked.

“That is true, Your Grace. But I am certain that better times are ahead.”

“I am sorry, Alicent. For everything,” Rhaenyra expressed with heartfelt sincerity.

“As am I,” Alicent replied. “I know we both loved her, and she loved us both. Her way of loving was unique, and all the rivalry, all the competition for her affection—it broke many hearts. Still, I am grateful that we were allowed to love her so deeply. I shall never encounter another like her.”

“We were young once, and then we were not. But the joy of knowing her… that shall remain. As I hope the years to come will be prosperous, and that we may forgive the offenses of the past. As for me, I have forgiven.”

“You will make a fine Queen,” Alicent said, offering a gentle smile that Rhaenyra returned with equal sincerity.

————-

Rhaenyra, having seen her subjects and the nobles return to their homes, now found herself in a more peaceful state after the tumult of the recent events. In the stillness that followed, she opened your letter.

My Realm’s Delight

“There is so much I wish to convey, yet time would never suffice. Forgive me, if you are able, for the harm I have caused. For failing to be there when you needed me most. For turning away from you after swearing to you eternal loyalty. What I offer now is something that will endure, and that is the love I will always hold for you and for all your children. Embrace Princess Y/N with all the warmth your heart can offer. If you share with her my tale, it would be an honor; tell her that, even without having met her, I have prayed for her well-being and her happiness. Provide her with one of the eggs that Silverwing laid, so that she may be protected and, in turn, may protect. I know she will become a formidable dragonrider, but one of noble heart and wondrous spirit. Guide Rhaena and Baela, tell them I love them and not a day passed by that I didn’t think of them. Continue to guide those princelings; Aegon and Viserys are destined for great things. May they always remember the worth of things, and in time, they shall grow into knights of great stature. As for Joffrey, cradle him close, care for him, prepare him… for he is your heir, and whatever whispers may follow him, remind him always of who he is and where he comes from. Do not neglect yourself, Rhaenyra. Permit yourself to love once more, if such a thing is possible. Heal the wounds of your heart, and soar high… caress the very clouds. I will be with you in that flight.

Dragonstone would have been ideal… perhaps in some wild reverie, you might find me accepting that impetuous proposal, and we would love one another with all the fervor of our souls.

Be the Queen they need, be kind, as you already are, for let the gentleness of your spirit prevail over the iron of your hand. You bear the hope of the future, the promise of the generations to come.

Avy jorr��elan (I love you).

Y/N Velaryon.”

Upon finishing the letter, Rhaenyra pressed the page to her chest, and in that moment, she swore she could feel you beside her, serenely. Meanwhile, little /N—not so little anymore—slept in peaceful slumber.

—————

Alicent had returned to her home once more. This time, the emptiness was not as unbearable as when she had first lost her mother. High in the tower, she stood, unfolding the letter sealed with the Velaryon sigil.

A fleeting memory crossed her mind of your visit, riding upon Silverwing’s back. What concerns had burdened you then?

My Queen

“Your Grace, we have endured so much together… and I give thanks to the Gods for allowing me to love a woman such as you. We shared moments of deep anguish, of resentment… but also love and understanding. You allowed me to know you in a way no one else had, and I was the luckiest of women. I regret, with all my heart, that I was unable to save them. Know that I tried. Know that I adored you from the very beginning and loved those princeligs as my own. Care for Helaena, my sweet girl. I pray that she finds true happiness after such bitter trials, and that those around her will respect and protect her. May you rebuild the bond with that admirable son of yours. And, please, do not let sorrow cloud your heart over my departure. On the contrary, remember me for the best moments we shared, and let the shadows of the past fade from your mind. I wish that you might feel the sun upon your face, the sea breeze in your hair, and the call of the birds around you. Let melancholy never take hold, and rise as you always have, for you shall never be alone. Find a new purpose, and may it lead you to your full fulfillment. That is my wish for you, my Queen. Love yourself, love yourself fiercely, and never lose sight of who you are. Thank you for the love you gave me, and for allowing me to return it to you. You are the prettiest of flowers.

I love you.

Y/N Velaryon.”

Alicent closed her eyes, tears welling within them, yet she smiled amidst the sorrow and kissed the letter, bidding you her final farewell. She then lit a candle in your name, alongside all those she had lost.

————-

At long last, the statue that the Queen had commissioned in your honor had been completed… as well as that of Silverwing, your faithful companion.

You were free.

___________

Hey hey!!

I want to dedicate this chapter to everyone who has followed this story from beginning to end. New readers have joined over these two years since I started, and I am infinitely grateful for the support you've given me and for your desire to see this journey through to its completion, for believing in it.

When I first began, I didn’t plan on making it this long, nor expect it to receive all the love and positive feedback it has. I will always remember it fondly. This story has brought me so many smiles; I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing new chapters for all of you, keeping you entertained for a little while.

I apologize if I ever delayed—it was sometimes due to a lack of inspiration or time. One thing I want to emphasize is that if you ever plan to write your own story, take it slow and don’t feel pressured. Your readers will understand, and the most important thing is that you enjoy the ride. Let it nourish you.

Thanks to this story, I’ve had the chance to meet incredibly special and warm individuals. It’s truly a blessing—I’m so grateful for it because without it, I would never have met people who became dear friends and who I now hold close to my heart. It was all a butterfly effect, and I am so grateful for it. Even when I stop to think about it, it feels surreal.

Anyway, I truly hope you’ve enjoyed the final, even though it sadly had to come to an end :( I hope you’ll also enjoy the upcoming seasons of this amazing series that has taken us through all kinds of emotions.

Thank you, thank you.

With much love, Kenia

Taglist: @nnightskiess @loveislove4 @evattude @lethal-minds @sophiexoxsblog @claymoresword @tired-ninfa @glorioushamsterqueen @pinkponycent @newcaptainofsquad @pindoris @oh-thats-cute @rxscpctals @laenordeservedbetter @voniikg @toot-is-tired @letlovee-in @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valenciavv @the-camilucha @acidblum @itssecret2109 @i-nail-jello-to-walls @cone-fused-mind @livingdreams97 @unique0003 @wicked-laugh @lottiemsgf @duckiekong @thecavalrywife @username23345 @simp4women08 @vorsdany @unique0003

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

Memento Amoris Aeterni

Source for Pic

Word Count: 7155

Tags: Fem!Reader, NSFW - Oral - you receiving, reader is VERY inexperienced (it's medieval times and you're a princess. You know nothing), Angst without happy ending (!), some fluff, Protective Ace, Caring Ace, some gore, blood, cutting of limbs, medieval times AU. MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You are a princess, the sole heir to the kingdom and a prized possession for your father, until he can sell you to the highest bidder. Because of your value, you have a personal guard, Sir Portgas, who seems bored to death with the task of watching over you. However, you realise that he's just hiding his feelings behind a mask. Yet perhaps now it is too late?

Notes: So I saw this post, and I just had to... I was going to do something very short, I swear, but it escalated! Hope you enjoy!

The meadow looks beautiful this time of year. The vibrant reds from the poppies, the purples from the lavenders, the whites from the daisies, and scattered here and there, some yellows from the sweet buttercups and blues from cornflowers. 

It feels like pure freedom. 

Your dainty fingers caress the grass as you run, hoisting your long dress over one arm, ignoring the way your white stockings are showing and laughing nervously at the way you almost lose a slipper. 

Freedom. 

Except not quite. The very ground shakes beneath the thunderous hooves of the galloping horse and you curse beneath your breath, running a little faster, with much more carelessness. Almost there, you almost made it across the meadow this time! 

Your hastened breaths leave your parted lips in short puffs while you overexert your tired lungs. You already know freedom is not ahead of you, but you'll be damned if you're going to give him the satisfaction of your surrender. 

Two more strides are all you get before an armoured arm circles your waist and effortlessly pulls you on top of the brown steed. You are now trapped between two arms while your legs dangle on the side of the horse. Still fighting to catch your breath, you grunt, curse and frown while clenching your hands into tight fists. 

“Curses upon you Sir Portgas!” Akin to a child in the midst of a fiery tantrum, you cross your arms over your chest and point your nose to the clear sky. “I was almost out!”

The horse steadies its pace into a trot while a deep chuckle graces your ears. “You were nowhere near ‘out’, Princess.” He tsks and you can almost feel his dark gaze upon your face. “Of all the jobs in the guard, I had to draw the short stick and land this one…”

Another grunt emerges from your gritted teeth. “Some knights would die for the honour of guarding the princess!”

“Those knights are idiots.”

“At least they're not insufferable!”

Another rumble of laughter is all you get and just as well because you are not willing to give anything more. 

You are the sole heir of the Kingdom and the most prized possession your father holds. As an heiress and a princess, he will get to pick and choose of any noble to be your husband. And he will pick either the wealthiest or the one who can bring him more advantages, be they military, political or financial. You are sure that whoever he picks, will either be hideous, decrepit or disgusting. 

With your luck, all three combined. 

As you are of utter importance, the King has assigned a permanent guard to you, Sir Portgas D. Ace. The best knight of the Guard, known to possess some mystical fire abilities, though you are sure that is just mere hearsay, and a known heartbreaker. Of that, you don't doubt. 

He is as handsome as he is unbearable. And that is saying a lot. 

“Your father the king will be utterly displeased at, yet another attempt to escape.” He says dryly. 

You grunt in response, busy plucking tiny burdocks from the hem of your dress and throwing them at Sir Portgas’s cape, unbeknownst to him. “Then don't tell him.”

“When I took this job, I thought I would be fighting brigands, thieves or assassins.” He scoffs. “Instead, I'm stuck as a milk nanny of a brat.”

“The job suits you. Takes a brat to recognize another one.” You mumble and hiss, a particularly nasty spike from the burdock protruding from your bleeding thumb. 

“Oh, heavens. The Princess is bleeding. Call the priest.” He guffaws and you scowl, your eyes turning into slits. 

“Amusing jest. Perhaps you should try your fortune as a court jester? Mayhaps you wouldn't be so bored?” Using your nails, you try to pick the spike, but it just breaks with the force and you curse, stifling a low whine. 

Sir Portgas removes his steel glove, settling it on his lap, and grabs your delicate hand with his. Your hiss this time has nothing to do with the pain, but with the electric feeling that courses through your body, leaving a tingling sensation on your extremities. 

His dark gaze bores into yours as he presses your thumb into his mouth and sucks. The day is not even hot, yet you feel as if your skin has set ablaze. He uses his tongue on your digit, procuring the spike and, once he finds it, he nibbles and sucks again. 

If you thought his hand on yours had caused a tingling feeling, his tongue has somehow made that tingling seem insignificant. You are aching and burning in places you shouldn't be. 

Your teeth clamp hard against your lower lip to stifle some weird sound that means to get out, yet your breath comes out in heaves through your nose and your peculiar mind says you must look like a tired horse: nostrils flaring, sweat dampening your mane and hot, flushed skin. 

Sir Portgas removes your thumb from his mouth after what resembles an eternity, and he spits towards the ground, gracing you with a smug smile. “There. No more vile thorn can harm you, my lady. I took care of your foe, as I was hired to do.”

Yet, for once, you are speechless. 

There is no counter jest, there is no witty remark. You cradle your hand against your lap and remain silent the rest of the way to the castle, your eyes never leaving the safety of the horse’s head. 

If Sir Portgas finds it peculiar, he does not say so. 

-*-

“I do not understand this need to escape, child! Do you not have all you wish for here in the castle? I give you all the gowns you desire, the pretty jewels, the fancy shoes! If you get bored I send for jesters, for animals, for dancers or plays! If you wish to meet new people, I host tournaments and gatherings! What is it you wish for that I cannot grant you? Pray, tell!”

You face the floor, your hands clasped in the front of your ruined and tattered gown. Your shoes look as if they had been through war and your hair has never been in a more dishevelled state.

Sir Portgas stands at attention behind you, to your right. His gaze facing forward, his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t even flinch. You know he didn’t tell your father anything, he was with you the whole time. It was the guards by the gate that relayed that information. 

Now you are being scolded for yet another botched escape attempt. You had already lost count of how many there were. You had nineteen springs to your name, now. And your time must be near.

“I do not hear your words! Speak up! What do you want that I have not given you?”

A single tear escapes your eye and runs freely down your cheek. 

“Freedom.”

You catch a slight movement from Sir Portgas from the corner of your eye. His gaze meets yours, even if only for a second, as his jawline tightens and clenches. An almost soundless clank from the armour as his hand grips the handle harder.

“Preposterous. You will never be free. You belong to me now, child, and soon you will belong to your husband. That is the way of things. Begone!”

You hold your head high and your shoulders square as you exit the throne room and pass through an entire contingent of guards. Yet, as soon as the door closes behind you, your hands lift your skirts once more and you flee to your room as fast as your tired feet can take you. It does not matter that you are half-blinded by tears as you know the way around the castle as if it were the back of your hand.

You do not hear Sir Portgas following you, yet, he will find you. He always does.

Curse him.

-*-

The rain hits the carriage roof with extreme intensity. There’s mud on the road and the horses are dragging the vehicle to the best of their abilities, but the rain is cold and harsh and you can see smoke emerging from their flared nostrils from where you’re standing. 

You’re returning from a visit to a cousin, in the next kingdom. You have been away for three weeks and nothing has changed. Your life is dull and you are still trapped in it like a hare in a string trap, just waiting for the hit on the head so you’re fed to the hunter. 

Sighing you let out a loud huff. Your handmaiden keeps staring out the window with dreamy eyes and she ahhs and ohhs as if she has an affliction. You have half a mind to ask her if she’s constipated or in pain when you realise she’s staring at Sir Portgas, who rides next to the carriage.

He has removed his helmet because of the rain and his dark locks cling to his face and forehead with the heavy rain. His eyes are steely and dart from one side to the other, ever alert to any danger. Handsome as ever.

You roll your eyes at yet another insufferable sigh from the woman across from you. “Enough!” You bite. “I cannot stand another moan from your mouth. What is so interesting?”

“He is, my lady.” She giggles like a little girl and you feel your chest clench and contract as  anger boils within you. What is this feeling?

“Are you jesting?”

“I would never! He is so gallant and valiant. And his freckles? His smile? The way he fights?” Another sigh. You have had enough.

You’re about to order the carriage to stop because you wish to feel the rain on your face at the back of a horse. Instead, you hear dry thuds followed by screams and then, the tip of a spear protruding the carriage door and opening your maid’s skull with a sickening sound.

Your scream gets trapped in your throat, but your lips tremble incessantly. There are tears running from your eyes and you start to pant fast as your eyes never leave the gory image in front of you.

She still has her eyes open, her mouth shaped like an ‘o’ as blood and grey matter are splattered around her. Did the blood get on you as well? You dare not look. She was just laughing and now she’s so still.

You’re trembling. The screams and shouts outside increase in volume and proximity and the carriage halts to a full stop as you hear a pained neigh of a horse. The thuds of your heart grow louder and louder, as if it's beating right in your ears and your pants come in shortened gasps as your head gets lighter. 

The plush of the seat you are on gives in as your fingernails dig and scratch to ground yourself. There is so much blood. 

So much screaming.

Suddenly the door to the carriage jolts open and you turn in terror, barely having time to scream, and even if you meant to scream, you wouldn’t be able to. A wet, clammy hand finds its way to your mouth to keep you quiet and you’re inundated with the nauseating smell of metal.

Blood.

Another hand grabs you by the arm and yanks hard to pull you out of the carriage. You’re sure it will bruise. Yet, you couldn’t care less. As soon as you’re out of the carriage and you clumsily find your footing, before the man - whose appearance you are yet to perceive - manages to take you away, you bite his fingers with all the strength you possess.

Blood. Again. 

This time it fills your mouth and you spit it on the floor as soon as the man drops you, with surprise. Your knees scrape against the rocks and mud below you and you claw your way forward until you find the strength to be on your feet, preparing to run.

All around you men clash swords. There’s agonised screams and blood everywhere. You need to go!

Yet you barely get one step in before a bloody hand clasps around your neck and squeezes. “Going somewhere, you little princess whore.” The man lifts you easily off the ground and your throat aches and your lungs burn. You try to gasp for air but nothing but wheezes leave your parted lips.

Your fingernails scratch relentlessly against his hand but he does not relent. Around you the sounds of battle seem to fade into the distance. Legs dangling, your feet try to kick the man holding you, but strength fails you and you are sure this is the way you die. “Just pass out, little whore.” He whispers in your ear as his wet tongue swipes your neck and ear.

You can’t squirm away. You can’t fight back. You’re useless. 

You feel your eyelids drooping as your chest trembles and your arms fall limply beside you. But just as you’re about to dive into sweet oblivion, a sword swings and cuts right through the man’s arm, making you fall and stumble forward, right into the arms of your knight. Your guard, your protector.

Sir Portgas.

He holds you against him effortlessly as you gasp for air and cough. A pressure on your throat that burns and hurts. But you’re safe.

“Breathe, Princess. I won’t let anything happen to you.” The man that was holding you mutters incoherently. Begging for his life, pleading for mercy, asking for aid from the gods. Yet you know that all is in vain. Your knight was made to protect you. He will kill anyone or anything that attempts to take your life.

Still holding you he moves his blade effortlessly and you hear a blood-curdling scream. Trying to normalise your breath, you turn your face to look back, but Ace holds your head against him with a gloved hand. “It’s best if you don’t look.” You nod against him, feeling your legs faint from fear.

“We are going to run. Close your eyes and hold my hand. I will guide you. Do you trust me?” You lift your head to look into his eyes and there is tenderness, determination, courage and something else you can’t quite place, as he looks down at you.

“With my life.” Your whisper comes in shaky gasps and he nods, holding your hand in his.

“Run.” He orders and you do. Your eyes clenched shut as you still hear screams and the sound of colliding blades. 

Something whooshes past you and you hear a roar of sorts, at the same time as Sir Portgas mutters something under his breath. There is another scream - close, too close! - and the stench of burning flesh. 

“I’m going to pick you up. Keep your eyes closed, Princess.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. And as he hoists you over his shoulder by the waist, you clamp your hands against your ears to keep the sounds away.

But the screaming doesn’t stop.

It never stops.

-*-

You feel yourself being set down on the ground but it’s as if the shock has left you in a rigid state. Your hands remain on your ears and your eyes shut tightly. There’s someone calling your name and shaking you but you have retreated so far into your mind that you can’t come back easily.

“..ss… Princess!”

Your eyes snap open as you gasp and a loud sob leaves your parted lips. Tears flood down and you try to release yourself from the firm hands that are holding you down. 

“It’s me, it’s me! Ace! Everything is fine! Princess, calm down!” He whispers your name. “Please calm down. Look at me.”

Still panting and gasping for air, your nails digging into his bloodied armour, you lock eyes with his dark gaze. He looks worried and pained, and you focus on his freckles instead, counting them to ground yourself.

One, two…

“It’s over, we escaped, we are fine.”

Three, four…

“I’m not sure anyone else survived. We have no horses, no food, no clothes or shelter.”

Five, six…

“The rain has given us some truce for the time being, but it won’t let up the whole night. We will rest for a bit, and then we have to go.”

Seven, eight…

“Princess, are you with me?” You don’t know when he took the gloves off, but his warm hand makes contact with your cheek and you gasp, your eyes focusing back on his. “There is nothing to fear. I won’t let anyone or anything harm you. You have my promise.”

You nod and gulp. Another tear escapes your eyes and he wipes it with his thumb.

“It could have been me.” You whisper and your voice is rasp. Your throat is sore and raw and you realise you are quite thirsty. “The spear… it just… her head… she was… she…”

He nods and mumbles some soothing words. “You’re alive. You’re fine. Try not to think of what you saw. I’ll take you home.”

You nod as your hand scratches your throat. Sir Portgas reaches and hands you a leather pouch. “Drink. It’s water.”

He sits on the floor for a moment as he sheds his steel armour. 

“Should you be taking that off? What if there are more enemies?” You ask, concerned. 

“I am faster without it, anyway. And all the noise will just give our location away to those listening.”

Makes sense. 

He gives you another moment to rest and then extends his hand to help you up. Your eyes fall on your dress and you frown. It is splattered with blood, mud and all kinds of stains. Not to mention that it is soaked through. 

“Come, we need to find shelter. It’s almost nightfall.”

You are surrounded by forest, you have no idea what kind of shelter he means to find, but you trust him completely. He was assigned to you two years ago, when you were presented to society and your father started entertaining nobles who wanted a claim on your hand. 

Luckily, none suited his fancy enough to tempt him. 

Sir Portgas has never left your side once. He sleeps when you sleep, eats when you eat, gets up when you get up. His duty to you is never-ending. He knows all there is to know about you. And you only know what he wanted to share with you. Next to nothing, because he always found the job boring.

As both of you walk through the woods, feeling the gentle pitter-patter of the slow rain, you feel as if you have calmed down enough. There is still adrenaline rushing through your veins, and you release it by holding a long, thick stick and swiping leaves with it, as if it were a sword.

“Who attacked us?”

He keeps his eyes ahead, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword so tight, his knuckles are white. 

“I’m not sure. There were no banners.”

“Brigands, you think? They saw the coach and decided we might have treasures to steal?”

“Most likely.” He grunts.

“But you don’t think that was the case?”

He stops and you bump into his hard back, as you were staring at your stick. You mumble an apology and feel your cheeks warm up. Never had you noticed how taut and defined he was, beneath the steel armour.

Looking at you, his eyes now permanently creased with concern, he sighs. “They were too organised to be simple brigands or thieves. They had military precision so they had to belong to an army. An enemy army, perhaps. I need to take you back home.”

He tugs at your arms and starts walking again. 

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back home.” You whisper, but you keep walking alongside him. He divides his attention with your surroundings and your face.

“I can understand that, but it is far too dangerous. We need to know if the King received some sort of ransom note or-...”

“I don’t care! You can leave me wherever and go back to my father saying they killed me! I cannot return home to be sold like cattle to the highest bidder!”

You refuse to let tears leave your eyes this time. He stops again and stares at you. You can’t read him. 

At all.

“There.” He points behind you and you turn. It’s a small cave. “It will have to do. Come.” And just like that he decides the argument is over and drags you to the entrance, collecting some random sticks along the way. It is actually a rather large cave and Sir Portgas takes the wood from your hand, rips a piece of his tunic and ties it to the end of the wood. 

Muttering a few words, a flame shoots out of his fingers and he lights the cloth easily. You look at him, flabbergasted and awestruck. So it is true. He has fire powers.

“Fascinating.” You can’t help but exclaim under your breath.

“Thank you, Princess.” He replies with a smirk and tells you to follow him as he delves into the bowels of the cave. 

Deeming you far enough not to be spotted, he drops the sticks he collected in a neat pile, adds some more wood that’s scattered inside the cave, and lights it with the flame he’s already holding.

“Undress, Princess, you don’t want to catch a cold.”

“Pardon?” You should really stop blushing. It is embarrassing.

He is already removing his tunic and breeches, leaving only his undergarments on for some modesty and you look away. 

“If you worry about modesty today, you will be dead of pneumonia tomorrow. Undress your gown and set it to dry.” He says as he drapes his clothes on a large rock near the place he built the fire. “I promise I won’t bite.”

You take a moment to consider, but you know he’s right. You’re already feeling tremors for staying out in the rain for so long. So you do know you will get sick if you don’t get out of the wet clothes.

With a heavy sigh you try to remove the ribbons that hold your dress together, but you can’t reach them. 

“Sir Portgas…” You start, your voice a mere whisper.

“It’s Ace.”

“Ace.” The name rolls off your tongue like something sinful and you lower your gaze. “I require your assistance, please.” 

As he raises his head towards you, he immediately understands your predicament. He gets up and approaches your back with slow steps. Catching your breath, you lower your neck a bit.

His fingers are soft against the bare skin of your neck as he moves your hair from your nape to the side, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. The shiver that crawls up your spine has nothing to do with the cold.

His face draws near as he untangles the ribbons and you can feel his breath against your neck and upper back. The tingling sensations return to your body, leaving you breathless and panting. There is a need deep within you that you don’t quite understand or know how to fulfil. 

Yet, you have an inkling that Ace could very well fulfil it. And he would certainly know how.

He removes the last ribbon and steps back a pace. “There.” Ace's voice sounds deeper than before and, when you turn, his eyes are all pupil as he stares at you. Your heartbeat accelerates as you lock eyes with him, silently begging him not to look away as your fingers gently tug at the gown, undressing. 

Your chest heaves and you see his eyes fall to your chemise-covered bosom as the muscle in his jaw twitches.

The need for something intensifies and you reach forward, touching him through the fabric of his linen shirt, feeling the firmness of his chest. 

“Princess…” He whispers. 

“Ace…”

You take a step forward and hold his hand. It's big and calloused from the swords but it's so warm. 

“Touch me.” You plead. You could order him, though you're not sure he would follow that order. 

“I…” He seems torn. You know he's a loyal knight. He serves valiantly and believes in the kingdom he protects. Touching you would be treasonous and could lead to execution.

You decide to be honest. “I feel… I don't quite know how to explain it, but when you touch me, like when you did with the thorn I had on my finger, or when you lift me up to place me in your horse there's…” You exhale deeply. “A warmth, a fire within me that I don't know how to handle.” Lowering your gaze and swallowing a lump in your throat, you make a final plea. “Teach me how to handle it, Ace.”

He groans but doesn't take his hand away from yours. So you brazenly place it above your chest. Watching him closely, you see his eyes darken as his hand twitches and he grits his teeth. 

“Princess, I…” 

“I have been told that men lie with women to procreate. I wasn’t informed of all the details, but I've heard the maids whisper about things that can be done that do not get a woman with child.” Could you be burning up more? Are you seriously asking this of Ace? 

He remains frozen in place, his hand still on your chest and you feel like a fool. 

Sighing you swat his hand away and turn. “Forget I said anything.” Yet his strong arm envelops your waist and he pulls your body against his, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling. 

“Gods above and below…” He mutters against your skin and you tremble. “Is this really happening?” You feel something hard against your lower back and flush. You know what it is. But you've never seen one. You don't know what to expect. “Princess… You are correct, there are things we can do that do not get you with child and assure you remain intact until your wedding night.” His voice seems pained. “Are you certain that-...”

“Yes!” You moan, No longer able to contain the need inside you. Not when his hot breath is fanning against your neck, not when his hand is squeezing your waist nor when his hardness presses against your back. Your need is him! You're sure of it. 

“I have dreamed of this for so long…” He whispers. You want to ask what he means by that, but then his tongue draws circles on your neck and around your earlobe and you gasp, all thoughts dissolving into nothingness. His hands fall on your shoulders and he hooks his fingers on the sleeves of your chemise. “Princess…”

“Take it off.” You command. 

He tugs at the fabric and the garment crumples on the floor, leaving you with nothing but your white stockings. You blink as you focus your eyes on your body. You're not cold, yet your nipples are erect and there are goosebumps all over your skin. It's a reaction to his touch. 

You turn slowly, cheeks ablaze as you seek his eyes. Ace gulps as he takes you in. “Can I kiss you?” He starts but then shakes his head and groans. “No, forget it, that should be reserved for your husband.”

Yet you don't care about a possible husband in a future you can’t yet forsee. You want Ace's lips. And you want them now. 

So you grab his face and pull him down, clumsily pressing your lips to his and bumping your teeth together. After a moment he chuckles into your mouth and you flush and pull back, embarrassed. 

“Don't get mad at me, Princess.” He says, a glimmer in his eyes and a softness you’ve never seen before. His hand grips your hip as he pulls you towards him. A thumb gently stroking the bone of your hip, sending a warm wave of heat towards your centre. Lowering his head, he gently pulls your face to him by putting a hand on your nape. This time, when your lips collide, it's with softness. He moves them and you moan involuntarily. His sinful tongue licks and teases and you open your mouth, gasping as he takes your tongue in his and swirls. 

The sensation is divine. 

You had no idea a kiss could be like this. None of the books mentioned it! It’s making your heart flutter against your chest and causing an ache and a burn between your legs. You still don’t know how to handle it.

But Ace does. 

His hand finds its way to your breast and he slowly teases the nipple, flicking it softly with his thumb. You pull away from the kiss and gasp again. “Oh, my!”

“Did that feel good?” You nod vigorously. “That's good, Princess. I'm going to make you feel even better.”

He lowers you down so you sit on top of your dress. “If you don't like something, tell me.” You nod. 

“Can you take this off?” You grab his shirt and he smirks, pulling the linen garment over his head. His muscles are very defined and you take your time pressing your fingers against his chest and abs. There is a dark trail of hair that leads to the inside of his underwear but as your fingers trace it, he grasps your hand in his and kisses your fingers. 

“Let us take care of that warmth you feel first, shall we?” You nod and lie back, nervous. 

He starts slowly, his gentle fingers tracing patterns on your skin, lingering on the nipples, watching the rise and fall of your breasts as he finds what feels particularly good. And then he devours you. 

His eager mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking and teasing with his tongue. 

“What?” You arch your back against his touch and the fire keeps spreading. Fiery tendrils climbing all over you. He's just building the fire higher and higher. When does it stop? 

And do you want it to stop? Because this feeling burns marvellously. 

His tongue licks towards your belly button and then your mound. “Wait!” You gasp and he raises his head. 

“I can stop if you want, but I promise you it will feel good.” 

You don't know if he's telling the truth, but you trust him completely. So you nod. “Don't stop.”

He uses his hands to raise your legs and place them over his shoulders and when he stares, you feel yourself shrinking with embarrassment. 

“So beautiful…” You hear him murmur before he leans in and you feel his tongue swiping a hot streak across your folds.

“Oh!” Throwing your head back, you immediately arch your back against his touch. “Oh, my!”

He stops for a moment and meets your gaze. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” You almost plead. 

“Make all the sounds you want, Princess. Please.”

You're not quite sure what he means by that but you still agree. And then his tongue repeats the same movement and you smile. Dear Gods, this can't be true. His hand disappears beneath you and you feel his finger inside you touching a spot that makes you want to scream with pleasure. So you do. 

He mumbles against you and the vibration of his lips on your sensitive nub makes you roll your eyes. 

“Oh, Gods! Ace!”

Your hips buckle against his face involuntarily and you want to feel ashamed but you can't because it feels too good! His tongue is hot and slippery and he laps at you with such vigour that it makes you writhe beneath him. His fingers - yes, more than one - move inside and out with ease continually touching a spot that feels so, so good. 

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” You can't stop a string of curses from escaping your lips. The warmth builds up, spreading to your legs and toes, and to your belly, until suddenly it snaps! 

You see bright lights as your head falls back, moaning loudly and incessantly while you pant and scream his name. It feels good, it feels so good! 

Ace continues lapping at your core and it feels like it's very sensitive now, so you whine and he stops. “You did so well, Princess. You taste so good.” His lips are glistening and he looks dazed. You are smiling as you pant but you pull him to you, eager to taste what you’ve left on his lips. He gives you exactly what you want - lips, tongue, taste - and you mewl against him, lost in pleasure and dizziness from your previous orgasm. 

As you break apart you lock eyes with Ace, an exhilarating feeling coursing through you. “That was…” You laugh. 

“I know.” He says cheekily as he caresses your cheek. “You're so beautiful.”

You feel yourself flush again, he’s never spoken to you like this. He was always arrogant and insufferable. Acting as if watching over you was the most boring task he’d ever had to do. Yet, now it seems he’s ready to write you love poems. 

“What else can we do?” You touch him again, where his hair starts to disappear below his underwear. He clenches his jaw as your hand traces the shape of his cock. “Does that go… inside me?” You ask, biting your lip. It seems big. Will it fit? 

“It does. But that's for the wedding night, Princess.” He says, his tone sad. 

“What if I don't want to get married?” You frown. “I told you I don't want to go back. I shouldn’t have to marry some old lord I don't care about.” You hold his hand, entwining your fingers with his. “Maybe we can be together.”

He looks downcast as his forehead meets yours and lets out a deep sigh. “Don't tempt me, Princess.” He says, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. “I've been in love with you since we met. The constant fear of losing you to another man keeps me awake most nights. I cannot bear the thought of never being able to have you. So don't tempt me, please.” His fervour leaves you breathless. 

Love? 

You thought he abhorred you! You believed he only put up with you because it was his job. Nothing more. Love? 

Cupping his face in your hands, you stare deeply into his eyes. “Let's run away. You and me. Away from my father's kingdom, from duties, from everything. He will think we're dead, anyway!”

“No, Princess. I have a duty to my king and my kingdom. I cannot do it.” He says as your eyes fill with tears. “And you have a duty to your father as well. Don’t forget that.”

“Ace… Please…”

“No. I can't.” His eyes squeeze shut as he presses his forehead against yours once more. “Don't ask me this. Please.”

Torn between love and duty. And you wish he would simply choose love. You pull away from him, covering  your face as you shed more tears. 

Ace sighs and picks up your chemise, gently helping you dress even though you don’t look at him. Then he pulls you against his chest as he settles against a rock. “Sleep, Princess. I will keep watch.”

And you do. 

By morning, even the air feels bleaker. There is no more rain, but dark clouds hover above the sky. You can’t change his mind. He’s set to bring you back to the castle.

Back to your prison.

“My father will marry me off…” You whisper, feeling your face crackle with dried tears. Your clothes are stiff from caked mud and blood and you’re pretty sure your heart stayed behind in that dark cave. 

Ace’s eyes remain fixed on the road ahead, but you notice him swallowing a lump before he speaks. 

“It is your duty, Princess. You have yours, I have mine.” He sighs. “I never meant to burden you with my feelings. A knight is not worthy of a princess’s love.”

“Clearly you have not read the same novels as I have.” You scoff and your response elicits a small chuckle from him, your easy banter slowly returning to normal. 

Ace continues his slow walk and you follow, feeling as if you’re walking towards the gallows and every step brings your demise a bit closer. “Ace, please…” You beg once more. “Please…!”

Yet he does not stop.

You see him struggle as his face hardens and his eyes grow blurry, but he does not stop. And the noose tightens around your neck. 

-*-

You’re received with cheers and ovations. A joyous celebration for you and for your valiant knight. Ace is offered a promotion. Finally a way for him to leave your side, to stop nannying you as he always complained.

He does not accept it.

Your heart warms for a moment, though you find it very hard to fall back into a routine of entrapment when you were free, albeit for a few hours. 

Yet doom envelops you and the noose tightens and elevates you once your father makes the announcement. He has found you a husband. You’re to be married in a fortnight. 

Breath catches in your throat and it’s hard to seek air. But your eyes search and find his. A reflection of your own, you’re sure, for they seem pained and drained of life. Yet the moment passes and your father keeps telling you all about how delightfully rich and important your future husband is. 

And how you have a duty to him and to your kingdom, as their princess. It all comes down to duty. 

That awful word.

-*-

The guests are arriving and the groom has been presented to you just in the morning. He is not old or decrepit. In fact, he seems quite polite and is rather handsome. 

But he is not Ace.

And you realised that the warmth he made you feel, and the anger you felt when your late maid spoke of him with desire, were all because of one thing alone: love. You love him back. And he needs to know it before you leave.

Because you will not bring him with you. You cannot forget him, nor allow him to forget you if he is to remain forever by your side.

-*-

The day of the wedding dawns cold and grey, a reflection of your own thoughts. An array of maids dresses you in the best finery you possess and you are a beacon of elegance and beauty. Though the veil you wear over your face might as well be a shroud.

Ace stands in the shadows, his face masked and sombre. You have not spoken more than two words to each other since you returned. But you have to let him know how you feel before it’s too late.

“Everyone out, now.” Your voice is cold and commanding and the servants scurry and hurry out of your chambers. Ace is last, but you stop him. “Not you.”

He closes the door with a soft thud and turns towards you. Hands folded behind his back and eyes fixed somewhere behind you. As you approach, however, you notice him blinking and clenching his jaw and it takes nothing more than one touch of your soft fingers on his cheek for him to let his knightly countenance crumble into pieces. 

Holding your fingers to his lips, he kisses them with fervour. “Princess…”

“Ace…” Your whisper brings sorrow and despair, and he feels it. “I need to tell you something before the wedding, though it changes nothing. You were right. This is my duty, and you have yours, escaping it was nothing but a fleeting dream.”

A sigh parts your lips and he uses his knuckles to caress your cheek. 

“I love you.” Your eyes bore into his and your lips curl into a tight smile when a flicker of surprise crosses his eyes. “I didn’t know it was love and it took me a while to realise. But it’s true.” You take both his hands in yours and tears start to stream down your face because you can’t contain them any longer. 

“This is breaking me apart, but it is for the best. You will stay in the castle and accept the promotion you were offered upon our return.” Ignoring his protests you continue. “I will leave to fulfil my duty and live my new life.”

His head falls forward, shoulders slumping and a string of curses leaves his pursed lips. Though it pains you more than he can ever imagine, you force a smile, using your hand to lift his face so he can look at you. “You’ll always be in my heart. That will never change.”

Ace’s voice is barely a whisper, strained with emotion and effort to keep his tears at bay. “You’re asking me to stand and watch as you walk away? To stay here and live a life without your presence?”

“Yes.” You sob back.

“How can I do that?!” A heave rocks his shoulders as he leans his forehead against yours. “It’s like asking me to live without a beating heart.”

“I pray you forget me soon, Ace, because if you were to come with me, we would never be able to move on. And we would be miserable.”

“I am already miserable.”

Tears stream down both your faces, and you stand on your toes to kiss his tears away. Cupping your face with tenderness, Ace’s thumb crosses your lower lip and you nod, giving him all the permission he needs to lower his head to yours and take your warm lips with his.

This time, the kiss you share is desperate. He claims your mouth with his tongue, his arms embracing you and pulling you against him. You return the gesture with equal devotion, your tongue begging for more as you embrace and melt into each other, knowing you’ll have no other chance to do so. 

A rapid knock on the door breaks you apart. “Princess! It is time!”

Panting and wiping away tears, you answer with a shaky voice. “I’m almost ready.” Ace helps you fix your dress and veil, his eyes cast downward, sorrow filling them with shadows. 

With trembling hands you remove a ring from your finger. A ring your mother gave you on her deathbed. Setting it in his palm, you close his fingers around it and kiss them tenderly. “A memento to remember me by, my love.”

He doesn’t want to let you go and you don’t want to leave him. It would have been so much simpler if you had run away in that forest. No one would know. And you would have been happy.

Perhaps…

You drop his hands, take a deep breath and square your shoulders, opening the door and leaving your childhood home and your one true love. 

Ready to face a new life, an old duty, and an eternity of sorrow.