feyborns

[feyborns]

AU IN WHICH NIMUE WAS NEVER SHOT WITH THE ARROW/OR SHE WAS SAVED AND REUNITED WITH THE REST OF THE FEY. Lancelot and Squirrel have also joined the camp, and it’s been a few weeks since they’ve all come together. (Pls don’t give me shit if something is not accurate. I loved the show and liked the theory of these two being a thing so PLS. Fan fiction is called fiction for a reason ok thnx)

The night was still, as the only thing to be heard was the crackling from the dying fire. Nimue silently curses herself for being one of the last few awake, as her eyes settle across the flames against the logs, they meet his. Was he a night owl as she was? Apparently so. A sigh emits into the vicinity, and she hates how quiet it is. Her village was always humming with life, and she clung the camp for the fey close to her heart as it mirrored her village in that aspect. Someone was always awake, up to something. Oceanic hues squeeze shut if only for a moment as she remembers their few days of bliss within those confines. Hidden away from the rest of the world. But most importantly, the Red Paladins. Optics narrow then, at the Weeping Monk. He’s given his true name, but she refused to give him the honor of using it. Even her thanks in saving Squirrel were limited. She loved that little boy, and hated that monk. His intentions were still unclear to her, and as she thinks of the Red Paladins, she’s reminded of his actions as well. He doesn’t meet her gaze from across the fire pit, but the way he avidly he avoids it shows he knows that she’s eyeing him carefully. Squirrel sort of looked up to him now. As any child would after being rescued in such a manner, but Nimue still held her guard up. She wouldn’t be considered Queen of the Fey if she was so easily trusting outsiders. Especially ones who had massacred his own kind. Still - it was clear that Father Carden had made his mark on him. Mentally and physically. And despite her best efforts, the heart kept behind those guards felt for him. Pitied him. Felt sad for him. Ripped away from his own culture, his people. Used as a puppet for majority of his life. Never knowing anything else. The way he saved Squirrel made something clear to Nimue, though. He couldn’t deny his true self, and when they came for a child, much like himself back then, they couldn’t allow them to murder him. He looked at Squirrel as if he was looking at a reflection of himself.

She’s stirred out of her thoughts only when he stifles up a cough from the back of his throat, meeting her gaze if only for a moment before averting it immediately back to the grass. “Something to say?” She questions, though she knows he was just trying to get her to stop eye boggling him. “No.” He mutters in that hushed tone of his, and for a moment she feels bad. She wished she didn’t. It would be so much easier for her if she was able to keep up this hardened shell toward him. It was, unfortunately, coming undone. He was an asset to the Fey, of course. He was an extremely skilled warrior. A master of the sword he weilded. It stirs an idea up within inside of her. “Could you teach me some of what you know?” Motions toward the weapon, and all he offers in response a swift nod.

A week later.

She’d never seen him so lively. So full of movements. But as he weilded the sword toward her, she’s awestruck. Father Carden was a beast, and a monster. A vile creature. But he surely toward Lancelot well. She’d retracted her earlier sentiment about using his given name - as their dusk meeting to fling swords at one another had become an every day thing. It seemed only respectful. If he was going to teach her, it was the least she could do. She felt like a master with the Devils Tooth already, but she knew it was the Hidden that guided her. There was room for improvement when it came to her fighting skills, and she found herself growing fond of the time they spent together. A part of her still hates herself for it.

“Distracted, today?” He questions, monotone as he is, he peers at her carefully. She shys away from his gaze, chocolate tendrils doing well to cast over her cheeks as she shakes her head.

“Never. Just awaiting your next move. I think I can already guess what it is.” She taunts, though there’s a mischievous grin settling upon crimson lips. And for the first time, she thinks ever, Lancelot is cracking the tiniest hint of a grin - before leaping forward into another lunge attack.

Two weeks later.

Sweat glistens in the rays of the sunlight, bouncing off the pairs bodies. They’d finished their practicing for the evening, and were now heading toward the lake to cool off. However, Nimue halts at the foot of the water, as Lancelot had already shed himself of his clothing, waist deep into the water. She’d only shown herself fully to Arthur - and he’s there in the back of her mind. Back at their makeshift camp, he was helping hunt for dinner. Gods, what’d he think of her right now? About to undress and indulge in a swim with someone who was once their enemy. It makes her stomach flip.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Applies the cool water to his long locks as he speaks, and she thinks herself he looks more so like an angel as opposed to what Father Carden had called him his whole life. A demon. She chuckles faintly, shaking her head. “Can you turn around?” He obliged without hesitation, and she appreciates that of him. Quickly, she’s tiffing off her garments, before slipping into the water. Careful to cover the entirety of her body.

He remains still though he had to of heard her come into the water. His back remains facing her, and it’s impossible not to notice the abundance of scars scattered about his shoulders and entire backside. It reminds her of her own, and she feels compelled to reach out and touch them. The pads of her fingertips smooth against the redness, soft. She didn’t want to startle him, but he tenses at the touch anyway. Something she expected. It’s abrupt, as he turns around, palm grasping fully at her wrist. “Don’t.” The single syllable leaves her frozen in place. Or perhaps it was his close proximity? A combination of both, she decides on.

“I’m sorry. We’re just... alike.” And she moves to find a grasp on the hand around her wrist, surprisingly he allows her to do so. The expression on his face was that if curiousity, as she moves his limb to rest against her shoulder blade, his fingertips mirroring her actions just seconds before. “See?” It’s a mere whisper, and when she lets go of him, he keeps it in place. Breath appears to be stuck in the back of her throat, and for a fleeting moment she’s thinking of Arthur.

It’s all flushed away as she makes a rather confident and last minute decision - pushing up the balls of her feet, it’s enticing as their lips meet for only a brief second. She’s petrified he’ll be disgusted. He’ll push her away - but wasn’t she supposed to be the one appalled with him here? Yet, he doesn’t move. He keeps the closeness between them, and she takes it as a motive to continue. Pressing full lips firmly against his own, petite hand finds place within his curls, and she feels as if she’s going to faint when he kisses her back.

It’s messy, and rough. Just like him. But she doesn’t mind. She never thought she’d want this, or stare at him long enough to wonder what his lips tasted like, but here she was. Finding the answer to that question. They tasted of salt, a mix of the water and the sweat from their pretend battle. Their tongues dance with one another, and goosebumps arouse her fair skin as his large hands find residence against her waist. Why was she craving this touch so badly? She doesn’t know, doesn’t have a clear answer. But as he does so, a muffled sound of pleasure emits into the others mouth, and she’s glad his eyes remained shut, as her cheeks flushed.

It’s as if her mind as gone completely blank, and all of her caution was thrown out the window. She’d never ached for someone this way, and she props one of her legs up around him, tugging him in flush up against her nude body. This earns a grunt of approval from him, and she yearns to hear more of them. It’s a swift action as her back is being pressed up against the side of the lake. Not a tactical place, but she wasn’t complaining as their lips continued to mesh together. She feels him between her legs, and can tell he’s not quite sure what he’s doing. It then dawns on her that he’s probably never done this before. Probably has never even kissed a girl before.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, breaking their kiss for a moment, her breath hot against his. “I want this.” Evidently she finds this is the only thing he needs to hear, pushing himself inside of her, slowly at first. The two’s noises of pleasure mix with one another in the air, as he’s beginning a rapid rhythm of thrusts inside of her. It was only the second time she’d done this, but why hadn’t the time with Arthur felt this good? Felt so right? It felt like Nimue and Lancelot were entangled within each other at this moment. Completely in their own world where the lust they silently held for one another could finally exposed and truly felt.

Grunts continue as his hands wander her body, exploring, and she likes it. It seemed as if he wanted to know every dip and crevice of it, as he was deep inside of her. Nimue’s head falls backward, mouth agape as his thrusts only quicken. He takes this opportunity, lips attaching to the exposed porcelain skin, nipping at sucking at the area. She feels ultimately euphoric as they reach their climaxes together.

It’s silent after, as he’s still inside her. Almost as if they’re both afraid to move and disturb the peace they’d just felt. However, the serenity could only last for so long, as he’s shifting his weight and moving a bit away from her, but not too far.

“Maybe we are,” he starts. “... alike, I mean.”

#cursed #weeping monk #nimue cursed #nimue #nimue x weeping monk #cursed fanfic #listen i made this side blog just to write this #please appreciate lmao #daniel sharman #katherine langford #nsfw.