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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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Title: Tonality [2]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

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Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: oop, another addition to the story. i hope it both answers some questions and then raises more, lol. as always, mind the warnings, and please enjoy! 😊🥰

By the time someone comes to fetch you to break fast, you are already awake. Helped into your cumbersome new gown by your lady’s maids, you pace in front of the cold fireplace. You pray the prince avoids the meal entirely, you’ve no wish to face him after—

Your face heats, and you press your hands to your warm cheeks. You don’t want to think of it, but you can’t help it, your mind conjuring images of the prince staring at you with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, his lips curved in that cruel smile—

Better to avoid him altogether.

A soft, almost nervous knock comes upon the door of your chambers, and upon opening it, you discover Kassandra on the other side. She sinks into a deep curtsy, bowing her head.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Awkwardly, you incline your head in return. “Her Majesty requested I fetch you to break the fast.” She chips happily at you, and you wonder if her good mood is true, or if she has created it for your benefit.

“Lady Kassandra,” you say, edging out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I trust you are well this morning.”

“Oh yes, Your Grace.” She threads her fingers together as a blush reddens her pale cheeks. “I did dance quite late into the evening.”

“I’ve no doubt you must have secured many a betrothal,” you say, and she giggles, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. “You did look quite lovely.” For a moment, you are not princess and lady in waiting—it is almost as though you are friends. Friends. Here in Rivia, you are surrounded by more people than ever before, and yet you find yourself lonelier than ever.

“You are too kind, my lady.” Kassandra seems to find her way easily through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, and it makes you wonder how long she has been here. “Twas you that bewitched the court—if you don’t mind my saying so, Highness.” Her words almost make you stumble, your foot catching against stone.

Your cheeks smart with heat, and your brows knit together in disbelief. “I—It was my mother who married the king.” You do not take yourself for a great beauty, not like your mother, but frustratingly, Kassandra shakes her head.

“Her Majesty was a sight to behold,” she agrees. “But I expect, had you not retired early, Your Grace might have received another offer of betrothal.” Kassandra casts a sly look in your direction. “Or two.” You look away, embarrassedly recalling Lord Olthar’s proposal, his skinny, red-faced son peeking out at you from behind his fathers robes. The thought of allowing him any closer than that turns your stomach, and you shake your head.

“One was quite enough.” You’ve no wish to be married, especially not to Lord Olthar’s spawn. “I should hope to remain in Rivia longer than a week before a match is written in stone,” you say dryly. You’re due a betrothal, that much you know—your eighteenth summer had come and gone without one, and just when your mother’s nattering had reached its peak, the fevers had come for your father. And then, a betrothal was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

”I am glad the king did not accept Lord Olthar’s proposal,” Kassandra admits with a small, secretive laugh. She leans in conspiratorially. “They say his son is rather… over fond of horses.” Her words illicit a gasp from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

You laugh too. “I dare not imagine the wedding.”

“Fit for a queen.”

“The Queen of Horses, perhaps,” you retort, and the two of you dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

“I imagine His Majesty will have much higher standers for your betrothal, princess.” She smiles at you reassuringly. “I do not think Lord Olthar will try again.” You nod in return, grateful for her good humor.

“Hopefully I shall not have to think on mine own for quite some time.” Your thoughts are preoccupied enough these days without adding ones of a husband to the array.

“Not inspired by the ceremony?” The low, dark voice makes you turn. Lead forms hot and fast in your stomach at the sight of Prince Geralt. Even during the day, the prince strikes an intimidating figure, wide shoulders and barely tamed silver-white hair. Today, it is partially pulled back behind his ears, loose strands framing his chiseled jaw. Kassandra goes red as she curtsies, blushing deep crimson from the roots of her pale hair to the collar of her dress.

More out of habit than respect, you bend your knees as well, inclining your head. His appearance is sobering, the jovial mood instantly darkening.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” It is all the politeness you can manage. His face looms still in your mind’s eye, his hair falling across his dark eyes as he drove into her, his hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck—

You suppress a shiver.

“Apologies, Your Grace!” Kassandra rushes to appease him, striking a chord of frustrated irritation within you. “We simply—”

The prince waves a dismissive hand. “It is only be expected, I suppose.” He says silkily. “I know few women who do not await their wedding day with thoughts of bliss.” When his molten amber eyes rest on you, you shiver. His voice takes on an amused lilt.

“Perhaps things are different in Redania, little sister?” You do not like the way the word drips from his tongue, as if another were in its place, one you don’t know, but that makes the the flesh at the back of your neck prickle just the same. His familiarity irks you as well—Prince Geralt speaks as if he knows you, as if he has spoken more than five words to you, not counting the ones uttered while he had been… otherwise engaged.

You swallow against the tightness in your throat. “Perhaps,” you say. The words are clipped, as if you have bitten off their edges. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it, the barb slipping from your tongue before you can pluck it. “In Redania, one must wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. Does that policy hold true here as well?”

Prince Geralt does not give you the satisfaction of a reaction, his features schooled into cool impassivity.

“I believe so, princess.” There is a dry sort of amusement coloring his words, as if to tell you the blow you’d tried to inflict was meager at best. “It appears we are not so different after all.”

You grind your teeth.

The prince falls into step beside you, setting the pace. To your frustration it is a leisurely one; walking with his arms clasped behind his back as he drags the conversation out. You wonder irately if he is doing this on purpose—you had walked with Kassandra to the hall the previous morning, and it had only taken half the time, you’re sure of it.

”It was a great honor to attend such holy proceedings.” Kassandra’s voice seems to make the prince’s lip curl, and he cuts his eyes at her, sparing her only the barest of glances from the corner of his eye. You know, though, that the words are meant for you.

“Yes, truly.” The prince hums. “And how wonderful our Queen should be fortunate enough to experience them twice.”

Outrage bubbles up in your chest at the insult of his implication, and it takes all of your strength not to respond in kind. You glance at Kassandra, her passive expression evidence that the prince’s sly remark has either been absorbed without question or gone unnoticed entirely. For a moment you imagine his smile goes smug and self-satisfied as your own lips press together into a thin line. Your mind races as you try to formulate a response—this is not a game you are used to playing, one of guileful words wrapped in loose pleasantries, and you feel woefully unprepared for your part in it.

“Fortunate indeed,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep your tone light and airy. By now, the great hall is in sight, servants bustling through the busy corridor as you approach the hall. “A wisely made match, would you not agree, Majesty?” A gaggle of nobles surround the king and queen, their heads swiveling at the sound of your voice. The satisfaction you feel as Geralt’s lips curl into a scowl is a new feeling, one you are not sure you like. —he cannot continue the game, not now, not without open insult. You can tell he does not enjoy being called to heel, least of all by you.

A chorus of good morning’s and your grace’s assail you like raindrops until you are practically dripping with them. You are familiar with only a select few of the faces surrounding the king and your mother, but not many. You recognize Lord Strom, Kassandra’s father, who shares the same sallow features as his daughter. He is flanked by a woman with a pinched, irritated looking expression; you had been introduced just before the wedding ceremony had begun, but you cannot recall her name now, only her relation to the king. A great-aunt—you think.

As you enter the hall, you note that it is already clean, all evidence of last night’s festivities gone, save for your mother, standing before you. Small tables have been set out for the visiting nobility lucky enough to be granted this brief audience with the king. The large table on the dais is already heavy laden with food, servants flanking the table on either side of the king’s chair as they wait for orders. Breakfast at home had been a family affair, gathered around the table in the hall. This, like every other event you have witnessed since arriving, is public spectacle.

Your mother preens at the attention. She flits from person to person, accepting their congratulations with regal grace. Once upon a time, behind the dusty pages of books she wished you would not read, you and father had called her the Pretty Peacock, the way she bustled about the manor and clucked her orders at the matron and her staff. Here, though, it seemed less amusing, and more… purposeful.

Though your mother seems to move amongst these people with ease, you struggle to follow her example, weaving serpentine through the crowd of courtiers, which parts like butter to a hot knife in her wake. Her gown is of a similar color scheme as yours, pale yellow with silver and gold embroidery embellishing her hem and sleeves. The crown of delicate silver and black leaves rests atop her head, the black jewel at its center sparkling. She turns to you with a smile, embracing you warmly.

“Trust my daughter to appear as her name is mentioned.” Your mother’s delicate, feminine laugh makes you want to curl in on yourself as the eyes of her fawning lady’s maids fall to you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Though you cannot see him, you can feel the prince’s eye upon you with almost physical sensation. The hair at the back of your neck pricks up.

Why does he watch me? You chance a look over your shoulder, and your back stiffens. There are people between you still, a safe barrier, but there is no mistaking it—the prince’s eyes are locked on you, and he makes no effort to hide it. You turn quickly back to your mother as he produces a slim knife from somewhere, and spears an apple from the table with it. The crunch as his teeth break the skin rings uncomfortably in your ears.

“T’was fine,” you answer her quickly, hoping your small, curt smile is enough to convince her. “I danced, some.” It is a lie, but one she either does not recognize or one she cares little about. One set of eyes is appeased, and falls from you. The others bore hot holes in the back of your dress. The king approaches, and you note the affectionate pass of his hand over your mother’s arm. You curtsy low, again, more out of instinct than conscious thought.

“Come now daughter, we are family now, are we not?” He laughs. “Rise.” His expression is warm, but you feel the word roll inside your skull like a loose marble, or a pebble in your shoe. It is unfamilitar and uncomfortable coming from his lips, but you bear it as best you can.

“Y-yes. Family.” The king walks with his hands folded behind his back, a habit you cannot help but note that he shares with his son. You have dreaded this, the game of getting to know one another over the cold corpse of the man who had raised you. It stings, as you knew it would. It feels insane to you, to behave as if all the years of your life prior to this were but a footnote, and this the true story. Perhaps it is you who are insane, the only madwoman adrift in a sea of sensibility.

“Your mother tells me you’ve a great love of books,” he continues, unaware of the rolling turmoil that rocks your stomach. He casts a long glance sideways at you and at first, you cannot tell if there is reprisal or approval in his words. Then, he offers another smile, this one warm, genuine. “I trust you’ve found the archives enjoyable.”

Your mother’s laughter cuts through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t encourage her, my love,” she says. “We shall surely lose her in yellow old pages.” The gallery of painted faces behind her titters with amusement, and at the same time, you feel your cheeks begin to smart. Perhaps it is the syrupy sweet my love tacked to the end of her sentence that makes your eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears, or her casual disparagement, you are torn for choice. You shake your head, forcing another smile as you blink them back. Perhaps you are simply being oversensitive, seeing what is not there.

“Thank you, Majesty.” You fold your hands together as you follow the king and queen up to the dais, and move to take your seat. “I shall have to bring Kassandra along with me. Perhaps if I am buried in parchment, she may yet dig me out again.”

You are relieved when the conversation shifts from you, allowing you to stare sullenly at the spread before you in peace. It is startlingly familiar, your mother’s need to ensure that every eye is upon her at all times, and you find that you are perhaps glad for it. It is exhausting to play at happiness and not feel it, and every second you do not have to keep up the pretense is one you are grateful for. Even if it comes at the expense of a little of your pride.

That gratefulness dissipates like smoke in the wind as Prince Geralt seats himself next to you. However intimidatingly large he had felt as you and Kassandra had made your way through the halls, he feels doubly so now. Though he has his own chair and place at the table, it feels as though it is too small to contain him, and he spills over into your seat anyway. His thigh is pressed tightly against your own through your gown, and no amount of subtle shifting on your part seems to remove him. You grimace, and the servant who is pouring water into your goblet gasps, and bows her head quickly.

“Apologies, Your Grace, I have offended you!” Her distress begins to turn heads, and you hurriedly attempt to placate her, shaking your head with a weak smile.

“No, no, it’s nothing—”

“Yes, princess,” the word drips from your stepbrother’s lips like black honey. “Whatever is the matter?”

You glare at him. He is pushing you, trying to force you into a confrontation for no reason you can discern—other than his own blasted amusement. You are tempted to give him what he wants, your own accusations waiting eagerly at the tip of your tongue. And you have your pick of poisons to dispense; his foul behavior the night before, his insult to the queen—

But as you look down the table, you see few allies. King Vesemir looks at you with an apathetic sort of curiosity. And your mother… her doll-like expression appears concerned, but you can read it for what it truly is. The way her eyes narrow, her mouth tightened just so at the corners—

She is angry.

You can hear her without her speaking, and your mind conjures her reprisal perfectly, even without her input.

You are making a scene. You know that is what she would tell you. Be silent. Be seen, not heard.

“Nothing.” You wish you could slap Prince Geralt, slap the concerned facade right off of his wretched face. “Nothing at all.”

—

The grass beneath you is brittle, and you can feel it crumbling into dusty nothing as it crunches beneath the soles of your bare feet. The low-cut hedges have grown out crooked and gnarled from neglect, their roots erupting thirstily from the baked earth to choke the narrow pathway. The garden is different now than it was when you had left, but you know it still—home. The manor looms gloomily above the garden, sticking out of the barren hillside like a jagged tooth, glaring angrily down at the cracked flowerbeds and baked earth.

Everything is dead here.

The icy wind that whips at your cotton shift, tangling it about your legs is dead, carrying with it the sound of grinding bones and last breaths. From the parched fissures in the dead, hungry dirt, you can hear whispers, and you press your cold, shaking hands to your ears to block them out. You do not know the reason, but nevertheless the knowledge remains in your bones as if you were born with it—

I mustn’t listen. I mustn’t hear the dead.

You press your palms against the sides of your head until it aches, dragging your feet through the dead, overgrown grass as you make your way through the garden. You want to leave, to turn around and leave this place, this terrible mirror, but your body will not obey. Instead, your unwilling legs carry you further and further into the spiral of dry, overgrown hedges and cracked pavement. The ghostly voices continue to rise in pitch until they are screaming, tortured cries leaking up from below as you approach the center of the garden.

It, like everything else here, is wrong, gleaming as if polished in the dim light of the dead sun. It is white like bone, and black, sluggish muck leaks from the trumpet of the nymph carved there. The sly, mysterious smile carved on her marble lips has been replaced by a grimace of abject terror, and when you follow her stone gaze, your eyes widen with the same emotion. Your hands leave your ears then, covering your mouth to try and dampen the horrified gasp that leaves your lips.

Your father stands before you.

He is still a distance away, walking slowly toward you through the garden. His eyes are blacked out, but not completely, black wriggling over the whites like a child’s scribble, black thread weaved through the skin of his lips, suturing them shut.

He is horrible.

He begins to open his mouth, and it yawns wide, the threads snapping—

You sit up, a hand clutching at your chest. You stare around the room, panting as your mind attempts to place you in your still unfamiliar surroundings. Your heart is still races from the dream, your hands clammy and trembling. The taste of dry earth coats your tongue, and your throat feels cold and parched, as if you had walked the cold gardens truly, and not only in your dreams.

You can still see it, the rotting black threads holding your father’s withered lips shut, the black writhing ink scribbles across his eyes—

“No.” You mutter the word softly as you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, pushing hard until colored spots dance in your vision. You do not want to think of your father that way, his body moldering in the earth, rotting away like he had never been in the first place. It had felt so real, the cool distant glare of the white sun, the arid earth beneath your feet—

“A nightmare.” You say it aloud to no-one. “Nothing more.”

The morning sun paints a bright stripe across the blankets through the curtains of the four poster bed, and you tug them further open, squinting. Everything in your chambers is as it was the night before, though the fire in the hearth has gone down to cinders, and a copper tub has been set before it. You step out and into your slippers, noting the steam that still rises from the water. They must have brought it in as you slept, though you had not heard them do so.

I slept… unusually deeply.

You disrobe, stepping into the water with a grateful sigh. You sink in until you are mostly submerged, your nose hovering above the surface as you stare pensively at the window, studying the gray, muddled shape of the buildings beyond it. You do not want to think of the dream, or your father, but both seem intent at crowding at the forefront of your mind.

You know your father would tell you not to ignore it. Dreams mean things, he would say. What did it tell you? But there is no meaning you can discern from your nightmare, other than that you miss your father, and you wish he were still here, with you.

After you finish in the bath, you dress yourself. Instead of the multi-layered gown set out for you by your lady’s maids, you rummage through the wardrobe for one of the loose, flowy dresses more typical of your warm countryside home. You find one at the back, and as you slip into it, you feel more settled, more yourself. The creamy, peach colored fabric has one long, bell sleeve, and drapes modestly across your chest, exposing the top of one shoulder. It is less cumbersome than the heavy, three piece set they chose, and when they enter to help you, you can see the surprise written on their faces.

To their credit, they say nothing, simply helping braid and pin your hair, before setting the small silver circlet you wear at your mother’s insistence upon your brow.

It is long past time to break fast, but nevertheless, your request for a scone with butter and sweet cream is met without fuss down in the kitchens. As you eat, Kassandra marvels at your dress.

“I quite like it, Majesty,” she says, clapping her hands encouragingly as she circles you. “No corset? I do wonder if my father might permit me to have one made in its likeness,” she moans rather piteously. “Though I doubt he shall be pleased by my asking, it is quite bold, if you do not mind my saying so, Highness.” You look down at yourself, and then raise an eyebrow.

“Why should he find your request offensive? I mean no insult, but I do believe our dress more…modest than those of fashion here in Rivia.” Even Kassandra’s low cut gown exposes the tops of her breasts, the bodice molding to her body,pushing them out and up before rising back up to play at covering her shoulders. She laughs behind a hand at your ire.

“I suppose it is all a matter of personal opinion, my lady. I do find Redanian fashion quite lovely, if this dress should be a fair representation.”

“ ‘Tis.” You reply, finishing your biscuit. From your place by the windows, just outside the kitchen, you can see down into the gardens. Though the sight of them is sullied by the memory of your stepbrother’s wanton behavior, the glint of colored glass catches your eye. “What is that?” You ask, pointing at the colored shafts of light as they seemingly beam upward from the ground, the source blocked by lush greenery.

“The roof of the chapel,” Kassandra says. “It is made of stained glass.” At your confused look, she continues. “The chapel is beneath the keep, Majesty, it’s roof is the center of the maze. It is quite beautiful, should you wish to see it, my lady.” Intrigued, you nod.

“Yes, thank you. I would.”

Kassandra leads you down into the bowels of the castle, and you feel the walls grow cold around you as daylight through the arched windows is replaced by the soft glow of candles. The construction looks much older down here, the stone pitted and smooth not from polish but from the passage of time. Upstairs, the corridors had been crowded with courtiers, lords and ladies all seeking the king’s approval, or waiting for their opportunity to serve at his request.

Instead, you take note of the priests in their pale robes, black ink sigils drawn onto the skin of their foreheads and the expanses of their cheeks beneath their eyes. They keep their heads bowed and shoulders stooped as they shuffle through the halls in penitent silence.

“Why do they paint their faces?” You ask quietly.

“So that the gods might receive their prayers.”

The chapel’s carved doors bear images of the gods you do not worship, the wood branded with the sigil of the king—the head of a wolf, it’s mouth open in an eternal snarl. Inside, the air is thick with incense, and it takes you more than a few labored breaths to grow used to it. The inside of the chapel is long and narrow, its walls lined with alcoves featuring enormous statues of the gods. Kassandra gestures to the ceiling, trailing her fingers through the shafts of colored light that stream down, bathing the sullen atmosphere in muted color.

“Is it not beautiful, lady?”

“Yes, it is.” You speak truth—the glass is beautiful, unclouded and the colors true. Images of faith are splashed across the colored surfaces; a great wolf standing beneath a full moon, devouring a beautiful maiden, the three-faced Mother bathed in the golden light of the sun, and the Spider, sitting in the center of her silver web. You watch as Kassandra makes a sign with her right hand, her middle finger and thumb pressed together. She brings it reverently to her forehead, before dropping it to her chin, and then the center of her chest.

It is a quiet, sullen sort of reverence, one you see mirrored in the bowed heads of the priests, and in the quiet, droning chants the monks at the pulpit continue without pause. But there is no joy here. No voices lifted in worshipful, devoted song, nor dances with arms stretched to the bright and brilliant sky. Those are the rituals of worship you know, the ones your father taught you. This place, like the garden in your dream, feels dead.

If there ever were gods here, they have certainly gone, now.

“Who is this?” You ask, pointing to the wolf. It’s golden eyes seem to follow you around the room as you trail after Kassandra, and it makes you think uncomfortably of the prince. She stops in front of it’s stone copy, and she makes the sigil again, finger on thumb, forehead, chin, chest.

“Father Wolf.” She says as she rises. “It is said that he devours the moon each night, so that it may be reborn in the morning, as the sun.” She cocks her head. “Do you not know the stories, Majesty?”

“She would not.” You turn to see one of the priests. In his hand, he holds an incense box, sluggish white smoke pouring from the gold painted slats. “Her Majesty hails from Redania. They hold to the old faith there.” You watch his eyes narrow as they drop to your gown before traveling back up to your face. His lips curve into an unfriendly smile. “I did not think to see Your Highness here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In my experience father, it is a poor monarch who expects to rule people she knows nothing about.” Kassandra ducks her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile at your diplomatically worded impertinence.

His cheek tics. “Of course, Highness.” He bows his head in a manner you know is meant to be respectful, though the acid that drips from his words is anything but. “The people shall be pleased that you are so…familiar.” He drums his fingers against the incense box, before fixing you with another small, curt smile. “They do not react well to the southland’s…” He pauses to search for a word. “Heathenistic rituals.”

The words fly to your tongue before you can swallow them back, flying from your lips with righteous indignation.

“Are you quite sure the heathen rituals you fear are not your own, Father?” His mouth twists with anger, but you do not cower in the face of it, jutting your chin out stubbornly. You have taken little pleasure in the shifting of your station, but his brazen disrespect sets a blazing fire in your chest. You are a princess, and you will not be spoken to this way.

“Father Rame.” Your belly fills with hot iron at Prince Geralt’s voice, his tone warning. So irate were you with the priest that you had taken no notice of his approach. The prince leans against one of the stone pews, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You would do well to hold your tongue, lest my father remove it.” The priest drops into a low bow, his lips curling into a scowl. “I do not think he would take kindly to your… implications.”

“Apologies, My Prince, I meant only to—” Geralt raises a hand, and Father Rame’s words die in his throat.

“Go. And perhaps I will… forget to inform the kingsguard of your offense today.” You can tell the priest is unsatisfied, his hands clenching into tight fists in the sleeves of his robe. Nevertheless, he issues you another stiff apology through his clenched teeth, before he turns on his heel, his robes billowing behind him.

“Thank you.” You spit the words out as if they have burnt you. “For your assistance.” Geralt’s amber eyes dip the way Father Rame’s did, and you hate the way they drag across every inch of you before coming to rest on your face. Instead of scornful disapproval, you find something else there. Something darker you refuse to name.

“My pleasure, princess.” He purrs the words, and you feel them like a physical caress. You try to hide the shiver that travels down your spine, gooseflesh erupting on the back of your neck and arms in its wake. He glances at Father Rame’s retreating back. “I would pay him no heed. The good Father can be… Zealous.”

“That is certainly one way to put it.” You remark dryly.

“He will not bother you again.” He says it with a finality that makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“I hope not.” You brush a speck of imagined dirt from the bodice of your dress, and the prince’s eyes follow the movement.

“Your gown is lovely, sister.” He says, and you swallow against the sudden lump in your throat. “I have not seen its like since last I was in Redania.”

“Thank you.” You stiffen as he moves towards you, slow steps carrying him in a small circle around you and Kassandra. You force yourself to endure his inspection.

“Oh yes.” He fingers the hem of your sleeve before you step back, a little. “I hope you do not mind me imparting a bit of… Rivian wisdom?”

Do I have any choice? You force a smile. “Please.”

“This is a married woman’s color, Sweetling.” His eyes are molten honey.

“W-what?” You do not know which words you were expecting to fall from the prince’s smug lips, but it was not these. “I—”

“I hope you take no offense,” he drawls, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “I only mean to inform.”

“H-how interesting.” You force a small smile, before turning quickly to Kassandra.

“My head aches from the incense,” you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door. “We should take our leave.” With a stiff, reluctant bow, you turn from the prince. “Excuse us, please.”

“By all means.”

Kassandra squeaks, hurrying after you with her skirts gathered tightly into her hands. As you push angrily through the entering group of priests and out into the corridor, you can feel two sets of eyes on your retreating back—

Geralt’s, and the wolf’s.

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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lycheedr3ams · 10 months

Text

Death's Angel

Part 6: Escape

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, possessive!konig, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

IMPORTANT NOTE: the taglist is getting too long for me to manage, so this will be the last post that I will have a taglist for. i appreciate all the support!!! just be sure to check my blog for future updates. if you aren't on the taglist but asked to be here, either i missed you or tumblr won't let me @ you also, we are nearing the end! I think this is gonna have 8 parts. thank you for your support!!!!

.......

series inspired by the art below!

konig's promise of taking you away at any moment you asked him weighed on you for weeks. the more you grew attached to him, the harder it was to hide your relations with him. you couldn't exactly go on proper dates in his cold, dark room in the castle basement. he couldn't take you on picnics, take you on carriage rides, or anything that any normal couple would do. you weren't a normal couple. you were a princess, and he an executioner. you two were never supposed to even speak with one another.

the one thing, the one romantic thing that you could do in his room, was dance with him. konig didn't know how to dance. he only knew the dance of an axe over the chopping block and how to sharpen its edges with stone. he was hesitant at first, but loved how close to you he could be. he was quite clumsy, and he'd frequently step on your toes every now and then. but each time he did it, you smiled.

"it's okay, konig. you'll get the hang of it," you'd say as you smiled up at him sweetly. he would quietly nod and furrow his brow in concentration as he danced with you.

his hand would be so gently laid on your waist, and his large hand on your shoulder grounded you and kept you in the moment. it didn't matter what mean thing your sisters had said to you, or the fact that you couldn't care less about your provincial duties. when you were with konig, when he was touching you, you were there, and that was all you knew.

but his hood always remained on. you asked him, once, if you could see his face, and all he answered with was a quiet "no" and you never broached the subject again.

...

"konig," you said to him after you two had danced and then made love. truly, made love. it was so soft, and he pressed so many kisses on your neck and boobs and back. konig always grew a little soft after you two danced.

"ja, liebe?" he asked as he gently stroked your hair.

"do...do you think we could...leave, soon?" you whispered as you gently balled up your fist.

his hand stopped in your hair for a moment, but he quickly resumed his gentle caresses. he breathed deeply. "it's as i said. say the word, and we go."

"i...i want to go soon, konig. i don't know where. just far from here."

"how soon?" he asked.

"next week," you said before he could even finish his question. this had been on your mind for so long. konig changed you, the night he asked what you would do if you weren't a princess. you'd been fantasizing about having your own cottage with him, being able to garden and tend to your animals everyday while he was a blacksmith, maybe, or a mercenary. the cathedral ceilings and polished dinner plates of your castle no longer appealed to you.

konig kept caressing your hair. "and how far?"

you gulped. "could we...leave the country? just go to a neighboring one. right near the border."

konig thought for a moment. "ja, we can. i know of a village just beyond the mountains. you will like it. i will build a house for you."

you smiled against his bare chest. "i'll build it with you, konig."

he shook his head gently as he squeezed you. "nein. i will build a house for you, by myself."

"if you insist," you said as you pressed a gentle kiss to his chest. "a house for us, konig. us."

konig was silent for a little while. you were growing worried, but he finally replied. "a house for us, meine Engel. i will build a house for us."

"i've already begun to stow away some of my savings," you whispered as if you feared the stone walls had ears. "we will be set for life."

"do not worry about that, Engel," konig said confidently. "i will take care of you."

"i know you will," you said gently. "but you'll be giving up your profession for me. i want to repay you in anyway that i can."

"there is no need for that," he said quietly as he held you closer. "you are worth more to me than all the riches in the world."

your heart fluttered as you closed your eyes and relaxed against him. your cheeks grew warm and you smiled.

"i love you, konig," you whispered as if it were the most normal thing in the world to say. once you processed what you just said, your eyes shot open, but your face stayed glued to his chest so that he couldn't see. you held your breath.

"and I love you, meine schatz," he said as he gently pressed a kiss to your head through his hood. you looked up at him with gleaming eyes, and he lifted his hood up slightly to kiss you.

you made love again that night. the words that had lingered in silence for so long had finally been spoken. he put you in missionary, focused entirely on your face as he filled you so gently yet so fully. his hard, smooth cock dragged slowly along your slick walls, and you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you.

"i will do anything for you, Engel," he rasped into your ear as he filled you. "i will take care of you."

"konig!" you moaned. you looked up at him, cock-drunk and in love. "i'm yours. i'm yours." a few tears escaped your eyes.

you kissed him again, and your fate with him was sealed.

...

a few days had passed since that night. the day you and konig were planning to run away was quickly approaching. you had packed a few things in a spare backpack, including the trinkets he gave you through the course of your relationship. you hid the gold entitled to you interspersed through socks and underwear in your backpack. you looked out the window of your bedroom out over the castle grounds, and felt resolved. you were ready to leave this life behind, and just be. with konig.

you got dressed in your room as normal, and made your way down to the banquet hall for breakfast. but when you reached the banquet hall, you found three of your sisters shouting to your parents. your other sisters sat as still as statues at the dining table. all heads turned towards you as you stepped in.

"what's going on?" you asked nervously.

"you harlot!" one of your sisters exclaimed. your mother and father looked like they had seen a ghost. you looked around, and the room was spinning.

"you've been sleeping with the executioner!" another sister yelled as she held up a black executioner's hood. that was one of konig's gifts to you, and you thought it would be kept it safe in your bedside table.

"you went in my room!?" you yelled.

"guards! get the executioner at once!" your father yelled. time began to move slowly. your sisters were screaming, the guards' metal armor clinked and clacked as they ran down to search for the executioner, your mother hugged you tightly in fear. but all you could think, the one thing that managed to keep you grounded in the ensuing chaos, was konig.

you thrashed out of your mother's embrace and ran faster than you ever had in your life to find him. the guards could run, but not as fast as you in their armor. you ran to the only place he would be at this time in the morning.

you burst through the castle doors and ran, panting, up to konig, who was sharpening his axe in the blacksmith's hut. he looked up at you happily at first, but his expression changed when he saw the tears flowing from your eyes.

"konig! konig! they know! they know!" you yelled as you panted. konig looked over you and saw half a dozen guards running towards him with swords drawn.

you looked up at him, your eyes wet and puffy, your dress wrinkled and heels broken.

"come," he said as he picked you up in one motion. you yelped, but held onto him as he ran towards the stables. the alarm bell was ringing in the castle as all guards now saw the executioner running off carrying a princess towards the only escape. your siblings and parents watched from the great porch with horrified expressions.

"i'm so sorry konig," you cried into his shoulder as he ran.

"shh, shh," he soothed between breaths. "i told you i would take care of you, didn't i?"

you nodded and gently squeezed him. you finally reached the stables, which had been unattended momentarily during the chase, and konig threw you on top of the biggest horse before putting on its bridle and getting on in front of you. there was no time to put on a saddle.

"hold on, Engel!" he yelled before smacking the reins against the horse's neck. you held onto his hard, tree-like torso as he kicked the horse with his heels, and it shot off through the stables. the guards that had made it to the stable doors were swept back as your horse sprinted through.

you looked behind and saw that there were now three mounted guards following you. "konig!"

he spurred the horse on faster, but the main castle grounds gate was already closed. "hold on, this will be bumpy!" konig yelled. he sharply turned the horse around and you flew over the castle grounds as he guided the horse towards the hidden exit behind the grounds, past the gardens. the guards' horses were fast, but no match for the bestial horse konig had chosen.

you buried your face in his back as the wind whipped by you and the ground rolled under your feet like waves. the alarm bells sounded louder over the grounds as panic rose, echoing against the stone walls of the castle, and screaming could be heard from servants out in the fields as you passed.

your horse jumped over the hedge at the edge of the grounds, the guards far behind, and you fled with konig through uncharted wilderness with nothing but the clothes on your backs.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome, @plumdreadful, @dumb-dumb-idiot-girl, @elichisstuff, @konig-breedme, @tr4psta, @cutiecusp, @konigsleftkidney, @local-vampire-s1ut, @ihaveaproblematicbrain, @twice360noscope, @madzeesstuff, @crazy-phan-girl13, @babygirl-panda19, @warrior-of-justice, @eluffi, @mooniesthings, @elowynnlane, @zaxlrza, @red-bed-bug, @alexdoesntlikeyou, @helmipss, @11aplacesange11, @rouge-swears, @pasta-m1lk, @ghostinvenus

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wolfwrenweek · 7 months

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What is WolfWren Week? Five days in November (Nov 6-10) dedicated to the relationship between Sabine Wren and Shin Hati from Ahsoka. Check out our About and Rules for more info. A detailed explanation of our daily themes can be found on our Prompts page and down below! Don't forget to tag your works with #wolfwrenweek and #wolfwrenweek2023 ♡

The below themes are intended to be used as inspiration for fandom creators participating in WolfWren Week. Each day has a unique motif and a corresponding collection of related prompts to pick from. You are welcome to use one or more prompts from within the same category for your creations.

NOV 6 devouring heavenly bodies | a day for possessive love. Biting, Blood, Scars, Wounds, Obsession, Jealousy, Rivalry, The Hunt, Murder

NOV 7 intricate rituals | a day for sacred acts. Courting, Body Worship, Sparring/Dueling, Makeup and Hair, Tattoos and Piercings, Collars and Restraints, Armor, Mandalorian Culture

NOV 8 between two lungs | a day for tender intimacy. Belonging, Domesticity, Cuddling, Dancing, Firsts, New Beginning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Only One Bed, Confessions, Force Bond, Found Family, Promise

NOV 9 howl of affection | a day for the spoken word. “Are you blushing?”, “Who did this to you?”, “Going somewhere?”, “Wait!”, “Who’s that?”, “Let me help you.”, “I hate you.” — “I know.”, “I can help you.”, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

NOV 10 dreams and madness | a day for bending reality. Sith AU, Flower Shop & Tattoo Artist AU, Clone Wars AU, Role Reversal AU, Band/Musician AU, Modern Day AU, Medieval AU, Soulmate AU, Imperial Academy AU, Time Travel AU, Padawans AU, Werewolf AU

While you are encouraged to use the prompts shared as inspiration, they are not mandatory. If you have a concept for something you really want to make that does not fit any of these, you are still welcome to participate during the event week!

#wolfwren #shin hati #sabine wren #ahsoka #shin hati x sabine wren #sabine wren x shin hati #swevents #star wars wlw #sapphic star wars #star wars lesbians #wolfwrenweek #wolfwrenweek2023 #prompt announcement #sabine x shin #admin post #announcements

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

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Congrats again on 300 my love ❤️❤️ so you may already know which AU I’m going to be requesting, because it’s my favourite story of yours (so far) and that is Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree!! This story made my heart ache and if you have the inspiration for it I’d love love love to see more!! I don’t want to restrict your imagination by being too specific, but literally anything with those two and I would die of happiness 💙💙

Em, I squealed when you dropped this into my box for the request fest! Partly because I adore you. Partly because you know I also really adore Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree. And partly I squealed out of terror because...I was worried I wouldn't be able to do any kind of follow up to this fic justice. But I took a deep breath and let that go and decided to just let whatever happen happen. I was also a little worried because when I wrote Cedar Tree, it felt very finished, so I didn't have any leftover thoughts to pick up and play around with, so I literally took that first week to just think about them and their story. And then... a lot of scenes started to emerge - stuff before and after Cedar Tree, stuff that was just them, stuff with the people around them.

This is where I landed for now. It's not the same as Cedar Tree - first thing being that it's told from Steve's perspective instead of the reader's - but I'm thinking it will make sense in their overall narrative.

This it the end of their honeymoon, a few weeks before Cedar Tree.

Fandom: MCU Title: The Thrill of Knowing How Alone We Are Characters/Pairings: King!Steve Rogers x female!Queen!Reader, brief Sam and Bucky Word Count: 1.2k Summary: The final night and morning of King Steven's royal honeymoon.

Content Warnings: brief sexual relations (p in v)

Additional Notes: The third offering to celebrate 300 followers with the request fest! While this depicts events before Fire Burning from a Cedar Tree, it does not stand alone and should be read AFTER reading the original piece. Song title inspiration from Better Love by Hozier, which is one of the songs on my original Cedar Tree writing playlist. A/N 2: This still is pretty arbitrary, but although I knew the original was a historical royal AU setting, I basically closed my eyes and pointed when I ended up saying it was medieval. I debated between medieval or Georgian/regency vibe, but NOW it's decidedly Georgian, which will be more relevant if/as I share more of their story in the future.

It’s as he’s on his back, staring at the ceiling, that Steve realizes he’s already deciphered the difference between how it sounds when you’re asleep, when you’re awake, and when you’re somewhere in between. He didn’t expect that.

He expected a lot of things after taking you as his queen, but there were so many small things that make sense, but he simply hadn’t thought of, like this – knowing so quickly the sounds of your breathing.

Ten days and in some ways he knew so much more about you than he knew about anyone else but himself – more than he’d known about his parents, than Bucky whom he’d grown up with and trusted else as his closest friend and advisor, more than his general Sam who he trusted with the security of his kingdom and his own life.

The betrothal, the brief period of engagement, the wedding, and the wedding feast had all been very public and formal. The moment the two of you had entered the royal carriage to make the journey to his small palace in the lake country for the honeymoon, everything was suddenly private and intimate. It was the first time Steve had truly been alone with you, and the first moments alone would have been awkward – he certainly hadn’t thought about that moment until suddenly the two of you were there alone – but you had clearly thought of the circumstance in advance and had been prepared to make easy conversation. While the first few minutes had been an effort to make conversation, they swiftly did progress to easy conversation. The topics had been largely trivial and unimportant, but the words were not stilted.

After a late and quick supper upon arrival, the two of you had retired to the royal bedchamber. Steve had expected a dutiful consummation, and duty may have called for the deed, but the execution had unexpectedly run deeper, warmer, with the undertones of the fledgling familiarity built over the few hours alone earlier. Each day the familiarity grew, and though there could have perhaps been moments that could have allowed each of you two part naturally, you both drew each other into extending conversations, going on walks or rides or visiting a new area of the palace together, continuing formally in the first few days until it became merely natural and the two of you forgot altogether the idea of spending much of the time apart.

Now he understood the nostalgia with which many referred to the honeymoon. It was a pity it was coming to an end. Two weeks ago, you were little more than strangers to be wed and fulfill your royal duties. Here on this final night, he could not think of it ending. Tomorrow he would go back to being the king again.

He sighed and turned his head to look at you. He wanted to reach for you, pull you closer, touch you, but the touching wouldn’t be enough, and he’d said sensibly that the two of you should retire early specifically so he could sleep and be well rested for his early departure. He hadn’t thought you warming his bed would be torture. He thought that it would be soothing and help him sleep. But this was worse, and the longer he listened, the less it seemed sleep would ever come to him. But he would not leave or send you away, it was the last night he would have this kind of closeness afforded to him with ease. He also didn’t want to disturb you if you were perhaps close to dropping off to sleep. Nearness was enough, even if it meant no sleep.

Suddenly you shifted, rolling to lie on your back, and you let out a long sigh of your own.

“Sleep alluding you, my queen?”

“As it seems to be alluding you, my king. I know the time is only slipping away until you’re required to wake and depart. Is my restless state keeping you awake?”

Steve laughed. “Perhaps, but not in the way you think.”

He rolled up on his elbow and places a hand on your hip, drawing circles there with his fingers.

“Perhaps I can beckon sleep for both of us in…other ways.”

His hand moved up to cup your breast. He gave a squeeze and brushed his thumb over your nipple, the thin fabric of your night shift barely there. You whimpered his name, arching slightly into his palm.

“Yes?” he pressed.

“Yes,” you pleaded.

While he reached down to pull up the hem of your nightdress, your hands went quickly to free his growing desire for you. Quickly he shifted his body over yours, nestling between your eagerly parting legs. He smiled as he guided his cock to your heated folds, happy to find you were already wet. He looked up to your face, and you bit your lip before reaching your hands up to his jaw and drawing him down to meet your lips. Steve devoured you with his kiss as he plunged into you, and you gave yourself up to him completely until you were both exhausted and sleep finally overtook you.

When one of his esquires woke him in the pre-dawn glow, he suppressed a groan of agitation. It is not the kind of king he has ever wanted to portray to his subjects. He will always be a dignified king. He was diligent in making sure you were tucked in with propriety before falling asleep himself, but he looks over to make sure your modesty is preserved this morning now with someone else in the room. He wants to kiss you goodbye, and while part of him wants nothing more than to wake you, see your eyes look up at him before he leaves, he refrains from doing anything more than brushing the hair off and away from your face with only the lightest caress. It would be silly to wake you for any more sentimentality. The honeymoon is truly over, and he only feels this consuming tie because of the unique circumstances of here and now. When you are both back in the capitol, it will be more normal and less sentimental. He will be himself again.

Downstairs in the hall there were simple foods ready for him to break his fast, and Lord Barnes and General Wilson were both waiting and ready to receive their king. Barnes would accompany him to Stark’s kingdom, but Wilson was there to escort the queen back to the castle.

“Guard her with your life,” Steve commanded.

Wilson gave a slight bow. “Yes, my king.”

Steve turns to look at Barnes only to find a smirk on the man’s face. “What is so amusing at this hour?”

“You gave that order as if he hasn’t been in your service for years.”

“She is the queen,” Steve reminded them.

“I will afford her the same safety and security that I have for your majesty since given the responsibility of this position.”

Steve shook his head, “You should afford her more than you do me.”

Without hesitation, he responded, “It will be done.”

Steve strode out of the foyer and Barnes fell in just one step behind him. “We need not rush away from the palace so soon. The official royal business of Stark’s expo does not require you so immediately.”

“This was the plan,” Steve retorted, “why would we alter course?”

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return to your queen,” he agreed.

“The sooner we can return to my kingdom, Lord Barnes.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

read more of the CEDAR TREES COLLECTION

read the next part: A SHIFT IN THE MORNING ROUTINE

#steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #royal au #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader insert #reader insert #steve rogers au #steve rogers royal au #king!steve rogers #request fest #aspen wrote something #aspen's request fest #cedar trees au

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lettersfromaphrodite · 11 months

Text

[2.22]

― pairing : Han Jisung x fem! reader ― content warnings : angst, fluff, implied smut, wolf au, reader is a witch, soulmates, medieval settings as always, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ; for the witch hunter part I kinda got inspired by the Merlin and Freya story but without the tragic ― word count : 2.670

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

🐺🔮 WOLVES! STRAY KIDS SERIES

Chris part one | part two // Changbin // Jisung // Hyunjin // Seungmin // Minho part one | part two // Felix // Jeongin

Branches roughly scratched your face and your arms, the sound of the dry leaves breaking under your feet as you desperately ran through the woods, trying to save yourself in what had started as a quiet and cool autumn morning.

Gritting your teeth as every limb in your body started to ache, your left hand was tightly pressed on the bloody wound on your right side, disheartened by the fact that you couldn’t use magic to heal your wound. You felt your own blood wetting your trembling fingers, and you wanted to cry, both by the pain you were feeling and both because you didn’t even have time to rest for a few seconds.

So, you kept running, a hunter following you close behind. You have been hearing rumours spreading through your village that the King had called for a hunter to investigate presumed supernatural events that started to happen at the court, but you had never thought that said hunter would have chased you as soon as he arrived. You did not have anything to do with the alleged magic episodes happening in the Castle, but you have heard from your mentor witch that hunters never stopped in front of anything.

Witches, werewolves, shapeshifters; the hunters would hunt everyone, trap them, and execute them on a public square. Therefore, their weapons and methods of capture improved through the years and adapted easily to every need.

This was the reason why you could not use your magic to defeat him, nor to heal yourself; your wound was caused by an enchanted blade, which would neutralize your magic unless someone else healed you.

A small clearing opened in front of you, and your heart sank at the view. Two wolves, one with ginger fur and hazel eyes, and the other with white fur and blue eyes immediately snapped their eyes towards you, both alerted and wary at your state and sudden appearance. Your eyes met hazel ones, and between all the pain, you felt a confusing warm sensation invading your senses.

«R-run,» you tried to say, but it came out as a raspy, weak whimper, «hunter.» you managed to add, pain clouding your senses, feeling as you were about to faint. You saw the wolves sharing a look, before the white wolf stopped the other from walking towards you, pushing him towards the woods behind them instead.

This was the last thing you saw before darkness enveloped your senses.

The dark night sky met your eyes as you woke up feeling sore due the metal bars against your back. Pain immediately shot through your side as you tried to move, blinking few times to gradually take in your surroundings as you weakly managed to breathe. Large, heavy metal cuff adorned your wrists, connecting them to the metal bars of the small cage you were trapped in. You were in one of the streets of the village, so that cage must have been the one that the hunter carried along with him, pulled by his horse; you hesitantly looked around, but did not find any trace of the hunter. With slow movements, the shackles rattled as you lifted the hem of your skirt, noticing that at least, your ankles hadn’t been tied up as well.

Tears blurred your vision, realizing that, that was it. You would have died like that, since you did not know any other witch who could heal you, let alone someone who could save you. Judging by the pain you constantly felt, the effects of the enchanted blade were still active, and you suspected that the handcuffs were enchanted too, if not the whole cage, meaning that you could not save yourself.

Basically, you were doomed. You closed your eyes as the hunter exited the tavern, leaning against the cage bar with a gloved hand.

«I hope you’re not feeling too cold, witch.» he spat, with an obnoxious and gruff voice. «They’ll warm you up soon enough.» with a merciless laugh, he walked away from you, and your heart sank even deeper.

“At least, for now they’re both safe.” You thought, your mind briefly recalling soft hazel eyes and fur as white as snow pushing him away.

You most definitely lost count of days; you could not stay awake, and you could barely sleep. You were stuck into an impasse. Night fell once again, hasty and sneaky whispers suddenly catching your attention, along with few low growls. You tried to identify the shadows approaching your cage, trying to help yourself with the light the full moon provided, wondering if the hunter changed his plans for you.

Fear spreaded through your body and the shackles rattled loudly as you attempted to press yourself even further against the metal bars, the desperate attempt to somehow save or shield yourself even if you were helpless and trapped. A boy around your age with white hair and long white eyelashes suddenly jumped on the carriage, in the front of the cage’s locked door, his index fingers in front his lips signalling you not to make any noise. You nodded at him, still trembling, just to notice another boy with light brown hair effortlessly climb on and kneel next to him.

«How’s it, Lix?» the boy asked the one with white hair, as they both studied the padlock.

«It’s a piece of cake.» the boy’s deep voice startled you, and he started picking at the padlock with what you thought was a thin fragment of sharpened iron. «Let’s say I expected more from a hunter’s cage.» he smiled to himself as the padlock opened with a soft “click”, and they both opened the door of the cage with slow movements, in order to prevent any squeaking noise from the rusty iron.

«We’re not going to hurt you,» The boy with light brown hair smiled warmly at you, two dimples appearing to corner his smile. «I’m Chris, and he’s Felix.» he gestured to the white haired boy which was now picking at the locks of the heavy handcuffs around your wrists. Felix looked up with a soft smile at the mention of his name. «There are others outside the cage. Me and my friends are here to save you.»

«Let’s save the introductions for later,» Felix mumbled, placing the handcuffs on your side, away from you, and your first instinct was to rub your red and sore wrists, «we’re running short on time.»

Chris nodded, and with a gentle «I’m so sorry for this.» he leaned towards you and picked you up as gently as he could, as you tried to suffocate another wave of pain running through your side. Chris effortlessly jumped down the carriage while holding you tight, and you noticed that “the others” which he was referring to were indeed a pack of wolves.

«Han, Seungmin, get her home. We’ll take care of him.» Chris said, and obediently, two large wolves slowly walked towards you. Your eyes met hazel ones, and the ginger wolf you saw few days earlier was looking at you as he was feeling your own pain.

«You’ll be fine now, your mate is here.» You heard Chris say once again, his gentle voice reaching your ears distant and muffled. The last thing you remember was being helped climbing on the back of the ginger wolf, which partially leaned down to help your movements, and you caressing a small fraction of his soft fur, feeling somehow as safe as you have never felt. You let yourself trust your saviours enough to close your eyes, and darkness once again enveloped your soul.

The feeling of dizziness was the first thing that welcomed you as soon as you woke up. An unfamiliar wooden ceiling met your tired eyes, and you realized that you have been laying on a soft mattress, instead of a metal cage.

Feeling an unfamiliar sensation of warmth around your right hand, you glanced down, just to see an asleep boy sitting on the floor with his head on the mattress, as he was still holding your hand. A strange sensation of familiarity pervaded your senses as you saw his delicate features cornered by long blondish hair.

You tried to sit up, but pain shot through your side again, and you whined, collapsing back on the bed, involuntarily waking the bow up. You were confused by the pain you were feeling; it was definitely different from the one generated by the enchanted blade. Could it be that your saviours found a way to heal you?

The boy blinked twice before noticing you were awake, and his eyes widened immediately.

«Here, let me help you.» he offered, his hand hanging in mid-air, waiting for your approval. Due to a strange pull you felt in your chest you found yourself nodding, and he delicately helped you sit up, your back lying comfortably against the fluffy cushions.

«I’m Jisung,» he smiled, reaching out to your nightstand to offer you a glass full of water, which you gladly accepted. «I’m part of the group that saved you last week.»

«Last week?!» you shrieked, your voice hoarse and your throat burning due to not having spoken with anyone not having drank anything for apparently, more than a week.

A sad smile adorned Jisung’s pretty lips, «We’re very lucky to be both alive.» he said, confusing you, but proceeded before you could ask. «There are other witches in the pack, they’re my friends’ mates.» you nodded, recalling Chris’ saying the same word that night. «They healed you, and took care of you.» due to you still dizzy state, you noticed only in that moment that you had been completely bathed and you weren’t definitely wearing your clothes anymore. You nodded, slowly taking in everything that happened and everything he said. You most definitely owed them your life.

«Thank you,» you offered Jisung a sweet, sincere smiled which he immediately mirrored. «But… How did you know I had been caught?» You furrowed your brows, waiting for Jisung to confirm your thoughts.

A pack of wolves mysteriously showed up after you’ve warned two wolves you randomly found on your way, and coincidentally, one of them had human features which reminded you of the white wolf you saw, so, this meant that-

«You told me yourself,» Jisung’s soft voice intruded your thoughts, and for some reason, your heart sparked up at the confirmation to Jisung being not only the ginger wolf you’ve seen but there was a probability of you being his mate. «I was going to pick you up immediately, but Felix convinced me it was probably better to alert the others and to come up with an actual plan to save you.»

«How am I even supposed to repay this debt.» you mumbled to yourself, throwing your head back and meeting yet another fluffy cushion. Jisung chuckled softly at your reaction.

«Come live with us, with me. I mean-us.» he said, blushing as he stuttered on his sentence and you softly giggled at him, rubbing your eyes with one hand.

«Whose house is this?» you asked, weakly, feeling yourself getting drowsy once again. «Mine.» Jisung said, taking away the empty glass from your hands. «Okay then,» you mumbled, «I’ll move in.» «I’ll be here when you’ll wake up.» was the last thing you heard Jisung say, before you fell into a peaceful sleep.

You have been falling in and out of sleep few more times, and Jisung had always kept his promise. Sometimes he would be awake, sometimes asleep, but as soon as you woke up, he would be the first thing you would see.

Something brushed against your shoulder, and you woke up to find Jisung laying on top of the blankets and cuddled on your side, his forehead brushing against your shoulder as he tried to occupy as little space as he could. Following your instinct, you turned on your side to face him, happily noticing that finally your side stopped hurting, and scooted closer to him, so that you would fall asleep once again with your forehead against his.

You woke up few hours later due to the feeling of Jisung’s fingers delicately brushing few strand of your hair away from your face, his eyes burning into yours from up close. During sleep, you managed to intertwine your hands, and neither of you tried to move from the contact now that you were both fully awake.

«Jisung?» you mumbled, and he hummed in response. «Why did you say we were lucky to be alive?» you saw his eyes soften, and his hand reached out to gently caress your cheek.

«You and I are mates,» he explained, «if one of us dies, so does the other.» Jisung’s voice made your heart sank in realization that you unknowingly almost killed your mate and, feeling your emotions, he re-adjusted your positions so that he could hug you close to his body.

«I’m sorry it took us a while to come and get you but, everything is going to be okay, now. We’re together.»

You quickly adjusted to your new life. First of all, you were happy you could use magic once again, and consequently, to finally have friends with the same gift you had.

The pack welcomed you, but they simply acted as you had always been there, nothing changed in their routine, neither in yours, and you felt home and safe with them accepting you so easily and making you feel one of the family. Jisung was the goofiest and most caring mate you could ever have. His loud personality always made you feel at ease, and so did his natural desire for contact and skinship. Despite the two of you acting like a lovesick couple for the whole day, you and Jisung shared your first kiss a month after your arrival.

Due to what happened, he spent the day walking you around the woods, both in his human and wolf form, showing you that there was no more reason to be afraid, since the hunter had been taken care of and from now on, he would have been there to protect you.

And so, your first kiss was shared under an old oak tree, after you’ve been playing hide and seek all afternoon, and finally, you felt one with the nature and you were no more afraid of the dangers that it could hide.

«Found you!» you excitedly jumped in Jisung’s arms, which held you up immediately, his hold unwavering.

Jisung chuckled. «You did, again.» you inched down, closing the space between you and capturing Jisung’s lips in a soft kiss. Effortlessly keeping you up with his right arm, his left hand reached up to tenderly cup your jaw, gently angling your head to have a better access to deepen the kiss. You kissed him back with equal fervour, feeling as your souls were now connected at a whole, different level.

Eventually, Jisung carefully laid you down on the soft grass, peppering your body with sweet kisses as you made love under an old oak tree, shielding you from indiscreet eyes, as you were lost in each other’s touch. Jisung’s hands and the promised of undying love he whispered against your skin made you feel like you were on fire, as you both tried to adapt to the new sensation of completeness that inevitably came as your bodies rocked and grinded together, chasing your release while tightly intertwining your hands together. Jisung’s left hand intertwined with yours and his right hand cupped your jaw once again to kiss you as you came together, absorbing each other’s moans with a tender kiss, your left hand hanging loosely around his right wrist.

«I think I really love you,» Jisung mumbled in the crook of your neck as you both shared the bliss of your post orgasm state, and you felt your heart soar. «And I’m really glad you found me.»

«I love you, too.» you mumbled back, feeling Jisung’s hammering heartbeat right against your skin, «And I’m really glad you found me right back.»

all works © lettersfromaphrodite

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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petite-madame · 1 year

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List of artworks I posted only on Twitter

There are some artworks/doodles/sketches, I only posted on Twitter. If you are interested here’s the 2022 list. Thank you so much for enjoying my art 🥰

Steve comes back from his time travel in Endgame sporting white hair (Steve/Bucky)

Happy Birthday Bucky (Bucky)

Medieval Bucky with very long hair - study (Bucky)

Bucky doesn’t share (Steve...looking good)

Steven Grant meeting Khonshu (Steven Grant & Khonshu)

Defender Strange relaxing at home (Defender Stephen Strange)

Art Dump - three artworks (including two Stucky artworks + a Captain America portrait)

Silver Fox Steve (Steve, inspired by a Mobster AU I did doodles for at the beginning of 2022. The other artwork was posted on Tumblr)

Crack art: Dr Strange sporting glasses (Stephen Strange)

Dr John Watson (dropped/unfinished artwork for a series)

Cute Steve and Bucky artwork (Stucky)

RDJ as Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie Sherlock)

Dean Winchester in his car (Dean)

Deliciously Decadent (Victorian Johnlock)

Portrait of young John Watson (John Watson)

Portait of young Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock)

Portrait of young Mycroft Holmes (Mycroft)

And now, some rest until 2023...

#stucky #johnlock #stephen strange #steve rogers #bucky barnes #myart

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 9 months

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Promises Six: The Patron

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Chapter warnings: language, violence, (temporary) character death A/N: You're all fucking fabulous. 💖Aiming for another update next week. Wish me luck.

Only two thrones waited in the main tent. The king’s servants rushed to move a third chair to a place of honor beside them, layering it in swaths of silk and velvet designed to hang over the canvas walls, like they could veil the differences in quality and size with a few curtains.

They needn’t have bothered.

Lord Morpheus refused to sit as his sibling lounged on their impromptu throne with the grace of a cat and a shark’s smile. Familial enmity crackled around the two like a storm, and Desire basked in the attention. The King of Meiren hovered, clearly aching to take his seat, but anxious should he disrespect the guest who would not.

Quite a tableau. If only the bard could paint.

She saw her patrons settled before she went to study the drama unfolding around the two Endless and the king who would dare consider himself an equal. Even the most delusional suitors kept their distance now. Alluring as Desire may be, they did not hem in the waves of power as their siblings did. The bard recognized the overwhelming presence of an Endless even when they tried to shutter the worst of the tidal crush when walking among mortals. She’d felt it with Death. She felt it with Dream. But Desire didn’t even pretend to care for the humans’ comfort.

Every scent was sweeter in their presence, every whisper of taste carried on the smoke of the outdoor cooking fires a draw to addiction. The company looked finer. Everyone murmured about the heat and struggled to meet each others’ gaze as they shifted in their tight clothes, fanning away glittering drops of sweat that drew the eye down, and down, and down to the curious places hidden from view by cloth and lace.

Plenty of mistakes would be made that evening. More than the usual wild carousing inspired by fantasies of bloodlust in the woods. She’d already advised her friends and supporters to avoid as much of the spectacle as possible. To keep a hair pin in their pocket to prick themselves and their loved ones back to good sense if needed. She pointed out the horse troughs and water buckets, and reasoned the king couldn’t complain if a few members of his court felt poorly and left before dark after such a long day.

She couldn’t follow them back, of course. Her curiosity forbid it, and she wanted to be near if a spark caught that might ignite the entire kingdom.

Desire made no effort to hide their conversation from the fragmented assembly. Most were too busy wrestling with their influence to take notice, but the bard knew Desire’s family, and – what was far more important – she knew herself and her desires too well to be so easily swayed.

“I heard you’d been offered a bride, and I simply couldn’t help myself.” Desire treated the seat more as a kind of low couch, spreading over the arms in a pose to draw the eye to their long limbs and fiery eyes. Their red lips looked bloodstained as they grinned. “And a mortal at that. What could have possessed you?”

The king stuttered to join in the conversation, his eyes so dilated even the bard could see the dark hollows swallowing his mind. “I-I offered, your… grace? A bargain for the King of Dream’s aid some years ago. He has not chosen, but there are still many days…”

“Hmmm.” Desire dismissed him effortlessly, not even bestowing a wave. Their eyes never turned to his face, and the king finally slumped into his seat, unseen and unheard by his betters. The bard had never seen him so cowed, and gods knew she’d put in the work.

“An offer only.” The Dream King’s hands flexed into fists. Although the bard had thought he couldn’t grow any paler, his knuckles looked deathly white against his pallid skin. “I have accepted no one, and no one in this host has so inspired my attention or affection.”

Somehow, Desire’s smile grew wider, and as they let their head fall back over the arm of their throne, they chuckled through their teeth. “I wonder, big brother. Really, I do. Ah, well.” They straightened, spinning with unnatural fluidity to properly face their kin. “At least I didn’t miss the hunt.”

The close air within the tent fostered the unnatural heat. It stuck to the roof of the bard’s mouth, and she licked her teeth to scrape it off her tongue. The warmth ached where it dripped into her chest, clenched and hungry for every good and wicked thing she could not or should not possess. Her dead mother’s hand to hold. A good cup of tea in a quiet place beside a trusted friend. Wind in her hair, songs in her throat, and someone –

She left the tent.

Out of sight, the waves of Desire’s power didn’t strike with such force, and the bard walked with her hands on her hips, taking deep breaths of fresh air to clear the scent of longing.

A breeze cut through the clearing where the king’s court set camp, and she imagined it cleaned the stench of foiled passions as it combed through her hair, that it brushed aside the bitter shards of unshaped dreams from her mind.

Sometimes she forgot how much harder intrigue and politics were to wash off than dust from the road. It worked into crevices and scars, surprising her with old filth every time she thought herself free of it.

Her time with the Endless would stain her, surely.

Her mother’s acquaintance with Death left more than a mere mark. If she wasn’t so proud of her own legacy and legend, she’d say it defined her. If she had any sense, she would’ve stayed with the dragon and sung him pretty songs until the Endless had fucked off back to the realm he governed. When Desire appeared, she should’ve turned her mare around, packed up her things at the castle, and left a note of apology. But she hadn’t. Couldn’t, honestly. She wanted to know. She wanted to see. She wanted to witness history – or add a few lines of her own.

Really, what was the worst that could happen? She had manners and a frustrating inability to die, so the chances of lasting consequences for her recklessness were slim.

Gradually, her hands slipped off her hips, and she felt she could breathe easily again. The world wore familiar shades, and no one’s power but her own threaded through her blood. Half finished stories and snarls of old songs half forgotten filled her head. The air tasted of dirt and smelled of sweat. All good and human things.

Strolling through the camp, she found an old fortune reader laying out her tools on a red blanket. The woman chose her spot well, a patch of shade that would only grow as the sun set, just beside the smaller tents where the noble families rested.

The bard nodded in passing, but a wizened hand seized her wrist, bringing her up short. Stumbling to a halt, she blinked down, bemused, but only a little surprised. The woman didn’t have many other customers passing at this hour, when most were resting or preparing for the hunt, and plenty of folk stopped the bard in the street.

All her cards, bones, and runes sat in tidy piles and dishes, untouched, but the reader glowered at the bard with a fortune on her lips.

“You have already caught your doom’s eye.”

Smiling, twisting her wrist in a vain attempt to thwart the old woman’s grasp, the bard said, “You must be mistaken, mother. I have no doom.”

Ridged nails sank into the bard’s palm as the fortune teller squeezed.

“Just because you are deathless does not make you fateless, girl.”

A presence too much like the ones she’d left in the king’s tent coursed like deep roots through the old woman’s words. They tapped unseen waters and sprouted a gravity beyond the woman’s ken. Her glare cut across realms, and the bard’s hair stood on end.

“You are become an ache that preys on the heart. A yearning made flesh. And your doom will tear you from the world if you continue this way in the Garden of Forking Paths. Heed my warning.”

A shadow cut across the sun, and the bard looked up, expecting a thunderhead. That sort of fortune ought to be followed by forked lightning and rolling thunder. But as the light returned and the shape passed through the sun’s glare, it roared, and the bard cursed, ripping away from the fortune teller even as the old woman released her grip.

“Fucking hells!”

She tore through the camp, running before she thought to move, knocking guards and bemused nobles out of her way as they stared up at the great, winged beast above. A dragon. A dragon had come to the king’s hunt.

And the bard knew just which idiot dragon it was, too.

She recognized his scaled bulk. His petulant, flaming rumble.

The absolute twat.

What did he think he was doing?

Time rushed against her, precious seconds slipping beneath the soles of her boots as she found her horse, fumbled on the bridle, and swung onto her back. By that time, knights and hunters had stirred themselves. The bard cantered between men-at-arms rushing to their mounts and young archers half-armed and eager.

She flew by the entrance to the king’s tent where the two Endless stood observing the chaos like it was so very far below them. Fair enough. But at the moment, the bard couldn’t care less. Kingdoms and fates be damned. Her patron was going to get himself killed. She barely felt their gazes wash over her, burning like molten gold, sharper than diamond stars. After a life of dragon’s fire and executioners’ blades, they did not make her tremble like a sensible mortal.

Out of the camp, into the woods, galloping along the path in the direction the dragon wheeled. A goodly field stood some distance away, and it was the nearest place her patron might land without risking his wings on the treetops. So she rode, aware the crash of arms and hooves behind her was growing.

She hadn’t stopped for a saddle. Her thighs clenched tight around her mare’s heaving ribs, every bit of energy and intent straining forward, trying to yank the distant break in the trees closer with sheer force of will. The woods pressed too dark and thick, and she couldn’t tell if the crush of noise in her head came from her heart or the dragon ahead.

The ride lasted half an age, but she cleared the tunnel of trees at last, and blinded by sun, she heard rather than saw the huntsfolk who’d gathered from where they kept the caged beasts and dogs. A dragon was much better quarry. As the glare faded, she wheeled her mare between the humans and the fiery beast. They stumbled, clutching weapons and glaring as she swung down, facing the thing they’d planned to capture.

Hands raised, seeking to draw his eye, she marched towards the dark gouges in the earth where her patron landed.

“Glistiven!”

He turned from the lancer he’d been snapping at, flaring his nostrils wide to smell as well as see her. The wind carried her scent across the field, and he lowered his head, creeping low to be on her level.

She hissed at the hunters as she passed, “He’ll burn you all if you scratch him. Your lives aren’t worth the coin the king will forget to pay you.”

A few, convinced, moved back into the trees. The rest at least backed away, cautious, ready to see if the beast would incinerate the bard before they pushed their luck.

Glistiven stood taller than an oak, and his wings could shade a whole village. He looked a fine prize with his glittering scales – and the gold trapped between them – but he’d not grown to such a size for his tame love of humanity.

He’d burned the bard to ash three times before his curiosity won over his bad temper.

A month of stories, songs, and negotiations convinced him that it may be easier to let the local villages sell him their sheep. It was easier than dealing with unwanted visits from every bounty hunter and monster slayer in the kingdom. Every year, she carried his order down from the mountain, and the farmers let the chosen sheep run wild into the dragon’s territory.

He ought to be in the mountain now.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, marching through the tall grass and struggling to look dignified. As if she didn’t have enough to worry over. Two Endless, a fool of a king, and families looking to her for protection she was wholly unqualified to promise. Just because she was old didn’t mean she was powerful. “You great, flaming… Why are you here?”

Though still many yards away, his great sigh sent ripples through her clothes. “You have not finished your story.”

Hells above and heavens below. The petulance in his voice. She noted the remaining huntsfolk shift even further away from the corner of her eye, disturbed by the voice like a landslide in a wildfire. Crackling, and rumbling, and doubtless inhuman. A voice they all felt rattle in their bones. It reminded them that though they be hunters, they might yet be hunted. Many of their kind fell to dragons’ appetites. This one may yet have them.

The bard dropped her hands, forcing her way through the swaying weeds. She’d give her patron a piece of her mind and sort out this mess. He ought to fly home, but if he didn’t, she could tell him where to hide, where to sleep away from the hunter’s hooks and the castle’s ballistas.

A sharp twang cut the words she went to speak from the air.

Pain struck. It pierced through and out, scattering thought and breaking breath. A strange weight sat in her flesh, and as her mouth fell open, desperate for air that would not come, her hands rose to find the wound, the hurt, and the thing that made it. An arrow tip sliced her fingers. A bolt from some great weapon meant to take down boar and the scaled wyverns that sometimes came this far north.

It had taken her heart out of her body. She could feel it with her bleeding fingertips, fluttering around the wooden shaft, half-pinned by broken ribs.

She fell. To her knees. To the grass. To the waiting arms of Death. Her blood pooled ruby over her hands, her body shuddering and jolting with the determination of a broken clock still trying to tick.

The ground shook with Glistiven’s rage, and the heat of his fire curled over her like a blanket as the last heat of waning life bubbled onto the grass.

Here you are again.

A gentle touch settled over the crown of her head. Cold, but soft. A familiar companion she hated to bother. The bard relaxed into the entity’s hold as she lost all sense and feeling, swaddled in the dark.

What have you gone and done to yourself this time?

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x female reader #dream of the endless x reader #dark!dream of the endless #fic: promises #fantasy!au #morpheus x oc

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thecatduet422 · 1 year

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Chapter Three: Blood of the Dragon

Dragon King!bakugou katsuki x reader

Taglist: @genderfluid-anime-goth @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @nnubee @reddriot

Rating: Mature

Tags: violence, blood, dragons, its wartime babes so people might get booboos, romance, sexual tension, medieval politics, northern!reader, knight!midoriya

Summary: With the fury of winter on the precipice, and food provisions deathly short, you have no choice but to represent your House and speak with the Dragon King. The only problem is your Houses have been at odds for centuries, and the fearsome Dragon King is not exactly easy to convince... (GoT-inspired AU)

A/N: Also, highly recommend @vampyrsm's forbidden flame series!

Chapters: 3/? (20,590 words)

AO3 LINK

Chapter One Chapter Two

Some translations for this chapter: *Dragons: Kanibaru = Cannibal, Kinba = Gold Tooth, Shiroi Tsubasa = White Wing. *Commands (taken directly from GoT): Dracarys = Dragon fire, Rybas = Focus, Naejot = Forward, Dohaeras = Serve, Umbas = Wait

Chapter Three: Blood of the Dragon (12.4k)

Darkness…

An echoing song…

Can't breathe…

You woke up gasping for air, only to be greeted by the sun shining its inferno through the lazy breeze of the curtains that guarded you. The silk sheets wrapped around you slipped across your skin like water as you entered into the morn, nightmare temporarily forgotten.

How useless, you thought suddenly. What’s the point of a blanket if not to keep you warm?

You roughly kicked the sheets off you, finding them to be a total hindrance. But then as soon as you did it, you felt strange. Almost vulnerable in a way, not unlike when you were on the boat, abandoning your extra layers of clothing.

You’ve been guarding yourself against the outside for as long as you could remember. To meet it head-on, bare skin to sun, it felt like you were heading into battle with nothing but a horse.

And how the southern heat seemed to target you, causing you to sweat constantly . You were always fighting off against the gross feeling as your body struggled to adjust to the new land.

You missed the cold air of the North, the smell of the grass, the sound of your little brother’s laugh. You missed the peace of the whispering woods, the roars of laughter in the Hall, the secluded comfort of the library. You missed home.

And yet, The Dragon King insisted you stay.

“Until we both see fit," he had said.

Well, you saw fit to leave once the agreement was signed. That seemed to be the sensible thing to do. Your business would be done, so why stay?

And what was taking the contract so long? Surely, it must be done by now…

"We're gonna do it right this time… We reform our relationship, and in return, our alliance…"

Reform our relationship…

Something about that itched your mind, like the tune of a song you couldn't quite remember. Like any other trueborn of the North, the history of the Great Blacksmith has been engraved into your head. The tale of him and the Dragon Queen is very much a repeated one, back at home at least. But you imagined it would be popular in the Southlands too��

Does the King mean to…

No. Of course not.

You take a deep breath in, smelling the sweet smoke that was slowly beginning to waft into the room.

“To cover the smell of dragon,” Lady Mina explained to you.

Apparently, the dragon caves weren’t far from the city, and the wind tended to drift the stench over. You smelled it more than a couple of times now; fire, soot, and something else you couldn’t place. The best way you could describe it was wet dog , and yet you knew that wasn’t right. Either way, it wasn’t exactly offensive, not when you’ve spent your entire childhood around livestock. Besides, you thought the incense more than did its job. Whether it was the soft floral scents of jasmine, sweet pea, and lilac or one of the stronger, spicier scents of cinnamon, clove, and frankincense- they all seemed to give you a jolt of energy, giving you the muster to start the day.

And already there was Lady Mina, ready to start with you as she walked across the other side of the room, lighting the perfumed sticks as she went, soft tendrils of smoke marking her path like footsteps.

“Morning, Lady Mina,” you greeted, ignoring your slight unease.

You almost forgot that it was normal, a lady’s maid waking you up, helping you get ready for the day. And as more servant ladies walked in with clean linens, fresh tea, and food, you found your stubbornness winning over.

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of getting ready on my own-”

Lady Mina easily countered with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense! You're our guest . Besides, you brought no maids of your own.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, as if it weren't a problem, but you still found yourself squirming with embarrassment. Was it considered unethical, not bringing any maids with you? It’s not like you had a choice. The outlook of the war forced your lady mother to dismiss them all.

"Knights and guards must be placed over butlers and maids, sweetling. Can’t you see?"

And for a tiny moment, an arrow of sorrow punctured your chest as you remembered your goodbye to Jirou, your lady-in-waiting and best friend. The sad look in her eyes as you told her to pack up her things and go home…

A breakfast tray interrupted your memory, pulling the arrow along with it. As the tray was delicately placed over your lap, you were greeted with a mouthwatering assortment of bread, fruit, and cheese. You dug into all of it without a care as Lady Mina gleefully walked up to an assortment of dresses.

Oh, not again, you thought with an eye roll.

“And I was thinking for today,” she sang, eyeing through the garments, “You can wear… this! ”

She pulled out a lovely silk dress, dyed the color lavender and bare on one shoulder, the otherside held together with a golden dragon pin. You could pick out the outline of the scales and teeth all the way from your place on the bed. Its jaw was open mid-roar, its eyes studded with tiny rubies, its tail snaking down to wrap around the waist.

It was… a lot.

You gulped down the lump of food in your mouth, feeling it plump down into your stomach. “Don’t you think it's a bit too much for me, Mina?"

Mina pouted. “We can replace the broach with one of your own, if you like. But you can't deny it isn't pretty…”

She dangled the dress in front of you, as if the fabric could somehow hypnotize you into saying yes.

You gulped down your guilt, almost wishing you would've fallen for it. But the truth was, your father raised you to ride on horseback, to swing a sword, to hunt alongside your brothers. Usually, you couldn’t be bothered with dresses.

"The thought is appreciated, trully,” you said with a mouthful of bread. You swallowed it down before continuing. “But I have training this morning. I very well can’t fight in, well, that .”

You gestured to the dress as if it were a wild animal with rabies and foam spilling out from the mouth.

Lady Mina huffed, not forgiving you. “All you ever do is train...”

You gave her your best pleading face, trembling lip and the biggest eyes you could make. A trick you’ve pulled since you were a child.

"Ugh, fine ," Lady Mina relented, handing the dress back to a maid. "But the King is hosting a tourney later this week, and I insist on getting you ready for that!"

She wagged a finger at you. "All of the highborns of the South are going to be there. You need to look like a proper lady of your station. Got it?"

“Yes, Lady Mina,” you nodded in fake agreement.

It wouldn't be a lie if you were gone by the time of the tourney, which you hoped to be once this damned contract was signed…

You shoved a final fistful of food into your mouth before getting ready.

And it was true when you said you could get ready on your own. A simple cotton shirt, breeches, and your boots were all you needed. You’ve forgone most of your armor since the boat, finding it all to be utterly unbearable in the Southern heat. You now only bothered with your arm braces and your scabbard.

However, as your eyes traveled over your form in the mirror, they caught onto your chestplate, tucked away in an open chest. It’s cool steel peeked out, the curve of the white fox stealing your attention with a twinkle of light, a reflection of the sun living in the fox’s eye.

Can't breathe-

Air hitched in your throat, and it was then you felt something unpleasantly strange; a cold air that brushed against the back of your shoulders and shivered into your chest.

You pulled out the chestplate and strapped it on.

"Uh, are you sure you want to do that, my lady?" Mina asked you, cautiously. "It's a very hot day, today."

"I'll be fine," you insisted, finding a strong sense of pride in the fox that guarded your heart. With that one, and the necklace you wore underneath it, you felt like you knew who you were.

A northerner, through and through.

But as a show of respect, you did let Lady Mina do your hair. She brushed it back and weaved it into a braid as you worked on fastening your arm braces.

When Lady Mina stepped back, finished, you simply couldn't afford to linger anymore.

“Thanks,” you told her, not bothering to look before leaving, too busy fidgeting with the final clasp.

You heard her scoff all the way from the door, but hopefully, she knew you enough by now to realize you meant no offense. You simply had more important matters for the day.

You walked out, and as always, Ser Midoriya stood patiently by your door, waiting.

“Good morning, m’lady!” he greeted brightly.

“Good morning, ser.” You couldn’t help but feel warmth in your heart when you saw your friend. He reminded you of your littlest brother. Eager, innocent, hopeful.

“Any ravens from home?” you asked as the both of you headed towards the grounds.

“Yes, actually!” Ser Midoriya pulled out a scroll sealed with blood red wax, stamped with the outline of your familiar.

You eagerly ripped it open, eyes meeting your mother’s perfect handwriting.

Dearest Daughter,

I insist that you return home immediately.

Of course.

The savaged prince will cut off your head-

He’s a king.

You’ve surrounded yourself with beasts, sweetling. Can’t you see? It’s only a matter of time before they gobble you up.

You snorted.

Come home, before I lose a daughter as well as a husband.

You huffed. Using your father’s death against you was low, but unfortunately, unsurprising.

“Any news on the little lord?” Ser Midoriya asked.

You skimmed through the rest of the letter, worry pinching your face the farther you went down.

“No. Nothing.”

You crumpled the letter up into a ball and handed it back to Midoriya, who took it with no response, long-used to your mood when receiving a raven from mother.

A couple of courtiers passed by, their gazes straying down to the fox on your chest. You saw them lean into each other in a conniving manner, whispering.

“The Lady of the North...”

You expected the stares. You were probably the first northerner to walk through these halls in decades afterall, and nothing fueled the court more than whispers, rumors, and gossip.

You imagined that you were the main topic of all three today.

But what did surprise you were the glances cast at your knight.

“The green hair? He’s the one that jousted against the King...”

You showed no sign that you heard them, keeping your head forward. But once you passed them, you looked over to your knight. “It seems your reputation is quite bigger than I've been led to believe, ser.”

And as you predicted, Ser Midoriya flinched and stuttered to answer. “I-I told your lord father everything when I arrived at court, m’lady! I swear!”

“Maybe so, but now you must tell me,” you leaned in to talk quieter, in case there were any stray ears. “Without a written agreement, the Dragon King can have second thoughts on the trade. Perhaps he already is , and maybe that's why it's taking so long… You must tell me your tale, ser."

Ser Midoriya just looked at you, confused. "But, m'lady, Kacchan would never do that. He gave you his word."

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline, bewilderment making you louder, " Kacchan? You have a nickname for him?"

“W-Well, we grew up together,” Midoriya explained, face turning red as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. His eyes roamed down, up, to the side, everywhere but at you.

You stopped, grabbing onto Ser Midoriya’s shoulder so he would do the same. When he still refused to look at you, you shook him gently, forcing him to do so.

“There’s no one I trust more than you, ser, can't you see? It’s your opinion that I value the most. Not the Dragon King’s.”

Ser Midoriya stood there, twiddling his thumbs. “It’s just that… it’s embarrassing m’lady. A-And" –he suddenly looked up at you, fists now clenched and eyes sparkling with determination– “I’m not that man anymore. I’m a knight now, and I’m going to be the best in all the lands!”

You gave a small smile at his declaration. Truthfully, it didn’t surprise you. You found that the ones most often looked down on were the ones with the biggest dreams, and Ser Midoriya was probably the most doubted knight in the entire realm. It was easy for the world to do so, with his naturally scrawny frame, panicked attitude, and lack of name.

But you've seen the knight grow. You've seen him be the very first one on the training grounds and the very last one to leave. You've seen how seriously he takes his duty in protecting you, how he treats your family with the utmost respect.

You've seen the boy become the man.

“You forget, ser. I train with you," you reminded him. “If I thought you were an embarrassment, I would have said so.”

You held onto both of his shoulders now, hoping your persistence would be proof of your honesty. "I already believe you capable of anything. There is nothing you need to prove to me, ser."

You released your hold on him, crossing your arms stubbornly.

“Now, tell me.”

Midoriya released a shaky breath, tears brimming in his forest-green eyes, and for a fearful moment you thought the knight would outright weep, but then he shook his head, wiping them away.

“Okay.”

He pulled you away into a corner, where his story could be hidden by stone and shadow.

“As you know, I was working as a stable boy here, in the Southlands. But, I’ve always dreamt of becoming a knight. My favorite story as a boy was always-”

“-Ser Toshinori Yagi, the All Mighty Knight of the Goldlands,” you finished for him.

Midoriya rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, well. I would run into Kacchan a lot back then but… but often times Kacchan didn’t want me around."

You narrowed your eyes at his hesitancy. You could read inbetween the lines. You knew how cruel men like the Bakugou Katsuki could be.

Midoriya went on. "He was training to be a knight too, you see. He kept talking about us going to war soon-”

“And how would he know that?” you interrupted snootily. “The Old Lord of the South didn’t even suspect war, so how did he ?”

“Kacchan has the blood of the dragon, m’lady,” your knight explained. “He has dragon dreams.”

“Dragon dreams?”

Ser Midoriya nodded.

Your oncoming dislike of the King hindered for a moment as you absorbed the information.

You’ve read about the blood of the dragon. The last known carrier was the Dragon Queen. It was written that she never burned, that her dreams were premonitions, that her shouts could make dragons heel, while her whispers could make them roar.

And, it was written that she was the last who could do so.

"Is this true?" you asked carefully.

Midoriya nodded. “He claimed a dragon when he was five, m'lady.”

Shock flowed through you at the idea.

Five years old…

“Well." With a heavy sigh, you slumped against the wall. "I guess that would prove it.”

You looked up, eyes roaming over the stone of the ceiling as you mused. “I never expected the Dragon King to be a dreamer.”

Midoriya looked down sheepishly, almost as if he were guilty of something. “If you ask about it, he'll deny it, m'lady. Kachaan thinks it makes him look superstitious…"

Is that what happened to you, ser? You made a mention of his dreams, and he beat you for it?

"B-But anyways," –Midoriya shook his head, clearing whatever thought that clouded it– "when the tourney was announced, we all thought that this was it; this was how we can prove ourselves and become knights. Kacchan kept talking about how he would win and be named Commander-”

You snorted. “From one tourney win? Doubtful.”

Midoriya shook his head, correcting you. “By then, Kacchan had a lot of influence, m’lady. He was able to command a dragon, and he was in the Old Lord's favor."

“Really?” you asked, astonished. “So just like that? He won and was named Commander?”

Midoriya nodded, tears brimming once again as he recounted shamefully, “The very first round, Kacchan was put up against me and…” –tears started to fill more as Midoriya choked– “And as soon as I charged, somehow the girth came undone…”

“And you fell off.”

“And I fell off!” Midoriya cried.

His sobs bounced off of the walls as Ser Midoriya could no longer hold it in. He doubled over, completely consumed by his emotions, and you saw curious courtiers start to peek their heads your way.

“There, there, ser.” You patted his back reassuringly. “Your riding skills have improved tremendously since you’ve been with me. Your fighting skills, too.”

“I know that.” Ser Midoriya wiped his tears away. “And even then, I knew I could do better. I stood up and went to mount my horse again.”

“As you should,” you nodded.

“But…” Midoriya hesitated. He looked up at you, and you knew then that you wouldn’t like what he had to say. “But Kacchan wouldn’t allow it, m’lady.”

“What?!” you exclaimed. “ Why? You did nothing wrong.”

"He said I was hopeless, that there was no way I could fight, and if I wasn't fit to represent the Southlands on the battlefield, then I wasn't fit to represent them at all," Midoriya recounted in sorrow. "And the Old Lord listened, m’lady, so I was banished."

“That is-” you choked on your anger, too steamed to finish.

Unfair . Dishonorable . Cowardly. Those were the words that came to mind.

“I don’t like this King,” you decided, making your way back towards the light of the hallway.

Anger and guilt twisted your stomach as you realized, that’s why Ser Midoriya begged you to let him fight the other day. He saw it as his chance to regain his honor, and you didn’t let him. You thought it was your duty to challenge the King yourself, in the name of your House.

You peeked over your shoulder, at Ser Midoriya, who was now dejectedly following behind you.

“There’s a tourney coming up later this week. You can fight then,” you decided.

Ser Midoriya’s face brightened immediately. He reminded you of a child seeing his first fall of snow. “Really, m'lady?! You'll let me?”

Your anger melted at the sight of his excitement. “Why, of course, ser. You will be the sole representative of the North. I swear.”

Midoriya’s face turned serious, his determined nature taking root once more. “Yes, m’lady! I will make you proud.”

You didn’t doubt it, but now you'll have to deal with Mina…

Fresh sun hit your face as you reached the grounds. Along with it, the air, tainted with the smell of sweat, blood, and the putrid stench of dragon caves, their presence out of sight yet far from forgotten. Your gaze traveled from the men moving about- from the knights, squires, and stableboys maneuvering through the chaos of work- to the main sparing area, which sat directly in the sun.

Can't hide your weaknesses when you're basked in light, you thoughtfully observed.

“Are you sure you wish to train today, m’lady?” you heard Midoriya ask. “You’re wrist-”

“It’s fine ,” you assured him, flapping your wrist around to prove it. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Besides, we need to practice.” You walked into the sun and pulled out your sword, it’s thin blade pointing at Ser Midoriya’s chin. “Let’s go .”

Your knight stared in surprise at your showmanship before promptly furrowing his brows, looking back with fiery confidence. “Right!”

He pulled out his own sword, and as sudden as lightning, you two began, your motions turning into a dance you knew very well.

“Keep your guard up!” you told him.

Midoriya listened and moved to correct his stance, but that was when you had him. You knocked his sword away.

“Keep your head as well,” you joked.

Midoriya huffed in amusement, resetting himself for the next round. You followed.

The both of you simultaneously began once more. You danced around your knight mercilessly, fighting him with the same sly brutality you showed the King.

Ser Midoriya was your knight, afterall. If he couldn’t hold a fight against you , then there really was no point to him, was there?

But just like you knew he would, Midoriya kept up, though be it, with a very strained look on his face. You weren't sure if he was afraid of you hitting him or he hitting you . You knew if he actually gave you an injury, Ser Midoriya would never forgive himself-

You felt a solid tap on the chest, sword hitting your armor with a solid tink.

“Yes!” Midoriya cheered.

“Nicely done,” you complimented.

It was what you deserved, with your mind wandering about.

Head in the clouds, ears in the trees, your father used to say.

You both repositioned, swords high and eyes pierced into one another, waiting to see what the next move might be.

Ser Midoriya was smart enough to keep his eye on your hip, where your dagger was hidden. You've been known to pull it out when least expected, surprising your opponent when their attention was focused on your sword. A trick that helped you with Bakugou, but unlike him, Midoriya has sparred with you many times now. He knew your tricks.

You both circled around each other, waiting.

"JUST GO ALREADY!" Somebody screamed, and immediately, everyone in your peripherals stood at attention.

Perhaps out of spite, you broke your stance, refusing to do so.

You could feel the glare of the Dragon King once more, this time from the shadow of the balcony.

You remained tall and glared back.

Just because you were making a trade with the Dragon King didn't mean you had to bow to his every whim. He was the King of the South , and your loyalty was to home. To your people.

To your knight, you thought furiously, Ser Midoriya’s tale taking center place once more.

"Good morning, Your Grace," you greeted curtly.

Bakugou continued to glare, eyes searching for a sign that you'll buckle. However, he seemed to find none, for he turned his head away with a huff.

"Mornin'," he grunted before making his way down the steps. Obnoxiously slow, obnoxiously loud.

He wore a fresh cape today, still sporting the blood red color of his House. His chest was still bare, still proudly exposing the tattoos he earned in battle (and yet shamefully, your cheeks flared as if it were all new).

However, what was new was the chain he wore around his neck, made out of tiny sharp teeth.

The baby teeth of his dragon, perhaps?

When he reached the ground, the King's eyes immediately latched onto your knight, burning with an unmatched fury.

"Deku," he growled. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

You noticed your knight's hands shaking by his sides, and so you interjected.

"He's my knight, and I asked him to help me train," you answered coolly. "What's it to you?"

The King barked out a laugh. " Right . I've seen the worm fight before." He inched closer intimidatingly. "More like you were training him ."

And then a sword appeared between you two.

"I'm a knight of the North now, Kacchan." Ser Midoriya's voice was tight but steady, and you saw Bakugou's eyes flare even more. "I must ask that you keep your distance from m'lady. She's already close enough to hear whatever you have to say."

The King's face twisted into a deadly scowl. "Stop calling me that! I'm a king-"

"But not his," you cut in, your own eyes piercing coldly into the dragon's. Ice to the fire. "Ser Midoriya belongs to the North now. Remember?"

You saw the King's scowl pinch in, just slightly before it turned into a cruel, arrogant smirk.

"Must be where the cowards go."

Anger flared within you, contained only by the hard steel of the fox that protected your chest. In fear that you would snap and ruin the agreement before it was even written, you said nothing.

"You northerners won't last five seconds in the dragon caves," the King went on.

You felt a brow perch up, asking, "Oh? Is that what we're doing today?"

The King's scowl returned. "I told ya' I was gonna show you how we get blackstone, didn't I?"

"We’re going to mine blackstone?" you asked with genuine curiosity, anger gone for now.

But, how ?

"Just come along, will ya'?" The King growled darkly before walking away.

The way he said it cowed you into obedience. You were both curious to see how the southerners attempted to mine, as well as the sudden seriousness that seemed to possess the King.

And in following him, you got to see the true power he welded.

Everywhere the Dragon King went, the people would stop. Women dropped to the floor in curtsies. Men would bend the knee. Knights and guards would stand at attention and salute, any hint of life gone in the presence of their liege.

You expected he liked it that way.

And how the King wouldn’t stop or even nod at his courtiers. Instead, he chose to act as if they didn't exist at all, keeping his head forward as he marched towards the gateway. It wasn’t until you were halfway there when you noticed…

“You don’t have a guard?” you asked curiously.

The King snorted. "Like to see someone try . In my own castle…”

Good point. Only a fool would dare to slay a dragon when they're in the belly of its lair.

The three of you reached the gateway, reintroduced to the sky once more, and the sight in front of you brought a smile to your face.

“Oh good! We’re riding there!”

The first horse you saw was the one in front, a bay gelding with a tail that wouldn't stop flicking. The sootiness of his coat shined against the sunlight, bringing attention towards his strong legs and dark snout, his eyes dark as night. He wore a gold trimmed saddle with blood red padding, all bearing the sigil of a golden dragon breathing flame.

The Dragon King's.

But then you spotted the light-gray mare behind him, her coat reminding you of snow. Not the pure white snow that blessed the North deep within the winter season, but the real snow you used to see every day; the slush that squished under your feet when you walked to the stables. The half-melted snow that cornered the gateway, forming into small mountains you and your brothers used to climb, and then later fall in. The dirty snow your older brother dared you to eat once (and you almost did, until mother saw you and screamed bloody murder).

It was the type of snow hardly anyone ever thought about.

And how the mare's eyes bled into yours, her stature unmoving and calm, her long tail occasionally flicking with the unearthed energy that she was, no doubt, reserving for the ride.

You walked past the King to greet her, making sure to keep to her side, so that her eyes could be on you as you approached carefully.

"Hello, there," you spoke to her in a gentle tone, holding a cautious hand to her nose so she could catch your scent.

She took some sniffs and sighed into your touch, her own sign of welcome. She then nudged her nose into your palm, urging you to pet her.

You let out a giggle at her persistence, finding a light-hearted joy you haven't felt in a very long time.

“I take it you like to ride, my lady?” a voice startled you, bringing you back to your surroundings.

You didn't even notice the man next to you, which was saying something given his solid build and eccentric red hair. Everything about him read strong and warrior , yet he wore a gentle smile with kind eyes to match.

You bashfully answered. “As soon as I learned how to walk, I learned how to ride. The North is full of open land, you see. It’s far more practical to be on horseback than inside a carriage.”

The large man smiled, showing off his sparkling sharp teeth.

“You’ll like Yuki, then. She’s nice, but she sure likes to run.” The man patted the horse's neck affectionately.

Your chest panged with heartbreak once more, as you remembered how you had to give up your own stead for the northern cause.

Another sacrifice for the war.

The man turned towards you, and nodded his head in the form of a bow. “Kirishima Eijirou, if it pleases my lady.”

It was then that you spotted the gold broach holding the man’s cape together. It was a hand, palm open in a show of promise.

“You're the Hand?” you asked, surprised. But then again, perhaps it was unsurprising that someone like Bakugou Katsuki would want someone equally built along his side.

“Indeed, I am!" Kirishima cheerfully replied. "Sorry for not greeting you at the gate. We had a-”

“Oi, Ei!” The King barked. “Quit yapping and get on a damn horse!”

The Dragon King was already on his stead, ready to go.

“Best not to keep His Grace waiting,” you grumbled sarcastically.

Kirishima leaned towards you, whispering as if in conspiracy. “You’ll find that he’s more roar than bite, my lady. I promise.” He tossed you another smile before leaving to head to his own horse.

You felt your brows furrow in confusion.

Somehow, you doubted that.

You mounted Yuki with ease, her steady nature being a welcomed gift after dealing with the fiery tempers of this morning.

And, you were sure, the fiery tempers you still had to deal with.

“M’lady is one of the best riders in the North!” Midoriya excitedly proclaimed, mounting his own horse clumsily. “She raced against all of the lords and knights of the land and beat them all! Even her lord brother.”

The King snarled. “As long as she’s better than you.”

Anger flared inside you, and quite suddenly, you felt the need for a challenge. “Have you ever raced against a northerner before, Your Grace?”

The King scoffed, jutting a thumb towards his chest as he bragged, “I’ve ridden dragons, Lady! I doubt you can beat me.”

You smirked.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” you said smoothly. Then without any warning, you hit your reins, urging your horse to run with a loud “Ya!”

And you left everyone in the dust.

You could hear the shouts of the King behind you. “Oi! This is cheating! Get your ass back here!”

You also heard the cries of your knight. “M’lady, please! You can’t just leave like that!”

You looked back, catching the sorry sight of them struggling to catch up, and your laugh carried you over to the other side of the Bridge. Out of mercy (and also because you genuinely did not know the way), you slowed Yuki down to stop.

The King caught up to you within a second, halting right next to you.

“That doesn’t count!” he scolded, eyes burning angrily into yours.

You rolled eyes and shrugged. “It was a joke, Your Grace. Nothing more…”

He scoffed, melted gaze fading into curiosity. You felt his eyes stray to your posture, how posed you looked on a horse, but then they stopped at your chestplate.

"You wearing that for the whole day?" he asked you calmly.

For some unknown reason, you felt a prickle of nervousness creep up to the back of your neck. "Yes, Your Grace. I was planning on it."

You watched as Bakugou's brow arched up, his face contorting into a look of confusion and disgust.

He thought you were stupid.

But just as quickly as the expression appeared, it fell as you heard him grumble quietly, "Fine. It's your funeral."

Then he rode his horse ahead of you, leading the way, and as you watched his retreating form, you couldn't help but ponder over his sudden cut off from you.

It was almost as if he were disappointed in you.

And then you found yourself questioning your choice, wondering if perhaps it was a stupid idea, wearing a chestplate on a day like this.

You were starting to feel it- the strong band of heat trapped inside the plate. The weight of it was starting to drag you down, and when you looked, you saw that no one else was wearing anything to a similar degree. Even your knight, who wore his whole uniform on the very first day, was now only wearing his pauldrons over a light shirt.

Doubt started to sink in, and your fingers started to play at the clasps holding the plate together.

Can't breathe-

All of the air suddenly escaped from your lungs, like you were punched in the gut, forcing you to take a greedy breath in. The chill that tickled your skin returned, making the sweat that coated your skin turn ice cold. It was like a ghost was passing through you, inflicting you with the feeling of his bloodless fate.

So you decided to keep the chestplate on as you rode alongside your party, more of the King's soldiers following close behind.

Silence filled the time of the journey, as dirt and land started to give away to sand, beach rocks, and tall grass peeking through it. Even though this was in the Southlands, you felt as if Tochiryuu was an island, a place of its own with nothing but the things inside it; the beat of the sun, the white of the sand, and the roar of the ocean that was slowly growing bigger and bigger, its water twinkling like it was made out of stars.

Maybe the sea wasn’t such a sorry sight after all.

And as you turned your head around, marveling at the beauty of the beach. You couldn’t help but think there was a battle here, not that long ago.

“So, tell me about Sunset Beach.”

A wave of tension seemed to pass through the King and his Hand, and for a moment, you thought perhaps you got it wrong.

“This is where you had your big victory, yes?” you asked the King directly.

His crimson eyes seemed to darken into the color of blood as they peeked back at you.

“Aye,” was all he said.

You huffed. "Well, King of Victory. Wouldn't you like to tell me how you earned the name?”

Surely he expected you to ask about it?

But oddly enough, the Dragon King didn’t reply. He just turned away and completely ignored you.

You didn’t understand. You'd imagined an arrogant man like Bakugou Katsuki wouldn't dare miss the opportunity to brag. Was his success exaggerated? Or was the battle more gruesome than how the songs described it to be?

Either way, you got it wrong, and you found yourself looking back at Ser Midoriya for guidance. But, he looked just as puzzled as you, his face scrunched up in deep concern as he met your gaze.

The heat within your chestplate started to curl up and tighten your throat. You suddenly felt panicked at the idea that the King didn’t like you. Personally, you wouldn’t have cared. You didn’t necessarily like him either, but your country was on the line. The King could decide not to follow through on the agreement. You needed to stay in good graces, at least until the bloody contract was signed and you could get the hell out of here.

You decided the best route was to just keep your mouth shut for the rest of the journey, and try to impress later.

“Have you been to the caves yet, my lady?” Kirishima suddenly asked you. He sounded kindly, and he even slowed his horse down so he could be by your side, better to hear you.

So much for keeping your mouth shut.

You swallowed down your reluctance to speak. “Not yet, but I’ve read about them, my lord.”

You eyed the King warily before going on. “The caves live just south of the Arashi Mountains. Not only are they the only known caves that hold blackstone, but they are home to many other gems as well- blood rubies, yellow diamonds. But…” You looked back at Kirishima. “But because of all of that, they're a natural attraction for dragons.”

Kirishima nodded. “That’s right. Dragons love treasure. Many of them end up making their nests in the caves. They're crawling with them.” And then, perhaps fearing that the comment would scare you, the lord backtracked. “B-But not to worry! The King and I have been in the caves many times. Right, Your Grace?!”

The King grumbled under his breath before begrudgingly replying, “Know ‘em like the back of my hand.”

“I trust you,” you told Kirishima, but your eyes did briefly wander over to the Dragon King.

The Arashi Mountains grew bigger. You could now pick out the lines of smoke that punctured various corners, curling up into the sky and beyond it, making the peaks disappear. The stormy-black of the rock seemed to swallow the sun that touched it, painting its entire aura gray. You caught the smaller pieces of rock circling around the base, how jagged and sharp they appeared to be as they covered the pitch-back that was the entrance to the caves.

You then spotted the white tents lined up around it, the small ants of men moving about to the faint sound of metalwork, as more lines of smoke traveled up from the ground, signaling the presence of bonfire.

But then a mighty roar vibrated through the sky. You looked up behind you and saw a tiny black speck flying, growing bigger and bigger until you struggled to see under the brightness of the sun. You felt a rush of wind fan your cheeks and whip through your hair, and the darkness the dragon brought shielded you from the torture as it flew over you. As it passed, you saw the familiar colors; red shimmering into black and green as it headed towards the mountains before you, letting out another roar as the dragon reached its home.

You saw the King smirk with pride.

"Katsuko" he greeted.

"Yours?" you asked.

The King whipped his head towards you, and for a moment you thought he would ignore you again or at least give you another half-ass answer, but pride seemed to take over. He boasted,"Of course. It's only right that the King has the best dragon."

"Is he the biggest?"

Bakugou snorted, hopping off the horse to walk the rest of the way towards the caves. "For his age. He’ll only grow bigger as he gets older, don’t worry."

You weren’t.

Truthfully, you weren’t too keen on the dragons yet. You admitted they were beautiful creatures and that they held a charming sense of power and grace when they flew in the air, beyond any danger or limitation. But you faintly wondered about the consequences of taming such a beast…

You went to unmount as well when a dizzy spell hit you, knees buckling as your feet touched ground. You held onto the saddle to keep yourself steady.

Ser Midoriya raced to your side when he noticed. “M’lady! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, ser,” you gritted determinedly, still feeling light-headed.

“Are… are you sure you need the chestplate, m’lady?” Midoriya asked quietly. “If it’s your safety you're worried about, don’t worry! I’m sure Kacchan knows what he’s doing, and I’m here-”

“I said I’m fine, ser,” you seethed, hating to snap at him, but now the ghostly feeling has increased tenfold, from brushing against your shoulders to now trapping you in a bear hug, whispering in your ear…

Can't breathe…

You squirmed under its warning.

Your eyes peeked open to find Ser Midoriya staring at you in worry.

You gave a short, exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, but my gut is telling me to keep the plate on and so it stays on. And that’s that.”

Ser Midoria nodded silently in agreement, although the worry was still plain on his face.

You both followed behind the King and His Hand, who were currently being greeted by a familiar face.

“Ah, great! The Dragon Whisperer has arrived.” Kaminari approached, a wide grin on his face as he bowed to the King.

Bakugou grunted in response and simply moved past him, heading towards a large slab of stone set in the middle of the base, sanded down so that it resembled a table. Some men were huddled around it, but quickly stepped aside for him. You had a feeling if they didn’t, the King would’ve just plowed through them anyway.

Lord Kaminari didn’t seem phased however, and instead his gaze landed on you.

“My lady,” he said with another bow. “I hope your ride was pleasant.”

“Better than the carriage,” you muttered grumpily.

It was true. Although the heat was gruesome and it was currently racing through your veins like snake venom, it was still a better journey. Afterall, you had yet to throw up.

A canteen floated right in front of your face. You grabbed at it- delighted to find it was real - and saw that it was your knight that gave it to you, worry still etched onto his face.

You ignored it, and drank out of the canteen heavily, fresh water flowing down your throat and branching through the rest of your body in heavenly relief.

You wanted to pass it back to Ser Midoriya, but he beated you to it by insisting you needed to catch up to the King, who was studying the slab. As you went to do so, you eagerly eyed the men working on the tools- pickaxes, hammers, and spears you quickly noted. You squinted in on them, and was shocked to find they were working with steel. Not blackstone.

Then, how?

You reached the King, approaching on his left. You looked down, curious of the source of his attention, and saw that the slab was carved with many lines, some short and some stretching to the opposite side, all of them connecting like the roots of a tree. At certain points, there were names, some of them faded so that you had to squint to read- Kinba, Shiroi Tsubasa, Kanibaru -and some of them were new, freshly carved- Musouka, Katsuko …

It was a map… and the names must be where the dragons live.

"So, which path are we taking?” you asked.

Bakugou huffed, dragging a finger from the older end, passing through Kanibaru and following the main line all the way down until reaching Katsuko , and then Musouka .

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach.

“We’re going through their nests?” you asked in quiet horror.

“That’s how we find blackstone,” the King shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “The dragons are attracted to it, so they nest where it’s at.”

“And luckily for us, Musouka’s expanding her home!” Kirishima joyfully informed you. “She must be laying eggs soon.”

“‘Means she’ll be even more territorial,” the King grumbled. “We have to be careful bringing Katsuko in there.”

“We’re bringing Katsuko?” you asked.

“‘Need him to melt down the rock,” the King answered before turning towards Kaminari. “Oi! Where’s Musouka now?!”

“On flight, Your Grace. The watchtower last reported her heading east.”

“Then we need to move now,” the King stated, and in the wink of an eye, everyone did, and with such urgency that you found yourself looking in every direction, utterly lost.

“W-Wait! What if she comes back?!” Ser Midoriya cried, looking just as confused as you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll let you know,” Kaminari winked, handing each of you a torch, top end wrapped in cloth and reeking of alcohol. A heavy pack was suddenly tossed your way, and you peered inside it to find a pickaxe, rope, gloves, and a fresh canteen.

“You’ll also need this. The smell is quite strong down there.” Kaminari then handed each of you a large white cloth.

You gave a good whiff and found that the putrid scent of the mountains, which was once tolerable in the city, was now churning deeply in your stomach.

Oh, you can not throw up again.

You secured the cloth over your nose and mouth, as tightly as you could. Then, you faced the pitch black of the cave’s entrance. No torches lined up against the wall, nor any wagon tracks. The only physical sign that man has been in that cave before was the slab of rock right next you.

Steeling yourself, as much as you could with the heat and the smell, you marched towards the black, but as soon as you met Kirishima at the entrance, you heard something big walking up behind you.

You turned to find none other than Katsuko the Dragon, being way too close to your comfort with the King riding on top of him, looking as smug as ever, even with the cloth over his mouth.

It made you feel more sick than the stench ever could.

You all scrambled to get out of the way as Katsuko continued to march past you.

“Just follow me, northerners, and you’ll be fine,” the Dragon King bragged.

Torches lit, you, Midoriya, and Kirishima silently walked behind Katsuko, who led the way. Wings tucked and body flat, the dragon scurried through the tunnels almost like a lizard, his tail slithering after him.

As rock and dirt crunched under your feet, you observed the walls around you, your torch light capturing the indented black that swallowed you whole, its tiny glimmers shining from your fire. It looked solid. Strong. And yet you knew you could easily take your pickaxe and pick a piece off.

It wasn’t blackstone. Blackstone only shined in sunlight.

Your eyes strayed down to find a white line of rope tied to the sides, a bell attached every few inches. You followed the line all the way until darkness stopped you.

Kaminari.

That’s what he meant. If Musouka comes back, he’ll pull the rope and ring the bells.

You all continue your path silently, letting the distant echoes of the cave consume you. It was somehow calming, the sound of the caves; the small drip of water from somewhere in the dark, the small roar of fire that came from your torches, the small shuffles of your footsteps, even the small sounds of Katsuko as he sniffed and scampered his way ahead.

All of these small sounds being casted out into the vibrant air of the cave, traveling through and meeting into one singular song. It gave you this strange, lulling sense of tranquility, one you were only familiar with through the whispering woods of home.

You hated to interrupt it, but you had questions.

“Why aren’t we using the blackstone tools?”

Everyone stopped to look at you. Even Katsuko.

“What blackstone tools?!” The King barked, the echoes of the cave capturing his voice and making it louder.

And it was such an offensive response that you couldn’t help but stare at him, speaking full of snark. “You know, the ones my family made…"

The Blacksmith's Hammer. The Anvil. The Five Pickaxes. Tools that have been passed down to your family for generations, that is, until the truce was broken.

“Eh?” the King asked. “Why the hell would we have those?!”

All you could do was look blankly ahead, the flare of your annoyance washed away into stupor.

“You… you don’t have them?” you asked quietly, fear and heartbreak creeping in with the thought that your ancestor’s creations may be gone for good.

“No, my lady.” Lord Kirishima shook his head . “At least, not us nor the Old Lord.”

“Do…" Your throat clogged with emotion, forcing you to clear it out and adjust your mask. "Do you think the Dragon Queen did something to them?”

“I wouldn’t know, my lady.” Kirishima shook his head again, sadly .

You let the sharp pain of grief curl up around your throat before stubbornly swallowing it down, ceasing the sting in your eyes along with it.

“That’s why our pickaxes are plain,” you roughed out, continuing your walk. "And why we need Katsuko to melt down the stone."

Dragon fire.

Except for blackstone itself, it's the only thing that can affect it. Without the Blacksmith’s tools, it would be the only option.

"And what do we do if we run into a stray?" you asked nervously.

No one answered.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you took the silence for what it was and moved along.

You let your hand brush along the cave wall, feeling the coarseness scratch along your palm, and you wondered distractedly, how far down were you? Then, how far down did the tunnels go? You haven’t even passed through the first dragon’s nest yet…

The sound of your footsteps began to grow louder, crunchier , and then,

Snap.

Startled, you looked down, absent mindedly thinking you somehow stepped on a twig.

But that couldn’t be right.

And when you brought your torch down to the ground, you saw it- the stick of bone white, coated with ash.

You swallowed down your fear over the sickening realization that, you were getting close.

“Kanibaru. That’s the first nest, yes?”" you asked nervously.

The King rumbled, “Aye.”

“And, do we need to worry about him?”

He let out a snort. “Kanibaru’s been dead for years, lady. We’ll be fine.”

"Not too far now, m’lady," Kirishima assured you.

You looked over towards your knight, who's been oddly silent since entering the caves, his eyes downcasted in deep thought.

“Are you alright, ser?”

Midoriya blinked, startled back to reality by your voice. “Oh! Y-Yes, m’lady. I was just pondering over the name.”

“Kanibaru?”

Ser Midoriya nodded solemnly. “Cannibal.”

Ice cold dread ran through your veins, making you feel cold once again despite the warmth of your armor.

The temperature of the air was fine, but the strong stench of dragon was fully watering your eyes now. You found yourself furiously wiping away your tears with your arm.

“Watch your feet!” the King called behind him.

You immediately looked down, seeing the bones in Kirishima’s torchlight. No longer were they fragments, hidden in the earth, but fully exposed and bigger.

And bigger…

Bones grew and multiplied. While once you were watching your step, now you were actively maneuvering around them- stepping over a ribcage only to narrowly avoid what appeared to be a broken sheep skull.

But then the bones went on, until they formed tiny mountains of their own and it was impossible to ignore the sickening crunches and snaps that formed under your feet, as you had no choice but to fully step on them now.

And then you reached the nest.

Large white pillars sat on both ends, forcing Katsuko to tighten himself so he could crawl under it while Bakugou ducked, the rest of you huddling closer into the center. As you carefully stepped through, you looked up, seeing the roof that was the spine. And once you passed the pillars and the broken off roof, there were a few steps of nothing, and then…

The skull.

It was facing away from you, so you couldn’t quite see it in all its glory yet, but Katsuko could, and he didn't like it. The dragon growled softly at the bone, sniffing at it and nudging it with his nose before his jaw opened slightly, growl growing louder and more rattled.

“Oi, Katsuko,” The Dragon King warned, “Rybas.”

The dragon let out another growl before turning his head and continuing walking.

And when you circled around the great white marble, you caught the side of the jaw, and then, the heavy spears of the teeth. The ones toward the front of the mouth were chipped off and broken, but the ones towards the back were completely intact, and so large- you imagined all it took was one strong bite for any prey to be turned into a slush of meat.

Your eyes traveled up the eye sockets, the one on the right torn and shattered all the way down the cheek.

The final bite that killed it.

When your fascination began to drag you behind, Ser Midoriya grabbed your elbow, nervously urging, “C’mon, m’lady! Best to keep moving.”

Sweat coated the palm holding your torch. You grasped it tighter, suddenly fearful of any small sound that passed through, your peace dampened with the idea that a dragon had no qualms killing one of its own.

But the bones soon disappeared, and the regular pathway of the tunnels returned, turning your thought into nothing but a shadow in your own mind.

Your chestplate grew heavier and heavier the farther you went down, and soon you found yourself being the last one in the group. At least, you would’ve been, if Ser Midoriya didn’t insist on staying by your side, making sure you were keeping up.

And you tried to, you really did, but the weight of the chestplate felt heavier than stone, and every slight breeze that passed through seemed to tickle the back of your neck and crawl down to the bottom of your spine, making you shiver as the haunting came back again and again.

You kept waiting for the bells to ring, or worse, the small rumblings of a beast to poke through.

But besides the sounds of your party passing through, there was nothing, and Katsuko seemed to not be worried at all. In fact, he seemed to be going faster now, eager to reach his own domain.

The pathway began to grow wider. You, Midoriya, and Kirishima now free to walk with a bit of space, nothing but the darkness of the void and the small specks of torchlight warding it off, until Katsuko suddenly took a left turn, leaving you all chasing to follow.

The dragon took a few more steps then abruptly stopped, causing a domino effect for Kirishima, Midoriya, and you.

Katsuko grumbled softly again, flapping his wings slightly as he entered his own home. The white pieces of bone once again resurfaced from the ground, this time, only the remains of sheep scattered along with it.

But glittering light soon caught your eye, and you squinted closely to see the shadows of gold. You brought your torch in front of you, illuminating the hoard of treasure in all of its sparkling glory; not only gold, but diamonds and rubies as well, all hidden safely within the darkness of the caves and further protected by its owner, Katsuko The Dragon himself.

“Don’t you dare touch any of it,” The King commanded, yelling over his shoulder. “This is his , got it?!”

You nodded silently in agreement.

You lingered on the treasure until your eyes traveled up, meeting the giant hole in the wall.

“Is this where you got the blackstone for your throne?” you asked innocently.

“Aye,” the King grumbled.

If they had the Anvil, they would’ve been able to make more tools…

Katsuko suddenly decided that he had enough walking for the day. He marched up to his hoard and started digging into it.

“Katsuko,” the King scolded. “Naejot!”

Katsuko ignored him and continued to dig.

Bakugou huffed, annoyed. “Katsuko, dohaeras. Naejot!”

Katsuko grumbled, before turning it into a growl, and then, a sharp whine. His tail swung out dangerously, whipping left and right, hitting the cave walls.

You backed away nervously, as Ser Midoriya pulled you back even more, behind him.

“Oi,” the Dragon King warned. He started speaking in full sentences, in the language you didn’t understand.

But Katusko cocked his head, listening. Then, with a great huff, he turned around and continued down the path towards Musouka’s domain.

By now, the smell was so strong, your nostrils burned. You tightened the tie on your cloth to no avail, stuck with the stench attacking your nose hairs, and the long journey wasn't just weighing on Katsuko. Everyone was starting to feel fatigued, tension and impatience was starting to build in the air, and you feared that a single sneeze would cause the King to snap at you.

"Getting close…" he grumbled, stretching out his back while Katsuko carried him.

Easy for him to say. He didn't have to walk…

But then, shortly afterward, the King was proven right. You arrived.

Musouka’s home was definitely the biggest you’ve seen so far, with gold and jewels completely blocking the walls with its tall peaks, while bones and carcasses painted the floor, all of it forming into one very large nest of treasure and death.

Katsuko rumbled greedily as heavy steam began to leak out of his nostrils, with his tail slithering sinfully to and fro.

"Katsuko, umbas."

The dragon grumbled, shaking his head at the command, before begrudgingly, sitting himself down, staying.

The Dragon King hopped off his back, heading towards the back wall to move all the gold. Kirishima moved to help him, while you and Ser Midoriya held your torches high so they could see.

They exposed the smooth, black surface of the wall, not a single hint of shimmer reflected anywhere.

You walked up to touch it, feeling the familiar smoot-yet-rough scratch as it grazed your palm.

Blackstone.

“Get your asses back,” the King told everyone, and once again, you felt Ser Midoriya gently guide you back, making you to be the farthest away from the wall.

You peeked over Midoriya’s shoulder, watching Bakugou walk up to Katsuko, standing by his side.

“Katsuko.” The King nodded towards the wall. “Dracarys.”

Katsuko scrunched his neck, growling deeply as a burning ball of flame formed deep in his throat.

Then, the dragon roared with all his might, a great wave of fire shooting out of his mouth and hitting the wall in all its fury.

The whole cave seemed to come to life, suddenly illuminated by the dragon fire as every shadow disappeared, and all the smell of dragon was burned to a crisp, replaced entirely by the smell of fire. The dry heat was hitting your face, burning your cheeks and making your heart pound furiously in your chest, its thump bumping the steel fox in front of it.

Then the roar died, the cave returned to darkness once more, and the wall of blackstone now glowed a fiery red.

“Quick! Put your gloves on and start picking at it!” Kirishima shouted, hurrying to do the very thing himself.

You threw down your bag, and dug in for the gloves, made from a very thick leather and a bit too big for your hands, but you put them on, grabbed your pickaxe, and ran to the wall.

“Careful. Don’t let the stone touch you,” the King warned. “Only grab it by the glove, got it?”

“Aye,” you answered him, moving to take a swing.

You managed to pick a chunk off, much to your delight. You grabbed it carefully with your gloved hand, and ran back to grab your bag- deciding to put the rock in there once it cooled.

You all kept picking at the blackstone, slowly gathering as much as you could in silence. The wall was now chunked to pieces, while the rest of it began to cool, the glow of dragon fire beginning to fade away.

You went to take what was maybe your last swing, and then…

A low, soft rumble echoed quietly down the tunnel.

You froze.

"Stop!" you whisper-cried, panicked.

Everyone halted, and listened.

But there was nothing.

“Calm your nervous ass!” The King yelled at you.

“I heard something,” you insisted.

The King rolled his shoulders back, eyeing the progress on the wall. “Probably a rat. If it’s anything else, Katsuko will let us know.”

Your ax felt numb in your hands. You stood there, petrified. You knew you heard something, but everyone else went back to work, swinging at the stone. Prickled flesh ran up your arms, your shoulders, your neck.

Nothing but silence.

Then a deaf defying screech pierced through the air as a large blue dragon jumped out from a deep crack from within the wall. It launched itself onto Katsuko, and everything went to chaos. The torches went out. The roars and screams of the dragons bombarded the tunnel as they tumbled and rolled over one another, their fight illuminated only by the breaths of fire they were spitting at one another.

You heard Midoriya from afar, but you couldn’t find him.

“My lady! My lady!”

“Midoriya!” you called back, trying to run towards the voice, but then the large thwack of a tail came from somewhere above, forcing you to duck and cover our head as rock rained down. When you felt it stop, you got up and went to keep running, the sounds of the dragon fight still lively behind you.

Before you could even take a step, something hit you strongly in the chest, knocking all the air out of your lungs. Another thwack of a dragon tail. It sent you flying into a wall, its impact strong.

And then, black.

You didn’t know how long you were asleep. All you knew is that you blinked your eyes open, only to find that you still couldn’t see. Everything was black, your chest hurt like hell, and when you took your first breath, a sharp pain shot up from its right side. As you layed there, on the ground, face cloth lost somewhere in the struggle, you pinched your eyes shut and focused on breathing slow and even, hand naturally clutching the place of injury. You could feel the metal of your chestplate, now dented and digging into you.

“Help,” you whimpered, desperately hoping someone could hear you. But you heard no voices, no footsteps, and the sound of the dragon fight was long gone.

How long has it been?

Clenching your teeth, knowing it was going to be a bitch, you shot yourself up, immediately crying out from pain.

But you had to move. So you felt around you, thankfully finding a wall. You leaned against it for support, pulling yourself up, the sharp pain stabbing you from the inside. Sweat poured freely from your body, your forehead utterly slick with it as you just stayed there for a moment, focusing on your breath before you took one step. Two.

“Midoriya,” you tried calling out, the sound of you bouncing down the tunnels, but nothing came back.

What happened to him? To the others? Did they get blocked off from the fight? Crushed by the falling rock? Or did the dragons…?

You swallowed down your agony. You could not dwell over the fate of your poor knight. Not now. Now you had to figure out what to do.

You didn’t know where to go. You couldn’t even see , but you knew you couldn’t stay. Not when a dragon could come by any minute. You remembered, Musouka’s nest was the farthest one on the map. Depending which side you ended up on, you would either be heading towards the exit or heading deeper into the cave, into untrodden territory.

“Fuck,” you groaned, anguished over your predicament.

Sending a quick prayer to the old gods, you began your journey into the darkness, alone. Thankfully, besides your chest and the throbbing bump on your head, you felt fine, so you stumbled your way down, keeping a hand along the wall and your ears open for any sign of life.

You don’t know how long you spent walking, as time seemed endless in the caves. Five minutes could’ve been thirty. Thirty minutes could’ve just been five. The only hint of time you had was the soreness of your feet and the all-over ache of your body.

You wondered what your father would say, if he could see you now. Would he scold you for being stupid? For ever going into a dragon cave to begin with? Would he disown you for ever stepping foot in the Southlands? Perhaps, if things turned more sinister, you would know soon enough.

A sickening crunch halted your thoughts, and you froze, listening.

Let it be a footstep, let it be one of the others .

But then a low growl rumbled through the night, soft and slow, like the creaking of a mill. It crushed your hopes and filled them with terror.

Goosebumps ran up your flesh as your breath quickened. The thrumming pain of your ribs seemed to echo the beat of your heart as you could feel the strong pulse of your blood racing through your veins.

You reached for your sword, but paused.

Only a fool would dare to slay a dragon when they're in the belly of its lair.

And then you could finally see again as the dragon opened its jaw, a dim ball of light starting to brew within it. You could see the outline of its teeth, just as big as the skeleton you saw eons ago. As the fire grew, rumbling deep with the dragon’s throat, more was illuminated for you; the beady eyes staring directly at you, the blue scales glimmering into green.

“You must be Musouka,” was all you were able to say, coming to the conclusion that this was your fate.

The dragon released a sizzling exhale, hot ghastly air steaming out of its nostrils and onto your face and hair. It gave another low rumble, as if agreeing with you.

The rumbling began to crank up, growing louder as the jaw was released more, fire growing brighter as the full, monstrously beautiful face of Musouka was revealed, her fire reflecting in her eyes as she inched closer to you, sharp claws digging through the earth.

Yes, I am Musouka, mother dragon to be, you imagined her saying.

And you are a stranger in my home.

As you closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable, a soft melody seemed to echo from somewhere beyond. You thought it was a part of your imagination, that your mind was simply conjuring up a sweet, distant mirage before you faced a gruesome death.

But then you felt Musouka cock her head to the side, listening as well. The silkened words grew closer, more present.

When you felt her finally looked away, you opened your eyes, and you were glad you did, because you would’ve never believed it if you hadn’t.

Blonde hair peeked from within the soft glow of his own torch flame, crimson eyes reflecting its ferocity as the Dragon King stepped up, bringing Musouka’s attention fully on him.

He didn’t seem scared as he sang his sweet song. He seemed calm, confident, and strong. He stood his ground as Musouka drew near, and it was like his honeyed words only grew more powerful as she did so.

The blood of the dragon…

The fire in the King’s eyes seemed to match Musouka’s completely, the only proof of the invisible string connecting them. The song was so hypnotic, it felt like it would never end. An endless song of beauty that could never be broken, like the bond between a dragon and its rider.

It is magic. It must be, you thought.

But as endless as the song felt, Musouka suddenly turned her head away from the King and from you. She went up to another deep crack within the wall. She folded her wings and flattened herself before scurrying inside the broken rock, sharp tail slithering away and disappearing with her.

You felt the magic disappear, broken for good, and your senses returned to you as you begrudgingly stood up straight, feeling the throb of your knees, shaking.

You were now alone with the King. A heavy silence passed through the both of you as you worked on regaining your nerve.

“Thank you for that.”

The King grunted, as if it were no big deal. “You okay?”

You found yourself nodding, “Yea-Yes. I’m fine. I think I have a broken rib, but that’s the worst of it. Thank you, again.”

His eyes seemed to wonder over you, checking for himself. They simmered over you head-to-toe, making you shiver under its gravity. Then they lingered over your damaged chestplate.

“Here,” he spoke quietly, moving to undo it for you. You grabbed his torch for him, as he worked to undo the clasps, freeing you from the literal weight on your shoulders as the warmth of his proximity brushed your skin.

Feeling your cheeks flared, you stumbled for a distraction. "H-How did you find me?"

"Told ya', didn't I?" He carefully guided the plate over your head, granting your freedom, as he met your curious eyes. "I know these caves like the back of my hand."

Cheeks flared again once he reminded you.

Of course he knew where to go. He was the Dragon King.

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, stepping away and taking the torch from you and handing back your chestplate in return.

Before you could even ponder over the lost proximity, he grabbed your free hand and started dragging you away.

He led you through the dark, and feeling just utterly helpless and out of your depth, you let him, putting all of your trust and dependency on the Dragon King as he guided you through the caves, occasionally halting to listen, occasionally pulling you left and right on a random notice.

And perhaps because your mind was tired and numb and you finally felt a sense of safety again, but your thoughts began to wander, fading into faint dreams of the stories you grew up with, of the Blacksmith and the Queen. Perhaps the Blacksmith got lost in the caves the first time around and the Dragon Queen had to rescue him, just like this. You imagined that this was how their friendship was formed, with trust being put into one another and the threat of death waking them up from their ignorant and childish feud. Maybe this was how the idea of the Bridge came to be…

Through the rush of being pulled this way and that, and your mind being lost in its fruitless thoughts, the rustling in your ears came forefront. The sound of the whispering trees bending violently in the wind, their words growing louder…

A broken oath…

A dragon only knows greed…

What do they know of honor …

“Head in the clouds and ears in the trees," your father's voice whispered.

You reached fresh air, and you found yourself gasping for it greatly. The muffledness of your mind faded away, making everything clear the more you breathed. You hardly even noticed Ser Midoriya fretting over you, his mouth moving in frantic motions you couldn’t hear nor decipher. You did however see the tear tracks staining his cheeks.

“She’s got a broken rib,” you heard the King say behind you, his voice low and close. “We should take her to the maester.”

A blanket was pulled over your shoulders, and you realized then that, you two weren’t holding hands anymore as the palm that was once in his now felt cool and naked. You tried to make up for the strange feeling of vulnerability by rubbing your palm against the blanket, willing it to go away.

How silly, you thought. Escaping into dreamland and fretting over his touch while he was just saving you.

“Oi! Dunce Face!”

You turned just in time to see the King grab onto Lord Kaminari, holding him up by the collar. “Why the hell didn’t you ring the bells?!”

“I did Your Grace! I was ringing thrm the whole time!” Kaminari screamed, holding his hands up in front of him in mercy. “Something must’ve happened to the rope.”

It occured to you quickly.

“Katsuko," your voice croaked.

Both Kaminari and the King paused to look at you.

You cleared your throat, speaking again. “It must’ve broken off when he swung his tail.”

Realization dawned on the King’s face, as Kaminari slipped away from his grasp, retreating.

"Did… did you at least get any blackstone?" The lord asked hopefully.

You looked towards everyone you went into the caves with.

Midoriya looked down, defeated.

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

And the King… The King looked ready to kill.

You don't know what came over you. Maybe you were coming down from the highs of what happened, maybe you were just overwhelmed with the relief of being alive, or maybe you simply found the irony out of the situation, but you started to laugh; small giggles that bubbled out of your mouth soon became full-on laughter that hurt to do, but broken ribbed be damned. You couldn’t help it and you certainly couldn't stop it.

Everybody stared at you, not sure of what to do or how to read your reaction.

You finally calmed down, wiping a stray tear from your eye. "Well, Your Grace. If you wanted to prove the value of your people's work, you needn’t go to such extremes.”

The King simply looked at you, dumbfounded by your reaction.

You sighed, feeling tired and ready to go to bed.

“I would've believed you, if you simply told me,” you told him quietly, a smile on your face as Ser Midoriya guided you to one of the tents.

“Wait.”

You stopped and looked back, waiting for the King to say what he needed to.

“How’d you know to wear it?” He looked down at the chestplate, which was now in Midoriya’s grasp.

You looked at it briefly for a moment, the fox that was now covered in soot. Unsure of what to say, you looked back up at Midoriya, seeing the look of warning in his eye, his words from before coming into mind.

" If you ask about it, he'll deny it, m'lady. Kachaan thinks it makes him look superstitious…"

You looked back up at the King, and shrugged innocently.

“Just instinct, Your Grace.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou angst #bakugou romance #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x you #catduet writes

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crepe-of-wrath · 1 year

Text

Shouta Scarf-ish Saturday

notes/warnings: no smut; this is sort of a Courtly Love-ish/neo-medieval Romantic AU setting; not meant to be historically accurate in any way; Author liked Sleeping Beauty as a child and apologizes in advance; Reader is the Young Queen and Aizawa is the Old King's Young Knight; this will be at least a couple of parts Very loosely inspired by THIS ART from My Hero: Ultra Impact

The sun's light and warmth woke you up, but not in the way you were used to. Instead of being mediated through glass panes and curtains, the light was immediate and unfiltered, and the warmth had a sort of intensity that was rather delicious against your collarbone and calves.

You were outside. Animals and insects chirped and buzzed. The wind whistled through branches that were dotted with the buds of early spring. There was the faintest smell of flowers, though you couldn't tell what kind.

You were in a hammock made of some dingy grey webbing in what appeared to be an ancient, forgotten bower. You smiled fondly. How kind of your husband to see to you like this. What sort of surprise outing had he planned? Even though he was so much older than you, he took such good care of you, just like your own father had. You wondered where he was...

You gently sat up, laughing at how the hammock shook. The smile and laughter died on your lips when you saw the man who was sitting under the tree. It was Sir Shouta, a man who made you feel very different things than what you felt for your kindly, kingly husband. The two of you locked eyes for a moment before you looked away.

Your eyes darted back to the hammock and you shook your head, as though that would clear your head and help your grasp your situation. Your brain started to fit the pieces together. The hammock--it was *the scarf* that was usually looped around his neck.

You looked back up and Sir Shouta now had his eyes cast down.

"Please," he said to you in his deep voice. "At your feet, my lady. Please."

You realized one of your simple robes was crumpled at the foot of the hammock. As your body struggled to put it on as quickly as possible, your mind struggled to try and remember how you had gotten here. To your horror, all you could remember were unconnected scenes and sounds: swords clashing, screams of panic, your husband weighed down by his armor, but still issuing battle cries.

Your breathing got shakier.

With tremulous voice, you tried to be polite and courtly, as you asked, "Sir Shouta, g-good morning. What's happened?"

"May I approach, Your Highness?"

"Of course." You tightened your robe around you.

He knelt--he was so tall, after all--next to your hammock. You wondered how he wasn't sweating under all his black leather. His face was calm, unmarred save for the crescent scar under his eye, but his eyes betrayed his worry.

"As a precaution, Your Highness, the King instructed me to take you into the woods to keep you safe while he and my companions deal with the traitors who attacked the castle."

He stopped and swallowed as though he feared your reaction to what was to come.

"You were given a sleeping draught, which is why you may not remember everything. Please forgive me, Your Highness, in the heat of the battle it did not occur to any of us that doing so would leave you unable to dress yourself for bed. I-I am sorry, Your Highness. I swear to you on my honor as a knight, I took no liberties."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and not because of the sun, and your lips almost curved upward before you schooled them into neutrality. Sir Shouta had stripped you down to your chemise! You could not stop your eyes from looking at his big, strong hands. More than once, you had watched how those hands grasped the sword at his waist, treating the hilt with both firm command and great sensitivity, and it made you feel lightheaded to think that he might have grasped you in the same way too. Had he cradled you against his chest as he tended you? Had his dark hair grazed your skin? Why were you cursed not to remember?

You focused on his face again and realized he was still waiting for you to respond, waiting for you to confirm you weren't angry with him. Gently, you touched one of his vambraces and said, "We do what necessity dictates, Sir Shouta."

"You are gracious, Your Highness," he replied. You thought you saw the faintest bit of color in his cheeks, but then it was gone and you realized your mind was playing tricks on you.

"I will be back very soon," said Shouta. "I must get you something to eat and drink."

#aizawa x reader #bnha aizawa #mha aizawa #aizawa x you #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n

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cluz1babe · 3 months

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“Issa Laesi Naejot Drāmagon Tolvȳn Bona Tolvȳn Issa Prūmia Daor”(‘Open My Eyes to Everything that Closes My Heart’)

(Limited use of Y/N)

PLOT :

You were a Belaerys, with the Blood of Old Valyria in your veins, future Queen of Sothoryos. Up until eight years before the Dance of Dragons, everyone thought the Belaerys family was gone after the Doom. You were well-respected by everyone except most of the Greens. Despite that, you were officially given a seat on the new High Council. The Hand, Otto Hightower, was trying to bring more countries to their aid, but his excuse was to bring peace between countries. Planning to wed you to Daeron, the Small Council of the Greens are shocked when Aemond refuses to offer you Daeron in order to take you for himself.

TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 129-133+ AC (a mix of show & book timeline, plus my own)

THIS IS A REPRESENTATION OF YOU

This is for an Aemond fic I’m writing. It will not have the AFAB reader (she/her) referred to as “Y/N” often. If you want me to make her look like you, lmk what you look like through asks or replies. I can do very fair to very dark skin tone. I can maybe make her 30lbs more than the generic version I chose. ☹️ I just chose her look as a generic base.

Excerpts:

“You had been wearing a hood and mask to protect your face while flying, but you had removed it. You were getting off of your dragon when he finally approached.”

“Your dragon was named Molcajete. She was black with dark purple markings. She was at least 20% bigger than Vhagar.”

“Your eyes were lined with an enchanted coal (to keep your eyes clear of debris) and they were an exquisite shade of purple with flecks of gold. They sparkled in the afternoon sunlight like so many stars in the night sky. He thought he was in love with you already.”

Notes & Trigger Warnings under the cut.

NOTES

I am 90% sure I am neurodivergent because I miss a lot of social cues (among 9/10 other things that can diagnose someone as ND), if my writing seems stiff, please lmk.

Guys, this is very Alys-coded, but I didn’t even know about Alys Rivers (because I have not yet read the book, I just did a lot of show watching and reading of Westeros Wiki) until I practically finished writing. Also, any time you see a picture of a dragon I made, please note the software doesn’t actually have dragons, so I had to make velociraptors with bird wings. 😢 Sorry, but it’s very sad for me.

Also, this is very AU, but still in whatever fake medieval time period this is based on. However, things are very slow and don’t only take place within two years for certain plot things to work. It starts shortly before Lucerys’ death, which will take place at some point during the story.

I try to make as many visuals as possible, as I’m that type of person. For my ridiculously expansive “country/continent” of Sothoryos, I got really bored and for some reason painted major bodies of water in the islands. I know Sothoryos is inspired by Africa, but I am Hispanic (Aztec) and wanted to give it a hispanic flair. Some of the Islands and cities are made up names, but others are named Nahuatl things.

I do not speak Nahuatl or High Valyrian (well), but I did look up words for things from multiple sources. I know words might be out of order because verbs are supposed to go last in High Valyrian.

Very Canon-Divergent, mostly because I don’t want the dragons to die. I’m changing Aemond’s characterization a little bit, but with a reason - LOVE. I also am not good at writing the proper way they speak on the show. I have re-read 50 times, so I’m sorry if I messed up somewhere, but I tried. BTW, if you’d be interested in being a beta reader, lmk.

I’m going to try my hardest not to specify reader’s color, but I kind of imagine myself (obviously) and I might accidentally write something referring to light skin. If I do something like that, please lmk. I don’t want to exclude anyone. I would like to write gender neutral, but that’s really hard for me because I’m AFAB and cis and I don’t want to upset anyone by not understanding that struggle.

BACK TO STORY MASTERLIST

TRIGGER WARNINGS

TW FULL STORY :

Talk of Abortion, Emotionally Abusive Relationships (Aegon x Everyone), Alcohol, Blood, Branding, Bullying, Childbirth, Death, Drugs, Fire, Hallucinations, Incest, Marriage, Miscarriage/Stillbirth, Misogyny, Murder, Pregnancy, Profanity, Sexism, Slut Shaming, Smut, Violence, War, P in V, Sex, Fingering, F in A, Assplay, Prostate Massage, No Cheating, MDNI, 18+ , enm, ethical non-monogamy, Breeding Kink

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allwaswell16 · 11 months

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A fic rec of One Direction fics taking place in medieval times as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers. You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

—Louis/Harry—

🏰 Fantasy/Merlin AU (series) by MyEnglishRose / @lwtisloved

(E, 249k, fantasy) A Fantasy AU loosely inspired by Merlin BBC, with Louis as a servant, hiding his nature as a sorcerer, Harry as Camelot's prince, Liam as his guard, Niall as Louis' knight and Zayn as the fairy prince.

🏰 After Dark, After Light by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(M, 71k, Scottish au) In an attempt to garner extra protection for his clan, Harry sets out to mend his father's past wrongs and ally with their neighbors to the west, Clan Sutherland.

🏰 I'll Be Here Waiting on Forever by sweaterpawstyles

(E, 46k, a/b/o) A Romeo and Juliet AU where Louis is an alpha prince who falls in love with Harry, an omega prince from the neighboring kingdom

🏰 Now You're Lost, Lost In The Heat Of It All by @marchessa

(E, 44k, a/b/o) the story of a great medieval Emperor and his consort.

🏰 It's Not You, and It's Not Me by @realitybetterthanfiction

(E, 18k, Game of Thrones) Harry Snow, bastard son of Lord Ned Stark, meets an intriguing stranger on a midnight ride near Winterfell. Can their connection last in a world ruled by lions, and dragons, and wolves?

🏰 Where Iron Meets Flame by @fallinglikethis

(T, 14k, magic) Louis is a knight in training that emphatically doesn't believe in magic, Harry is a mage with confidence issues.

🏰 Knight Changes by graceling_in_a_suit / @graceling-in-a-suit

(M, 10k, bog man) Louis has a promise to keep and a curse to break for a man in a bog. Niall, Liam, and Zayn are along for the ride. The real friends are the dragons we slay along the way.

🏰 The Rose and the Stag by lonelymisfit / @l0nelymisfit

(E, 10k, Game of Thrones) A medieval AU where Louis is heir to the throne and Harry is a knight who fights for more than just his lord’s victory.

🏰 The Bandits of Sherwood Forest by foreverfanficaddict / @chaotic-bells

(T, 8k, Robin Hood au) Louis Tomlinson and his band of merry men were the people’s only hope. They robbed from the rich to feed the poor, and were beloved by all of England during these terrible times.

🏰 These High Walls, they came up short by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 7k, hybrid au) Simon, he assumes, is thinking back to the days he likes to tell Harry about; the days when the abbey was teeming with life and community. They needed to be a united force then, surely. But now— now it’s just the two of them.

🏰 My Sun and Stars, Moon of my Life by @ohharold

(M, 7k, Game of Thrones) Harry was used to the luxuries of Kings Landing and then Pentos but when his brother is desperate for the crown he is entitled to, Harry must be part of an arranged marriage to a ruthless Khal of a Dothraki tribe.

🏰 Had Enough of Silly Love Spells by learnthemusic

(T, 7k, Merlin au) A Merlin AU in which Harry, Court Sorcerer, slips a love potion into King Louis' sleeping draught in hopes of awakening his true feelings for Harry. It goes wrong and Harry puzzles over how to get things back to how they used to be.

🏰 Settle Soft and Follow Thee by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 2k, pagan gods) He’s never met a deity himself, not even a member of the fae, but if he did, he thinks the inbetween time would be when it happens.

—Rare Pairs—

🏰 Spark by unfortunate17

(E, 42k, Zayn/Liam) a Game of Thrones AU that lacks all the death and sorrow, where Zayn is Daenerys Targaryen and Liam is Khal Drogo

🏰 my crown is in my heart by carissima

(M, 30k, Liam/Harry) After several attempts on the royal family’s lives, a knight’s tournament is held to find Prince Harry’s future husband to rule beside him when he becomes king.

#ficrec #trackinghappily #1dficvillage #trackinghome #hltracks #1dsource #tracksintheam

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puddleorganism · 28 days

Note

Hey so for your hs au, we're the kids always big dragon things or did they become dragon things at some point via wacky sburb shit? Love the designs they are so cool

Thank you so much!!

The au was inspired by some posts I saw (can’t find them now 😔) that were essentially just talking about how cruel SBURB is, and it got me thinkin a bit.

At this point I’d already had the idea “hey what if godtier let them turn into big monsters” because, and you may notice a theme here, I really like big monsters. There was no lore at all at that point. They literally just. Were big monsters. For fun!

But I got thinking about it more, and kind of came to this conclusion:

Godtiering steals your life, your very humanity from you. It makes you a god, by definition. What if that was very literal?

So the au is everyone starts out like normal, but once you godtier things start to get weird. It starts small, a single pair of wings (which, ironically they don’t actually use to fly. They could, but they still have their floaty godtier powers (and honestly there’s a whole lot of lore around THAT too)). The more you use your godtiering powers and the more time you spend as a god, the less you really… fit inside a human/troll/etc. shape, anymore, and the more your body starts to morph into something larger and grander. Something more befitting of those who have mastered the game.

And that’s basically it, that’s the only way this au diverges from canon. It’s essentially a re-skin of an au lmao

I will say the gods can return to a human shape, but only visually and it’s difficult. They sort of come to embody their aspects - literally - so if they can figure out a way to condense or conceal their aspect, they can in turn condense themselves to be something smaller. Like I said, it’s tricky though. It’s probably something they would’ve only figured out post-canon. That, and it’s something they have to consciously maintain. If they don’t, the rest of them starts to “bleed through” back into visible reality in weird ways. Since it’s all tailored to their aspect it looks different for each of them. I want to draw Dave bleeding through sometime because I have a really cool idea for what it would look like for him.

One last thing, more of a design note than anything. I actually… don’t really like their designs yet. Well, I guess it’s more that they’re not really what I want yet? I do like some of them (especially Dave’s, Dave might not need any revisions actually). While designing them I really want to model them after two concepts:

1. Illuminated manuscripts and heraldic beasts, because the classes are based off of medieval fantasy and I think it’d be sick to reference that.

2. Eldritch/cosmic horror, because that more than anything emphasizes that they don’t really belong in any one universe anymore, and also emphasizes their loss of mortality and thus, in a way, life.

I feel like most of them lean too far towards either one, and aren’t balanced between them like I want. Hence why I’m unsatisfied with them atm! I am very glad you like them though :)

#long post #homestuck

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ihavemadequestionablechoices · 9 months

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Yan!C!Awesamedude x GN!Reader

Summary: Living in a kingdom with someone in charge who you see as a tyrant, you weren't afraid to take your shot and attempt to murder him. Unfortunately, he survived, though barely, and you'd been arrested. Now, you're one of the very few prisoners of Pandora's Prison: the dungeons for those who are, to put it mildly, fucked.

Genre: angst, horror

Warnings: swearing,

Pronouns: I/me

Request: [YES]/[NO]

AU: Medieval-inspired

Note: because I'm on vacation and thusly can't update my fics, I decided to make use of the free WiFi in this hotel ((: Note that they're written on phone, and so likely have mistakes.

Pandora's Pen

Day 1

Welp, guess what? I failed. I didn't think I'd end up here, but I did. Pandora's Prison. The moment that spoiled prince sent me here, I knew I was fucked. I hoped I'd be given a fair trial, but of course, a "royal" can't deal with criticism.

So, now I'm just living a death sentence, basically. Everything in this place (including a bed) has to be bought by my money. You believe that? I'm lucky to have Niki make sure I remain alive as long as I can afford (I trust her with my life, so also with my money), but I said I only want her to give the money to stuff like food and drink. I'll just pee and shit and whatnot in the bucket the Prison did provide, and she'll pay with my money for the meals. But I refuse any other luxuries. The only other thing I asked for was this notebook, to be returned to her, so all know the true cruelty of this nation.

I'll start out by describing what happened when I was brought here. While I stayed in the dungeons of the Royal Palace, a bunch of soldiers came in and forced me into handcuffs. They blinded me with a blindfold and told me to remain silent once I started (naturally so) asking questions. They didn't say where they were taking me: I assumed to court. However, I was eventually forced upon a wagon and brought to somewhere easily recognizable.

The Prison is darker for one who knows it'll become their home. They stripped me of any belongings I had left, and forced me into this weird uniform, which admittedly isn't that bad, it's just hard for when I have to piss. It's like a dress with trousers, if you get what I mean. I don't know, man, never been big on clothing.

Anyway, the main Warden hadn't spoken at all during this, until he explained the money part. Ugh, I already hated this voice. He said I wouldn't see anyone except the other wardens, so I should get used to it. Well, he said it more formal, but it was clear to me he wasn't going to treat me like a normal fucking human being.

I was one of the few criminals there too. The other one was Dream, who's infamous for his "war crimes" or whatever they're called. However, I'm never going to see him. He's stuck in the big lava cell, while I'm just stuck in a dark-ass chamber with only the light of outside through railed windows to prevent me from going blind. While he's stuck in a poisonous warmth, I have to do with a bone-chilling cold.

My cell is pretty small. I think a guy of two feet would have to constantly keep his head down, and the cell itself is like 3 by 3 metres. I already mentioned the bucket (fucket) and there are carvings in the walls that have probably been made by a former prisoner. There's only a little light: that of outside and of the small window in the door, whenever someone with a torch comes by. It stinks. Unsurprisingly so, but I expected more urine-smell and less... well, death.

Anyway, I'm writing this before I'm going to try and sleep on the cold floor. I want to make sure I sleep enough to prevent any health problems that come with this... life, if that's what you can call it, from escalating.

And well, I am tired. Extremely.

Day 3

So, today one of the wardens came to bring me food. He smelled like alcohol and I'm pretty sure he was drunk. When I spoke to him, he answered kindly, though I think that's because he wasn't really there. The guy was called Bad, he said. When I asked him why he was drunk, he said it was to block out the screams. At first I thought he was trying to scare me, until I heard them too.

The Warden (the green one) passed by my cell, so I asked him about it. He seemed... shocked. He stopped by my cell and looked at me through the small window. I could only see his eyes. They looked as exhausted as mine.

"You're not allowed to speak to me, 7."

Yeah, 7 is the number assigned to me, for some reason. I think it's because I'm in cell 7. Not sure, though.

"I'm going to die in here anyway. If you think I give a shit about your petty rules, you're mistaken. But who was that? What was that?"

Despite apparently not allowing me to talk to him, he still answered.

"That's none of your business, 7."

"Don't be sassy to me, Warden. You know I'm going nowhere, so why hold that information a secret?"

I'm pretty sure he doesn't know about the notebook (he might, but he didn't mention it). He just snarled at me and then left. Rather amateur behaviour, if you ask me. I'm sure he wouldn't have reacted that way had he had more energy.

The food sucks, by the way. I have no idea how expensive it is, but it's not worth my money.

Day 16

Guess what, something exciting happened, finally. After two weeks, I am already mentally derived of life, but today, I finally had someone visit me. The spoiled prince himself.

For some reason (that reason being privileges), the Warden came into my cell and cuffed me, blindfolded me and brought me to his office. Honestly, I will admit, he did not have as expensive things as I thought he would have. I was cuffed to a chair while he kept his eyes on me all the time, warning bitch hoe (that's what I name the Prince) that I would be provocative. Can't say he was wrong, but I decided to hold myself in, just to make his life a little more miserable.

The Prince, of course, started proudly talking about how his father lived and I was a failure and blah blah blah. I'm pretty sure I even heard the Warden sigh at some point, but I may have imagined it. Bad sleep + bad food + no social interaction -> hallucinations. Two weeks have passed and I'm already going insane. Every day is the same: I avoid writing those down because they're as predictable as you can imagine.

God I can feel myself going insane.

The Prince ended up leaving and I was brought back to my cell. I hadn't said a word to him, just smiling at him as he arrogantly spoke. The Warden returned me to the cell and immediately brought my food, which was less than yesterday. I know my money shouldn't be running out already so I expect some asshole (either he or the prince) took some.

Day 20

I've just realised I've either been in here for way too short, or I've not been keeping track of the days at all.

Anyway, I wouldn't write this down if it wasn't the same. Some guy passed by my cell today, and after that, the screaming started. The Warden passed by my cell as well, so I told him to, you know, explain to me what the hell was going on. Though he never answered my question, he just started to... talk.

His name is Sam I now know, and he's been the Warden of Pandora's Prison ever since the start. I must admit, his sudden decision to talk to me (despite me not being allowed to start conversation) felt kinda weird. Maybe it's normal for him, but I'm pretty sure it's not.

In any case, he ended up by saying "until next time", so I assume this will become a habit of his.

Day ???

I'm not kidding. He made it into a habit. But this time - I don't know how much time passed - he actually entered my cell. He went inside and just sat down and talked to me. When I asked why, he said I was right.

"You're not going to get out of here, so there's no reason to follow the rules. You'll die here. I can tell you anything, and nobody would ever know."

He didn't share any sensitive information, unfortunately, but it was still rather... terrifying. He refused to answer any questions, but threatened to seriously hurt me if I were to avoid any of his. I'm not kidding. This place is messed up, and the power is clearly rising to his head. I said this and he just shrugged.

He then notified me I was nearing my last coins. I knew this would happen and admittedly, I'm glad. Sam's presence has been nauseating. To a certain extent enticing and comforting, but also really scary.

Day WTF

I should be out of money right now. Why am I still getting food? The meals have increased in quality and I've gotten things Niki would know I don't enjoy, so why am I getting it?

Day uhhh

I've stopped eating the food Sam gave me. It smells weird. I think he's trying to poison me? I mean, I may also just be going insane, but him just sitting down in my cell each day (or twice a day - I wouldn't know) is really suspicious. He's insisting I eat, but I'm just waiting to die of starvation.

He also said that he could provide me with a luxurious cell??? It's fucking weird, man. I don't trust it. None of it.

Day FUCK

He got touchy. I'm not joking. He got touchy. Said it'd be a shame for a beautiful one like me to go to waste and he stroked my fucking cheek. I told him to fuck off, and he told me only if I ate. I don't trust it. None of it.

Day damn

I'm hungry. I'm so fucking hungry. The smell of food is enough to make me drool, and I think he knows that. He has to. In any case, I refuse to. I've told him that if he can provide me with a dagger, I'd do it.

His... weird behaviours have been starting to cross a line too. I think he likes being a Warden?? In the way one shouldn't?? He's started calling me pet names, talking about how much of a shame it is I'm a prisoner, though he clearly seem to enjoy that exact bit. It's really freaky. I'm scared to go to sleep.

Dagger day

He's given me it. I'm going to eat my last meal (he made one very tasty, and I'm pretty sure he poisoned it). When he gave me it, he held a whole speech of how much he loves me (fucking hell, I know) and I'm worried. But it also made me more determined. His touchiness and the memories of what I'm fighting for, have made me certain.

I'm eating my last meal. Then he'll regret ever giving me the dagger.

Farewell.

Sam, if you're reading this: haha L bozo

#dsmp #yandere #awesamdude #awesamdude x reader #fanfiction #reader #yanderecore #prison

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the-lady-writes-what · 7 months

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KINKTOBER 2023

Y'all remember that poll I made last month? This is for the winner of that poll: Shouta Aizawa

Dark/Medieval-ish Fantasy AU

Vampire AU. Also, he's a highwayman (robber who hung out on the roads and stole from travelers) cuz I want to

Also, also, thanks to pop culture osmosis, I have consumed a little too much Baldur's Gate III content for somebody who hasn't played the game...yet, so there's a little inspiration from Astarion throw in there. As a treat

Content: knife play, blood drinking (duh), biting (again, duh), praise, oral (giving), use of "good girl", cum play, cowgirl, missionary, "kidnapping" (except not really)

FYI, long post (sorry)

*Cutpurse: thief or pickpocket

🔞NSFW Content Below! 18+ Only! Minors DNI!🔞

The closing of summer and the beginning of the end of another yet started with drizzle. It was a cold, gray morn on the eve before All Hallows. And you, the local tavern wench, have to work into the wee hours of the morning before getting up the next day to do it all over again. You gathered coins from the bar and stuffed them into your apron. Beer flowing from the caskets they were drawn from into deep mugs. It took all of your will power not to spit into the drink of the man who made it an unhappy habit for you to squeeze your ass when you passed. Over the last several months, you learned how to dodge his sweaty, grubby hands. It took a lot less effort when he eventually, inevitably got so drunk he couldn't even recognize his own hand if he held it in front of his face.

You carried a tray of ale to the table waiting across the tavern while the bard hired for the evening played a dull tune on his lute. You walked to the table without incident, but left without a tip. You smiled but the moment your back was turned, your face turned sour like you just swallowed a lemon. 'Oh, you should be so lucky to have a job and not starve to death' or 'Be grateful' were words you heard time and time again. They were usually spoken by folks who had more coin than you did. You scrounged and saved every copper to get yourself out of this one-pony town to find better employment. A governess for the child of rich lord or a seamstress's apprentice? Anything would be better than dodging meaty paws and washing beers stains out of your aprons every other night. Reeking of ale and pipe smoke when one comes home from work was not the ideal lifestyle, certainly not yours.

As you crossed back over to the bar, you heard the local gossip. A few months ago, the hottest gossip was about the local cleric's daughter getting entangled with a cutpurse*. As of late, the news was not so bawdy.

"Drained of blood they say. Not a drop left in the horse..." Whispered one patron, not wanting to frighten the others.

"I heard that all the goats and chickens died over three weeks in the village two miles east of here," said another.

"The Dark Hand was spotted in that area about that time. Pinched a pearl choker from the duchess and left her stranded. Stole BOTH her horses from her carriage. Knocked the driver unconscious. Nobody thought the fellow would live."

The Dark Hand was a name growing more popular each night. He was much more entertaining than listening to hearing tales of bloodletting and dead goats. Nobody saw his face or knew his name. He wore a mask and cloak. Who knows who gave him the moniker, the Dark Hand, but the name stuck. The highwayman lurked on moonless nights on the highways and byways and forested roads for victims to steal from. The strange thing was that he left most of his victims alive, save for one or two foolish men who did not expect a thief to be so adept at fencing. However, he almost always stole the horse, presumably to buy him time and evade authorities.

"What you think the Dark Hand is bleeding goats and chickens when he's not stealing horses?" A patron laughed.

"I'm just sayin' it's an odd coincidence that the animals died, all drained of blood, and that's the last spot the Dark Hand was seen..."

The patron's voice faded and melted into the crowd as you walked away. You returned to the bar and washed mugs in between serving drinks. When you finally had the time, you dumped the coins that weighed your apron down into the large iron box hidden inside the bar counter.

Each passing hour slugged by. Drunkards were carried home by their comrades while others slinked off to their cots and carriages. One by one, two by two, and three by three, they stumbled, lurched, and fumbled their way out the door. The tavern became quiet like a grave as all the souls left to wander the night. With a rag, you cleaned the bar counter to the best of your abilities, but there was no removing the stains and the smells without a little bit of magic which you did not possess. The tavern keeper, the owner, sauntered downstairs from his chambers on the floor above. He played little part in the goings-on of the business he owned, choosing to coop himself up and day-drink and gamble and doddle with a prostitute. Your boss only ventured downstairs when the tavern was emptied and there was no work for him to do besides count the box's contents and pay you.

While he counted the money, you busied yourself with picking up after the patrons. You grabbed forgotten and discarded mugs from every surface. Many patrons dropped their mugs and never picked them off the floor, much to your displeasure. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the bard looking sadly into his tin cup. He packed his things and left without a goodbye. Only until you had an armload of mugs did your employer look up. He curled his finger, bidding you to come to the bar. You dumped your load into the enormous sink of dirty dishwater. When you turned to the bar, the tavern keeper gave you ten copper and a silver. You glanced at the pile of coins he began stashing into a bag.

"Where's the rest of it?" You asked.

"The rest of what?" He cinched the leather bag closed.

"My money? This can't be all that I've earned today. I've been here since noon."

"You dropped a customer's drink this afternoon. I took it outta your pay," said he.

Your jaw dropped. A single wasn't equivalent to half your pay for working ten hours. Your brows furrowed into an angry V-shape.

"I can take the silver away. I could take the copper and leave you with nothin'. Take your pay and go home. I'm tired."

"Tired? You've set foot downstairs twice all day, including right now! I spilled one drink. ONE. I'm doing the job of five people, and you're cutting my pay in half because of one drink? You weren't even here to see it. How could you have possibly known that happened?"

"I got sources." He got up close and personal. Too close and too personal. You could smell his fetid breath. "And I suggest ya keep your pretty mouth shut, missy. I can replace ya like that." He snapped his fingers.

"And where do you think that'll leave you? I'm the only one who's stuck around for longer than a few weeks. You don't even a cook anymore. Who's going to pour drinks? Who's going to wipe up the bar and tables? Who's going to mop the floors or tidy up the rooms? I need you far less than you think I do."

"Tell me where'd you go then? Hm? Take up a job at the fish market? Peddle some flowers? You got looks, I'll be honest. You could make more on your back," said he.

You grabbed your money from the bar and struck him. He was stunned for just a second. His cheek bore a red mark the size and shape of your hand. You scurried away before he could get within reach of you. The tavern keep had always been slow. You could outrun him with relative ease. You turned your head back at the last moment as you stepped onto the tavern's thresh hold.

"Don't expect me to be here tomorrow night, bastard!" You shouted.

In the whirl of emotions, you'd forgotten your one and only cloak. Oh well. You can buy a cheap one at the market. A wool blanket would do in a pinch if necessary. However, with winter fast approaching, you didn't have much time to think about those things. You needed to stay warm if this winter was going to be same as last years, cold, frozen, and wet.

You trekked alone in the dark. You tucked your fistful of coins into your apron with no other place to stash your money. Looking at you, a tavern wench without a purse or cloak, you weren't a thief's target. The wind blew at the back of your neck, causing the hair to stand on end. Candles flickered in windows until they were snuffed out. The cobblestone streets before and behind you were dark. Still, you needed to get home. Your feet and legs ached and you needed to be up in the morning to find a new job.

Alone with nothing but your arms to keep you warm, you pushed further along. Even late at night, you knew the path well enough to not even need a lantern, though having one might bring more comfort. You hugged yourself to stave off the cold, but your fingers grew numb from the biting night wind. You rushed down the cobbles in the hopes of getting home sooner where you could at least get a fire going and sleep near the hearth.

The words of the tavern patron's kept you distracted. All that talk of highwaymen and animals bled to death kept you on your toes. You looked behind you and paused to look before passing every alley. You peeked inside but found only piles of rubbish. You crossed the bleak alley.

You were so close to home now. Just a little further and you could lock yourself indoors until sunrise.

Your little hut appeared in the midst of others. The sign above the blacksmith's swung above his door. You sprinted forward, safety and warmth so very close at hand. You were going to kiss the door before you unlocked it. Your hand seized the key from around your neck and slipped it off. You carried it in your fist as you made a beeline for your hovel's door.

You did not see the outstretched hand in the alley. Your eyes were too focused on your front door. You screamed as the hand captured your arm as you walked past the dark alley by your house. A hand clapped over your mouth before the sound could alert your neighbors. A strong arm wrapped around your middle and dragged you deep into the alley. You kicked and thrashed. All your efforts did was make your captor squeeze harder. You gasped for air as you were pressed against them.

In a flash, your back hit the nearest wall. The icy-cold sting of a knife pricked at your neck. A quick glance down made your worse fear come true. Glinting in the moonlight was a knife to your throat. You looked up. Half of their face was covered in a black mask. Red eyes glared out of the holes made for the eyes. Now that you could see the features, your captor was distinctly male. The shape of him gave it away, broad shoulders, thick neck, and stubble growing beneath his mask. He wore all black. Tight in his leather gloved fist was the glinting sharp knife whose point aimed for your artery.

"Do not scream again, do you understand? If you scream or call for help, I will slit your throat. Nod if you understand me."

The timber of his voice made you shiver. You had to admit it, the sound of it made a low fire start to burn in your lower belly. You nodded.

"Good girl." The man did not lower the knife. "Where do you live?"

"T-The house over there. I was...I was just heading home. Please don't kill me. I have nothing you can steal that's worth any value."

"I know you don't, but you do have something I want. Daybreak is coming and if you allow me to hide in your cellar, no harm will come to you."

"I-I have no cellar." You lied. There was one, but you weren't about to let a man who held a knife to your throat into your house.

The tip of his knife dug into your flesh. Blood rushed to the surface from the pinprick the knife made. You whimpered as the knife dug in.

"I can smell a lie. This will all be over if you open your cellar to me. I'll be gone by sunrise anyway. I don't want to slit the throat of a pretty girl, so don't make me do it," said he.

The knife, the black clothes, the red eyes. All these things you heard before. These were the descriptions of the Dark Hand. You shivered as you took his visage in. In spite of the mask, from what you could see of his face was quite handsome.

"Alright, alright. Y-You can hide in my cellar. I don't want any trouble," you said.

"Good." He withdrew the knife. The man stepped back and gestured for you to show the way.

Your legs trembled beneath your skirts. You led the man to your house only two dozen steps away. The key in your fist turned the lock, opening the door for the both of you. Perhaps in hindsight, you could have ran inside and locked the door before he could follow behind, but for whatever reason, you didn't. The man trailed after you into your hut. One space held your kitchen, dining room, and bedroom. There was a rocking chair by the fire and a loft for storage. A chair held your washing basin and your privy was the outhouse behind the hut. The stairs to the cellar were behind a door in the corner.

The man let you lock the door behind him. You lit a candle. You stepped towards the cellar's entrance. The man moved in the corner of your eye, not to follow you, but towards the fireplace. You turned to watch him creep in the dark as if he's lived here all his life and knew where everything was. You watched him sweep ash from the hearth and stack new logs. He threw a burning phosphorus match into the fireplace and soon it crackled. The man stoked the fire until it he was assured that his absence would not cause it to snuff itself out.

"T-Thank you." It felt odd to show gratitude towards the man who held you at knife point and threatened to kill you if you didn't let him inside your house. It was equally strange for him to go out of his way to warm your hut with a new fire. He wouldn't have been able to use it to his benefit if he was hiding in the cellar.

"A little gift for your cooperation," said he.

In the glow of the fire, you saw him better. Mud-covered boots and a heavy cloak stood before the fire. His whole frame was draped in black. Even his hair was the color of coal. The pale color of his skin stood out the most against all of the darkness he wore like a hat.

"I...I know who you are." You managed to say. Your tongue cleaved to the roof of your mouth.

"Then you should know better than speak a word to anyone."

You walked a bit closer. The man did not move. Where did all this daring come from? You crept a little closer towards him. The Dark Hand's eyes followed your every step. Each time you flinched, you captured the detail in his mind. You stared at him just as he stared at you.

"You're much more handsome than the stories say," you said.

"There's a lot that the stories don't tell."

"Are you on the run?" You asked.

"Almost caught. But I will be out of your hair next sunset. Don't bother locking the cellar door and alerting the authorities by the way. I have my ways of escaping, and then the next time we meet you won't be so fortunate."

"The cellar door doesn't lock anyway. It's been busted since I moved in."

"Awfully dangerous thing to say to a stranger," said the Dark Hand.

"Awfully dangerous thing to do to let a man who had a knife to my throat stay in my house," you said.

"Are you going to stand there all evening or show me the way?"

You gestured your head towards the back door. "I trust you can see. The cellar is just beyond the door. Watch your step. The last stair is broken."

"You should sleep," said the Dark Hand.

"With a highwayman in my cellar? I don't think so. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I tried with you down there."

The Dark Hand narrowed his eyes at you. He scrutinized your face before shaking his head.

"Your dark circles are worse than mine."

"May I see?"

His indifferent eyes turned into a glare.

"Can't blame me for being curious."

"You know what they say about curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back," you said.

"Oh really?"

The Dark Hand turned and flashed fangs. Not blunt human teeth. Fangs.

You gasped and stepped away from him only for the Dark Hand to saunter over to you.

"You're a vampire. T-That explains all those dead goats," you said dumbly.

"I got a little carried away." He reached up and took off his mask. "This mask is pointless now I suppose."

You stared at his face. He was handsome, but there was plenty to mar him. A scar under his right eye, dark shadows, and a thin red ring surrounding both eyes made him look sullen. If you saw him in broad daylight, you would swear he was just another haggard traveler.

"Wait, wait, before you decide to drain me, let me give you a counteroffer!"

He stopped to your surprise.

"A counteroffer?"

"You...You need a place to hide for now, right? You must also need fresh blood to survive. I can provide both and maybe more if when you leave this town, and I know you will,...take me with you."

Your heart hammered. It felt like your rib cage rattled with every thump and throb of your heart pumping blood. You felt your pulse quicken in your throat.

"You...You want to come with me? As what a servant?"

"Literally anything would be better than staying in this place. Look at all this! Do you think I'm spoiled here? I just quit my bloody job at the tavern. I want to leave this place and never look back. You need somewhere to hide and get a meal once in a while. So...So before you decide on killing me to guarantee silence, think about my offer. Please?"

The Dark Hand looked around your hut.

"It is a bit cramped and squalid. It's a wonder you have a cellar at all."

He closed the rest of the gap between you. His gloved hand cupped your chin and tilted your head. His blood-colored eyes scanned your face.

"Up close, you are easy on the eyes. I could always use an extra pair of human hands to help me in the daylight. Very well, clever human. You get to live another day."

"Do you...Do you need to feed now? Is that why your eyes are red?" You asked.

"And where do you expect to find an animal I can feed from at this time of night?"

"Animal? You don't feed from..."

"Humans? Not for the last half century. Are you offering yourself?"

"Yes."

The word burst out of your mouth without you bidding. You stared at his rugged yet handsome face. He was not the image of a perfect, well-groomed, posh vampire, but he was all the more attractive because of it. The Dark Hand stared back.

"Eager?" He quirked a dark brow.

"P-Perhaps..."

The Dark Hand leaned his head towards you. He inhaled sharply the smell of your skin from the crook of your neck. You felt his cold breath ghost across your flesh as he sighed.

"Very tempting. I can smell your excitement. I feel your blood racing to the surface, calling to me. And you have such a delicate, pretty neck. I almost hate to ruin it," said he.

"You can smell that?" You gasped.

"Yes. I also smelled the hint of arousal when I had my knife to your throat. Do you like dangerous men? If I put my hand under your skirts, will your cunt be soaking wet for me?"

"You go too far, sir!"

"Sir?" He laughed. "Nobody's called me that in a long time."

"Oh? What else have you been called?"

"Shouta," the Dark Hand Answered.

"Shouta." You tested the name on your lips.

"It's been a very long time since I last felt the touch of a person who wasn't trying to jab a stake through my chest. And judging by how fast your heart is pounding, it's been a while for you too. Shall we remedy that?"

"Please!" You whined.

Your fate was sealed when the Dark Hand Shouta sealed his lips on yours. You unfastened his cloak. It fell away and your hands were free to wander his chest and shoulders. Muscles rippled through the shirt his wore. Likewise, Shouta untied your apron. However, he was too impatient to unlace your bodice. He produced the knife from his belt and slit the ties from top to bottom. You protested but the words fell on deaf ears. His hands cut the ties to your skirt too.

"I'll buy you more." He husked against your neck.

You shivered in just your shift. Shouta kissed your cheek. His lips trailed down your throat and down to your collar bone. He pressed his lips to the top of your breast. You squealed with no small amount of delight mixed with surprise when he hefted you unto his shoulder. Shouta carried you off to the straw-filled bed. Shouta saddled himself to straddle your hips. He slowly, oh-so-slowly, removed his belt. He plucked a small leather satchel that had been hanging on his hip. Before tossing the purse away, Shouta produced a necklace of pearls.

"Are those...the duchess's pearls?" You asked. What was he going to do with those?

"Didn't fight to keep them either." Shouta closed the necklace around your throat. "They look better on you anyway."

He kissed you again, this time with more passion. Shouta let you tug at his shirt until it came loose from his doe skin breeches. He broke from the kiss only to take off his shirt and throw it somewhere in the dark. By the firelight, you marveled at his marble torso, pale and sturdy. His body was scarred. All of them old, weaving a tale of fights and battles long before he became one of the undead.

You reached down to touch him down there. You stroked his cock through his leather breeches. Shouta let out a hiss through his teeth.

"Don't fucking tease me, woman."

"Do you trust me?" You asked.

"That should be your question."

You rolled your eyes. "Just lie down for me, alright?"

Shouta kicked off his boots. He rolled over on your bed. You fiddled with the hem of his breeches before slowly pulling them down. Inch by inch. Shouta lifted his hips to help you tug them off. His cock didn't spring to life right away. You didn't expect him to since he was...you know, vampire. He twitched and then you touched him. Your hand felt so warm against his skin. You stroked his cock, slowly warming him up, in more ways than one.

You slid down his body and settled between his legs. Your tongue swept along the shaft of him. You enjoyed the slow hiss that came out of him as you did so. You teased him some more, reveling in the sounds he made before wrapping your lips around the tip. You sucked and drew him deeper into your mouth. Shouta let your head bob up and down and stroke what you couldn't fit. His body relaxed under the sensations you were providing. Shouta cradled the back of your neck.

"Fuck...Where'd you learn to do that?"

You brought him to completion and swallowed the tide of cum down your throat. You missed a droplet of cum on the corner of your lips when you released him. Shouta swiped it up with his finger and put it inside your mouth. You licked his finger clean before straddling him.

Shouta sat up and seated his cock deep within you. He kissed your cheek, making his way to your neck. His lips lingered right above your pulse point. His arms felt like timbers as he wrapped them around your waist. He held you tight as he fangs sank into your flesh.

You gasped, of course. It was not the awful maw of a beast or the deadly bite of a viper. A vampire's kiss stung all the same. It was like two icy pinpricks stabbing your neck. You felt Shouta draw the blood from your veins. A little bit of your essence flowed in him.

His cock buried to the hilt twitched. The flaccid member grew hard as Shouta sucked your blood. Pulsing life and activity returned. Soon, he was thrusting up into. Shouta pulled away from your neck. His cool tongue lapped up the drops of blood from the little puncture wounds. You felt a tingle and the puncture marks healed themselves. You touched your neck in amazement.

"What?"

"We can't have you walking around with a sign that says 'A vampire was here,' can we?" Said Shouta.

You looped your arms around his neck. You moved your hips in time with his. An ache, a need, started to fill you. You thrust your hips back at him, faster, going faster. Your tiny hut reverberated with the sounds of you fucking. It had been so long, too long. Shouta filled you up, stretched you, and played with that bundle of nerves between your legs that every other man ignored. His fingers were rough to the touch but oh-so gentle when he played with you. You kissed and you tasted your own blood on his lips.

Your wetness spread everywhere. All over your thighs and his. Shouta's face scrunched up like a hungry animal. In a flash, he had you on your back. He pushed your legs onto his shoulders as he rammed harder into your soaking cunt. His thrusts turned bestial. He was a demon of lust taking his fill of you. Silver fangs glimmered in the red-orange light of the fireplace. Shouta licked his fangs before sinking them into your breasts. He drew blood there though not enough to drain you. He bit to taste more of your flesh and blood. As his craving grew stronger, so did his fucking you.

The bed frame creaked and moaned. It threatened to break asunder beneath your bodies. Shouta fucked you into the mattress so hard that he ripped the seams. Straw spilled out the sides of your shitty mattress.

You try to reach for Shouta, touch him, drag your nails down his back. You manage to get a hold of his arms. His hard muscles twitched under your touch. Your blunt nails scratch him as he pounded into you.

"You're getting tighter." Shouta growled. "You're so close, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

"Then come. Come for me."

Shouta's eyes bore into yours. He folded your body into a mating press. His thrusts grew more erratic, desperate for release. He played with your clit faster. Your legs stretched on his shoulders, spreading out and wide. Shouta kissed you on the mouth to stifle the scream that would have woken your neighbors if they heard. You moaned into the kiss as the base of your spine tingled and exploded with pleasureful fireworks. Shouta followed behind. He buried himself deep. Rather than warmth growing in your belly, there was...nothing. Not cold or hot, just nothing. You certainly felt his cum paint your insides. Felt it seep out of you but there was no warmth, no life.

Shouta pulled away. He withdrew his cock slowly. You lay on the bed limp as a rag doll. Perhaps he played with you too rough. Shouta shoved on his breeches and walked barefoot to the other side of the hut. He grabbed a washcloth and dipped it in the tepid water in the washbasin sitting on the chair. When he returned, Shouta cleaned you up.

"You shouldn't worry. As a vampire, you won't get pregnant from this. My cum is....not viable." Shouta explained.

"Good to know," you said.

A certain tavern owner marched down the lane. He headed for a hovel a few blocks away from his business. He never thought the uppity woman would hold true to her word. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and stars shined. Customers lined up at his tavern, but there was no one to cook the food, stoke the fires, or pour beers. He passed the blacksmith's house, the kiln cold as death.

He pounded on the woman's door. He shouted and raved in the street. Even when the neighbors poked their heads out to complain of him, he would not quit. He banged his fist on the door.

All the windows of the hut were cold and dark. Not even a candle sputtered. The tavern keep yanked on the door handle. The door opened.

It did not occur to him that entering looked more suspicious than waiting and banging on the door. The door swung open like an invitation. How could he not go in? The tavern keep crossed the threshold.

Shadows were cast all around the hut. From what he could discern, the place was left in disarray. Furniture turned over, boxes and baskets emptied and then discarded, and bed sheets torn to shreds. He checked the fireplace. Cold as ice. Nobody's touched it in hours. The candles were much the same. He lit a lantern and checked the cellar. Nothing but cobwebs and unused wine racks from the previous owner. He scowled as he couldn't even pinch a bottle as there were none to steal.

He checked the small garden. Still no one to be seen. It seemed as though something very bad happened to the tavern wench he hired. He would not suspect that she sat beside a highwayman in a covered wagon they stole and raced off into the night.

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