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xxnghtclls · 9 months

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Permission

Chapter 19

(Chapter 18; Chapter 20)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

Play Of Adrenaline

His smirk drops, a confused look crawls onto his face. Sukuna blinks, before he shifts in the water, your hands leaving his face. You watch the water dripping down his torso, as he raises himself. Turning around and without a word, he walks back to the rim of the hot spring. His wet skin glistening in the moonlight, as he moves.

You don’t understand his reaction. Why did he look like you knew something he didn’t? He is a curse, the curse. They attach themselves to you. They stay with you. Thats what curses do, right?

Sukuna climbs out of the water, slips into the robe of his kimono and vanishes into the darkness. You shake your head in confusion, as you watch him go, but decide to follow him. Stepping out into the cold, you forgot, that you absolutely have nothing to dry off with. You put on your kimono, the fabric immediately becoming dripping wet. With sagging teeth, you take the burning wood and make your way back to the fireplace.

Somehow, you feel better. For now. Seeing him as the curse he is, it helps you not to wrack your brain anymore, asking yourself why he’s holding you in the position you’re in. You can’t fight or break a curse anyway, especially not as one as powerful as him. You’re tired from being sad and angry. You start to accept.

Maybe cursing me… only means he cares?

Like you did. Hating him only being the natural reaction for being hurt, showing that you care. These thoughts somehow ease your mind, as you walk through the freezing snow. You know, he won’t let you go and deep down, you don’t want to go either. Despite everything that happened, you can’t deny your feelings for him. You won’t forget the pain he put you in, it still hurts, but you won’t forget he made you feel at all. That’s why you sought him out in the first place. You wanted to feel again, after being alone for such a long time. Good and bad. And you did feel.

So much.

Leaving him would just make you feel empty again, probably even worse, because you would miss him.

So much.

Your whole body starts to shiver and you start to run and soon you can spot the fireplace. Seeing Sukuna sitting on the log, watching the flames, he doesn’t seem to be cold at all.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” you breathe with every step, as you run the last few meters back to him.

Feeling his eyes follow you, as you repeat your mantra while hopping past his figure. You slump down on your usual spot and continue shivering, crawling as close to the fire as you can in the process. Never have you ever regretted wetting your hair in a bath, not until today.

“Don’t you ever feel cold?” you breathe through your teeth, while almost putting your hands directly into the flames.

“No.” he grumbles.

“Huh!” you huff, as if you just learned something new and astounding. You kind of knew that already.

The adrenaline of the cold air pushes up your mood. Maybe talking might help to distract you from freezing to death.

“So. The curse thing. It makes you look how you look, right? But, since you have two of everything, why do you only have one pair of legs?” you try to sound as nice as possible, this question being the first thing you can think of.

“Do you want me to look like a spider?” he responds, cocking his eyebrow. You pause, thinking about it.

“No.” you conclude.

“There’s your answer.” he says, as he keeps staring into the flames.

You nod, thinking about what you could ask him next. There’s still one body part of him, that you haven’t seen yet.

He’s gonna be pissed.

“When you have two of everything… does it mean, that you have two assho-“

“Don’t!” he glares at you.

Too far. Heh!

You rock your body back and forth, fighting the cold around you, teeth still sagging. As you open your mouth to ask him the next question, something heavy lands on the ground right next to you.

Fur. From the stag.

“Take it. Your mouth is hard to endure like this.” Sukuna grumbles. His comment tickles your nerve, but you decide to just take it and not question him any further.

You wrap the fur around you. It takes a while until you feel getting warmer underneath, but it does its job. Turning yourself 180 degrees, facing your back to the fire, you hope it does dry your hair, too.

Still rocking back and forth, left and right, you peek to Sukuna. He’s resting his head on his hand, like usual, watching you with a frown, like you are some exotic bird doing a mating dance.

“Judging me won’t make me stop moving. I’m still freezing.” you say, as you continue fighting the cold in your bones.

“Who says I want you to stop?” he can’t suppress his smirk. You huff at his answer.

Minutes pass and slowly you start to feel warm again. At least you don’t fear to become an icicle over night anymore right now. Feeling yourself becoming tired, you peek over to your right, back to Sukuna. He looks as awake as ever. Slowly, you turn back around to the fireplace. Carefully you lay down on your right side, your feet being near where Sukuna is sitting. Your eyelids fight staying open. Hearing Sukuna move, you turn your head, to watch him sliding off the log, sitting down on the ground, leaning his back against the hard wood.

“Your poor back.” you softly mumble with a smile. He huffs, locking his eyes with yours.

Both of you stay a while like that, only staring into each others eyes. Fire flickering on both of your features. Light dancing in both of your beautiful orbs.

How many times have you acted like this?

How many times was nothing present in the world around you, except the both of you?

How many times did your eyes act like… lovers?

Lovers, you think to yourself, as your eyelids slowly give in and you doze off.

The feeling of a tiny wet drop hitting your nose wakes you up. It’s morning.

It‘s snowing!

Not heavy. Pretty. Weightless little white dots flying through the air. The sight is beautiful for you.

Turning your gaze to Sukuna, he still sits on his spot, lost in thought, watching the fire, his bottom right hand resting really close to your cold little feet.

“You don’t sleep, do you?” you ask him in a warm, but tired voice.

“Don’t need to.” he grumbles.

“I remember you napping when I cut your hair.” you say in a cheekish voice. He blinks at you, cocking his eyebrow.

“You started purring when I scratched your head.” you add, being lost in memories, “like a cat.”

Before Sukuna can react to what you just said, you get up on your feet. Without looking at him, you hop into the snow. You look up into the sky and open your mouth, trying to catch the weightless flakes. Stepping forth and back, left to right, you enjoy your little dance. Moving your body feels good and it frees your mind a bit more. Taking a step to your left, your foot slides a little, making you lose balance for a moment, almost falling down. Luckily, you’re able to catch yourself and as a reward, you hear Sukuna huff loudly behind your back.

“Mortals.” he grumbles.

You sigh in annoyance, as you turn to him. He eyes you up and down with his bottom left eye, suppressing a smirk, acting like he’s still watching the flames.

You turn back around, crouch down and shovel some snow together with your hands.

I have to be fast and precise. One chance only.

First, you stand up again and start to walk ahead. Then, with all the strength you have in you, you turn around and throw it at him.

Whoosh!

The snowball hits the side of his face with a wet impact. Never have you ever thought, you were able to do that, but here you are. So proud!

The snow splatters in his hair, on his cheek and neck. A deep growl rumbles through his chest, before he shoots up and walks up to you, looking as intimidating as ever.

“Oh you wanna play?” he glares at you, flashing his teeth.

Yeah!

You walk backwards, as you let out a shy chuckle, still impressed by your shot. Sukuna undresses the upper part of his kimono while he walks up to you, flexing his muscles and you know, he’s serious. With inner panic, you manage to shovel some snow in your hands again while stumbling backwards. This time, you aim for his chest, but it evaporates on his skin like cold water on a hot surface. His huge figure is coming closer, as he lets out a sadistic chuckle.

Well fuck.

In the blink of an eye, you start to run into his direction. He bends down, tries to grab your kimono with his bottom right hand, but you manage to dodge it. With a panic laughter escaping your lungs and all the speed you can gather in your feet, you run to the trees. He’s faster. You’re hearing his heavy footsteps run up behind you. Before you can reach the thicket, he grabs you by your scarf and yanks you into the snow behind him. Despite falling on your back, the impact doesn’t hurt as much. You open your eyes, panting, seeing Sukuna walking circles around you, looking down to you.

“What now?” he hisses, as he bends down, standing at your head. Seeing his face upside down, you twitch your lip in excitement, hands grabbing as much snow as they can.

“Tch tch tch” he clicks his tongue with a smirk, as the eyes of his mask catch you preparing the snow. You huff, throw it at his face anyway. This time he dodges them easily, raising his stance. Taking the chance, you turn on your stomach, push yourself up and run with all your might into him, attempting to tackle him. To no surprise, the slippery snow underneath your feet lowers your speed tremendously and the impact on his torso is almost as insignificant for him as if you would have run into a tree. Before you can do anything else, he’s fast to yank you back into the snow with a loud laugh.

“Gotta try harder than that” he chuckles.

Not being sure, what kind of game you two are playing, you decide to play dead this time. Trying to relax as much as possible, you shut your eyelids and wait.

A pause.

“Oy!” he shouts. You don’t react. Hearing him huff, you feel him gently kick your feet with his. Nothing.

“Oyy!” he repeats, as you hear him walk back up to your head. His feet come to a halt next to your ears.

“Oy!” he whispers “y/n!”

What?

Your eyes shoot open, his smirk shining upside down into your shocked face.

He remembers!

Your breath hitches, but you take the adrenaline he just gave you to push yourself up in order to run again. He stays behind, while you run a few meters to create some space between you. You come to a halt, panting, turning back to him. With soft eyes and a shit eating grin, Sukuna nudges his chin at you, raising his upper pair of arms, motioning you to come at him with both of his hands.

His attitude and the way his muscles flex when he moves, turns you on.

This play of adrenaline, turns you on.

The way he said your name, turns you on.

You press your thighs together, not very subtle, making him notice. His bottom pair of eyes shoot down to your cunt, making his grin only widen.

“Throw some snow, curse grandpa!” you shout with a smirk on your face and you can literally see a synapse die inside his brain as soon as he hears how you called him. A vein protrudes on his temple, his eyes grow empty, but he doesn’t let his smirk drop. The look on his face makes you laugh out loud. Not paying attention to him while laughing, you don’t notice that he starts walking into your direction. He picks up some snow while walking, forming one ball in every pair of hands. The snowballs becoming bigger than the ones you could form with your small hands. As you finally notice him, he‘s already aiming the first snowball at you. With a shrill laugh you start running again, seeing him picking up his pace in the corner of your eyes too.

FuckFuckFuck

The first snowball hits you at your right shoulder. The impact hard. Kinda hurts, almost makes you trip. You squeal at the impact but you don’t stop running. Soon you hear his footsteps behind you once again. Fast. Heavy.

“HOLY FUCK!” you screetch, as you feel him catching up to you, shoving the other snowball into your scarf. The freezing cold hitting your neck, crawling down your back. The force he was approaching you with, making you both start to slip on the snow. Losing balance, both of you yank each other to the ground. Sukuna grunts as he hits the snow for the first time today, cursing under his breath. You fall on your stomach right next to him. The snow still sitting on your neck giving you enough adrenaline, to quickly push yourself up and crawl onto his torso, straddling him. Picking up as much snow as you can in both of your hands, you smear it into his neck and face, as you feel him grab your hips with his bottom pair of hands and reaching for your wrists with his upper pair. You’re quick to dodge his upper left hand, since he had to close his left pair of eyes due to the snow, giving you the opportunity to push a second load straight into his neck.

“Fucking bitch” he grunts, as he finally gets a hold of your right wrist. His grumpy reaction making you giggle, wiggling your arms up in the air in his hold. The grumpy look on his face changes back into a smirk. Suddenly he rolls you over, pinning you down under him. You wriggle under him, before his grip on your hips tightens.

“Agh” you moan, both out of pleasure and discomfort.

He starts to lower himself on you, putting his weight on you, bodies as close as never before. It excites you, your breath increasing. Unconsciously you spread your legs for him, make room for him. Your legs shoving the snow into little piles next to them, as you do so. His gaze on you aroused, as his smirking lip twitch at your actions. He shifts, his thighs starts to spread yours even further apart, almost pushing them on your stomach, almost folding you in half, opening you even more for him. His huge figure now caging you perfectly under him. Sukuna presses his bulge at your cunt, making you squeak. You feel so hot in this moment, as you have never been in this position with him. So close, so connected. The thought of him potentially fucking you like this sends a deep red colour to your cheeks and so much wetness between your thighs.

“Y/n…” he purrs at you, piercing right through your heart. “Enough playing.” he growls, as his right hand leaves your wrist and finds your cheeks, squeezing them, so that your lips pop forward.

Sukuna’s gaze falls onto your plush lips, before he leans in and opens his mouth. He flashes his teeth, as he imitates to slowly bite your lips right in front of them. A soft clack of his teeth crawls into your ear, as he closes his bite without your lips between them. With blown pupils, you watch his actions, unconsciously pushing your pelvis into him once again. Sukuna chuckles in amusement, before he lets go and takes a hand full of snow, to rub it into your face.

“Ok…” you spit some snow out of your mouth “you won.”

“Of course I won.” he smirks, raising his upper body.

The rumbling of your tummy disrupts the conversation. Sukuna frowns at the sound, eyeing you up and down.

“What? I’m hungry.” you complain, still laying under him, spread out like a starfish.

He snorts at the sight of you, before he stands up and walks back to the fireplace. With a throbbing cunt, you slowly stand up again. You already feel sore from all the running and falling and you know it’s only going to become worse. However, you can‘t deny that this little game you played, also made you feel alive.

#permission #permission chapters #true form sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #true form sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #true form sukuna x reader #true form sukuna x you #slowburn #fanfiction #fanfic #sukuna fanfic

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

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Private Party

AN: This little bit of filth is my entry for @the-slumberparty week two writers challenge ‘Blast from the past’. A big thank you to all my followers who helped me choose from a list of 4 one-shots that were ripe for a sequel. You all picked Steve: Private Gift, which was written as part of my 500 follower challenge last year. This story picks up where the original faded to black.

Thank you to @navybrat-817 for beta-ing. Dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboard/banners by me.

Relationship: Steve x Reader (established), Bucky x Reader x Sam

Word count: 1.5k

CW: Explicit sexual content (threesome, oral (m and f receiving), female masturbation, implied PinV sex) use of Traffic Light system, snarky banter between the boys, voyeurism/exhibitionism, bit of a stag/vixen dynamic (as Steve gets off on watching reader get pleasured by others)

“I don’t mind at all.”

Barely had the words left your mouth when Bucky’s lips were on yours. Steve’s were fastened to your neck, nipping and sucking and…oh! Those must have been Sam’s lips that trailed across your abdomen, as you trembled with desire, wedged between the three of them. Six hands roamed over your heated skin and when Bucky’s mouth moved to trail down the opposite side of your neck from Steve, you couldn’t hold back a gasp. This was definitely not what you’d imagined when you’d decided to try and spice up your love life with Steve by wearing some sexy lingerie.

One of the unfamiliar hands brushed over the lace of your panties, gently tracing the outline of your pussy and you felt your arousal pool into them.

“Steve… your girl is more than a little excited.” Sam. “We told you, dumbass. Told you she needed a bit more than just a scoop of regular vanilla.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve made your point.” Steve’s voice was loud in your ear and your lips curved up into a smile at the faux petulance of his retort.

“Less talking, more making doll-face fly into the stratosphere.”

Who manhandled you, you weren’t sure, but the next thing you knew you were lying on Steve’s large bed, hands divesting you of the scraps of lace. Your eyes were closed to help you from suffering sensory overload - and also because you were still a little nervous - but you were aware of every touch, every press of a pair of lips. There was a tug on your legs, and with a gulp and a thank you to the god of bikini-waxing, you spread your thighs. One warm hand and one cool one rubbed up and down the soft skin and it was clear that Bucky was going to tease you a bit. You tried to focus on what he was doing, stroking your flesh, kissing it, but not quite going to where you needed him, but Steve and Sam were making it almost impossible with the way they were alternating between playing with your breasts and kissing you.

You let out a moan as Bucky’s breath ghosted across your pussy and an impatient wiggle took hold of you. Bucky chuckled. You’d hear him laugh before, but this… this was a sound of filthy corruption and it fanned the flames inside you even more.

“Okay, doll, I’ll stop teasing…” His mouth latched onto you, tongue probing and licking at your folds and you let out an animalistic groan as your hands flew to his shaggy hair and gripped it hard.

“I hope you’re taking notes man. She’s really enjoying that.” Sam appeared to be full of snark, and you couldn’t let it go uncommented upon.

“Quiet, Sam. I enjoy it when he does it, too. So far you’re the one untested.” It was a strange sensation, Bucky giggling into your pussy, but you lightly tightened your thighs around his head to get him back on track.

A pair of lips, that must once again be Sam, fastened onto your right nipple, and his calloused fingers started to pluck and pinch at the left. Wondering, through your pleasure filled haze, about what Steve was doing, you cracked open your eyelids.

Your blond super-soldier boyfriend was sitting next to you on the bed, his back against the headboard, pants-fly open and his cock in his hand. He was taking in the erotic tableau in front of him, you as its centre-piece. You moved your left hand from Bucky’s head, where he continued to slurp and suck at your core, and reached out to touch Steve. His name left your lips like a prayer and he leaned forward and down to kiss you hard, swallowing your mewls of contentment.

With three talented mouths caressing your skin, your first orgasm didn’t come as a surprise to you, blooming out from your core where Bucky was until the very ends of your hair felt as though they were tingling.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Bucky and Sam making you feel good?”

You bit your lip and nodded, letting out another moan as Bucky’s tongue swiped over your sensitive clit. With a gentle motion, you pushed him away, and he sat back on his heels, grinning face shiny with your cum, and rubbed at it with the back of his hand.

“You gotta try it, Sam. Fucking delicious.” You giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation, but given how aroused you were, you weren’t adverse to Sam taking a turn. You looked back at Steve, silently checking in with him, but he just smiled and winked as Sam and Bucky switched places.

“God, you smell good as well, baby. Here’s hoping I ace your test.” And just like Bucky, he dove in without delay. You’d never really considered before how different guys could have different techniques for eating pussy, and you were sure you’d probably analyse it all later, but all you could focus on at that moment was the feeling of Sam’s trimmed facial hair scratching over your skin and the way he thrust his tongue into your weeping channel. You clutched at his skull and your back arched as you squealed and your eyes fluttered closed again.

“Oh god!”

“Doll, you’re gonna inflate his ego even more, if you carry on like that. Let’s quieten you down a bit, yeah?” His thumb brushed over your lips before pushing it between them and you eagerly suckled on the invading digit. “Oh, you really like that. Want something more?”

You nodded vigorously and let his thumb go, eager for what you knew was coming. With the first brush of his smooth, but salty flesh over your lips, you opened your mouth and welcomed his cock. Sam took that moment to suck on your clit and you let out a muffled squeal. Bucky chuckled and pushed in deeper.

“Stevie, please tell me that you’ve not been missing out on this at least? Fuck. Don’t think I ever wanna leave.

“Give me some credit, jerk. I’m not that stupid.”

You tried to tune out their childish bickering, because you were in heaven. Sam was sucking and slurping on your pussy like it was his last meal and you were doing the same to Bucky’s cock, swirling your tongue around his slit before taking him in as far as you could. One hand still held Sam in place, and the other was braced on Bucky’s thick thigh, so you could signal for him to give you space when you needed.

Every so often you opened your eyes to find Steve’s gaze right on you, watching you succumb to pleasure. You came a second time under Sam’s tongue just as Bucky spilled himself down your throat. The dark-haired super soldier gave you a filthy kiss before pulling away, only to be replaced by Sam, nudging insistently at your swollen and cum-slick lips. You accepted him as eagerly as you had Bucky.

You revelled in the different scent and taste of him, both to Bucky, but also to Steve, and it wasn’t long before your hand slid between your legs, bringing you to a third, explosive climax. Sam gave you warning before he also reached his end, but you swallowed down all he had to give. He kissed you too, his broad hands gently caressing your tired, sweaty form, pulling your hand from between your legs and then breaking the kiss so he could suck your juices from your fingers.

You lay in a daze, panting and recovering, trying to make sense of all that had happened since you’d walked into Steve’s room with the intention to prompt him into getting a bit ‘spicy’. It was therefore a few minutes before you realised that there was a stillness to the air, the only sound that of two people breathing. You cracked open one eye, and then the other, blinking at the brightness, to find that Sam and Bucky had silently left. Only Steve remained, smiling down at you from his place at your side.

“Hey, sweetheart. You back with me?”

“Sort of, yeah. I think.” A sound, a cross between a snort and giggle, left your mouth.

“I’ve been playing it a little too safe, haven’t I?” He turned and shifted, slotting his slim waist between your thighs, with his forearms resting either side of your head. He was naked now and your gaze was drawn to his chiselled chest. “Turns out I’ve not been giving my needy little slut what she craves.”

“Hey, have I complained? We’d have got here at some point, although I will say I wasn't anticipating the ad hoc threesome with your friends. Maybe we both need to be a bit better at communicating?” You lifted your arms and twined them around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. It started sweet, but quickly grew heated, and you could feel Steve’s cock rutting against your inner thigh.

“Careful, Steve. I have already had three tonight, remember? I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“Three that you now owe me, sweetheart.” His eyes were dark, filled with an animalistic want. “And in the spirit of communication I need you to give me a colour; red, yellow or green. You say green and I’m gonna try my hardest to wring three more orgasms from you. Fuck you until you don’t know which way is up and the only word you know is my name. You’ll be feeling me for days, baby. So, what do you say?”

You tilted your head to the side, biting on your lower lip in contemplation. Although it hadn’t been in the way you’d anticipated, this was the Steve you’d been trying to draw out. Which meant there was only one answer.

“Green, Stevie. Green.”

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#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader x sam wilson #navy and roo's sleepover #late writes #blast from the past

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goth-iqqa · 1 year

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BLAME THE ROSES

Chapter One- Words of a Broken Fool

18+ MDI

Life can only be paid with death. After the demise of Princess Allysanne, a cursed couple brings forth a new life across the Narrow Sea, unbeknownst to the war approaching.

Daemon × Fem!reader, Aegon II × reader

Warnings: angst, cheating, smut, neglect, violence, death/gore. mentions of suicide. kidnappina. dub con, non con, (Targ)incest, pregnancy, miscarriage.

Thank you for your support 😫💕 (comment if u wish to be added)

@myrcxlla @alisonbecker @hightowerwife @winxschester

YEARS AFORE THE BIRTH of the Saddened Queen, the lore extended further than the books of vines and kings told. The fool, Mushroom, tethered with the laughter of court, said it started way before Prince Daemon sowed the love of the Manmo Princess, before all the bodies fell and the wings of a dragon took forth a flight across the Narrow Sea. He said it began amidst a rumble of the crown and a greedy offer from the lions of Casterly Rock.

“Betroth them, Your Grace.”

King Viserys did not expect the words to taunt his hazy mind. Laughter had tumbled in the tent, a facade to veil the shouts of a docile princess who wished not to marry, but the sweet taste of grapes blessed his lips and the offers for a wildling’s hand did not make haste. He was trapped, among the men who lusted after a white stag and the women who whispered of the Stepstones. The least a king could do was to drown away, expecting the fire to burn outside and the ashes of a lost dream to fly with the wind.

“What?”

“Prince Aegon and Rhaenyra.”

His eyes searched for the boy he sired. Behind the silken curtain of wild skins, Aegon whined and writhed in the arms of his maids. He reached for the girl across the small square, stuffing her mouth, round and full, of lemon tarts and raw honey treats she was not kind to share. Alysanne, daughter from her father’s loin, was the bare mimic of the beauty Queen Aemma had been, before the butchering came and the curses hallowed a corpse. She looked up at the King, eyes wide with mischief, and she smiled at him.

Viserys returned it, waving the girl’s attention back to the souring brother. “The boy just turned two,” he said. “Otto, he is a child.”

The Lord Hand nodded. “Yes. But it would cease the endless proposals for Rhaenyra’s hand. Only then, they will move on to Alysanne. The Lord of Casterly Rock sounded open to a marriage with a princess. If Rhaenyra and Aegon are betrothed, he will settle for princess Alysanne—“

A peal of laughter broke from the King. “Princess Alysanne will remain untouched by offers from a man whose ego is greater than his head.” His chest rose and the goblet of wine touched his lips again. “I came here to unwind,” with a loud gulp he turned back to the man who spoke. “Not to be suffocated by all this politi-king!”

“Of course. Let us speak no more of it.”

Otto Hightower stood from the stolen chair and parted, shamefully, away from the King.

When the last bit of his cup dried, and his belly could hold no more, King Viserys raised to the quiet tent and watched the flickering light of endless logs. He, stolen from sober sanity, had not felt the tug to his leg and the eyes of his youngest daughter, Alysanne, that watched him from below the shadows. The calls of servants for their small princess went unheard, filched away by the cackling flames of the fire that burned the skin of his cheeks red and raw.

“Is Rhaenyra to return soon, father?”

The princess of just nine name days, as Mushroom would include, was well-spoken for a girl her age. It was no surprise her tongue ran fluently when only the proper knowledge, provided by maesters and scholars from the Citadel, was given to the princess who acted with wildness like her sister’s. “My tent is dark, and she promised to sing to me. She promised, but she isn’t here.”

Viserys did not waste his breath on a foolish explanation, he did not know where his daughter hid nor did he care to know after the mockery that left her lips and silenced the entire court. Instead, he kneeled before his daughter and his warm hands caressed the cold of her cheeks. “She will sing to you. Rhaenyra always keeps the promises she makes to you, does she not?”

A smile spread on his face. Not a genuine one, but one enough to satisfy the hesitant ache in the flicker of Alysanne’s eyes. “Head to bed, now. I am sure Rhaenyra will return before you are tucked in.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Gods were cruel, Mushroom explained. Their eyes, twisted and vile, had dotted on the most innocent soul who wandered the halls of the palace and pleaded giggles and jokes from a mere fool. For the moment the fire died, and the King vanished into a deep slumber, the light of one tent remained.

The death of Princess Alysanne was no mistake. Not when the blood pooled at the bottom of the hill, and strands of hair and milky flesh caught on the spikes meant for the white stag Otto so proudly chanted for. It was a tragedy, truly, the guards began the puzzle of the unknown, and their theories, hazy with sleep, mocked the cries of King Viserys all at once.

It was said the youngest princess wandered into the line of twisted trees, calling out for her sister, brimming with tears, as she stared into the deep, green abyss of weeping winds. When her sworn shield saw her, Alysanne was lurked further away by the claws of darkness.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

Alysanne had tripped in the mangled roots and rolled down the drop-off that sliced through the terrain. In the shadows and fog, the girl dove into a pit of sharp branches—a deadly trap meant to ensnare another life.

"I deserve the highest punishment; I failed my only duty. Princess Alysanne is dead because of me."

King Viserys stared at his daughter's body, at least what remained of it. He'd been quiet the entire time, frozen in place, watching as if the last piece of his beloved would fade away with a single blink. It would, eventually, when the fire devoured what was left and her ashes flew away with the scorching wind. Until the chants of Syrax came, and the Silent Sisters took her, he held onto his daughter's hand.

"Husband." his wife, Queen Alicent, said after a while. She'd been sleeping, at least trying to, in her tent when the news of the missing princesses arose. Her father had been the one to deliver the news, the old man of brown hair bursting into her tent despite her ladies’ pleas to not disrupt the pregnant queen's sleep.

His words were drenched with sarcasm, and a mocking song escaped his lips as he wondered about Princess Rhaenyra's whereabouts and if she too whisked the younger princess to her savage adventures. She had shushed him when his tongue twisted to place blame on her friend for causing a rumble of chaos on his grandson's second name day. Then, after he suggested poor Alysanne’s demise, she marched in search of her drunk husband's tent.

"My sweet girl,"

Only fate would have Otto Hightower's words be true. For the moment the eldest Princess returned, bloody and disheveled, and in the company of Ser Criston, without knowledge of her sister, did the noblemen, ladies, and servants begin to search for the second daughter of the crown.

It had been Jason Lannister who found the young princess’s guard. His armor of steel was off and he cradled himself against a tree, crying, or sweating—the Lord couldn't tell. His shirt was off, his once fair skin now rubbed raw with dirt and blood. His nails had been ripped out from climbing back up the hill, he muttered between gasps, "It was my fault." Beside his legs, on the cold mossy ground, laid a disfigured body covered by his linen shirt.

"My innocent girl," Viserys cried when the Lannister twin arrived with the body of his young daughter. He'd wobbled up to him, snatching the girl from his arms and taking her into his own embrace. The King collapsed to his knees, rocking the child, begging, no, ordering, demanding, for her eyes to open at once. They didn't. He blamed the wine from the night before, the septa in charge of her, his own guards, the useless servants—for a moment he thought of blaming Rhaenyra.

Surely, if she'd just agreed to his offer, or at least showed a bit of interest in his choice, they wouldn't have fought. She would have stayed at their side and poor Alysanne would have remained asleep, lulled away by that stupid melody Aemma would hum into her ear.

When his eyes turned to the crown princess, she too kneeled beside him. She hummed that same song with tears brimming in her eyes. Her voice was soft and shaky, probably caught by the knot he felt in his own throat.

She gently caressed the muddy locks of hair, soothing as if the child were to awaken by a sudden pull. "I'm sorry.” He wasn't sure what he apologized for. His eyes met hers, violet and flickering in red pools of water. "I’m sorry.” For your mother, for your sister. For everything.

Rhaenyra remained quiet. The taste of grief was becoming a familiar palette to the princess, she was sure her father savored it on his tongue as well. She hoped he would, at the very least.

"It's time."

When the guards approached to take the child, the King yelled at them, pointed a dagger of pure Valyrian steel, and told them to stay away. He begged for another moment, a mere second to enjoy the touch of his daughter like he’d done before by the cackling of the fire. But the body was beginning to swell and maesters warned him of the morbid process of decay.

"A father should never witness such a thing, Your Grace."

"Don't! Don't you fucking tell me what to do!"

In the bite of it all, it was Rhaenyra who tugged at his arms, soft pleas rolled from her lips till they silenced with a kiss to his temple. He finally gave, then. One of the remaining pieces of his darling Aemma silently slipped from his arms once again. His heart ached.

Viserys didn’t feel the hands of his wife fall on his shoulders, the gentle whisper of comfort that failed to reach his ear. Instead, he was taunted by the promise he did not hold. Rhaenyra had not returned to sing to her. He wondered—no, hoped, her death was peaceful, at once, and not slow and painful. He choked, and for the rest of his days, he would wonder why no marks sowed to her skin, and when the rebirth of a flower bloomed, the King would slowly die. Surly and painful.

He watched as Rhaenyra left, trailing behind the servants who carried her sister into an empty carriage surrounded by ladies and lords of court, and Mushroom, who stood ghastly still.

“She shall have a bed of roses prepared for her burial,” Queen Alicent spoke, for both her husband and the late princess's maid. "Red. They were her favorites."

Though his head rested low, the king nodded. "Red,” he whispered to himself, almost like a chant. "They were her favorites."

When it first happened, years after the demise of an infant princess, a new season bloomed and the streets of King’s Landing were covered in a bright sheen under the pale sun. Clouds were shaped like tufty pillows then, and glided slowly across the sky, until they shattered, pulling apart when the wings of a golden dragon flew past and ringed ribbons of flickering light from its throat into the frail sky above.

It was the morrow of Prince Jacaerys’ tenth name day, and an open invitation traveled to the realm, spreading to every corner of the West like vines sowing through the soil and tugging at the last speck of ice in Winterfell. It was no surprise when ships of every house arrived at the port of Blackwater Rush, bearing gifts and hailing the prince, a future king, while others, in vile whispers, hailed a bastard born of sin.

Before the Saddened Queen, there was the Churlish Princess, wild and poisoned like the waves that separated the mouths of her ancestry home and Dragonstone. In a fleet with unfurled banners of a black jaguar in a yellow field, Y/N Endo stretched across the border of the deck to watch the dragon kiss the ripple of the sea. The golden dragon, saddled with a faceless rider, waved his wings, and light, drizzling rain greeted the skin of her face with strangling coldness and the taste of salt on her lips.

“Beautiful, ghastly beasts they are,”

Her eyes, brown and wide like her father’s, turned to the man who dared stand at her side. “You said they were filthy creatures. That one seems to be made of gold, brother dearest.”

“From afar, yes. Up close, sister, you will tremble to your knees with fear and disgust, alike.”

Syrion Corgel was the bastard of Manmo, sired by an unknown and birthed by the same womb of their blind mother. It was often rumored of the men she entertained at her husband’s wish, they were not true. But her name carried a filthy history. Alanis Endo was said to be a whore like her own mother had been, blind, and sold to the wealthiest. A curse expected to follow like thorns to the next babe born of her blood.

Y/N, however, would not. “I hope to see one up close. Then, maybe, I’d die the death of my choice.”

“Being devoured by flames?” Syrion laughed. “You have been speaking of death since the moment you stepped into this ship, why? What’s grasping your small mind, sister?”

“Father seems to think an offer for my hand will be made tonight. He says Targaryen court is the most thriving for a proposal, even better if I catch the eye of a prince or the mother of one.”

“All your father wants is the crown back to the head it belongs to. It was only your luck to be born an Endo,” he mocked. “If it’s fated, the Queen has borne three princes, and the crown princess has a future king and the future Lord of the Tides.”

A small scoff left her lips. “He already decided my fate. Yet, all I want is a home with a big garden, brother.” She leaned away against the deck, and a wave of long, pale-silver hair cascaded down her sides, waving in the wind, as she continued to watch the golden dragon disappear in the flames of the sun. “I want nothing more.”

While many servants and charladies of the princess spoke different versions of what led the Endos away from their seat in Manmo, the truth only laid in the intentions of a father to wed his daughter to a Targaryen prince. It was no surprise when a smile strewed across the face of Princess Rhaenyra, a gentle and affirming one, when her eyes landed on the ones of the girl promised to her eldest son. Y/N Endo, the heir to the Solstice name, and future leader of Manmo, would join the books of dragons, unaware of the infant stud butchered and crossed from history meant to be reborn in her sake.

“Prince of Manmo, Lord of the Solstice name, Calyx Endo, and his heir, the Princess of Bilge, Y/N Endo.”

Above her gaze, the Iron Throne sat on a raised iron dais with high and narrow steps. King Viserys plumbed himself in its sharp edges and melted handles, and on his lap, with a smile so timidly, Prince Jacaerys waved at the girl he knew only by a vaunted name.

It was said, even before their meeting, his mother did not spare untold details of the great beauty his future queen was. A wife with the blood of Old Valyria, blessed by the gods, their children would bloom just as beautifully and the silent questions of a certain heritage would stop, once and for all. Had their betrothal gone through, and the princess had not ached for the greed, the betrayal of queens would remain a thought to be wither away with the winds of a war.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” Y/N said with a smile. From behind her, her bastard brother carried a golden cradle and presented it to the feet of the young prince. “Jaguars are said to symbolize strength, ferocity, and courage. Black fur is rare among them. Being born on the same moon as you, my prince, it seemed awry not to bring you two together.”

Jacaerys raised the cub in his hands. It screeched, writhing away from the unknown scent before him, biting and clawing at the hands of the prince who gasped and shook nervously.

With a painful poke to her rib by the cane of her father, Y/N stepped forth. Purpling fingers stretched over Jacaerys’ own and she tugged at the black fur of the tiny creature. “He won’t like you for a while,” she said, softly for only him to hear. “He was taken from his mother’s side. Unsureness and fright is the cruelest and most dangerous form of men and animals alike, my prince.”

The Churlish Princess pushed the frail ball into his chest, letting the claws bite at the leather of his shirt instead of the reddening flesh of his hands. She rubbed the tiny cuts, whispering luring heals into his ear. “May the gods always keep you in their good grace.”

From the side of the throne, Rhaenyra raised her goblet in the air and toasted to her son’s name. Her eyes, however, did not leave Y/N Endo, not when the girl bowed and retrieved back to the crowd of chanting guests with a vanished smile. Instead, she nudged Mushroom, and with lips red by the wine, she requested of him a new task.

“Do make the princess laugh. Happy people tend to speak more freely than words laced with wine, do they not? I want to hear her laughter before the sun sets.”

The broken fool could not say no, not to the princess he adored the most. When he wobbled to the youngest, eyes gleaming at the beauty of a girl he once knew, he bowed and the bells sewed to his clothes clattered against one another. “I am Mushroom, princess, this court’s fool.” He bowed again, “It is my pleasure to meet you.”

“Mushroom,” she repeated. “What an odd name.” Her lips twisted to a smile and she extended her hand out.

When the fool did not move and stared at her waiting fingers, confused, she laughed. “I am Y/N. It is common for people who have just met to shake hands, Mushroom.” Y/N explained. She extended her hand out, once again. “You and I have just met. Come on, now.”

For a moment, Mushroom seemed to hesitate before her poised stand. Her hands were much larger than his, every finger, long and cold, decorated by fine rings and jewels that danced to her wrists. She’d been too naive then, the eyes of her father watched them from afar, almost ashamed of the way her words addressed a man lower than a servant. Had he been close, the older man would not hesitate to pinch the bruising skin his daughter held beneath the fabrics of her skirt.

“Mushroom?” Her fingers flexed.

At once, the smaller hand swarmed into her own, bending to palm, and they shook, like friends would have done. For the first time, the broken fool smiled, genuinely, at the girl who fated their end.

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 8 months

Text

"Flesh and Blood"

Part 6 - The hunt (part 2)

Pairing: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader (Northerner /House Stark | Third Person POV)

Themes: Smut (subtle) | Soft

Warnings: Kissing | Alcohol use | Mentions of sexual activity | Mentions of weapons use (spears and knives) | Animal death

Word count: 2.7 K words

Summary: The hunt continues, this time with a sighting that was never expected.

Rating: 🔥| Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

A/n: The white stag scene was inspired by the white stag scene in House of the Dragon season 1, episode 3. Part 7 will be the last one. I will be writing Daena’s anointing as queen into this as well.

Painting: The hunt in the forest by Paolo Uccello

The full masterlist can be found here.

Y/n awoke at dawn. Pale golden rays spilled in through the flap of the tent, gilding everything within.

The campsite was already full of noise and life. Horses whinnied, the hounds barked, and squires ran to and fro, fetching water, bows and arrows, even food and wine, for their lords. In the distance, she heard Lyanna shouting while she chased after Marna. The youngest of the Cerwyn brood had taken something she should not have, possibly a comb or a ribbon, or even her sister’s whale bone dagger. Lady Cerwyn was up as well, laughing heartily. Y/n smiled, and turned to her side.

Aemon was still beside her, lost in slumber. The night before, after they had their fill of the river, he brought her back to their tent and insisted on drying her himself, dressing her himself, and even warming her himself. Y/n blushed and raised a hand to her lips. They were still puffy and bruised. Aemon had kissed her in a way he had never done before. She could almost taste his desperation, his yearning. His eyes darkened and flashed with hunger. It sent shivers through her body. Y/n dithered and wondered what to do next. Aemon put a stop to her worrying when he finally slipped his arms around her and carried her to the pelts that passed for a featherbed.

There was no heated passion in his embraces. Oh, the sparks were there; y/n could feel them, but it would take time for them to burn like searing flames. Still, she did not mind. She gorged herself on his attention, his deep, fervent kisses, and his half-whispered endearments. Aemon had been tender, and willing to free himself from the shackles that had stymied his affections. He listened to her, touched her how she liked, and kissed her how she liked. He took her to heights she had never been before, and when she finally fell from her rapturous high, he was there to catch her and bring her safely back to the earth. Y/n went to sleep in his arms, with a deep, satisfied smile on her face.

A hand curled over her belly. “Good morrow, wife.”

“Good morrow, husband."

“Must we hunt?”

Y/n laughed. Aemon was uncharacteristically lazy this morning. He burrowed deeper into the pelts, reluctant to move or even open his eyes.

“We must. The queen expects it,” she replied, and threw back the furs. The rush of cold air over their skin was a shock to them both. Aemon muttered under his breath and made her laugh again. He opened his eyes this time and looked at her sheepishly.

“Last night,” he began. “The things we did… the things I did…”

Y/n felt the cold stab of fear. Was Aemon regretting the night before? Was he going to say last night was a mistake, that he did not want to yield to lust’s heady embrace? Was he going to ask they go back to how they were before?

“I hope it is not going to be the last of it,” he continued. “I do not wish to stop.”

Relief brought tears to her eyes. Aemond saw it. He sat up, alarmed. “What troubles you?”

“I,” y/n stops, hesitates. “I thought you had changed your mind, and that you wanted things to go back to the way they were.”

Suddenly, she found herself in Aemon’s embrace. It was warm and comforting. “I have not changed my mind,” he murmurs, holding her gently. “I want to make a success of this marriage and prove myself worthy of you. Perhaps, I can show you how much I want to make myself worthy of you right now.”

He had her on her back and beneath him before her next breath. Y/n sighed when the full weight of his body bore down on her own. She slipped her arms around his back, pressing him closer. Aemon trembled and groaned softly. Then he kissed her.

By the time they joined the others for the first meal, they were still flush from exhilaration. Nothing was said in jest. Perhaps the others did not notice. Lady Cerwyn, however, gave her niece a knowing but indulgent look. When y/n took her place beside her, she leaned in and whispered, “I suppose someone made the most of the opportunity to ride the dragon?”

Y/n blushed and turned to her aunt, her cheeks ablaze. She opened her mouth once, then twice, unable to say a word because her tongue refused to heed her. Emma simply smiled and served a full plate of food for her niece.

“Do not be ashamed, little wolf. You are a woman wed.” Emma called for more water. “And he is a good man, I think, despite his flaws.”

“A far greater man than his brother, that is for sure,” y/n replied, and they turned as one to watch Aegon. Already, the prince was deep in his cups and bleary-eyed. Y/n shivered. “To think he would be king if Baelor does not produce an heir.”

Aegon pulled a giggling serving girl onto his lap. Her squeals rattled around the camp. Emma regarded the scene unfolding before them all with distaste.

“Ludicrous notion, if you ask me,” she replied in the Old Tongue, “this Southron business of passing the crown onto the sons and never the daughters. But enough of that. Tell me, little wolf, what happened between you and your lord husband.”

Y/n flushed again, but agreed to answer her aunt’s questions.

An hour later, they were all standing by their horses, ready to ride off and hunt. Emma had a final word for both her own children and her niece.

“At the manse,” she began, “we may fight, get underfoot, and call one another all sorts of colorful names, but out there...” Emma stopped, and grabbed her youngest son by the shoulder. He was already starting a scuffle with his sister, Marna. “Dormeric, are you listening?”

Dormeric nods vigorously. “Yes, mother.”

Emma ruffled her son’s hair. He grumbled and tried in vain to escape his mother’s affectionate clutches. “Good. Out there, in those woods, we watch each other’s backs. Is that understood?”

They all declared their acceptance in unison. Emma then sent them off with a kiss on each of their cheeks. Aemon joined y/n and Uther, and the others. Uther then took his brothers and sisters down another path, leaving husband and wife alone.

“Do all the women in the north hunt?” Aemon asked.

“Many, if they wish to do so.” Y/n took in the clear blue skies and the birds that sang in the trees. She wanted to enjoy the fine weather as much as she could before they had to leave for the north. “Deer mostly.”

“Not the boar?”

“Too big. They make the boar in these parts look like common pigs.”

Aemon barked out a laugh. “Ice dragons and giants, mammoths and direwolves and boars so large they make those south of the Neck look small in comparison. I tell you, wife, the North appears to be a dangerous place to live.”

“Dangerous, yes, and beautiful all the same.” Y/n reined her horse to a stop. There was something strange hanging in the air, something she could not quite describe. She closed her eyes and listened. The forest had gone silent.

Aemon must have felt it as well. He unsheathed Dark Sister and urged his own horse to step forward. There was a rustle in the brush. Something large was stirring.

“Stay behind me,” he warned. “It may be a boar.”

It was not a boar, but something entirely else. The beast grunted as it stepped into the light, its tines as large as finely forged daggers, their points just as sharp. Its hide was as white as snow, and its eyes flashed like crimson lightning. The stag stood where it was, as curious about them as they were about him.

Aemon turned to face his wife. “Do you wish to slay it?”

Y/n shook her head. “No. She who hunts claims the White Hart as her own. I will be damning myself if I kill it. Let him go, husband.”

Aemon acquiesced and sheathed his sword. The forest grew alive with the sounds of dogs baying. The White Hart grunted at them before turning around and running back into the trees.

“I will not tell the others,” he promised. “If Aegon gets it into his head to go after the Hart, the others will follow.”

“Thank you.” Y/n dug her heels into the sides of her horse, and they rode again, this time in companionable silence. More than once, Aemon brought his horse as close to hers as he could manage. Sometimes, he would steal a glance. Other times, he would take her hand into his, squeezing it gently. Then there were other times when Aemon wished to hear her speak and asked her for tales of the North. She told him of Long Fang, the man-eating wolves of the Shadow Pass, and all the tales her grandfather told about his times spent with the Watch.

“No one sees honor and glory in taking the black now,” y/n said. “The Lord Commander once said he is fortunate if he can now find even one knight or lordling in two hundred.”

“It is a pity, really, what has become of the Watch,” Aemon lamented. “My own father and uncle tried to find those who wished to serve, but all they could offer were the finest of Flea Bottom and the Red Keep’s dungeons instead.”

Y/n smiled and took his hand. “Grandfather understands.”

Their horses crested a high ridge when they stopped again. Beneath them, the others had surrounded a boar. The hounds harried it and kept it cornered in front of a tree. Two more lay dead beside it. Y/n recognized the white and black spear Uther favored sticking out of the corpse of one of them. She looked beyond the tree. Several hounds were also dead. She sighed, but accepted the loss. Such sights were a part of life.

“Do you wish to join the others?” Aemon inquired of her.

“Yes,” Y/n replied, and they rode off again, this time to join the throng gathered around the tree.

The boar was already on the ground, struggling for life, when they reached the others. Uther was occupied skinning and butchering his kill. Lyanna and Ned were helping him.

“We are going to feast tonight,” he boasted. “And I am going to keep these for myself.”

“Uther,” Lyanna said, “you do know crushed boar’s tusks are not going to bless you with more virility, yes?”

Ned hooted and made excuses to go back to Dormeric and Marna, saying little children should never be left to their own devices. He was laughing the entire time.

“How do you know this?” Uther dropped everything—the tusk, the knife, a bloodied cloth—and rose in a black fury. “Answer me, Lyanna. How do you know this?”

“Women talk, cousin,” y/n said on behalf of Lyanna. “And your sister has been hearing enough talk since the day she turned ten and three.”

Lyanna stuck out her tongue at her brother. “Wait till I tell mother of this,” he retorted haughtily.

“Wait till I tell mother of this,” Lyanna mocked her brother. “And what do you think she will do, brother mine? Lock me in a tower with no hope for escape? Oh!” She clapped a hand to her heart. “The horror of it all! Confined to a cold, miserable tower all because I questioned Uther and his manho…”

She ran away when Uther growled and chased after her. Y/n turned to her husband to apologize for her kin’s behavior. Her words were unnecessary. Aemon had been struggling in vain to hide his laughter.

“Life with your kin is never going to be a dull affair,” he managed. “Is it?”

Y/n studied him. There was no mockery in his eyes, only good humor. She threw her head back and laughed.

“It never is,” she agreed. “And you best make peace with it, husband. This is your life now.”

It was near dusk by the time they returned to the camp. Kitchen boys were already turning the slaughtered boar on wooden spits, basting them in honey and cider until the meat cracked and spit. Y/n gave the hare she had caught along the way to a servant, asking that it be added with everything else. Aemon led her to their places, and they waited for the feast to begin.

Much like the night before, food and drink flowed freely for anyone who desired them. The last of the iced wine was brought out and served alongside a decadent swan pie. All who could, raised their glasses and cheered when Daena lifted a sword presented to her by Lord Commander Harding and brought it down on the pastry to cut the first slice.

“To a new age!” She declared it to one and all.

More applause followed. Then the feasting truly began. A minstrel strummed a gilded harp and sang of the Long Night and the Age of Heroes, of the arrival of the Andals and the Seven, of the Ironborn and their quest to tame the seas, of the Freehold and its doom. His songs were of such beauty that by the time he had finished, more than one reveler had tears in their eyes. The minstrel took his leave with a bow and a flourish and a velvet bag heavy with coin.

He will not want for his supper, y/n thought. The other nobles will have him sing at their feasts soon enough.

Servants walked amidst the trestle tables, bearing trays laden with steaming racks of boar. Aemon cut y/n a queen’s portion and fed her the first bite. She closed her eyes and sighed. The meat nearly melted in her mouth. Aemon offered her more. She accepted, and soon she found herself being fed from his own plate. It made y/n feel more than a little cherished.

More food and drink were served. This time it was quail and new potatoes roasted in lemon and herbs. The seven realms have all enjoyed blessed harvests this year, and it showed.

“Any news of your grandfather?”

Y/n looked at Aemon. “Yes,” she replied, even as her throat tightened. In her previous letter, her lady mother had written of her grandfather's command. "He is well, and he... He insists I stay here a little longer, and show Serena the city. He wants her to see King’s Landing at least once in her lifetime.”

Aemon reached out and took her hand into his. “As soon as your sister has had her fill of the city, we will leave.”

“My aunt said they would stay as well,” y/n supplied. “Then we can all travel together.”

The night drifted peacefully and without incident. When minstrels picked up their instruments, Aemon invited y/n to dance with him.

They had not danced since their wedding, and Aemond proved to be as skilled with dancing as he was with the sword. He led y/n as they all danced in rounds in a little clearing besides the tables, with the stars and brilliant lamps to light the way. When a change in music spun them apart, y/n then danced a turn with Uther, then her good father, and then with Lord Commander Hardyng. Aegon was nowhere to be found, much to her delight. Lord Commander Hardyng finally said the prince had indulged too much and took to his bed. Y/n was gratified. She had no desire to dance even a single turn with her good-brother. The prospect alone was enough to make her ill. Then the music changed again, and she found herself in Aemon’s arms once more.

“Would you care to swim with me like last night?” He whispered in her ear.

Y/n blushed and looked around. No one heard, and her husband’s notion appealed to her greatly. “When the others have taken to their beds?”

Aemon pressed her closer. “Done. And perhaps, sweet wife, we can indulge more in what came after as well?”

A flush crept up y/n’s throat. She looked up at her husband, at the wicked glint in his eyes. It made her head reel more than a little, and left her lightheaded.

He has changed so much, she thought. And it would be glorious to indulge in more of what happened the night before.

“Yes,” she replied, then melted against him when he pressed his lips to her cheek. “I desire that as well.”

#I'm kinda sorta back to my regular shenanigans #aemon the dragonknight #aemon the dragonknight x reader #aemon the dragon knight imagine #a game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #a world of ice and fire #house targaryen #house stark

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tokuteasings · 1 year

Note

I see your requests are open and I adore your King Ohger writing!!! Could you write something with Gira and hes trying to act all tough bc hes the “evil king” and you’re just like, humoring him because hes so into and after a lil but he breaks characters and it just get super fluffy? Idk if thats a coherent plot but you write him so well! Have a nice week 💚

you cant just come into my inbox and give me fluffy gira thots without warning how dare-

Thank you for your praise~! Kingohger has such a fucking grip on me yall dont even know-

Warnings: GN!Reader, fluffy. Make-out sesh

What is a king to a deity?

There is a howl of pride, of a beast leering towards the masses at their crowning achievement. He's the lion at the head of the pride, the master, the, apex, the alpha, dearest Gira is the king of evil and he wears it with pride.

Let all kneel before him - as you have, over and over again.

Let all worship him - as you have, over and over again.

Let all adore him, as you have, over and over again.

Gladly.

Without question.

He's laughing again, jovially, as he chases around the children and swings about this small little branch (he always picks the tiniest little sticks and gives the best ones to the kids that flock to the two of you) and screams, "For I am the king of evil, Gira! I shall rule the land-!" he glances around, the idea blooming into his head as a stag beetle to a flame and they lock on to yours.

They glitter in the sunlit day, mischief dancing within them as he sets the "sword" at his side and makes the fastest beeline towards you (you have seen faster, such as when he saw you again after a long period of this touchless entity that dragged on for eons and swept you up into his arms and kissed you breathless) before cackling and gathering you into his arms with frightening strength.

The branch is held to your neck, a sole leaf (still attached, still clinging despite the force) tickles your skin - a kiss dotting it akin to his own. You laugh and dramatically gasp, the back of your hand against your forehead as you press yourself towards Gira's chest and smirk at how he yelps and flushes just a wee bit.

Because you're at his heart, where you have crawled in and kept it captive for so long. Especially when a hand skitters against his chest and collar bone, pads of your fingers dusting against his bare skin that makes him keel and whine - pecks from other parts of your skin.

"Oh no~!" you whimper as the children gather around you, brandishing their blades of terra and bark. "The evil king has me captive!" you let out a "whimper" as Gira clears his throat, his arm now possessively wrapped around your waist as you inwardly giggle. "Whatever will I do?!"

"That is right!" Gira calls out to the kids, using the sword that was against your neck earlier to point at each of them, taunting them. "I have captured this citizen! I shall force them into a marriage and we shall conquer the world together!"

You stare up at him with wide eyes as the kids gasp and groan out various quips of: "Ew marriage!" "That's mean!"

The word "marriage" echoes in your head because honestly...have you thought about it? Yes, a few here and there. Sometimes in the middle of the night, you and Gira talk about what the future holds and could bring. But he would always smile and kiss your fingers, "Whatever it brings us, we'll conquer it together." and a smile that outshines even the sun would bloom upon his face and make you utterly weak in the knees.

It's just like now, now that you think about it.

His hues are reflecting yours and the images of the children, but he is the sun itself. He is showing off this light that you are attracted to, crave even.

So you do what you normally do whenever you're overwhelmed by love and adoration for your little king-

You just kiss him. You grab the sides of his face and planet your lips on to his, not caring for the meager populace that gazes upon this communion of king and captive. They fade.

Gira lets out a small yelp, his sword loses its place in his hands and they're around your hips now. He tilts his head to further press his lips into yours, dipping you lightly and despite his initial hesitation before, he melts into it. He's craving it as much as you do-

"Ew! They're kissing!"

"Oh my God!"

"Gira nii-chan!"

There is a sputter of flubbers and blubbers as you two part, your faces equally red as his. Kogane from the sidelines rolls her eyes as Gira clears his throat. "R-Right..." he mumbles out, before turning to you and pecking your cheek as an apology. "Sorry got carried away." he's sheepish at this point, a small timid smile to his lips-

"We should do it again."

Gira stares outright at your words, a small mumble leaving his lips that you couldn't hear but he's fully red now - his blush skittering on downwards towards his chest from his open shirt. "N-Not now!" he gestures towards the kids with an empty hand. "D-Don't do this in public!" it's an embarrassed hiss, he's almost trying to make himself smaller and smaller. He doesn't need the feel of your lips that are wine and honey and everything nice in the world.

He doesn't need it to fog his mind until he's in this drunken stupor...

"You're right. Sorry." your laugh softly before picking up his branch and handing it back to him. He smiles as his hand brushes against yours with the passing of blade to blade-

Your lips zoom towards his knuckles and he yelps, jumping backwards and dropping the blade again as the kids groan further. You laugh as you pick up the fallen branch, raising it high and ego fueling your id. "Aha! I have usurped the evil emperor! Now all shall bow before me!"

And if he could, he would happily get on his knees for you.

For love is a sacrament best taken kneeling for a god you devote everything towards.

#gira #king ohger #ohsama sentai kingohger #kingohger #ohsama sentai king ohger #super sentai imagine #super sentai x reader #super sentai #GOD I LOVE GIRA SO MUCH YALL YA DONT GET IT-#what the fuck did i turn this damn fic into

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menagerie-of-monsters · 2 years

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I'm Mallory Dunlin, an avid reader and writer of monster romance. I talk about the things I'm writing, alongside a rotating collection of eclectic interests. Scroll long enough and you might be graced by a picture of Moon or Dawn, my borzoi.

As I hope anyone who picks up my books can tell, I'm queer, neurodivergent, and fascinated by the interplay of identity and society. My novels are dark fantasy romances, where the world can be brutal, but love wins the day. Most explore trauma, recovery, and the healing power of accepting others as they are.

What I'm working on: a fae enemies-to-lovers arranged marriage romance with Hades/Persephone vibes

Catalog below the cut!

Monsters of Faery

Modern-day fantasy, primarily set in Faery

CAPTURED BY THE FAE BEAST: Leah expects to die after a backcountry climbing accident. When a monstrous fae prince rescues her instead, claiming to be her soulmate, she strikes a bargain: a year and a day in his company in exchange for freedom at the end of it. But the Beast of Phazikai is more than his bloody reputation suggests, and there's far more at stake than her heart.

IN THE CLAWS OF THE RAVEN PRINCE: All deals with the fae have a twist, and when Lilly makes hers, she finds herself with a sword instead of a pen. But fate steps in when she faces the half-fae, half-manticore Chimera on the field—and discovers that the greatest enemy of Stag Court is her soulmate.

CLAIMED BY THE FLAME OF FAERY: To save her father's life from the vengeful half-dragon Duke of Nyx Shaeras, Isabela offers herself as his life-debt servant. Weathering his arrogance and pique, she starts to see the man beneath the dragonfire—but the secrets he's keeping might destroy their chances of happiness forever.

TAMING THE WILD HUNT: (novella) A deadly encounter with the Wild Hunt leaves an art thief trapped in the deep wilds of Faery—with a hellhound who won't leave her side and a Hunter who wants far more than merely her life.

Echoes of the Void

High fantasy with Renaissance-level technology

THE GARDENER AND THE WATER-HORSE: Fleeing from an abusive wizard, Safira takes refuge at one of the remote, sorcerous Spires. Though she's wary of beautiful, dangerous men, she strikes up a friendship with the water-horse of the caldera lake surrounding the island, and finds herself in deeper waters than she expected.

THE SORCERESS AND THE INCUBUS: The sorceress Rain has spent the past decade struggling to protect the world from meteors falling from the broken sky. She summons a familiar to help - and is answered by an incubus shapeshifter. As time runs out for the world, the two must learn to work together in order to save everyone from a fate only they can prevent.

THE CHANGELING AND THE DRAGON: A human woman raised by unseelie fae escapes death at the hands of slavers, only to end up in life-debt to a part-dragon sorcerer and his full-dragon cousin. Sersha knows she'll be his slave for life. After all, a regular mortal can't hope to save a sorcerer... or can she?

Standalones

HOW TO SLAY A DRAGON: Novella; originally part of the I am the Fire anthology and available for free on Bookfunnel. A dragonslayer finds more than she bargained for when a contract to kill a beast leads her to half-dragon prince driven out of the dragonlands to his mother's kingdom.

#author introduction #writeblr #bookblr #indie publishing #writers of tumblr #monster romance #fantasy romance

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waitingforwinterwinds · 1 year

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A Clash of Kings - 02 SANSA I (pages 34-46)

Joffrey hosts a (discount) tourney for his name day, Sansa does her best to not die after speaking up/"out of turn," and Tyrion returns to King's Landing.

"What do you think it means?" she asked him. "Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor? The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet." Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail." "King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir - and crimson is the color of house Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies." Is it true? she wondered. Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was one of Joffrey's enemies now, her brother Robb another. Her father had died by the king's command. Must Robb and her lady mother die next? The comet was red, but Joffrey was Baratheon as much as Lannister, and their sigil was a black stag on a golden field. Shouldn't the gods have sent Joff a golden comet?

*looks at the camera like we're on The Office* Oh. gee. I wonder. why it's. Lannister Red. and not. Baratheon. themed. what. could this. mean?

It's fun though, to see how each of the groups interpret the comet and its meaning, how they see it hanging in the sky and conceptualise its likeness. A wound in the sky, a bloody sword, a banner of victory. (Insert meta commentary on fandoms also interpreting source materials based on biases and pre-formed ideas, knowledge and experiences here.)

The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.

That's the thing with abusers like Joffrey, the mentality that "I didn't lay a hand on her, so I didn't abuse her, I didn't do anything wrong" coupled with the fact that he's having her beaten for things she literally had no control over. Beating people is never acceptable (IRL, but in fiction it gives the mental catharsis many people/readers will never have otherwise), but for Sansa to be stuck in this situation where, no matter what she does right or wrong in his eyes, in the end there is nothing she can do to prevent this, because it's not about her, it's about him asserting control and dominance through fear and violence.

Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not as hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might, and at least he argued. ... He fell silent as a column of Lannister guardsmen marched paste, in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms. Ser Arys was fond of gossip, but only when he was certain that no one was listening.

What, should I give him a "Not as Big of an Asshole as you Could Have Been" award? I'll reserve my judgments for the time being, thanks. But the fact that he seems to be an ally to Sansa at the moment in the context of the series' vibes...

*starts a timer to countdown Arys's death or reveal as an even bigger POS than Joffrey*

In the back of the box, Sandor Clegane stood at guard, his hands resting on his swordbelt. The white cloak of the Kingsguard was draped over his broad shoulders and fastened with a jeweled brooch, the snowy cloth looking somehow unnatural against his brown roughspun tunic and studded leather jerkin.

"roughspun" = 🥛

Joffrey waved a curt dismissal while he studied Sansa from head to heels. "I'm pleased you wore my stones." So the king had decided to play gallant today. Sansa was relieved.

How about we relieve Joffrey... of his head 🗡️

Oh, he's in a nice mood, we'll see how long that lasts.

Aaand it's gone, straight into making Sansa uncomfortable with gory murder details and "how I'll kill your brother" plans. "I'll challenge him to single combat." pffff, you'll get your ass kicked. Do it!

I hope he falls and shames himself, she thought bitterly. I hope Ser Balon kills him. When Joffrey proclaimed her father's death, it had been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard's severed head by the hair and raised it on high for king and crowd to behold, while Sansa wept and screamed.

Starting to think Sansa fainting at the execution was a show invention by D&D to make her seem more meek and damsel-ly, and like she wasn't capable of repressed rage enough to level the Red Keep like season 8 Dany.

Finally a chestnut stallion trotted into view in a swirl of crimson and scarlet silks, but Ser Dontos was not on it. The knight appeared a moment later, cursing and staggering, clad in a breastplate and plumed helm and nothing else. His legs were pale and skinny, and his manhood flopped about obscenely as he chased after his horse.

Oh hi Ser Dontos. 🧼👀🪥 scrub my mind's eye~ with the soap~ and then we rinse with bleach~

Interesting that D&D shoved so much tits and vag into GoT, but they skipped out on this pre(un)packaged bit of nudity. almost like they see women's bodies as an open source commodity that everyone is entitled to, and male nudity as something which must be taken more seriously and done only in respectful precision drops. (Sorry if that was overly mean, I have another headache. Did not sleep much last night, kept having weird dreams... hope they weren't foreshadowing for anything...)

Sansa heard herself gasp. "No, you can't." Joffrey turned his head. "What did you say?" Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn't meant to say anything, only... Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm. "Did you say I can't? Did you?" "Please," Sansa said, "I only meant... it would be ill luck, Your Grace... to kill a man on your name day." "You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you along with him, if you care for him so much." "I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only... kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please... not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear it for you to have ill luck... terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so..." Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this. "The girl speaks truly," the Hound rasped. "What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year." His voice was flat, as if he did not care a whit whether the king believed him or no. Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she'd said, desperate to avoid punishment.

So here we're seeing Sansa's compassion getting the better of her, now that she's not in a deeper dissociative state and her brain isn't tamping down on it. There's still some disconnect, probably the stress from being so close to Joffrey and being aware that he was getting bored.

This was an incredibly dangerous slip up, but that was an amazing recovery, even though she did need the Hound's back up to land it.

Oh, Sandor. Why you gotta go and be on the Sansa Protecc Squad, when I know what you're going to do later? Stop making me like you. But don't stop Sansa Protecc. Oh right, can't really do one without doing the other... hmmm...

Sansa found herself possessed of a queer giddy courage. "You should go with her," she told the king. "Your brother might be hurt." Joffrey shrugged. "What if he is?" "You should help him up and tell him how well he rode." Sansa could not seem to stop herself.

I know she's going to survive, but every time, I kind of clench up waiting for him to snap. It's good that she cares, and that she cares enough to speak up, but Joffrey gives literally zero fucks about anyone who is not himself, this one? Is a losing battle. (I'd say save it for later but his good will isn't exactly a transferable resource. gotta try while you've got the leeway, I guess.)

In their midst, riding a tall red horse in a strange high saddle that cradled him front and back, was the queen's dwarf brother Tyrion Lannister, the one they called the Imp. (...) Down his back flowed a shadowskin cloak, black fur striped with white.

Hi Tyrion. Welcome back. I notice you aren't arriving in time to stop Sansa from being stripped and beaten in front of the entire court thereby increasing your Heroic Nature levels tenfold in the eyes of the audience. You know, I've been assuming up til now, that shadowskin cloaks were made from shadowcats, which I had assumed were some form of panther, but that sounds like white tiger fur.

Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel." Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was He mocking her? It wasn't the gods who'd been cruel, it was Joffrey. "I'm sorry for your loss as well Joffrey," the dwarf said. "What loss?" "Your royal father? A large fierce man with a black bread. You'll recall him if you try. He was king before you." "Oh, him. Yes, it was very sad, a boar killed him." "Is that what 'they' say, Your Grace?" Joffrey frowned. Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said. "I'm sorry my lady mother too you captive, my lord." "A great many people are sorry for that," Tyrion replied, "and before I am done, some may be a deal sorrier... yet I thank you for the sentiment.-"

Classy Joffrey, very convincing, you almost sounded like a real boy there for a second.

Ah, so that expression came from Septa Mordane. So a second chapter in a row where a Stark sister recalls the words of a mentor figure to help them through a tough moment. Nice. Fascinating it it's similarities and differences.

We also get a good comparison to Tyrion and Sansa's... "allowance of snark," if you will. Tyrion has no fears of being out right rude to Joffrey, but we've spent a chunk of the chapter seeing Sansa scramble for recovery for speaking up or risking death.

He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too, He's still a Lannister, her brother and Joff's uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head, Sansa would never make that mistake again.

She deserves to be safe and loved, and instead she's had her world and her trust irreparably damaged.

#a clash of kings #a song of ice and fire #sansa stark #a chapter a day reading #acok #asoiaf

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babyjeep · 2 years

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George Doesnt Ask You to the Ball

George Weasley x fem! reader

pure fluff! friends in love. admission of..sorts

Summary: Fred and George have enough money to buy one set of dress robes, so George lets his brother go to the ball. He didn’t mind much until he learned you weren’t going as well. Do you have enough of that Gryffindor courage to tell him why you turned down the four boys who asked you?

“What do you mean you aren’t going tonight? How has no one asked you?” Ron Weasley seemed almost angry at the idea that no one would have asked you to the Yule Ball.

“I didn’t say no one asked me.” You always came off as indifferent and cool-headed about everything. The trio of fourth years surrounding you often put you on a pedestal seemingly just for being older and therefore wiser. It was only by two years, but that’s two years of advanced spells and experience that the trio often needed to learn for their yearly mishaps and adventures.

Hermione looked over her book to say, “Four boys asked her, and she’s turned them all down.”

Harry grimaced. After his awkward encounter with Cho Chang, he pitied anyone else that had gotten turned down. At least Cho had given him the reason of already having a date. He wondered what you would have told people if your reasoning wasn’t that you were going with someone else.

“Are you mad?” Ron went on.

Harry and Ron had really jumped through the hoops to find dates, desperate to not only go to the once-in-a-lifetime ball but also not willing to go stag. The last couple of weeks had been riddled with the immense pressure of talking to girls, learning dance moves, and finding proper dress robes. Every student was dying to spend their Christmas in the beautifully decorated Great Hall so that they could dance to live music and maybe, just maybe, find someone to kiss under the mistletoe.

You laughed and gave Ron a reassuring smile, promising, “It’s not the end of the world.”

“You could at least try to get to know someone new,” Hermione grumbled under her breath, seemingly knowing more about the situation than the two boys did.

“There’s only one person I’d want to spend the night dancing with, and they didn’t ask me, so why get all dressed up in uncomfortable heels and ten pounds of makeup for some bloke from Durmstrang?”

“Who’d you want to ask you?” Harry wondered aloud.

You smiled softly and looked back to the flames crackling in the fireplace. A heavy thudding in your chest grew louder just thinking about your current situation. It felt like you were a bottle of cola and someone had just tossed a mint in before twisting the cap back on. Hermione’s elbow dug into your arm, drawing you back out of limbo so that you could answer Harry’s question.

“Doesn’t matter now. They didn’t, and since it’s tonight, they likely already have a date.”

With the flick of your wand, the candy cane in your mug started stirring the hot chocolate. Two sets of pounding footsteps came from the boys’ dormitory, catching everyone’s attention. At the sound of them, you quickly set your mug on the side table for safekeeping. Just in time too because one of them jumped over the back of the couch to squeeze between you and Hermione. He seriously needed to come with a hazard alarm. His partner in crime took his usual spot at your feet and instantly leaned his head back against your legs.

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” the one who jumped over the back of the couch said.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Merry Christmas, Fred.”

“Look at that, she can tell us apart with Mum’s jumpers on,” George joked.

“You know I can tell you apart by a lot more than that,” you said, playing with his hair. “But that jumper does look very lovely on you, Georgie.” The jumper in question was from the year prior, and the twins had grown a lot since then. A sliver of skin was left exposed between their jeans and the top which was even more noticeable when George brought his hand up to swat your’s away from his hair.

“It’s too small,” he complained.

“Then stop growing like weeds.”

“Can’t wait for that to happen. My back is killing me!” Fred stretched out his arms, placing one over your shoulders and the other behind Hermione. Hermione scoffed and got up, closing her book feverishly and mumbling something about how annoying Fred was. He pouted and asked you, “Do I stink?”

“No more than usual,” you didn’t sound very pleased.

George laughed and said, “Told you to shower, mate. You’ve got that big date tonight.”

“I won’t shower until I have to.”

“Doesn’t it start in five hours? Angelina and Alicia were already getting ready when I came down here,” you told him.

“Really? How long does it take for girls to get ready?” Fred asked.

“It's more about having fun with your friends than actually getting ready.”

“Why aren’t you getting ready with them?” George asked.

“She’s not going,” Ron said, still sounding like he didn’t believe it.

The twins shared a curious expression then looked to you for an explanation. You were growing tired of saying it, but you tried to ignore the stiffness in your chest as you drawled out the rehearsed statement, “The right person hasn’t asked me yet.”

Fred whistled lowly, “And I thought those blokes were pushing it.” He nodded to Harry and Ron.

“Saved money on a dress I’ll never wear again.”

“Funny enough, Georgie here said the same thing.”

They wasted some time on exploding snap and wizard’s chess until Harry, Ron, and Fred all figured it was about time to get ready. Fred was last to leave, lingering on because he didn’t want to put on dress robes.

“Oh, at least go put on a shirt that actually fits you, Weasley! Angelina will have your head if you show up looking like your clothes have shrunk in the wash,” you joked.

“Trying to get rid of me already? I don’t know how I feel about leaving you alone with my little brother.”

“Pretty sure George is taller.”

When Fred finally left, the common room got eerily quiet. Everyone fourth year and above was going to the ball. Even a few lucky third years who had been asked by older students were going, Ginny Weasley among them. The younger students didn’t dare go near the two sixth-years sitting by the fire. They were far along enough in the year to know exactly who the Weasley twins were and to avoid them on weekends when boredom had them pulling double the pranks just to pass the time.

You had never seen your best friend so quiet. It was well known that Fred was the twin who spoke first and usually the loudest, but that didn’t mean George was shy. He was far from it, actually, and usually always had a smile on his face unless there was some dire situation with one of his family members at risk. But no peril was happening tonight, only dancing and fun.

To grab his attention, you sat sideways on the couch and put your legs over his lap. This hadn’t even made him break his gaze away from the fire, but his hands did move to grab your legs and brush his thumb across them like he usually would as if his body was working on muscle memory while his head was somewhere else entirely.

“I’m feeling it a bit too, to be honest,” you spoke up.

Finally, he looked over at you in confusion. “What?”

“Like I might be missing out on all the fun and dancing tonight. Terrified I might always have that what if feeling, you know?”

George shrugged. “I guess a bit. Doesn’t matter anyway. Gave all my money to Fred to help him with his robes. Mum couldn’t help much after buying Ginny’s dress, and I sure as hell didn’t want to end up like Ron.”

You let out a laugh, “Ron’ll probably smell like mildew all night.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into an almost smile, but it quickly faded away as he asked, “You’re really not going?”

“I’ve only enjoyed dancing with someone once in my life, and they didn’t ask me. Why spend the whole night being tortured by some seventh-year Ravenclaw who’s too stuck up to have fun? I mean, Merlin, can you imagine slow dancing an arms-length apart for four hours straight? Sounds horrendous.”

His pout deepened as he mulled over your words. “But, you seemed to have a good time dancing when McGonagall forced us to learn the waltz.”

That day, you had been whispering with a friend during Professor McGonagall's speech about the dance. As punishment, she called you out onto the floor to demonstrate a dance with George’s younger brother, Ron. After that embarrassing exchange, McGonagall called everyone to the floor to find a partner. George had cut in, graciously stealing you away from Ron. The two of you pranced around the ballroom, purposely crashing into people who were looking nervous or like they had a stick up their arse. You remember laughing until your stomach hurt.

The memory had you humming dreamily as you stared into the orange flames of the fireplace. “Yeah I did have a good time that day, didn’t I?”

Your admission wasn’t exactly subtle, but you had been in love with your best friend for far too long to be subtle. Everyone thought the twins were just jokesters, but far more effort when into their elaborate pranks than most gave them credit for. George was intelligent and very observant. It felt like you had been waiting a lifetime for things to align like this. It was the perfect opportunity to essentially tell him how you felt without having to outright say it. And since it was unspoken, if he didn’t feel the same. . he could just ignore it.

His thumb stopped doing circles on your knee and his lips parted slightly. Your words were all coming together in his head. When his eyes flickered to study your face, the firelight lit them brilliantly. If you were as brave as your facade claimed to be, you would have told him how just that simple look made you fall in love all over again. But that crushing wave of realizing how down bad you truly are for your best friend was a feeling that happened daily. Whether it was while daydreaming in class, sharing books in the library, or watching him fly around on that death trap of a broom, you were falling deeper and deeper into the giant secret that you hadn’t even really meant to hide in the first place.

“You were. . You were waiting for me to ask you.”

“Oh would you look at that, he can think critically,” You joked, ruffling his soft hair.

“But I can’t-“ His hand instinctively gripped your legs, needing to squeeze something from the frustration. A lot was going through his mind as he hastily rushed out the explanation he assumed he owed you, “Trust me, if I had the money for robes, I would have been the first bloke to ask you.”

“I know.”

“This is-“ He blushed deeply. “I shouldn’t be the reason you don’t go. We could- we could sneak to Hogsmeade and buy you a dress! Then you can go with the Ravenclaw, or maybe someone from Beauxbatons-“

“The shops are closed, silly. Everyone’s home spending time with their loved ones. Have you forgotten it’s Christmas?”

“You said you feel like you’re missing out on the ball, though. You should go, you deserve to go. Don’t let me stop you.”

“I never said I’m missing out on the ball. I said I’m missing out on the fun and dancing. And, let me rephrase it sense you obviously don’t get it. There isn’t a single bloke I’d have fun with at that bloody dance that isn’t already sitting on this couch with me.”

His eyes flickered to your lips as he wondered if your words meant what he hoped they did. Sometimes it felt like you spoke in riddles. Fred always told him all women were like that, but you were the only one George couldn’t seem to predict what you would say next.

A group of fifth years came barreling out of the dormitories. They practically flew down the stairs with how buzzed they were from nerves. Two of the boys broke away from the crowd and left through the portrait hole to meet their dates from other houses. The other four stayed behind, chatting excitedly as they waited for the Gryffindor girls they were taking to come out.

You smiled softly as you overheard one of the boys whisper about how nervous he was to dance with a certain girl. Somehow, Lee and Fred managed to be louder than the other six boys combined as they stomped down the stairs, laughing and making fun of how the other cleaned up. Both hurried over to meet you and George at the fire. Lee approached you first with his puppy dog eyes.

“Just the girl I’ve been looking for! Do you happen to know how to tie a bow tie without making it look like a knot?” He flashed his perfect teeth for good measure though it was hardly needed.

George felt a draft of cold air as you got up to help both of the boys with their ties. When you finished up with Lee, he took your place on the couch. Fred wouldn’t even let you properly finish before he hopped over the back of the couch to take the empty seat on the other side of George. Lee reached a hand around the back of George to mess up Fred’s hair. George expected you to fix it right away for him since it seemed like you always had your hand in George’s hair. Instead, you took a seat in the armchair closer to the fire and asked Lee if he and Alicia had matching flowers since the boy wore a white one in his vest pocket.

That’s when George realized you never played with Fred’s hair. Often times you couldn’t go an hour without moving a bit of George’s hair out of his face.

“Actually, yeah! Bought one for her to wear, it’s- SHIT!” Lee jumped up from the couch and raced back up to the dormitory.

“I have a conspiracy theory that boys don’t have anything between their ears.” You commented.

“Don’t tell other women I’ve said this, but you may be onto something,” Fred told you.

Alicia and Angelina came down next. Fred jumped up from the couch and bowed to Angelina who blushed and giggled at how ridiculous he was acting. Alicia frowned and looked around the common room, but before she could open her mouth to ask, Lee Jordan was barreling down the stairs.

“FOUND IT! I- oh! You look absolutely stunning.” He took the girl’s hand and made her twirl in her dress for him. “Look at you. Beautiful. Even more so than this gift I got you.”

During this, you had found your way back to the couch to whisper to George, “Wait ‘til Flitwick hears how much studying Lee has been doing in Charms. Honestly, I think he made Alicia’s heart melt just then.”

“Oh! Before I forget!” Angelina summoned a camera out of the dorms with a simple wave of her wand. She had been getting quite good at silent spells. “Would you take a picture for us?”

“Of course!” You jumped up from the couch again. George’s hand nearly followed to pull you back down, but thankfully that slip up went unnoticed. “Okay, huddle in close, act like you like each other. Don’t worry, Ange, Fred promised me he would shower.”

Once your friends were gone, you disappeared up to the girls’ dormitory to put away the camera. When you came back down, George was standing close to the fire. Curious as to what he was doing, you stood behind him to peer over his shoulder at the fire. Nothing seemed odd about it.

“You look like you’re deep in thought. Not planning an elaborate scheme to prank the entire ball, are you?”

“And if I am?”

Your eyes lit up like fireworks. “I would ask how I can help.”

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #Yule Ball #goblet of fire #my writing

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silksaddle · 3 years

Text

The Traveler 4

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: Time runs out fast, but it’s not the only thing you need.

Word count: 12.6k

Warnings: 18+ only! canon typical violence, blood, injury, weapons (guns), oral (f receiving), piv sex, handjob, cumplay-ish, a lot of feelings, (sex with feelings...) angst but also some romance

Notes: gif credit to @din-djarn! This one was tough! Lots of rewriting and changes. Thank you dearly and kindly for sticking with this, and special thanks to Cris and Dani for being my lovely, generous writing consultants! The book mentioned in this chapter is real and was published in 1859.

Series Masterlist

Chapter Four: Gunpowder Trail

Gunpowder Trail winds itself a hundred miles away from any surrounding settlements.

The rough terrain bites and chews most travelers out, and pushes their horses away to seek out other camping grounds. It reaches the ridged peak of a dark forested land, grown over with sun-bleached grass, forming a small pasture at the top.

Jack Daniels pushed up to the top at the age of nineteen, a young and fresh-faced addition to the Statesmen.

Robbers, plunderers. Train stoppers.

Killers.

Their space was set out for them, where no other person of sound mind bothered to venture, out of respect for their own safety. A near eternal campfire at the center, a gathering of tents, and a store of the West’s most expensive, destructive weapons. The Statesmen kept the ridge to themselves, residing there between jobs of cattle robberies, train hijackings— their faces were never seen, nor did any of them use their real names to avoid personal records.

Whiskey was his new name. Jack knew the depth of the actions he led, but by himself— a young man with no money— the dreaded outlaw band with an ‘S’ mark stamped on the leather of their boots and the metal of their flasks seemed worth it. A lifeline fed to him on a spoon when they found him frequenting and holding his own in a saloon.

We could use someone like you.

Twelve of them lived on Gunpowder Trail’s pasture; a leader, his top men, the others scrounging for something bad to do. A gruff and bearded man of pale skin kept their plans in order, yet he did the least amount of their work. Champ, they called him.

Jack, who before carried nothing but empty pockets, had his hands filled with a whip, a lasso, and two revolvers. Even a Barlow knife, tucked into the back of his faded jeans. The white horse they kept in their meager stables, shyer than the rest, only let Jack ride her.

And every single day, the men made him loop stolen cattle as practice, shoot bullets through chalk marks on branches, and every time he fell into trouble, his own natural ear for charm would help him squeeze out by a wink or an empty promise.

By the time he was ready, he found himself looking at an exploded train car, his fellow men racing into the flames with their voices tearing through the noise, telling him to grab as many valuable things as were left there.

He kept with them, if only to survive and make something of himself in the harsh winters, and even harsher summers at the summit, where an overlook saw the ridged tower of reddened rocks, a canyon of dirt and grass and blue skies.

Their richness of thieved gold and belongings in the secluded camp kept them healthy, well-fed, as if a step above the rest. And their hefty earnings from committing crimes helped them bribe off even the most steadfast lawmen into shutting their mouths.

Champ held the pocket watch of a deceased mayor, when they pilfered his lavish house in the town of Stag River, had killed him in his living room, for what Champ described as “salvation.” He remained adamant they functioned to bridge the gap from people whose riches made them dumb and powerful, to take from the undeserving idiots and bring life to the less fortunate. But it never lasted long. They helped no one but themselves. What was the point of killing? How long did this have to last before they finally stopped?

Jack lost sight of what their doings were worth as he grew older and gained a few lines in his face. Taking from the rich folk by slamming through their doors and ransacking buildings was fine, it was nothing quite so special. Except actions got darker, and the thrill was snatched up by the change in him when he’d grown to be a proper man— when his values started to shift. He’d seen couples on the trains he’d snuck onto, holed up in their cabins; he’d seen horrified families when he and his men rode up to their mansions with greed written on their faces.

Marshals and sheriffs tracked them, one or two men picked off with guns to their temples, but their spot at the end of Gunpowder Trail remained untouched. Their faces still unseen, always covered, but the novelty of existing as untouchable outlaws wore off.

As Jack pondered his situation— tied to the most dangerous known operation— and gathered his share of patchings-up on the back and arms, the work got too dirty for him to stay around. Ridiculous, for a man of the skill he’d acquired. He could no longer stomach tearing apart the things he wanted that other people had. And although the Statesmen taught him everything he needed to know to survive— they’d preyed on him as a kid— Champ worked him like a dog. Exploited him. Jack exhausted himself through physical pains of strained muscles in his hands from the shooting, red skin from the ropeburn, all the ailments in between.

Watching death was never anything new, but being forced into causing it for no necessary or sound reason— it pushed him away faster than the travelers who gave up on the trail.

The disagreements over Champ’s increasingly outlandish plans burst out, arguments over what jobs they should do, whether they needed to, what train or town or person they should go after. The growing tension stretched taut between him and Jack, the more he convinced them to stop, that they’d taken enough; Champ and the other men only told him he’d see what they’d soon become.

The final straw; a kid killed in the crossfire. It was a bank robbery in an unassuming town. Not even Champ knew how it had taken this long for a young one to die at their hands, even by accident. But Jack had tried to protect him, tried to seek out his mother, and was promptly dragged out by his fellow men to be knocked out of service by a punch to the head.

Corruption seeped into each vein of the Statesmen, and at its beating heart, they were led by nothing more than the power-hungry. Death and murder and crime was no shock to the brain in this part of the world, but the guilt grew over Jack’s back like sharp, black vines— he outgrew this life. Yearned for softer things, a solid home, to make his own living and profits and decisions of his own accord. That kid displayed Jack’s own deep desires: to be young, to start over again, to forget the things he’d done.

Coming from a feared group of bandits known in each town for hundreds of miles in every direction, Jack’s luck peaked at his anonymity. He could start over this time, but he could throw one last punch. Tired from being overworked as the most useful of the group, and longing for anything other than living raid to raid, like true calmness, Jack’s resentment grew tenfold.

Something told him Champ was onto his desires of escape— with painstaking carefulness he prepared Sylvie, biting his tongue between his teeth in fear of her making noise in the dead quiet of night. He had gathered his belongings into one saddle bag long before; it was the gold he needed to snatch up. To leave a mark with Champ, to ensure they wouldn’t assemble enough money to start an even bigger ill-advised syndicate where Jack knew the killing wouldn’t stop.

In the dying fire-light over the ridge, Jack snuck, snuck past the occupied tents, guiding Sylvie by the reins as he stepped on foot. She threatened to huff, only calmed by his gentle petting, but she sighed forcefully at the added weight of the gold, alerting the nearest tent something was up.

The dread in Jack’s stomach solidified like the glinting gold, unwelcome, heavy with guilt.

Where do you think you’re goin’, Whiskey?

What he did to get away cost him the comfort he sought. It was never his intention, taking out the knife clipped to the back of his trousers— he was threatened. Champ pushed and yelled what sounded like roars in the distance, grabbing the man he once saw as a son by the collar and pulling it tight around his neck.

Get back to your fucking tent, he spat.

Jack raised his hands to Champ’s, clamped around his shirt, and the blade slid deep from the start of Champ’s thumb to the end of his pointer, tendons sliced. It bought him enough time to mount Sylvie while Champ held his hand in screeches, alerting the sleeping men in their tents through more furiously angered shouts. Yet it would do nothing for him, trying to aim his pistol and shoot at Jack, who disappeared beyond the fire and into the black, worry etched into his brow.

Champ’s last pride— his shooting hand— got torn to a shred and put out of business. Their biggest find of gold, gone. The Statesmen would follow that thief till they struck him dead.

***

“You’re... the fugitive?” You’re still as the air where you’re seated, piecing together what he’d left out before when he’d told you of shortened anecdotes.

“I ain’t proud.” Shifting, his lips press together to form a taut line, his knees drawing over the floor as he comes closer. “Darlin’, I did some bad, bad things.”

Sniffling, you meet his eyes. Glassed, glossy, pleading as they look up at you. Burning amber in the golden light of your room, contrasted to the blue dark outside the open window.

He seems so different, now, than the man described with the words of destruction and the joy taken in thievery; your head spins. And beyond it all, you don’t find yourself betrayed, or hurt, or taken aback so much as you’re concerned for his life.

“Jack…” you sigh, a tear slipping at last down your cheek. He reaches up to brush it away, and his thumb meets your skin as gentle as it ever has; proving he won’t harm you.

“Thought they’d given up on trackin’ me, I only got days left before—”

“They want the gold back?” You’re not sure what to ask, what to do, but the hands of dread are closing around your chest, squeezing your heart.

The guilt flashes in his eyes again. Deep, aching guilt. “It wasn’t all their gold. But it was enough,” he admits, “I left it on the doorstep of the bank we took it from and kept a little for myself. But it don’t make me feel any better.”

“And the knife…”

“That too.”

It’s like you’ve known all along, and yet not at all.

Jack never lied.

He’s only telling you now, and it sends your thoughts running unbearably fast— of all the places he’s been, running, of everyone he’s met— why you?

Your head fills with so many more questions, speedily whirling as they pop up one after the other, dizzying you.

“This whole time, you’ve been running from them?”

You can see the cogs turning behind his eyes, the sharp machinery of his mind rolling on and on. Figuring out what to say, what to do. He shifts closer, and his eyes grow wide as he looks at your face, clouded over in warning and protection.

“Runnin’.” He puts both hands on your cheeks, with a firm hold to focus you back on him as the truth seals dread and yet understanding around your heart. “And I need to start again, so I can end it for once. I can’t let them get here— and I can’t ask the sheriff for help. More people’d get hurt.”

There’s too much to consider now, a million things that could go wrong. If he stayed, the law workers would itch to catch the Statesmen, but with that comes inevitable deaths on town soil. On your own, leading them away from civilization, you doubt you’d be of much help to Jack if they found your camp.

Looking down at him, the sweat forms in your palms, more tears welling in your eyes. Every which way, every opportunity feels like a trap, as if the whole world is closing in on the two of you in your room at the end of the hall. But none of it is born of disappointment, or resentment— it’s plain worry for him. The man you see now is not who he was. Jack looks at you like you’re all the softness in the world he’d ever dreamed of, when he’d been a rougher man. Like he couldn’t stand to upset you, and seeing the conflict crossing your features is tearing him up inside.

“Why can’t they let it go?”

“Because,” his eyes narrow, “they’re vicious men. I was, too. And when you take a man’s means of killin’ and protectin’ like I did, you get yourself in real trouble.”

It’s an overwhelming helping of premature grief, your heart thumping sadly, but with a tiny twinge of hope. You wrap your fingers around his wrists, making sure his hands remain at your face, if only to have the warm sensation to ground you. When you think on it, the threads pull together— his skill when he’d rescued the house and everyone in it from Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant, his unusual talent at bargains, and beyond that, the fact that you’d not seen him shoot his gun once, other than during those lessons he gave you. He’d no doubt grown to adulthood on Gunpowder Trail, but if anything had changed, it was that dark part of him. No longer a vicious man, or a taker, but a peacemaker.

“And… of all the places you’ve been traveling...” you start softly, unable to finish your question, but he understands all the same.

It’s not processing quickly in your mind, that Jack had once lived the life of an outlaw— the kind of men who’d frightened you in the street, the ones who burn good things to the ground. But you can see that streak of something inside him. A deep rooted vein where he’d longed for danger to keep him occupied and lively. Running with the Statesmen meant he learned those skills to hold his own in the face of threats, using that whip, that lasso, those two guns— one that you shoot with your own hand, now. He must have rested at dozens of different places, been granted the generosity from many families. Surely there have been other people that meant something to him.

“It was you.” He bites his lip in concentration, hands squeezing your cheeks as he perches himself closer to you in his kneeling position.

“You wouldn’t let no one give you a hard time,” he laughs, despite the lump in his throat, “but everyday I came back, you had a glass of whiskey waitin’ for me. You’re a hard workin’, busy woman… and yet you were nothin’ but kind to me. I ain’t once met someone who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Oh, Jack,” you breathe. The promise of danger eats away at your shoulders, but Jack himself, at your feet, so sincere, makes it impossible to feel anything but empathy. What did he mean when he said he would keep running? He’d go without you?

“I made you a promise, angel. That first time I touched you, I told you I would bring you,” his thumbs stroke your skin, languidly easing you from panic. “But I didn’t know they were still comin’. I could never do that to you, and I doubt you’d—”

“Stop.”

He perks up when you speak again, confusion covering his otherwise sorrowful look when your voice covers his own, doubtful one. Unsure of what you mean, he leans his head closer to you in question, and waits with bated breath.

“I don’t feel any different about you. Or leaving with you.”

Shock clouds him, and you look at him, soft and weary beneath you, leaning into you for any touch he could receive.

You meet the floor in a thud as you wrap your arms desperately around his neck, willing the shame and stress and guilt to drain from his body like wringing a towel dry.

If you squeeze him hard enough, maybe it would help.

The curtains sway across the floor with the breeze of the open window, and the light flickers quickly across the room as you sink further into each other, holding on as if some imperceivable force would separate you now. The house is quiet, not creaking or sighing through the boards— only his shallow breaths fill your ears.

Situated upon his lap, you card your fingers through the loose wave over his forehead as you part, guiding it back into place among the rest of his dark hair. His lip quivers involuntarily, and his mouth makes its habitual pout, expecting some form of disappointment to cross your features. But apart from the small crystalline tears, there is only compassion. You trace your fingers down his cheek, across his bottom lip.

He tries to speak, opening his mouth, and nothing but a weak sound comes out before you place your lips against his, snaking your arms tight around his neck. He whines, readily pulling you further into his lap, scrambling to take you as close to him as he can make you. You feel his nose pressing beside yours, the arched curve prominent against your face.

“Darlin’, it’s not sa—” he croaks, “—you ain’t scared of me?”

The instances you’d seen him make use of his weapons, he protected. He did it to save you from gunshots, to teach you how to hold your own, to keep his rightful winnings at the saloon. It’s true— you never knew him before, when he would have been handling plans of robberies... but then again. Redemption.

“I know you. You are not a bad man,” you whisper, breaths shaking inside your chest. You’re certain of that— he’d no doubt committed crimes in his time, but the more you ponder it, he was only a kid when they took him in. A vulnerable young man, who needed food, shelter, and people to herd with.

You feel his muscles loosen in their hold of you when he registers your words. His fingertips dig into your waist, dropping his forehead to rest against yours. His breath ghosts down over your chest, those calming puffs of air blowing the lace trim back and forth on your chemise.

“I know you,” you repeat the words, bestowing a plush kiss to his cheek, then the other. His skin has gotten rougher without a shave the past few days, and on your lips you feel the heat of his face. “You’re a good man.”

He adjusts his grip to settle on your hips, sliding back across the floor until his back hits the edge of the bed, cushioned into the overhang of the blanket. Your legs are thrown over his, squeezing his sides as you bring your foreheads back together. “You left them. You saw it was wrong. How is that so bad?”

A humming noise rumbles against your chest as he forces himself to consider. You watch his handsome face, a fresh wave of appreciation for him washing over your entire body— the anxiety is still settled at the pit of your stomach, but the most important thing to you in this moment is his honesty with you. That he’d helped you find joyfulness in the mundane tasks of your every day, that he’d had the mind to keep running, until it brought him to you.

Ruthless men are after him, but he’s yours, here.

His thighs tense under you as a tearless sob escapes him, and soon enough he’s wrapping his arms tightly around your body, whispering, “You would still have me?”

The intense gaze from below washes over you, and you nod fervently, his hand slipping between your thighs. He draws his fingertips up, met with your bare cunt, wet and waiting.

His voice rasps softly, “Fuck, just let me be close to you. I can— I got at least one more day, I can figure it out—”

“Yes,” you whisper, hugging him with every limb, “yes.”

In that meantime of one, possibly two days before he’d try to leave, you’re positive you could convince him to let you go along. He seems reluctant enough at the mere mention of it, his voice uncertain in tone and volume, and you’re not fond of his insistence on going alone, but his words fill you with trust.

Your heart skips one, two, three beats as you slip the top buttons of his shirt open, widening it just enough to allow you the space to leave a kiss on his sternum. He whines, fighting the urge to do much the same, a pointless battle inside himself, telling him he doesn’t deserve your tenderness.

“Show me,” he whimpers, forearms pressing you down into his lap. “Please.”

You’ve always been the one to say that word.

A sweet kiss follows his desperate wish, turning more heated as he draws you nearer, lifting his thighs to make you dip forward against him.

His fingers slide underneath the ribboned strap of your chemise, gliding along your skin until he meets the fabric at your back.

“I won’t change my mind.” Taking his face into your palms, you kiss him again slowly, his hands tensing up around your figure at the gentle way you treat him— your soft voice, your soft touch. He meets you with a shallow sigh, chasing after you when you part from him for a breath he won’t allow you in his neediness. He captures you for another, holding you by the back of the neck with a strong and sturdy hand. “I will keep wanting you.”

The small modesties he carries rise to the surface of their pool in his stomach, and if Jack were honest with himself, he’d reason that you should no longer take a place at his side. Maybe a traveling life with him isn’t as good or safe or fulfilling if it's spent with a keeper of such secrets. He’d steal you away in a heartbeat, but shame chains him down and couples him with fear— so long as he’s a wanted man, you wouldn’t be secure.

Perching forward, you kiss the corner of his jaw, the end of his chin, the other side of his face.

“You always were too good to me,” he husks, your unbent loyalty throwing him into a fit of need for you, to hold you, to have you wrapped around him until neither of you can take any more.

He ducks his head to kiss your chest through the thin cotton, the ribbon dangling between your breasts.

“Please, Jack—”

He secures a palm at the back of your head and leans you downward until your body meets the cool floor, his hand providing a gentle landing.

He crawls up over you, planting his hands beside your head, causing a curl to slip over his forehead. You reach up, smoothing it along with the rest of his hair, and he follows the movement indulgently, his eyes shutting.

After a moment of watching you from above, he pushes your chemise up your stomach, the heat of his palm causing the rest of your body to shiver. He stops as he uncovers your breasts, and draws a finger to your navel, flicking his gaze across your torso to meet your eyes.

“I’ll keep wantin’ you,” he places his lips on the column of your throat, tilting your head back to allow him the space, “and needin’ you,” another kiss, at the middle of your chest, “and dreamin’ of you.”

His mouth drags in a tender line down your stomach, the tip of his nose meeting your skin. Pushing his body down the floor, his mouth hovers over your aching clit, the tingling sensation driven wild by his shallow breaths blowing across it.

“I want t’keep you.”

His stomach and joints press uncomfortably into the floor, but the pain dulls when his tongue meets your wet heat, licking a stripe as he takes his time. Your head falls back on instinct, hands frantically slipping through his hair, a lush sensation replacing the better of your anxieties when he does it again.

Two strong arms wrap around your thighs from underneath, bringing your cunt closer to his face, allowing him to lose himself to it, his tongue sliding across your clit in circles. He closes his lips around it and groans something needy, the hands at your legs squeezing your muscles.

“M’gonna make you feel good if I never do anythin’ else.” His eyes, more doe-like in nature, peek at you with determination, and you nod again, eyes shutting. Jack dives back down but his speed remains the same, his wet mouth sliding over your cunt languidly as he builds you up.

“Want the taste of you,” he groans, muffled, his bottom lip sliding up your entrance, “I’m gonna earn it, every day.”

“It’s yours,” you gasp as his fingers claw, as his tongue swipes more focused patterns. “Take it.”

He follows your words with a literal edge, tugging on your clit with his lips and stroking the bud of it with his tongue. Your spine lifts off the unforgiving wood, and your head threatens to knock against the leg of the vanity table as you let it roll side to side, panting deliriously.

Glancing up once more, he studies your face from between your legs with an equally hungry face, your wetness glistening on his chin as his lips pull into a little smile. His hand travels up your stomach and lands promptly on your breast, earning him a breathy and mindless moan from your throat when he squeezes around your hardened nipple.

“Thought I’d driven you away.” He admits, his attention switching from your chest to your face.

“You’d never—”

The words catch up in your throat as he lowers his mouth and slips his tongue over your sensitivity, your thighs automatically trying to wrench closed from the weight of the pleasure.

Almost too much, but still not enough.

He lets you squish him with a slight chuckle at the state of you, so affected, and rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger in time with the lapping of his tongue.

“Oh, Jack,” you cry, the tone so different from the way you’d said that same sentence not half an hour ago. He preens with a grumble against you, and lets his lips drag closed around you once more.

“Say it,” he demands after you writhe on his face, tilting his head to swipe his nose through your folds. You whine at the smooth feel of its arch passing over you, and again at the sight of his face shining with your slick. “Keep sayin’ my name.”

“Jack,” you allow, a needy prick in your tongue.

“Uhuh...” He groans after you, satisfied, your booming heart momentarily relieved by the slight crinkle in his eyes.

It’s when he buries his mouth, that you notice him rutting against the floor, his hips bucking and rubbing his cock against his trousers.

“Come up—”

Without a thought on it, you attempt to drag him up to you and let him sink into you by a rough tug on his suspenders, but he remains put with his face hidden and his tongue now furiously swiping.

His arms clamp around your thighs, refusing to be moved from your aching, throbbing cunt, and he locks down. He hums his rejection into you and begins nodding his head along with the motions of his mouth, the muscles in his lower body engaging when he feels you begin to tremble.

“There,” you think you hear him say through the thick fog of arousal, “almost, come on…”

It had ramped up so fast from his leisurely swipes, and now he’s eating away at you freely and quickly, your hands fisting tight in his hair.

“Ah—” you whimper, elbows meeting the rigid surface, your hair sliding over the cracks, and your entire body pulls up in anticipation of what he’s soon to give you.

He mumbles on your clit: “I need to feel it.”

With only a couple more strokes, your body tremors when it starts to flow through you, powerful waves falling head to toe. Jack keeps you in place with a single-minded want to please you, basking in the squeeze of your thighs around his head, and faintly you can see the upward turn of his moustache above your cunt, like he’s smiling at the pleasure he’s offering you.

“Ja-ack…” your head falls, but it hasn’t tired you out yet, nor him.

He lays his cheek against your thigh once you’ve calmed to catch his breath, and lifts a finger to stroke through your folds. Blinking slowly, his gaze traverses up your stomach, your breasts, your neck, then to your face before he hovers over you again, nudging your nose with his.

“I think I’m gonna need all of you tonight,” he murmurs, and you inhale your scent from his mouth, caught in between your helpless panting.

But you’re not listening intently; you’re shrugging his suspenders off his shoulders and tugging him nearer, and he responds in the same manner, frantically pulling his cock free.

“That’s alright, angel? Y’sure?”

Your whimper is almost pathetic in its tone, needy and soft and demanding, but he takes it positively as it was meant, using the gentle guidance of his hands as he spreads your thighs, calloused fingertips inciting a shiver. “I— I’m sure.”

You resist when he tries to urge you up to the bed, instead forcing him back over your body. His eyes bloom in width and darkness when you beg, “here,” and he nods, a strained furrow forming on his brow.

You glance down at his thickness, his fist wrapped around the base as he glides the tip over your soaked clit. Before he pushes in, he fashions a hand underneath your head to pillow it from the rocking, and ensures he has your gaze when he notches himself up with you.

“Hang on to me,” he begs more than he asks, and in the moment before he goes any further, you lock your ankles behind his back, and wrap your arms around his neck.

He rolls his hips forward, giving you half of him as he moans out his relief with a raspy voice.

“Oh, fuck,” he gives you the rest, indulging in your equal enthusiasm for this, to keep him, and you sigh together when he meets his end. He keeps you full as he stares down into your eyes, to burn them into memory— laid on the floor of all places, your expression begging for more of him and only him.

“Feel me.” You urge him to bow his head where his nose fits over the curve of your shoulder, his breaths blowing over its surface in rough pants.

“Nothin’— nothin’ bad is goin’ to happen to you,” he grates, dragging his hips out to ease back inside the warm squeeze of your cunt, elbows digging into the floor on either side of you. The hand underneath your head tenses, fingers gathering your hair and tugging just enough to make you whimper again, and he looks almost just as broken as when he’d walked into the room.

“I always come back to you, darlin’. I’ll make good on my promise.”

Jack’s whisperings taper off to a breathy moan when you clench, trying to pull him somehow further into yourself. But there’s no space left, except for the inches between you each time he pulls away to slide back in, his thick cock stretching your walls coated in arousal.

“I trust you,” you slide your fingers up his neck, carding through the hair at his nape. You don’t only mean his promise, but him on his own— you trust him that he wants you, that he needs you safe, that he won’t abandon you.

“I mean it.” Pushing himself to the base, Jack holds his cock inside you, flattening his stomach to yours. “You make me wanna be the good man I always thought I was.”

He sucks a sharp breath before slanting his mouth over yours in a heady kiss, but you remain uninterrupted; his words had left you speechless, knowing that you, above all the adventure and people and adrenaline rushes from his own smart mouth had been the one to inspire an end to troubles and an end to traveling.

His kiss becomes a nip of your bottom lip, a bite and pull before another, longer press of your mouth as he rocks into you. Tightening your arms around his neck, you fit your cheek next to his, shallow breaths sounding by your ear, blending into grunts.

“I’m never afraid of you,” you murmur, his cock meeting a deep, pleasurable spot, turning your confident words into quiet whimpers.

He picks his head up from yours, the intensity in his brown eyes unlike any time you’ve ever seen them; different than his fierce sureness with the rope, playing cards, different than fucking you in the early hours of the morning.

Maintaining your eye contact, he stops moving.

One hand still cradling the back of your head, the other rises to trace down your cheek, then cupping it in his wide palm.

His mouth quivers before he bites on his lip, trying to focus more on his thumb stroking your face than the way his heart is begging to burst.

“I am gonna give you everythin’ I can.”

Despite the weight of his body on top of you, you try to display your understanding with a tilt of your hips to meet his own, coaxing a gravelly sound out of him as he allows his arm to sneak beneath your lower back. You whine at it, his cock nestled inside you at its deepest, his voice shaking with want and need. He ruts against your body, scanning your face at the shove.

“You— you’ve given me all I could have wanted,” you cling onto his body, “it’s just you, just you that I want—”

“You have me, ‘m gonna make it right.”

He drops his head onto your chest, his scrunched nose fitting in between your breasts as he grunts there, until the sounds could resemble a small sob through gritted teeth. Embracing him, your nails scratch through his disheveled hair, and you can’t help the honest pleas before they spill out of you.

With shut eyes, you breathe, tightening around his cock as you edge closer to coming, “I would go with you, Jack, I’m not afraid...”

“C— can’t,” he murmurs back, his forehead beginning to shine. All of a sudden, you realize your cheeks are wet again, and he wipes the new tears away with a brush of his own rough cheek against your face. His voice jumps at his increasing speed, “I’ll make it safe for us first.”

Your muscles all seize. He gasps at the strength of your clutch as you listen, and his pace only quickens when you cry out his name, its softness spurring him on. Lying here, on the floor, you’d rather never leave this moment with him and his breathy vows. It’s as if the light has dimmed to a burnt orange glimmer; all you can see is him, the expanse of his shoulders rising and lowering as he moves, his solemn but enraptured face capturing your heart all over again.

The crease of effort has not eased in his brow, and you loosen your arms to cradle his jaw. A hint of a smile flashes in his lips as you push on his cheeks, your throat lengthening as you stretch your head back.

“Just keep hangin’ onto me,” he begs, your foreheads pressing together as he nears his end, and you clench on his cock, your wetness coating its entire length. “My darlin’ girl… give me a good one.”

Before long, you feel it coming, taking you out of your worries for a stretched piece of time as bliss replaces all else, and the only sound in your ear is your mingled panting.

“Oh, J... J—Jack!”

Your thighs tremble around his waist, and he encourages more out of you with another stroke and press of his cock, the thatch of hair on top of it brushing your clit.

“That’s it, just feel me, I’m still here,” he coos, calming down with you, and it’s with slower strokes that he starts to come, the thick liquid spilling inside of you. His groans turn softer after a moment, and looking at you, sympathy covers his features, all shadowed and chiseled by the light. You say nothing before he’s kissing you again, the notch of effort returning to his brow as he slants his mouth to yours, his attention undivided on the sensation. It lasts over more insistent presses, each slower than the last.

“I never had a reason to face what I’d done,” he rasps against your mouth, “I do now.”

Something inflates in your chest.

“I’m ready to stop runnin’ for you.”

***

Come morning light, you blink your eyes open to find his figure obstructing the sun shining into the window as he stands in front, frantically gathering his belongings. His travel bag lays at his feet, full of clothes tossed inside, except for the shirt and trousers he’ll soon dress in. Your chemise lies somewhere discarded on the floor from hours before, when he’d kissed along each of your limbs, and took you there on the rigid wood.

It’s early, a full two hours before your usual time of rising to work, yet your sleep had been full and restful thanks to Jack’s ease in exhausting your body.

“Jack,” you call out, extending your arm across the soft cream pillows. He turns his attention to you with a smile, albeit troubled, and moves to sit by you on the edge, his hand coming to rest at your temple.

“I’ll be gone soon, angel,” he whispers, smoothing the back of his fingers along your face as he lowers himself to brush his lips against yours. “I got a bad feelin’ I should go now.”

It’s so sudden, the confession and the impending departure, the feeling in your chest so different than the day before.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out…” Jack hovers over your body, unable to pull away. “I’ll get a few days ahead of ‘em.”

Figure it out… you don’t like this at all. You’d been understanding enough to listen to his wishes, but later today, you doubt you’ll be able to let him go out there. Not when the Statesmen are reportedly so close. “I’ll have to tell the boys at the post office that I’m leavin’ and all. Tell Mrs. Adler. Get packed up.”

He sounds forlorn as he tells you the future course of his day, petting at your shoulder. You sit yourself up beside him, noticing the hug of his underwear around his thighs, the sock garters on his calves a garment you seldom find yourself able to study, and kissing the back of his neck, you swipe your hand over his belly. He tilts his head back with a resigned groan, the tickle of his hair meeting your skin, forcing a little laugh from your throat.

“You won’t make this easy on me, will you?” he purrs, letting your hand gently rub over his front. “I’ll miss that sound.”

“You did say you’d come back for me,” you tease, and surprisingly, there’s still a small spark in you for how heavy your heart weighs.

“And I will.” He hoists himself up on the mattress and takes your wrists in his fingers, pinning them above your head. “I’ll take care of everythin’. Come and get my girl, take her away, give her somethin’ better than this chore of a job.”

The scruff of his moustache bites at the sensitive skin of your neck, and then his teeth, as you start to wiggle your wrists between his palms, his body falling into yours. “Promise.” You start to wonder what he’d do if you packed your things and put your foot down, determined to go along with him if he insists on leaving. It makes a whole world of sense to stay and request the help of the town, rather than go on his own. There’s time ahead of you to consider your options— all you know is that he won’t go alone, not if you can help it.

Slipping from your bed, he retrieves his trousers from the window sill, stepping into them. You watch as he does up the front, and then you meet him at the window, taking his shirt.

He eyes you, raising his brow, then smiles as he turns around for you. You guide him into the sleeves, smoothing the fabric over his broad shoulders, and pat the collar down before you wheel around to start buttoning the front. Jack watches your face intently, his hands coming down to rest at your waist and squeeze. He can’t help but tug you a little closer, making you huff, and before you can get the top two buttons, he dips his head down for a kiss.

It’s gentle, your fingers tight around the fabric, and then it’s over. Blinking, Jack takes a soft hold of the back of your neck, his lips then pressing against your hair as he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers from above you, your cheek squishing against his shoulder. “I thought things were different now, but they ain’t.”

You sigh onto the exposed patch of skin above his collar, wrapping your arms tightly around him. He inhales sharply at the squeeze as if he still hadn’t expected to receive such affections any longer, and in turn hugs you back with the same strength.

“It’s okay, Jack. I want you to be alright.”

“I will figure it out,” he repeats himself, running his palm flat over your hair. “I found you before. I can find you again.”

Your soft hum turns into a yelp at the sudden bolt of a gunshot ringing through the air, just shy of your window. It echoes barely, and Jack’s grip on your body becomes iron as he peers out of the glass.

“Oh, shit. Fuckin’ shit.”

“What?” you gasp, and he’s already shoving his boots on and throwing every weapon onto his body as you look out from the curtains.

On the street, a half-masked man stands in the dust, staring ahead at the front door of the house.

Jack steers you and shoves you down onto the stool by the vanity, your body dropping to it with a thud, his finger pointing at the end of your nose.

“Don’t. Move.”

“Jack—” you call after him as he makes for the hall, “who is that?”

He swivels on his heel, pulling a revolver from its slot. “Stay put.”

Just as you run up to the door, it slams shut in your face, rattling in its frame. With shaking hands you snatch the nightgown from your dresser, forcing the long, light fabric to drape from your chest to the tops of your ankles. Your stomach flips uncomfortably, and you’re suddenly aware of just how badly you need to eat as you chase down the hall for him.

You force your footfalls to be quiet, ripples of the fabric blowing against your speed as you run down the steps and come to an abrupt halt. You brace your hands onto the railing as your gaze settles upon Jack; he stands tall in the open doors with a wide stance, his hand hovering over the leather pocket of his holster. A gentle wind gusts through the road, and your eyes follow along to the man with the bandana concealing the bottom half of his face, and despite being hidden, you know that he’s smiling.

“They told me you’d be here, old Jack.”

Shrinking yourself against the wall, you listen to his gruff voice and watch as Jack’s shoulders tense further, but he says nothing in return. You’re confused underneath the rich anxiety flooding your veins; why is there only one of them? Did the Statesmen split up to find him?

His lean build is covered in expensive black clothing, and he by no means looks like he’s desperate for gold. Only vengeance. And his confidence has led him to bring a single gun along, with his horse silent behind him.

He takes a step closer to Jack, spinning a silver gun into his grip. “Any idea how much you owe?”

Jack’s chest puffs in and out, and from the side you’re looking at him, his face is twisted deep into anger— eyebrows and mouth pulled downward into a sinister frown.

“I don’t owe you men shit,” Jack spits, remaining still and tall.

The man swiftly points and fires at the door frame behind Jack, making wood chips explode at his side, and you cover your mouth to fight off a scream.

“Extra for fucking up Champ’s shooting hand. Extra for leaving us fucking hungry.”

Your heart thuds painfully hard, but Jack doesn’t seem to show a drop of fear.

“You took our fucking livelihood!” He puts a bullet in the opposite side of the doorframe, and this time Jack flinches, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You inch slowly as you can to the foot of the stairs, staying low to the rail as you creep, and the man points his revolver at Jack’s chest. “We robbed every town we went to, looking for you. And it still ain’t enough.”

You watch his fingers sliding along the end of his lasso, faces appearing in the windows across the dust, but no one daring to exit their doors. Newcomers aren’t treated with much wariness, but this one had shot a bullet into the air to get attention, and he hadn’t brought anyone but himself. You’re holding onto a sliver of hope that sheriff Branch will come and finish this without a fight or scratch. He’s nowhere to be seen, though, and the faces in the windows remain still as they watch the two men square off.

“Well, luck tends to run out.” Jack roars lowly, “Why ain’t Champ here, then?”

“Scouting.” He spits onto the vacant street, and still, no one arrives to interrupt. “You come with me, Jack,” he holds his arms out in alarming leniency, “pay off your debt, aid one more job, and there won’t be no more killing. Or the rest of us are coming when I tell ‘em I found you. You got nowhere left to go.”

You don’t believe that for a second. They want him dead, and you know that. Whoever this man is, he’s stalling, and you doubt that the other man in charge would let Jack live another minute of his life upon spotting him. You try not to make the stairs creak as you slide down the next step, and by now, your stomach is in knots, your legs shaking even as you tense the muscles.

“No one cared when a god damn boy was killed,” Jack snarls, biting down on his lip as he tries to conceal his hands, pulling the rope loose. “I fuckin’ cared. And I ain’t that kind ‘a man no more. You’re all fuckin’ done for.”

The air stills, dead quiet between them. But your breath and blood are pumping laboriously, and you don’t know what to do with yourself, crouched on the steps and folded into yourself.

“But I could kill you right now for the bullshit you did,” the man barks, “we could do this here. I don’t care if Champ wants to do it himself. You make a fuss and I’ll put a bullet in that brain instead.”

Jack’s wrist uncoils the rope, and you’re secretly wishing he’d reach for his gun. But you know that’s his last resort, at least now. “If you ain’t gonna be civilized about this…”

Jack whips the rope forward and the loop closes around his opposite’s barrel, but they’re just as fast as each other. He manages to tug the weapon from his grip and back across to himself by the porch, yet a shot had already been fired at his chest. The bullet shoots askew and skims along the flesh of Jack’s left shoulder, and the blood starts to seep before you can scream.

“Jack!” you yell, your entire body numb as you sprint over to him. You don’t feel your feet scraping the wood, nor the ache in your belly, nor the tears already spilling out of your eyes. He stumbles backward, and you drop to your knees at his side to take his head into your hands, his eyes widening at the sight of you. His skin burns, a rasping cough leaving his throat in shudders.

“What do I—”

“Who’s this?” The man asks, eyeing you up and down, not ignorant of your lack of clothing compared to a properly layered, modest dress. “Got yourself a lady now, Daniels? I hope you told her what you did. What a shame…”

He walks closer, hands raised in a false surrender.

“No, no,” he protests, leaning straight up to action, but your rapid thinking has you pushing him back down into the porch, and taking a gun from his holster.

“Don’t come any closer.” Your hoarse voice shakes, but you push the words out anyway, despite their lack of threat.

It’s different, this time. Your target is a living, breathing thing. You know you won’t kill him, but something has awoken at the sight of Jack’s blood, at the sound of his pained whimpers, and you can’t stop it, you can’t push it away before you take aim.

Don’t pull the hammer down until you’re ready to shoot.

The first lesson flashes in your mind’s eye as you fix your posture, aimed at the man’s shoulder as he approaches slowly to retrieve his weapon. He’s at your mercy without that damned thing, but he’s only getting closer.

“Darlin’,” Jack croaks, struggling to sit up as the pain weakens him further.

Your palms are damp against the wood of the handle. You chew your lip, taking one more brief look at Jack and his watery eyes as he lays on the wood, and you take a massive breath. The hammer pulled down, your pointer flexes against the trigger, and you can’t even look as you squeeze.

“Come on, girl,” the voice before you taunts, “you won’t.”

The fire of the bullet explodes in your ears, the following screech of pain almost as loud, and when you blink your eyes, he’s on the ground with a hand holding his leg.

His blood taints the road, but still no one comes out to aid. You want to scream in agony, too— this was never something you’d do, never something you could imagine doing. Hurting someone who’d offered nothing good to the world still makes you crumble harder.

“Fuck—”

A series of aggravated curses fill the background of your consciousness, and although he’s your shared, lethal enemy, you can’t focus on the masked man thrashing at the other end. You missed where you wanted to aim, but you still hit him somewhere bad enough.

Your chin trembles so hard it makes your teeth clank together as you pull the rest of the rope back, and the gun in the loop skids across the floor back inside the house.

“Please,” you hear a soft voice call, and you fall back to your knees beside Jack’s trembling body, cupping his face in your hands. Behind you, you hear the scraping of the man’s arms and legs on the road as he struggles back to his horse, and with a jarring groan, he pulls himself up by the stirrups, bleeding onto the side of the animal. Defeated, he starts to guide it away, but not without stopping to stare down at the two of you on the porch, as the red drips down his boot. He’s weaponless, but he knows where to find you.

“Don’t think about running this time.”

He’s weaponless, and injured, but he knows exactly where to guide the rest of his men. And before anyone can catch him first, he disappears.

You and Jack look at each other defeatedly, too, as the pounding hooves die off.

He chokes as you nestle in closer to him, peeling back the ripped fabric of his sleeve.

“Please,” he begs again, but you don’t know what for.

Despite his violent flinch, he lets you continue inspecting the wound. It’s open and still flowing, and the tears in your eyes make the view blurry, your shaking hands patting over his chest as you try to figure out what to do.

“Was too late,” he splutters, his eyes now swimming with tears as yours do, his uninjured arm reaching up to let his fingers round your ear. He settles his palm at the side of your neck, and a full sob shatters your throat at the pained look on his face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Jack,” you soothe, rocking him in your arms. The blood pools onto the fabric of your nightgown, staining the stark white with dark red.

The world, the town, you— none have ever felt so small.

“I’m— I’m going to get you the doctor.” You smooth his hair back, unsure of how to do that when he’s bleeding out and struggling to stay awake on his own.

“It’s just a skim,” Jack insists, but his eyelids are drooping, the hold on your cheek weakening. “I… darlin’, I have to…”

“No,” you say softly, and the street rumbles with the arrival of the sheriff and his horse, a minute too late. He comes to an abrupt halt at the porch, eyes widening at Jack, at the blood covering both your clothes, and you beg him with a desperate cry for the doctor. He demands no further explanation before he nods with a concerned frown, pulling the reins the other direction.

“Keep him awake,” he barks back, steering his horse to ride down the street to the doctor’s quarters with thundering hoof falls, “I’ll bring him.”

The clouds have fully covered the sky, casting a grey shadow over Jack’s body as he shivers in your hold. A hiccup hinders his breath, and then he blinks up at you with remorse.

“This ain’t what I promised you.” He winces, his voice barely audible as the lightheaded rush overtakes him, and you move his head gently in your hands, side to side.

“Don’t worry,” you urge, “don’t go to sleep, don’t go to sleep—”

You’re whispering against his mouth as you lean into him, foreheads touching, and slowly, you press your lips together, feeling the soft sigh he lets out when his eyes close and his body goes limp. You wish from the deepest, angriest part of you that that man doesn’t make it back to his camp.

***

With an unconscious Jack, lifted up to his bedroom once they’d taken him from your cradling arms, you’re swiftly whisked back downstairs in your upset by the sheriff despite your protests. You don’t know what’s happening to him as he lays upon his bed, the doctor working on him, and the last thing you want is for him to feel alone when he wakes up. Instead of allowing you to be present as the doctor stitches him up— dismissing your gentle, desperate whimpers of “please help him”— he’d requested your presence to listen to your account of the morning.

Only, once sitting, your nightgown damp with a shawl wrapped around your shoulders, you steer the conversation where you need it to go.

Your hands still shake as the fire crackles, and sheriff Branch so far seems to be unbelieving of your story; you tell him of the potential danger, and he strokes his scruffy beard, staring ahead into the contained flames.

“We need your help,” you insist, “they’re going to come here— whoever that man was, he was one of them. He wanted to kill J— Mr. Daniels, and they’re all going to tear it apart here just to get to him.”

“Miss,” he starts, maintaining eye contact as he speaks lowly to you, “I understand your concern, but if this man… Mr. Daniels, is going to cause all this upset, I doubt we can’t just send him on his way.” Checking his pocket watch— this isn’t unordinary— he sighs.

Anger simmers in the pit of your stomach. The easy way out. You stare ahead out the window where it’s now raining, and then peek behind you to find the parlour nearly vacant. You lean forward to catch Branch’s attention, and use the only tactic you have left.

“Hundreds of people want to catch those men,” you remind him, “you could put them in your jail.”

His expression softens in realization, and you don’t find yourself caring much for his odd morals as a lawman— if glory shall convince him, glory it shall be.

“We need anyone who will help,” you press on, pulling the shawl tighter around your shoulders. “People with weapons. They’re dangerous.”

“I’m sure we all understand that...” he rises slowly out of his chair, removing his hat in a slight bow, “I’ll do what I can, miss. I’ll send word after I get them informed.”

“Thank you,” you sigh in relief, and Mrs. Adler wobbles over with her cane, ready to guide him out. You don’t think she’d seen you holding Jack on the porch, and the thought of him upstairs, as the doctor still works on his wound, makes another pang of nausea hit you.

Sheriff Branch speaks with her for a few minutes, and even without breakfast, most of the guests had still managed to go on with their day in town.

She appears promptly afterward with a strange look in her eye, but nothing compels you to ask her about it.

“Go on and get dressed,” she says, “you’re fit to work the rest of the day, yes dear?”

You don’t know what she knows. And now that you’re starting to care less about it, you don’t know how to behave.

“You’ll have to tend to Mr. Daniels, too.” Mrs. Adler continues, and a little rush of optimism swims in your chest, finding comfort in the permission to sit with Jack.

Coming forward, she pats your face, disappearing into the study as if nothing had happened, though it’s unsurprising. You doubt she’d expect much worse to occur— but you know it’s coming. With heavy, aching shoulders, you run up the steps, batting away another worried tear with rapid blinks.

The doctor is just exiting Jack’s room when you arrive at the landing upstairs, and he maintains a curt air as he greets you. A bottle of wound dressing and tonic in his hand, he passes them off to you and advises you to reapply it yourself tomorrow.

“He’ll be well enough to recover. Though give him time to wake up, it may not happen within the day.” He speaks in a level tone, transforming into an awkward lilt when he requests payment for his aid.

“Oh,” you nod, relief hitting your chest when you recall the money still scattered across your vanity’s desk.

Jack had wanted you to use it for yourself, but this seems fitting enough. There’s nothing else you can imagine yourself using it for on this doomed day. You fetch them, scooping them into your hands off the surface, and pass them off to the man with the large bag of medical instruments.

With the coins now in his pocket, the doctor announces he’ll visit within the week, and you’re hoping against hope there will still be another week in this town.

***

This isn’t who you used to be— you’re agonizing over it, and you’re oddly fond of that thought. You shot a man today, simply because you wanted to protect— something that was never your place or role to assume— and it terrifies you. The rational and irrational sides of your mind clash as you struggle into your proper clothes without the help of Jack’s hands. Who had witnessed that action? You tie the ribbon of your petticoat; what would happen now? Perhaps the man deserved it. You’d never have killed him; you’ll never kill anyone, for that matter, but you reason with yourself that it was right. You saved Jack from a worse fate, and there was no other way to go about it.

Tonic and dressing in hand, you take a deep breath before opening Jack’s door.

The sheets, the furniture— everything is clean with lack of use, all his time spent mainly in your room preventing this one from looking as cluttered. The floorboards creak softly as you step over to him, and the sight of him makes your throat tighten with another lump.

His heavily bandaged shoulder hides just under a gauzy sling, holding his arm at a right angle across his bare stomach. His lips part with every light breath, and his hair is a wavy dark mess upon his head, errant curls falling over the front.

Slowly, you sit by him at the edge of the bed, a mirrored contrast to the way he’d leaned over your body a mere two hours ago. The doctor must have stitched him up over an extra sheet; there’s barely any blood staining the blanket.

You brush his hair back, drawing a cover over his body before placing a tender kiss on his forehead, his cheek. “You can wake up, now.”

***

The sense of dread remains in all the worst spots for the rest of the day; in your head, pulling at your shoulders, squeezing your heart. You scrub at the bloody nightgown profusely, but with its white colour and soft toned ribbon, it leaves a pinkish residue that just won’t budge.

No one else seems quite bothered by what had happened. By dinner time, they’re still merry with their cards and drinks, and the gossip is short-lived. Every action you take is rough, as if to grind out the stress. The chopping, the cooking, the scrubbing. Jack’s absence makes it all the worse, and you wonder if he’d call for you if he was awake right now. If he would ask for your help, or if he’s debating whether to let you keep working. Night can never come fast enough. You check on him again in the evening to leave a plate of bread and water with him— something that won’t lose its heat— should he wake up hungry.

You’re half expecting Mrs. Adler to pull you aside and question your state, or your extreme worry about this morning, but she remains tucked away, attempting to knit without forgetting the number of rows she’s completed.

When the clock strikes ten at night, you brew a small cup of tea from the tiny stash at the back of one of the cupboards, alone for once in the kitchen. The lights cast a warm glow soon diminished when you tidy up, and the copper mug steams as you bring it carefully up the stairs.

Slipping back into his room, you pull off everything except for the chemise as your last layer, and resume your seat at the edge of the mattress, setting the mug at the night stand.

He’s still asleep.

“Jack,” you coo, taking one of his hands to lace your fingers together, holding it in between both of yours. “Jack…”

Leaning down, you hold your foreheads together, willing yourself not to cry another time today. You blink against his skin, only soothed by the steady sound of his breathing, until a sharp gasp erupts from underneath you.

Shooting up, you watch him as his face twists into pain, and he tries and fails to move his injured arm. His eyes widen, pupils blown, hissing at the wretched blast of discomfort.

“Shhh.” You let him squeeze you with his own hand until it makes your bones hurt, and he squirms over the mattress, desperately trying to catch his breath. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

He hiccups, eyes glimmering with so many unspoken words.

“Hurts,” he manages to say, wet tears tracking his cheek.

“I know,” you brush one away with your thumb, and he takes hold of your wrist, making you still just so he can look at you. “I know it hurts, but you’re awake.”

Knitting his brows, he nods, and the only thing that soothes him now is the sight of you, safe, uninjured, and after a moment, he remembers the extent of what had happened.

He briefly startles, looking at you in wonderment, and then expels a giant breath of stress.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, you know I am,” he sighs, guiding his good hand up the cold skin of your arm. “I didn’t expect I’d be... ‘M sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry.” Nuzzling your nose against his cheek, you don’t pry him for what he was about to say, but you feel the scruff of his jaw scratching at your face, and you scrunch your nose in response. A question still lingers in your mind, and you don’t see any other opportunity than now to ask it. “Who was he?”

“Isaiah. Not the best shooter, but he sure could punch.” Jack’s voice goes solemn as he tells you, his memory circling back to a dark place. “What about—” his throat closes up momentarily, “—the sheriff, I still need to get Sylvie—”

“I got everything settled with him. He’s going to help us.”

Looking at your earnest face, it’s the most cared for he can ever remember being. Pain blooms from his shoulder, but it’s dull, as if you’re taking it from him and replacing it with your devotion. Instead, pride overrides his soreness, and he forgets the worries of the day before in an instant.

“You…” he starts, coughing lightly again, sitting up with the support of one hand. “You made a good shot, darlin’.”

You shoot your eyes up, relief pouring inside at his slight smile.

“I sure wasn’t expectin’ my little lady to come to the rescue.” Jack squeezes your hand, “You… feelin’ okay?”

Sighing, you shake your head, and look to the dark window. It reflects the flicker of light from inside, your own eyes watching you back beneath the orange hue. “I never thought I’d be the one to cause anyone harm,” you say, glancing at him when you continue, “but he was going to hurt you, too. He did. I want you to be safe, Jack. More than anything.”

“Maybe I’m sweeter on you than I am sorry.”

“Stop,” you smile, petting at his hair again. He shifts, catching your wrist in his fingers to guide your palm to his mouth, kissing it gently with his plush lips. “I don’t think I could ever do it again, though. I’m not even sure what happened. The only thing that makes it okay is that he was going to take you from me.”

He makes a pensive noise, eyes swimming with something more grave than tears. “You won’t have to. I’ll be there.”

When he finally adjusts, you pass the tea to him, containing a dash of the healing tonic mixed into the water.

“Then you can start by drinking this.”

“I don’t like tea,” he states, the side of his lip rising, but he takes it anyway, understanding of its use.

“Too bad,” you say, “you’re going to drink it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Offering him a little grin, you get up off the bed to sort out his few belongings scattered across the desk against the wall. The doctor had left his holster there, but underneath it, lies a manual-looking book, titled The Prairie Traveler: A Hand-book for Overland Expeditions.

Lifting it, you inspect a couple of the pages, finding small graphite annotations left in Jack’s handwriting in the margins, listing extra points on the tips written in the text.

You read over the table of contents to find the topics of each chapter, where it reads ‘Marching. Treatment of Animals. Water. Different methods of finding and purifying it,’ underneath the second chapter’s heading.

“Jack, what’s this?” you ask, bringing the book back over to him. He appears a smidge shy when you show him the cover, but he takes it from you, slotting a thumb between the pages.

“A survival guide. This was mine, I was gonna give it to you before I left this mornin’. You said you wanted to learn all that kind ’a stuff.” Jack peeks back up at you, his cheeks blushed pink and warm.

“Oh,” you blink, affection blooming in your chest, your hand coming to rest over your heart. “Thank you.” The words come out shaking as emotion overcomes you, but you don’t need more than those two to convey much more of your gratitude— you simply lean into him, letting the book fall into the mattress as you kiss him fully on the lips. He responds with a small whimper, but soon takes hold of the back of your neck to kiss you deeper, and you’re on all fours now as you lean over his injured body.

“You’re a thoughtful man,” you smile, and you sense him doing the same against your lips.

“Look in the front.”

Following his gentle order, you flip open only the cover to find a longer note written, and it dates back to only last week.

‘To my darling girl,

Hope this keeps you busy, it sure kept me busy as a boy. Left you some extra notes, but I’m sure you’ll find everything fascinating enough.

One day you and I might go on our own little expedition. Somewhere calm.

You know I’ll miss you more than anything.

Yours, Jack.’

“Jack…” you breathe, and before anything else comes, he’s talking again.

“I want to keep you safe, darlin’, I don’t—” he balls his fist with the fabric of your chemise inside, “— I was bein’ an idiot, thinkin’ I could do it on my own. Even they couldn’t make me leave you behind, and I… I know that, now.”

“Why didn’t you take out your gun?”

“I didn’t wake up today thinkin’ I was gonna kill someone, but seein’ as…” he trails off, before rounding back to his thoughts. “I might have to use it again.”

“Whatever happens, I’m with you.”

You crawl closer to him, tracing a line down his throat. “And I think…” You kiss the end of his nose, and he blinks at you as you go lower, kissing his chest over the gauzy sling. “You should rest your mind, for now.”

He inhales sharply, and you sense the shiver run down his spine. Then you bring back the words he’d said to you the first day he’d touched you, and slip your fingers down his belly.

“I want to take care of you,” you smile, “if you’ll let me. I don’t want you to worry about pleasing me like you always do— I want to please you.”

There’s that look again on his face, something disbelieving written in the furrowed brows, and he’s repeating the thought that he doesn’t deserve this.

“What do you—? fuck, angel...”

“I’m going to distract you. Do you want that?”

He nods, already squirming beneath you. You slip the button of his trousers open, freeing his hard length.

“Try to keep still,” you whisper gently, “I’m going to go slow. Make you feel good.”

Running his hand over your hair, he lets his head fall back as you give him the first stroke. The weight of him in your hand is pleasant, the firmness of his cock giving against you as you squeeze.

Eyeing the wet bead at the tip, you slide it down his shaft, getting it wet for you to stroke him easily, and he gasps at the warm pass of your fingers.

“Breathe, Jack, it’s alright,” you encourage him, slipping your palm back up the heft of him. He takes a deep breath in, out, in, and out again, and when he looks at your face full of nothing but admiration, he loses his rhythm.

“In,” you guide, your fist moving downward, taking as long as he does to take in the air. “Out.” When he exhales, the breath exits him quickly, his hips begging to buck up, but he’s not strong enough at the moment to do so.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” he husks, the low timbre rumbling, “please, darlin’. Hurts still, make it better—”

A rich groan fills your ears when he shifts, a blend of his own pain and pleasure making it full force.

“Shhh,” you hush him this time for an entirely different reason than before, and he cracks a smile. Placing your free hand firmly on his chest, he covers it with his own, and looks up at you with his big, brown eyes, plump lips waiting for a kiss.

You give him another testing stroke, your hand then bobbing up and down along his length. He seems to relax the more you do it, tugging your hips closer on his lap. His cock twitches in your hand when you lean down to press your lips to his, and he responds as eagerly as you, a moan vibrating on your mouth.

“There,” you murmur, nuzzling against his face as you work him gently, mindful of his pain that you’re trying to erase, at least for one moment. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You’d never,” his lips curve, repeating your own words from the night before.

You keep his gaze as you slip your fist down his cock again, his eyes widening before they flutter closed.

“So... proud,” he whimpers, fingers digging into your hand, “brave girl, brave girl...”

You look down at the tip of his cock disappearing and reappearing in your hand, and you want so badly to put him in your mouth, but now is a time for simpler things, and he is already so pleased by just your palm, his throat forming a long line, shifting when he swallows.

“Does it feel okay?”

“It feels...” Jack hiccups, moving his body down the bed, “it feels—”

All of his stress bubbles up— not telling you for ages, getting caught too soon, the wound in his shoulder— and the pent up worry boils over before he releases with a slow groan, throat bobbing.

“Tha— thank you.”

His cum spills warmly over your fingers, and he relaxes into the pillow with another sigh. You raise the hand to your mouth to clean it all away with your tongue, and though there’s a needy throb between your legs, there’s nothing more you could want.

He beckons you to join him in laying, your head fitting into his uninjured side as you settle down onto the pillow, mindful of his tender muscles.

As you both catch your breath, his lips skim your temple, and he coos to you with a voice light as ever, comforted by just your presence. Your hand finds its way back to his chest, blanketed by his palm.

“We’ll be alright.”

Somewhere down the road, the sheriff is gathering men.

And when the Statesmen arrive, it won’t be just the two of you against them.

***

taglist:

@highsviolets @frannyzooey @danidrabbles @javier-pena @recklesswit @frankie-catfish-morales @kesskirata @xemmaloveskillianx @chickadee-djarin @apascalrascal @slay-runt @princessxkenobi @astroboots @pedros-mustache @the-feckless-wonder @mando-abs @leannawithacapitala @queenofthecloudss @writeforfandoms @herb-welch @fan-of-encouragement @libraryofrecs @fuck-goes-on @little-big-mac2 @quica-quica-quica @badassbaker @wardenparker @anxiousandboujee @randeerenae @aspiringmezzo @wyofabdoms @just-here-for-the-moment @beskarboobs @sweetangel0069 @lawfulgranola @jettia @spookycora @moodsare @bella-law @rosechvnel @agent-jbarnes @tuskens-mando

#jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedrostories #kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #fic: the traveler #jack whiskey daniels

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cheekygreenty · 3 years

Text

Little Witch - Part 12

the Darkling x Reader

The hour was late as the stars basked in the darkness and cold winter air. The fire roared in its hearth while your still steaming cup of sleep-aiding tea sat untouched on the small table. Your talk with Alina earlier was the cause of your unrest. You didn't know whether to feel sorry for her or be frustrated with her. She is a lovely girl, most pure and kind and quite literally the definition of sunshine, but something about her irked you and you hated it.

Maybe it was her somewhat unhealthy obsession with her friend, the tracker- Malyen Oretsev, or the sheer denial and lack of understanding of her position. Sure, Mal was the only thing that tied her to her old life, a sense of home, but he didn't belong anywhere near the Little Palace and posed a threat to Alina's true potential. She should understand that, no doubt it's been explained to her many times. She was no longer a random girl from the First Army or a Child of Keramzin, she was the Sun-Summoner and had to act the part.

But there was also a nagging feeling in you since your last words with Aleksander, the ones about the stag. From what you could gather, Alina definitely wasn't power-hungry, not yet anyway, and placing an antler anywhere on her would be against her wishes. You knew deep down that whatever he had planned would go far beyond just giving her an amplifier for her sake.

You sighed and moved around on the armchair again, trying to convince yourself those were the reasons you couldn't sleep, that Alina's position in this mess was why your mind wouldn't shut off, but who were you kidding, it was her and him. For starters, she called Aleksander by his name. The second the word left her mouth, your blood ran cold.

'Is he not here?' Alina looked to you from over her mug, eyes scanning the room.

'Who?'

'Aleksander, is he away at Kribirsk again?' Your smile faltered and your grip on your own mug loosened. But Alina waited for an answer.

'Oh umm, I don't know.' You did but the shock caused your mind to blank completely.

You had known Aleksander for years before he even told you his true name, you had to earn it. She spoke of her General with a fondness, at one point even speaking of him as if he were more than just her commanding officer.

'Do you miss the First Army Alina? I know you left friends behind, not just Mr.Oretsev.'

'I suppose I don't feel at home just yet, it's a lot to take in, this whole division of orders thing doesn't help either... But he assures me I am not alone, that I have an equal in the Palace.'

An equal?

The heat of the fire was doing nothing to calm down your rising rage. Apparently Aleksander was doing more talking with Alina than you'd thought, even sacrificing his own true name, one only spoken by you and his mother, for her to utter as if it was just another name. So what if you were in his chambers, making use of his office and sleeping in his bed, he clearly had his eyes on two prizes or maybe just one.

You felt sick now, be it from the heat or the anger, you got up and opened a window. The cold and dark night was a stark contrast to the licks of the flame. It made you feel at peace, but only momentarily. You heard voices outside, slowly growing louder. You rested your head against the wall, begging for one last moment of stillness, but alas the door was yanked open and his boots echoed throughout the room. You cursed yourself for deciding to spend another night in his quarters. You thought he'd be gone longer than just 4 days.

'I do hope you made yourself comfortable' His voice was as smooth as the kvas you had downed after Alina left. You wanted to turn around, but the anger was still there and all hell would break loose if you let your emotions run wild again.

'I did thank you. At least you have a desk'

'I'll get you one first thing in the morning'

'No need, I already requested one' Your voice was void of any emotion. Don't start a fight.

'Are you alright?'

'Just tired, being diplomatic is hard work' It sure was right now.

'Might I suggest actually getting into bed then?' His hand slowly came around your wrist and pulled you in the direction of the bedroom but ironically at the simple touch, your anger grew, when it usually has the opposite effect. You saw out of the corner of your eye that he had a genuine smile on his face, one that tended to make you melt but not now. You shrugged him off and walked in the direction of the door, leaving him utterly confused.

'Y/N what's going on.

'I'm tired, I'm going to bed' You tried so hard to act normal, not in any way pissed.

'Y/N look at me'

'Goodnight Aleksander' You couldn't help it, the mockery of his name just came out. There goes the diplomacy.

You heard him quickly walk towards you and tried to get to the door first to escape the tense atmosphere you created but he got there first, blocking your way.

'What?' You threw your hands up in exasperation not yet looking at him.

'Did something happen whilst I was away?'

'No'

'Then what is it'

'Nothing'

'Don't lie to me Y/N'

'Oh but it's okay for you to lie to me' Your eyes finally bore into his.

'Excuse me?' His expression read baffled; annoyed; pissed.

'Move away from the door Aleksander'

'No! You're going to be mature and have an actual conversation with me for once' He asked for it.

'Alright fine, Let's start with Alina''

'Y/N'

'I had a lovely little tea party with her today. Sweet thing. She loves to talk once you get her going. She told me a lot of fascinating stuff, including your name! How interesting don't you think.' Your voice was so cold it even made you shiver.

'I can explain'

'I'm not finished.' You felt that pull in you, that pull that comes before you put your fire or shadows to use but crammed it down with all your might. 'Her best friend hasn't been replying to any of her letters and I can recount there are many of them. Guess what I found in one of your drawers? They are all very poetic don't you think? I'm all for helping her adjust, but that's not help, that's manipulation Aleksander.'

'She won't let him go, It's dragging her down.' He said through gritted teeth.

'Dragging her down or away?' The double meaning in your words didn't go unnoticed by him.

'Y/N all I want to do is go to bed right now, I've had a long day, please.' His hand reached out for yours but you scoffed and moved away.

'You wanted to have this conversation, General, don't shy away when your actions are questioned.'

'Fine' He unblocked the door and crossed the room, throwing his cloak and kefta on the floor with a heavy thud. 'Is there anything else you wish to accuse me of Y/N dearest?'

'Look at you, so bitter but I haven't heard you deny any of it'

'You may go now if you like.' He picked up a decanter of whiskey and poured himself a generous glass

'Since when are you this childish Aleksander. Have I missed something in my 100-year absence?' You mocked.

'You left me with all of this' He gestured to the palace. '-That's what happened.'

'Don't turn this around on me, and I told you that wasn't a choice.'

'The Y/N I knew would have come back and not hid like a coward'

You stilled and waited for any sign of apology, but it never came. He meant it even though he knew how much such a simple statement would hurt you. You turned slowly and walked to the door.

'While I'm gone, at least have the common decency to change the sheets before you bring Alina in here' you shut it loudly behind you and heard the breaking of the glass, no doubt thrown at the door as you were leaving.

What a day.

Taglist

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess

Ok so idk if people can see this but I posted this like a week ago and apparently nobody seen it so here it is!!!!

Part 13

Here's my masterlist!!

#shadow and bone #grisha #imagine #the darkling #the darkling x reader #alexander #alexander morozova #ben barnes #fanfic #alina starkov #Alexander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #keftas

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cunningambitousdetermined · 3 years

Text

I Loved You (young!Sirius x Reader)

um ok so i've never written anything and posted it somewhere before but i saw @vogueweasley's 1k writing challenge and i decided why not. actually there are many reasons not to but i hope that someone will have some form of constructive criticism. so yeah, worst case if you hate it um sorry. and thanks @vogueweasley for giving me an oppurtunity. i decided to do sirius x reader (even though i ship wolfstar sorry) here it goes with the prompt: "Did it mean anything to you?" Did I mean anything to you?"

Sirius Black was in love. That was the fact of the matter. Anyone who knew him from Hogwarts would have said that it was a lie. It would pass. Sirius Black, in love? The playboy of Hogwarts, breaker of all hearts? He was in love? It was a phase, they said, she wouldn’t last. If Y/N was being honest, she hadn’t thought it would last either. She was right.

It had all started when Remus Lupin had introduced them on the train their first year. Y/N was Remus’s best friend and had ever since he could remember. Growing up, they read books, drew pictures and did everything together. She was there after every full moon. She would read books to Remus and bring silly old movies. She was a muggleborn so it had been quite a shock to her and her parents when they found out about Remus’s family. But Y/N had been there when he’d been bitten. They had been sleeping in a tent in the basement of Remus’s house when Greyback had tore threw the window and attacked. She remember every part of that night. The breaking of the short windows, glass shattering, the growling, the tearing of flesh. Greyback’s face was what haunted Remus’s nightmares but his screams haunted hers. When Y/N received her letter, her parents were thrilled, not to mention Remus, who was ecstatic at the prospect of spending all their time in school together. Y/N had left to go change when Sirius Black and James Potter slipped into Remus’s compartment. From what Remus gathered, they had bumped into each other after Sirius pranked his family and James helped him escape. Y/N proudly straightened her tie, she was a witch. She was going to Hogwarts, with Rem. Her giddy smile hadn’t left her face since she had gotten the letter. Diagon Alley was even better. Her mum and dad hadn’t come but Hope and Lyall had taken her with pleasure. They took her to all the shops and helped her buy everything. Remus had laughed at her star struck face when she proclaimed loudly “I love magic!”. She never wanted to leave.

She walked briskly back to Remus with a bounce in her step. Only an hour or so and they would be there. She heard voices and laughter coming from the compartment and wondered if Remus had already made new friends. She smiled at the thought, he had been so scared to come. Being the first werewolf he was afraid of anyone knowing. She had assured him that nothing would happen and he would make lots of friends, and looked like she was right. She slid the door open, a proud smirk gracing her features.

“Y/N!” Remus leaped up and pulled her to the seat next to him. Next to her sat a boy with dark brown unruly hair and glasses perched on his nose. His smile scrunched up his blue eyes and brought out his rather large dimples. The boy across from them was what really caught her eye. He had chin length black hair and the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. When he smiled, his whole face lit up. “Y/N, meet Sirius Black”

That was the start of a friendship that rivaled her and Remus. Despite being a Hufflepuff, she was an honorary Marauder. In her second year, she learned to become an Animagus to help Remus. Remus had been furious and terrified but he would be forever grateful for her sacrifice. In her third year, the rest of the Marauders found out and became Animagus themselves. James, a stag. Peter, a rat. Sirius and her were dogs. Except she was golden where he was black. They were inseparable. And it was no secret that no matter how many girls Sirius slept with, there was only one that was on his mind.

Sirius Black had been in love in like with Y/N for years. He had found her stunning on the train but he was young and naive then. He had since grown up and become someone new. They were the best of friends. Sirius and her were both Beaters on their quidditch teams leading to a never ending rivalry. But, it was the way she listened that set her apart from the rest. There had been one particular night when he had just gotten a letter from home. The letter was all sorts of cruel and no matter how hard he tried to keep his bad boy façade up, all he wanted to do was cry. Remus and Y/N were reading to each other, as they did often in an armchair in the common room when Sirius had sped by, tears in his eyes. Y/N had barely glanced at Remus before she quickly followed him. Sirius burst into his dorm and threw himself on the bed. He then proceeded to punch the wall. Again, and again, and again. Suddenly, a soft hand pulled his back from the wall. “Siri, Siri stop...” It was Y/N. Dimly aware of the tears streaming down his face, he had let her drag him to his bed and wipe his tears. She had bundled him up in her arms, his head in her lap as he sobbed and sobbed for at least 30 minutes. When all his tears had run out and he was finally aware of himself again. His cheeks flamed as he realized how he had let Y/N see him. Crying and angry. He made to get up but your hand that was running through his hair stilled and she pulled it away but kept him on the bed with a firm pull.

“Y/N- I- Let’s just forget this. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to have you see that” he muttered as he again tried to pull away. He hated himself. A disgrace. Embarrassment. Right now the only thing he wanted to do was cave. Fall asleep and never wake up. Ever. He hated himself and for her to see him as himself without any mask, she was sure to hate him too. “Just go” he mumbled. She silenced him with a stern look. Then she softened and pressed her hand to his cheek, thumbing over his tear stains.

“Siri, let me help you. You need to let someone help you. What’s going on?” Maybe it was something about her eyes, so deep and pleading. Or maybe it was her soft smile or her thumb running over his cheekbone that made him spill it all to her. He told her everything. His parents, the shunning, the yelling. She had listened, flinching along the way. And when he was done, she had told him things that no one had said to him before. She had promised that she would always be there. Her soft voice and words eased him and slowly his tears stopped. And she had held him for the rest of the night, rocking him until he fell asleep, her words ringing in his head. “You are perfect, Sirius Orion Black, and to hell with anyone who thinks you’re not”

That wasn’t the last time that he had cried to her, spilled his secrets. He found himself going to her, letting his guard down. When he was happy and, most of the time, in trouble, she was there to help him plan his next prank. And when he was sad, most of all then, she was there to help him. She tore up his letters and comforted him. Her soft nature at those times was such a soothing presence in contrast to his anger and self loathing. He had never let himself be so vulnerable with anyone. And maybe that was why he found himself falling harder and harder for her every day.

“REMUS LUPIN!” Y/N cried, “YOU LET ME GO THIS INSTANT!” She was laughing as Remus continued to run through Hogsmeade with Y/N thrown over his shoulder. Sirius couldn’t deny that it made a little bit of green tinge the ends of his vision. “Ya know, Moony, I never realized you had such a nice arse...” she remarked with a chuckle. Remus threw her down into the soft snow and stuck his tongue out at her. She laughed and reached a hand out for Remus to help her up. Sirius could see the look in her eye from here, Remus was done for. Remus grabbed her hand but she dug her feet into the snow and yanked him down with her. He yelped and crashed down, half on top of her. Sirius laughed but couldn’t help the pit in his stomach as she leaned in and whispered something in Moony’s ear. He looked away, he didn’t want to see it. Moony burst out laughing but Sirius didn’t take his eyes off of James, who was enthralled at the new Cleansweep broom.

Thunk. Something cold and wet had hit Sirius’s hair. He whipped around, snow dripping down his cheek and that’s why Y/N erupted in laughter. She was doubled over, cheeks red and hand clapped over her mouth as she lost it. Something about the shock on Sirius’s face with the snow falling off his hair and Y/N’s contagious laughter made Remus join in. The pair rolled around in the snow, cackling. Sirius grinned, so this was how they wanted to play it. While they laughed at him, he balled up his fist with snow and prepared to throw. Y/N squealed, her smile still lighting up her whole face. “No, no, SIRIUS, NO!!:” Sirius and Remus exchanged a look and Remus dove out of the way as Sirius launched his first snowball. “TRAITOR!” she yelled at Remus, “Traitor!” Her heart was light and her smile wide as she watched the joy on Sirius’s face. It had been a while since she’d really seen him just let go. She was so caught up, she didn’t see Remus aiming until a snowball hit her scarf and slid down her sweater. Remus widened his eyes, that was not good. “Oh really, Moony, I don’t think so...” she narrowed her eyes at him. James had turned around and not one to miss out, ran to help her. “Thank you James,” she smiled sweetly, “At least some of you are decent,” she teased, looking back at Sirius and Remus.

James smirked, he was a man on a mission. Make Sirius jealous. “Of course love. Anytime” he winked and wrapped his arm around her waist. He saw the muscles in Sirius’s hand flex at the movement and smirked. This was too easy. Y/N had already begun collected all her snowballs and started to pummel the boys with them. Remus was running back and forth, screaming, trying to avoid James’s deadly aim. Y/N was laughing so hard her jaw hurt as she attacked Sirius with snowballs. Her whole body felt warm and fuzzy, this was a Patronus worthy moment.

As the Marauders trudged back to Hogwarts, sopping wet and drunk on happiness, James kept his arm around Y/N and let her take his scarf. Sirius refused to look at them. His stomach clenched at the sight of James’s hand on her waist. When they had made it back to the boy’s dorm, Y/N rifled through James’s things until she came back from the bathroom, clean and warm, in James’s quidditch jumper and an old pair of leggings she’d left a while ago. His heart fell when he saw her leap onto James’s bed and put her head on his shoulder. His happy mood vanished as she laughed at something James was saying. He plopped on his bed, it was supposed to be his bed she was getting warm in, his jokes she was laughing at and his clothes she was wearing! He grabbed the map and watched the people float around, just having a good time. The weather was perfect for sledding and ice skating and that seemed to be where most kids were.

Unfortunately, he was still subject to Y/N and James laughing and talking. The closer James leaned in to her, the more his anger bubbled. James knew! The prat knew he was in love with her! And he was still doing it! Yes, he knew he wasn’t good enough for her, but come on! Right in front of him? His anger reached it’s peak when James leaned in to her ear and pulling away, pressed a feather light kiss to her cheek. Whatever James had said had made her laugh lightly and her already pink cheeks to flush brilliant red. Then with a last wink, James hopped up and left the room. No bye or anything, it was a bit odd actually. Remus gave Sirius a meaningful look as he crossed the room and followed James out, Peter scurrying after them.

Sirius shot her a confused look only to find that she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were trained on James’s jumper sleeves as she pulled and twisted it. His anger rose again as he remembered who’s jumper you were wearing and the kiss that had come along with it. “Well why don’t you go after your boyfriend, Y/N?” he sneered. Her head jerked up in confusion. The way he said boyfriend had been with such disgust. Even the way he said her name. He sounded like Malfoy and those pureblood snobs.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” She shot back, James and his stupid plan. Why had she done this? He claimed that he had made Sirius jealous but she knew that the boy didn’t have feelings her. All she’d done was make him angry. She was going to murder James if Sirius wasn’t her friend anymore after watching James disgustingly flirt with her all afternoon.

“Well, you sure looked pretty cozy!” Sirius yelled, he was furious, all his pent up emotions leading to one big explosion. He leapt up from his bed and stormed over to where Y/N sat, her legs dangling over the edge of James’s bed, and planted himself between her legs.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Y/N whispered, he was so close, his grey eyes swirling with emotion. Anger, sadness, and maybe something more, she didn’t know. She inhaled and his scent of sugar and campfire filled her nose. Sirius looked down at her, his eyes flicking to her lips, the lips that he had been tortured by for years. And he kissed her. His hands cupped her cheeks and he ran his thumbs across her face. She stilled, shocked, was this real? But she didn’t think on it as she kissed him back, hands threading through his dark locks, pulling him down. Sirius groaned and pulled away, looking at this wonderful girl. She smiled shyly and tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. Yeah, he was a goner.

That was the start of probably the happiest time in Sirius’s life. And Y/N’s. Sirius was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. They had been best friends before so they slipped very easily into the relationship. Y/N started spending less time in her dorm and more time asleep in Sirius’s bed. She had been the first to say ‘I love you’ because she did. She really did. And when she had, Sirius had been shocked. She loved him? His body had gone into overdrive and he just started crying. He was so goddamn lucky. Unbeknownst to Y/N, he watched her every minute of every day. He admired her. And she was his world. Without her, he didn’t know what he would do. His whole being ached for her when he was at the Potters. When they left school that summer and he went home to that desolate place that held no meaning to him, he was miserable. His muscles felt to weak to do anything and his mind just told him to go to sleep and never wake up. 2 weeks in, he hadn’t even gotten up the courage to open Y/N’s letters. It made his heart hurt just to see her owl drop them off. So naturally when she showed up at his house while his parents were at the Malfoy Gala, he was shocked. His summer turned from his worst to his best. When no one was around, she crept back in and they spent the summer playing quidditch and cuddling by the fire. Sleepy kisses on tired eyes, quiet ‘I love you’s’. Sirius would watch her as she slept in his arms, his clothes, in his bed and he would cry. Softly and not out of pain, but out of happiness. This girl, she had brought him back to Earth, gave him a reason to live. She was his home. His silk sheets would tangle her legs and his old muggle shirts would fall to her knees and he couldn’t have been happier. He had been drowning and she had saved him. She had brought him back to life.

They were blissfully unaware that they had made a fatal mistake. Regulus. Regulus saw her come in and out and saw them fly around, laughing and loving each other like no one else could see them. But he could and when his mother asked him questions, he didn’t lie.

“I love you” Sirius whispered into Y/N’s hair, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” She was wrapped in his covers as they just sat, enjoying being with each other. He relaxed against her and she sighed happily.

“I love you too Siri”

Their sixth year at Hogwarts had come. They were closer then ever after the summer they had spent together. Classes were the same but something had changed. Y/N was just so so happy. She felt invincible. But, she wasn’t. She was mortal and she could still feel pain.

She walked down the corridor after Charms, parting with Sirius and headed back to her dorm to change out of her uniform. She was cheerily walking, book in hand as she skimmed the pages, making sure she didn’t run into anyone. When she glanced up next, a group of Slytherins stood at the end of the hall, just where she needed to turn to get to the common room. It was Regulus, Sirius’s brother, and some of Sirius’s cousins. She pasted on a smile and made to pass them, not wanting any trouble. You’re fine, she reassured herself but her racing heartbeat said otherwise. She strode past them and gave Regulus a small nod. Just as she thought she was home free, a hand flipped out and grabbed her arm. Her whole body froze and she swallowed a scream. Regulus had her by the arm and marched her down the opposite corridor to an empty corner.

“Regulus! Let me go!” Y/N whispered, “Sirius will hurt you, and I don’t want that.” Even though he had trapped her here, she still felt the urge to protect him. He was Sirius’s family after all.

“I’m just trying to help you Y/N” he replied, “I won’t beat around the bush. You can’t see Sirius.” The frustration in Y/N spiked into anger, fire licking at her insides.

“You cannot tell me what to do! Sirius is my boyfriend, who are you to say differently?” She spat at him, disgusted. Stop seeing Sirius, he must be insane.

“Please, it’s for your own good.” he said and handed her a stack of papers. She looked down at them in confusion. “I found them in his room,” Regulus dropped his voice “My mum found out too, and she wrote you a letter as well,” He dropped another letter into her hand. This one was sealed in an envelope. She made to turn away but Regulus was looking at her expectantly.

“You want me to open them here?” She asked, incredulous. “What do they say?” Regulus just shook his head and slid down to sit on the floor. He patted the spot next to him. Y/N sighed and sat down and opened the first letter.

Dear Miss Y/N,

It was recently brought to our attention that our Sirius was in a relationship with you. Now, as we are sure you are aware, we cannot have someone like you sullying the name Black. We hope this letter finds you in good health and able to fulfill our wishes. I, Walburga Black, command you to break off all relations with my son, Sirius Orion Black. You are not and never will be good enough for this house. You are nothing, nothing but a filthy mudblood. You ruin my son and you will only further his destruction. If you do not comply, I do hope that you understand that we will do everything in our power to stop this. But, I believe you are a smart child, for a mudblood, and I hope that I will not have to waste anymore time or breath on you.

The Noble House of Black

“Your joking, right?” Y/N laughed, “I couldn’t do that to him, I wouldn’t! I don’t care about some Noble House of Black!” She again went to get up but Regulus caught her wrist.

“Y/N, I don’t want you to have to do this either, but I think you should. Look at the notes from Sirius. He wrote those this summer. I found them and then my mum gave me the letter. I don’t want my mum to be the reason you break it off but there’s more to the story. I just don’t want you getting hurt in the end.” Anyone else would’ve told her that there was no way he really cared, but Y/N insisted upon seeing the good in everyone so she sat down again and opened the notes.

June 28

Y/N came to see me. Dear god, that women is going to be the death of me. Y/N smiled, remembering the day she had snuck in. I can’t wait to tell Mum all about how I had her, in the bed she bought for me. The filthy mudblood tangled in her sheets that she bought. Y/N’s face fell along with her heart. Mudblood? He would never. Y/N, so naïve, really thinks I’d be into her. That’s what makes it perfect. She would never guess that her only purpose is to spite my mother. Like I really care. It doesn’t help that I get sex. I mean I could have any girl but damn, she gave herself to me to fast. Even I didn’t know I was that good. Either way, she has to find out eventually. I mean I can’t marry her. Mudblood. Imagine that. She’s not even pretty. Kind of fat actually. More hips then I normally see...

The notes went on and on and on. Y/N felt her heart crack and shatter. Tears streamed down her face. She was just a mudblood that he had used. She felt dumb and most of all, betrayed.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N” Regulus said, “I just wanted to make sure you knew.” She turned away in an a

She didn’t respond just gathered the letters and fled. In her dorm, she flopped on to her bed and just cried. She cried for the boy who she thought loved her, who she still loved. She cried because she wasn’t good enough, because she nothing at all. The girls in her dorm had soon filed in and tried to pry the story out of her. She just tossed the letters at them and continued crying. Jane, one of the girls, held her as she shook and sobbed until she fell asleep. She refused to go to any classes the next day, or the next week. She didn’t eat, she didn’t sleep. All she wanted do to was die. Dark circles lived under eyes and her bones began to show through. There was nothing the girls could do, she had shut herself inside the curtains of her bed. Her heart had been broken and she was pretty sure there was no putting it back together.

The Marauders were worried. Y/N hadn’t been in class in weeks and many teachers were getting suspicious. Remus had tried to visit her but the Hufflepuff girls had barred his way through. Sirius was going mad without her. He couldn’t focus in class, his eyes were always on her empty seat. He laughed and joked with the Marauders but his smiles didn’t reach his eyes. His dreams were filled of her. Her. Her laugher, her smile, her hands, her lips on his. Finally, he’d had enough. James mentioned missing Y/N to Remus and him in the common room and that was it. “I’m going to get her” He said and he stormed out. Remus could feel the anger radiating off of him and knew he would need to be there to put the fire out. He ran off behind him and trailed him to the dorms. The Hufflepuff dorms were one of the hardest to get into so they waited until a boy came out and Sirius stormed in. Remus tried to grab Sirius and calm him down but it was to no avail. He was already charming the stairs and starting up.

“Sirius! Please! Just calm down!” Remus cried, desperately trying to pull him back. Knowing him, he might say something he would regret.

“No Remus.” Sirius’s voice was colder then Remus had ever heard it. “My girlfriend is ignoring me and I intend to figure out why.” Sirius ripped the door open and found Y/N’s curtains drawn shut. Before Remus could say anything, Sirius had flung the curtains open. Remus watched Sirius freeze, his whole body tense. He stepped forward to look past Sirius and was shocked. Y/N was curled on the bed, eyes wide. She had bags and purple circles under each eye. Her cheeks were sunken in, and her shirt hung off of her in a odd way. She looked like shit.

“Si-Sirius?” she whimpered, and her eyes filled with tears. Remus looked at the bed and found pictures shattered and things thrown everywhere. She was a mess.

“Yes.” Sirius snapped, “You know, your BOYFRIEND!” Y/N flinched and her face hardened.

“Oh really? OH REALLY? MY BOYFRIEND?!” she yelled, fury edging in her tone.

“YES YOUR BOYFRIEND!” he screamed back, his face red and his hands gesturing wildly.

“ARE YOU SURE? I THOUGHT I WAS JUST A MUDBLOOD, TOO NAIVE, TOO UGLY FOR YOU! I LOVED YOU AND LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO THAT! I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU!” She was out of bed now and standing chest to chest with Sirius. On the last word she shoved him back and caught off guard he stumbled into Remus. Remus was in shock, what had happened? “Did it mean anything to you? Did I mean anything to you?” With that you turned on your heel and ran out of the dorm. Sirius stood and watched as you got smaller and smaller and with step she took, his anger ebbed a little. And then she was gone, leaving behind the boy who loved her.

#vogueweasley1k #sirius black #sirius x reader #y/n #sirius x y/n #not wolfstar unfortunately #um i hope it's ok #fanfiction #writing #mywriting #harry potter #marauders #marauders era #marauders era oneshot #marauders era imagine #ahhh i'm so nervous

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