#one arches up when hes listening for sounds of footfalls in the forest

[a-summer-soul]

Pretty sure elf ears don't move independently -- like perk up/toward sounds or as mood indicators like a cat or dog's ears do -- but omg imagine if they did how frikkin cute that would be

#velnna mentioned staeve/drow purr so like just building on a theme here: elves are like cats #elves #astarion #just imagine his ears perk up when you tell him hes pretty #or lie flat when hes angry #stick out to the side when hes happy #one arches up when hes listening for sounds of footfalls in the forest #asdfghjkjhgfghjk

[itsmoonpeaches]

Title: The Long Run

Word count: 2,198

Rating: T

Summary: Draco and his parents escaped. But he finds himself going back to Hogwarts anyway.

Draco was tired. The grime had settled on his face and the rest of him, traces of a battle he never wanted to be a part of. The mud had sunken onto the soles of his boots like gunk on a gumshoe trudging through the streets of London on a particularly muggy day.

Malfoy Manor felt empty. Moreso than it had been before. Dobby had not been their house-elf for years, but even his presence would have been welcome.

Instead, Draco listened to the echoing silence. The dark, intricate green tiles lined the walls in arching patterns. The sound bounced off of them only when his heels clicked on the floor.

His arms still trembled. His legs wobbled with a burning sensation he had forgotten still stayed. He could hear the shouts of his parents as they sprinted through the Forbidden Forest, dodging the plants and the unforgiving creatures that cast their shadows upon them.

They had not spoken for hours, instead relying on their breaths and steady footfalls to guide them.

It was only when they had been far enough away from Hogwarts Castle that his father had linked arms with his mother and they apparated away together. As a family.

They never had been a proper one. Not until he had seen the fear on their faces as the Dark Lord smiled that smile. How he raised his black wand, moving in the same kind of diving pattern a dragon would when he prepared to snatch up his prey.

"Oh, Draco," his mother had whispered in his ear. "Oh, my son." Her breaths were oddly cold on his clammy skin. Even though he knew she meant them, he had been so far away from her for too long to know what a mother's love was.

They had made it home.

Continue reading on ao3 or ffn.

#i still like harry potter #i do not like jk rowling #that's the disclaimer #harry potter #hp #draco malfoy #itsmoonpeaches fanfic #hp fanfic #the battle of hogwarts #hogwarts #malfoy

[julek]

five times jaskier does nice things for roach, and one time she returns the favor.

(or, jaskier spends a ridiculous amount of time and money on a horse).

*

“i told you not to touch roach,” geralt says when he hears his mare stomping her feet on the ground, displeased. she’s tethered to a tree near their fire and geralt, now busy brewing some potions, had finished brushing her a few minutes ago.

jaskier curses himself mentally, still not used to geralt and his witcher hearing, capable of listening to a bird’s cry three towns away. reluctantly, he draws his hand away from the horse, grinning innocently in geralt’s direction.

“i was just saying goodnight!” he says, sitting down cross-legged on his bedroll, “first impressions are very important, you know. wouldn’t want her to think i was being impolite on purpose, not when we are this”—he pinches his fingers together—“close to being best friends.”

geralt looks up at him, unimpressed. “she doesn’t like you.”

behind them, roach snorts in agreement, and jaskier splutters in indignance.

*

the forest is quiet.

no birds chirping, no predators lurking around, no sound. ideal work conditions, in geralt’s opinion. he’s crouched down next to a fallen tree, waiting for the drowners to take his bait.

suddenly, the swamp’s stillness is breached by soft singing and feet stepping on branches. rolling his eyes, geralt stands up as quietly as possible and walks over to jaskier, who’s busy picking flowers from a nearby meadow.

“i told you to stay with roach,” he says in greeting, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

jaskier yelps and turns around to face him, clutching his heart and letting the flowers fall to the ground.

“gods, geralt! warn a guy, would you? i thought you were one of those, um… what do you call them? swimmers.”  

“drowners.”

“my words exactly,” he says, gathering some long stems. “i was waiting with roach, mind you, but i got bored. so i looked around and thought hey! roach looks awfully dull without some pretty flowers weaved in her mane, so here i am.”

geralt lifts his eyebrows, abandoning all hope for a peaceful, quick hunt.

“she’ll trample you to death before she lets you touch her,” he deadpans.

jaskier tsks, already making his way back to their camp with his fresh selection of flowers.

geralt waits for the inevitable.

“fucking ow!” he hears, and feels a smile tugging at his lips. “that doublet was new! that is not how one reacts to gifts, you vicious horse. did that witcher teach you nothing about manners?”

he did, actually. he’s glad she’s putting them to use.

*

“fuck, i’m cold.”

they’re in the outskirts of blaviken, and much to jaskier’s chagrin, they’re making camp in the forest. winter’s near, and as much as he would have liked to sleep in a warm bed, he would have turned it down anyway. he’d seen the look on geralt’s face as they approached the town, and that had been enough of a reason to follow him into the forest.

jaskier is pacing around the fire, his woolen cloak snug around his shoulders, doing little to protect him from the biting wind. geralt had gone deeper into the forest to hunt something for their dinner and hadn’t yet returned.

he looks over his shoulder at roach, who’s laying down on the ground, her legs tucked under her body. geralt had slung a blanket over her back, and she’d been dozing off for the last half hour, seemingly unfazed by the cold.

he knows it’s a bad decision, and he’ll probably be kicked and yelled at, but right now he can’t find it in himself to care. his fingers are frozen and he can’t feel his ears, and he’s sure he’ll drop dead any minute now from hypothermia, so why not?

“hi, beautiful,” he whispers, crouching down next to roach, watching her reaction. “do you mind if i sit next to you? you see, it’s horribly cold,” he sits down, carefully as not to startle her, “and it’s something my brothers and i used to do, you know? huddling for warmth.”

if roach notices him laying against her side, she doesn’t show it. he gently places his head on top of her spine, and drapes himself in his cloak.

“you’re incredibly warm, did you know that? had i known that before, i would have cuddled you sooner.”

he’s so warm and comfortable he almost doesn’t notice geralt coming back. he hears his footfalls but decides to ignore them, too cozy to move, but roach has other plans. all of a sudden, she stands up, leaving him on the floor, confused.

“wha—roach!” he exclaims, picking himself off the ground. “we were doing fine! what happened?”

geralt smirks as he starts to skin the rabbit. “maybe that will teach you not to bother her.”

“but you don’t understand, i—we were happily laying side by side just a minute ago!” jaskier says, sitting in front of the fire. “you startled her.”

geralt snorts. “i did?”

jaskier rolls his eyes and looks at roach, who’s laying down again, unperturbed. “traitor,” he whispers.

*

spices, curated meats, oils, and baked goods are all geralt can smell, meaning this particular market isn’t too big and they’ll be out on the road soon. that, if he can get jaskier to hurry and get whatever he so desperately needs.

“oh, that stone is beautiful,” the bard says to a bald salesman, keen on selling him a new ring. “alas, it’s much too expensive for me.”

he gives the salesman a sheepish smile and moves on to the next stall.

“i just need one more thing, dear witcher, and we can be on our way,” he says, grinning.

geralt arches a brow, but says nothing. better not to distract him, he’s learned.

“hello, madam!” he chirps, looking at the goods displayed on her counter, “if you would be so kind, i’d like a full bag of sugar cubes.”

huh. that’s not what geralt had been expecting. cherries, maybe, or a honeycake, not sugar cubes.

jaskier pays the woman and kindly thanks her, then ties the small bag to his belt. “well, i’m done. are we leaving?”

geralt nods.

they make their way to the side of the road, where roach is nibbling on the outgrown grass. he takes the herbs he’d purchased and places them inside roach’s saddlebag, while jaskier resumes his daily chattering.

“you’re looking quite dashing today, my lady,” he says, gently stroking the mare’s neck.

geralt expects roach to hastily brush jaskier’s hand aside, but much to his surprise, she doesn’t, snorting happily instead. he looks at them for a second, dumbfounded.

“geralt? are we going, then?”

“hmm.”

*

summer is kind enough to let a gentle breeze filter through the trees, giving jaskier a breath of clean air.

he’s got his breeches rolled up to his knees, and his doublet is nowhere to be seen. they’d been traveling nonstop for two long, humid days, the burning sun above them, and jaskier had been too tired to even sing, lazily strumming his lute as he walked next to geralt. then, in the middle of a pointless rant about how the world would be better off without the sun and its infernal heat, jaskier spotted a stream.

grabbing roach’s brush from geralt’s saddlebags, jaskier takes her reins and gently leads her into the stream. she complies, braying lightly as she feels the water on her legs.

“i know, girl,” jaskier says, gathering water on his cupped hands and letting it pour on her head, minding her ears, “it’s too hot out, even for you.”

he looks over to geralt, who’s got his back to them, scrubbing mud from his boots.

“you know,” he murmurs, smoothly brushing her mane, scratching behind her ears, “he doesn’t think we’re friends, you and i.” she snorts in response, and he chuckles. “he still thinks you don’t like me.”

she moves forward, and jaskier’s about to move out of the way to let her walk out of the stream when she bumps her head affectionately against his chest.

“oh,” he whispers, overcome with emotion. “as you know, i’ve become quite the expert at reading geralt’s hums and silences, but this is uncharted territory. animal behavior is foreign to me.”

she swishes her tail, and jaskier huffs out a laugh.

“i’ll give it my own meaning, then,” he says, pressing his nose against her snout. “i love you too.”

*

the tavern is packed to the brim, overflowing with hearty patrons who served as a great audience, generously rewarding jaskier with applause and tankards of ale with his name written on them.

“thank you, my good men and women, for listening to my tales!” he exclaims, hopping off the stool he’d been using as a makeshift stage.

he heads to the bar, picking up two of the mugs and moving toward the corner where geralt’s sitting, half-hidden under the shadows.

“help yourself, witcher,” he says, smiling brightly. “the crowd was kind to us tonight.”

to you, geralt thinks but doesn’t say. instead, he takes a swig of ale. “so i’ve seen.”

jaskier beams at him, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted with sweat. he downs half his glass, sitting back on his chair, sighing contentedly.  

they spend the evening in comfortable silence, jaskier casually making remarks about the town or the last contract, taking small bites out of a piece of bread. after a while, geralt stands up.

“i’ll go check on roach.”

“oh, good!” jaskier says, standing next to him. “i forgot my quill in her saddlebags, i’ll go with you.”

geralt hums, and they walk past the people at the tavern. they reach the half-lit stables at the back, where roach chews on some straw in her stall.

“hey, sweetheart,” jaskier greets, stroking her snout. geralt starts brushing her down, and jaskier looks into her saddlebags for his forgotten quill. a long time ago, geralt had given up on trying to split their belongings into different bags, realizing the your side, my side logic meant nothing to jaskier.

after all, they shared everything. coin, wine, food. beds, sometimes, waking up with their legs entwined, jaskier’s head on geralt’s shoulder, embraced in what they both tried to pass off as the natural seeking of warmth on cold nights, nothing else.

jaskier leans against a pillar, watching geralt take care of his horse. they’d been traveling together for so long, yet it still amazes jaskier to see geralt move around roach. how his gaze softens, and a small smile stretches across his lips, only for roach to see. how he murmurs sweet nothings, rubbing that spot on her jaw he knows she likes.

“okay,” geralt says, “go to sleep, now. we’re leaving at dawn.”

roach bumps her head against geralt’s chest, lovingly, and he gives her a smile.

“goodnight, darling,” jaskier says, sneaking a sugar cube into her mouth. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

when he turns back, geralt’s looking at them with a fond expression, a small smile on his lips. he moves toward jaskier, his eyes soft.

“you’re spoiling her”, he says, amused. this close, jaskier can see geralt’s got a little bit of mud on his chin, and he wants to wipe it off.

“she’s a good horse,” jaskier tells him, feeling roach’s eyes on him. “she deserves nice things.”

“hmm.” geralt closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly.

jaskier moves forward, licking his thumb, and gently wipes geralt’s chin. he opens his eyes, watching jaskier.

“there,” jaskier whispers, his thumb now stroking geralt’s cheek.

suddenly, he feels roach nudge him forward with her snout, and he stumbles onwards, clutching geralt’s shirt for balance. they’re close, geralt’s breath on jaskier’s cheek, his hands on the bard’s waist.

“she’s a clever horse, too,” geralt says, pressing the tip of his nose against jaskier’s, rubbing softly.

“she is,” jaskier murmurs against geralt’s lips.

roach nickers softly in agreement.

#mywriting #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #roach deserves soft things

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Welcome To The Pack: Sinking Fangs

Summary- 10.2k Alpha Steve x You. Things have settled back on Pack Lands. Over a month has passed since you and Steve returned from Wakanda and now there is just one last thing to deal with to put the ordeal of your time with the Pierce Pack to rest, deal with Council Member Ross. Brock now has a new asset on hand and gives a preview of how efficient he is. Dividers made by @firefly-graphics​

Warnings- Violence, Killing, Sex. 

A/N- Wow, thank you all so much for reading this. Really it has been a passion project of mine, and Im so happy I could bring my wolves into the MCU verse. We are at the end of this story with Alpha Steve and the Little One. I hope it delivered all that you had hoped it would and enjoyed it as much as I have. Reading your comments and asks have meant more to me then you could possibly know. Happy Howling 🐺

 Chapter 9 (part 2) / Masterlist 

The chill tickled his senses and that was what woke Steve up that morning, his hand sweeping over the bed to find you not there, but your warmth was still clinging to the bed sheets. You haven’t been up for long. Rolling to his stomach, he moved to resettle, listening for where you might be in the cabin. But all was silent, all he could pick up was the drip-drip of the coffee maker in the kitchen, so you had been there just before, there was no rustle on the couch no sounds of your feet springing off the cabin's wood floor though. But the heavy autumn air did draw his attention to the wide-open door to the deck. Rolling up to rub at his face to waken further, Steve leaned down and grabbed sleep pants nearby to tug them on. He advanced on the deck and took a look around. 

The deck was frost-covered, as well as the towering pines housing the migrating songbirds sheltering overnight and that one grey squirrel that seemed to claim the back deck as his since you started feeding them. Steve’s eyes scanned for you, and the Wolf immediately picked up your warm scent, eyes dropping to see where the soles of your feet and toes had melted a trail across the frost covered deck. Following it, he went down the stairs to the lower deck that stretched out over the lake, and there you were, at the very end with an afghan wrapped around your shoulder, legs peeking out from underneath it. Steve could see where you were arched onto your toes to keep the rest of your feet from touching the frost covered wood. Getting a quicker spring to his step, Steve approached you from behind. 

“Y/N, what are you doing out here so early? You must be freezing.” His Wolf growled in agreement when you looked over your shoulder. Even as cold as you looked, your eyes were bright with excitement. “I heard geese overhead, and I wanted to see them flying south.” Once he reached you, his arms went around your waist and drew you back so that you would lean into him, your feet moving to step on top of his to protect them from the frostbitten boards and the fog coming off the lake so early in the morning. His head tilted up to look in the clear blue sky above, something about the cold made it look sharper. Sometimes he forgot that son of a bitch Pierce kept you locked up so long in his compound, like an animal in a zoo. 

You missed out on the way their world would shift between warm sunshine filled lazy days to everything preparing for a long sleep. The woods were now constantly rustling with animals seeking food to store away, leaves windblown loose to swirl in patterns before falling to the forest floor to provide shelter for the tree roots. Overhead the sky would be swarmed with birds, quick off the wing as they left for winter bound destinations. Ice would soon form on the lake edges, sending the lake dwellers down into the depths to wait out the winter. And right now, your head tipped back to watch the obnoxious geese as the massive birds flew in their arrow path, carrying them out of sight. 

“Winter will soon be here,” Steve said with a smile, for it was his favorite time of year. As wonderful as all the others were, the snow brought a serene calmness to The Pack. Letting the Wolves loose for days to run across the snow. It was a time his Beast was most at home in the world. The biting winds and harsh cold he was made for. While the forest snapped from the intense ice and cold, he tracked through it, laying claim to all that was his and reminding nearby packs that a strong Alpha and his wolves claimed this territory. Then for his human side, he had a warm cabin, and now his Little One filling his home and his bed. Steve finally felt that maybe things were falling into place. 

You turned to face him, wrinkling your nose at him. “You know who else will be here soon ? Ross.” You reminded him with a worried look and Steve gave a soft growl at the man’s name, a pain in his ass if there ever was one. He had put him coming off for well over the past couple months since you two had returned from Wakanda. But Tony finally pushed him for this meeting, to go over what had actually happened to Pierce’s pack, and You. Pack on pack violence wasn’t tolerated among the council, supposedly. So Steve needed to explain his reasons for attacking. It was all bullshit, considering what you went through alone. 

“Don’t remind me Little One.” Steve gave a huff, warm breath washing over your face as his head dropped, burying his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. “The sooner he leaves the better. Come on, now my feet are cold.” He chuckled and drew you away, and back up the stairs towards the house once more. 

The morning was a bit more tense than usual. Steve was quiet, you felt like his concentration was discussing matters with his Wolf, knowing he would have to keep himself under control with the Alphas coming into his territory. Initially, he was going to refuse this meeting, but Tony convinced him that it would be a show of good faith to the council if he allowed them access and actually explained what happened. The ex Pierce pack now belonged to Caine, who told the members the council sent what happened already. But Ross couldn’t let it go. Wanting to still hear from Steve. Finally, the Alpha relented, unsure if it was entirely the right thing, but it was done with. He wasn’t one to back down from his word. 

“You still going up to the yard?” You asked cautiously, knowing Steve was a bit all over the place, and his head lifted at your voice, checking his watch. 

“Yea, guess I better get up there if I want to get at least one truck off to the mill.” He drained his mug and set it in the sink, grabbing his jacket as he drew up to you. “Shoot me a text if anything happens while I’m up the mountain.” His fingers grasped your chin and placed a kiss on your lips, you nodded with an encouraging smile. 

“Of course Steve.” You nudged at him and tilted for one more coffee stained kiss from him, and when he left, you listened to his heavy footfalls take him down the porch and then moments later one of the pickups at the garage start-up. Once he was gone, you moved to settle on the couch, pulling your phone out to call Natasha. This had become the morning routine, once Steve headed out, you checked in with the Red Wolf. 

After a few moments, Natasha picked up, you could see here setting her phone up on a nightstand before going back to packing up a duffel bag. 

“Hey, you coming home for a bit?” you asked hopefully. She had been gone since she left you and Steve in Wakanda, and only heard from her now and then till you started to actively video chat her once a day. If she would pick up the phone that was. Some days when she answered it would be from a car while driving, a motel room, middle of the street. And the days she didn't, you weren't sure if you wanted to know where she was holed up in her search for the missing pack members.

“No, not yet, I picked up another lead last night, and about to go check it out.” 

“Natasha, Steve wouldn't be upset if you came home. It's been weeks and every trail you come across leads to a dead end.” You say into your phone while propping it on the coffee table. 

“No, I'm sure of it this time. He really fits Bucky’s description. Tall, dark hair, slight limp to his walk. Sounded like he passed through town.” Natasha sounded hopeful. So many times Natasha was sure she finally found Bucky, and it always led to a dead end.

“Was there anyone else with him?” You questioned, and her face got a bit crestfallen, shaking it slowly. 

“No, nothing about the others. Has Laura said anything about Clint contacting her?” 

Another shake of the head no. “Nothing, no one has seemed to hear anything. Steve’s even been reaching out to other packs. Someone named Fury is coming soon, he works for the Council, and is going to try to help figure out where they went.” 

Natasha’s green eyes widened a bit. “Fury? Well damn, Uh, how did Steve feel about that?” your eyes narrowed at your packmate, yes you were still fairly new, and was reminded of that in moments like these. 

“From what I understand, Steve called him himself. Why? What do I not know?” You questioned, and Natasha shrugged. 

“You know Steve, he's not on board with the whole Wolf Packs need to be “policed” like the council wants to do. But Fury, he's one of the better ones. Kinda walks his own line, you know? Steve worked with him way before he was an Alpha, at an agency called Shield.”

This piqued your interest, even your Little Wolf stirred, cause Steve rarely talked about his past. “What was Shield?”

Natasha searched the drawers one last time while she remained talking. “Oh it was Wolves trained in special skills, usually combative and logistics. They would be dispatched into problem areas for wolves and humans alike, working with the military. Bucky was a part of it as well. Their team was called the Howling Commandos.” Natasha snapped the drawers shut, and went to sit on the bed, picking up the phone. “Course this was way back when. I'm a bit surprised Steve hasn’t talked about it?” 

“No, but honestly Steve doesn't talk much about his past.” You worried your lip a bit and the Little Wolf brushed against your mind. 

<He will talk about it when he's ready.>

Natasha gave a shrug. “He will sometime, Steve’s time with his ex wasn’t easy. He probably just wants to forget some of that. With your help.” Natasha smirked at you, and you gave her a roll of your eyes, your Little Wolf snickering in agreement with your friend. “Have you thought about making it all official?” She eased out the question, and you wish you could give a resounding yes. You had considered asking Steve many times about it since you two have returned home. 

But something held you back, the idea of being connected to someone mind and body scared you in a way that seemed so unreasonable considering you and your Little Wolf knew you wouldn't ever want another Mate. Steve assured you many times that he would share that bond with you, but only when you asked for it, and never pushed or made you feel guilty like you should ask. Plus the way you and Steve were right now, it was comfortable and content, you hated the thought of asking for more and ruining the rhythm of happiness you found with each other, even though in Wakanda you were more than ready. 

“I know Steve would the second I asked him, it's me waiting. After living with Pierce for so long, Nat honestly it scares me. If Steve connected, I would belong to him. I know he wouldn’t do anything I wasn't okay with, but knowing he could. Fuck that just scares me.”

“Y/N, does he even know you feel this way?” Natasha asked softly and you shook your head. “Talk to him Y/N, Steve will want to know what you are thinking.” 

Your Little Wolf curled around in your mind, growling softly. <She’s right, we should communicate with our Alpha.>

“Think about it Y/N, you open up, maybe Steve will as well.” Natahsa grabbed her duffel and shouldered it. “Listen, I will be home soon, okay? Don’t worry about me, I'm used to being out on my own quite a bit.” 

“Doesn't mean we don’t still worry.” you chuckled softly and gave a wave into the phone screen. “Talk to you tomorrow Nat. Bye.” 

After hanging up, you settled back into the couch thinking over yours and Natasha’s discussion with the bond. Maybe it was time to bring it up with Steve, about why you were hesitant. 

Maybe he’s hesitant to? I know he has offered but-

<But nothing Y/N, his past is his past and even with the bond, he can choose not to share it. You know some things still stay private unless you choose to share them. Same goes with Steve and his Wolf. Besides… you're not just a little curious about before he was Alpha?> 

Of course I am, I just never really brought it up. 

The Little Wolf huffed out in frustration and shook out her fur as she moved to a stretch. <You have wanted it since before I came home, you were just waiting for me to come back.>

How do you know about that? 

<Cause I was never actually gone, just trapped.> she responded, starting to trot away from the front of your awareness with a whisk of your tail. <Now it's simply fear holding you back. The Alpha deserves to know.> 

You huffed a bit at your wolf being so dismissive. Pushing up off the couch, and going back to the bedroom to go get ready for the arrival of Ross to the pack. 

Up on the mountain, the lot was just finishing up, Steve waiting with hands on his hips, watching as Sam worked the Skid Cat to load the last of the logs on. Once the last one was on, he pulled himself up the side and started working on strapping them down for transport when Sam parked the skid cat nearby, and hopped down to go join Steve. Pulling himself up the other side, both men working quietly tightening the straps till everything was safe to be taken down the mountain. 

“Your awful quiet today Man.” Sam finally broke the ice while twisting to take a seat at the top of the pile, Steve making a similar move to sit next to him. 

“Lot on my mind I guess.” He pulled off his heavy duty work gloves, and slapped them down beside him.

“This to do with Ross or Y/N?” Sam questioned while falling back to his palms planted on the log behind him, relaxing for a moment. 

“A bit of both. Ross, I'm just ready to get him off Pack Land.” Steve admitted, and the Wolf growled lowly at the mention of the man's name. “Y/N, were good and starting to feel comfortable, and settled after everything from this summer. But is this what she wants for sure?” 

<Course it is, our mate is happy Steve.> The Wolf pinned back his ear at the humans worries, sighing. 

Sam listened and gave a nod. “I remember feeling that way with Sara when we first started. ‘Was she happy, would she want this to be her life.’ Nerve wracking. I wanted to ask her, but fuck I was scared that she was gonna tell me it was temporary.” Sam flashed a grin. “Then I sucked it up, and brought it up one night. Damn, she jumped me in all of two seconds, told me I was an idiot and that she wasn't going anywhere.” Sam chuckled at the memory, and Steve gave his own amused laugh. “Anyways, I had nothing to be worried about, and I don't think you do either. Y/N looks at you man with those god damn heart eyes all the time whenever she catches a whiff of you. And Ross, I know you're not happy about it. I'm glad i'm not in your position right now.”

Steve rolled his eyes at him. “Thanks Sam.” 

“But you're gonna sail through it, tell Ross what happened, he's just being a prick cause you're not rushing to sign his accords.” Sam moved then to push off, sliding back down to the ground, and motioning to the truck's cab. When one Alpha refuses, others will not be afraid to say they agree. He’s afraid of more Alphas and packs agreeing with you. Come on Alpha, you're stalling. Let's get our shit finished, your best friend gonna be here soon.” 

Steve grabbed his gloves and jumped down, growling at Sam. “You're an ass.” while stuffing his gloves in his back pocket and yanking the door open to get in. 

“It’s a gift I’ve worked on for years.” Sam grinned, grabbing the walkie talkie and listening for the static. “Steve and I are taking the last load, clean up guys.” Once he got the confirmation, he got in, and Steve put the truck in drive and headed down the mountain. 

It wasn’t long till Steve was once more pulling into the Packs compound and it hit him as soon as he opened the door. The Alpha himself bristled in Steve’s mind scenting the other Alphas on his land, and he had to push the Wolf back from the front of his consciousness, the beast set off by not just one outside Alpha, but two. Sam coming out the other side, side eyed Steve a moment to make sure he didn't lose control because he saw the situation before Steve did. Sam was well aware the moment Steve saw them, just from the growl that raised from the depths of his chest in a menacing tone before dying down. 

On HIS porch, with HIS mate was Ross, Tony, and a female. Steve was unsure of who it was, but he was more focused on three wolves surrounding you that were outsiders. Heavy handed, he slammed the truck door shut, and all heads turned towards him to see him stalking towards his porch. 

Tony immediately moved to a stand, clapping his hands together. “And there's the old boy now! We were just about to go up the mountain to find you Steve.” Ross gave a cold nod in agreement, and the woman sitting next to him, Steve finally recognized Ross's assistant, Judy. Steve’s gaze shifted hotly from the wolves to you, taking you in. You seemed relax, one leg crossed over another, your hand wrapped around a coffee mug, and everything in you seemed to say that you were comfortable yet alert. Immediately as soon as you saw him looking at you with such an intense look, you set your cup aside, and eased to a stand, bushing past Judy and going down the stairs to reach your Alpha, smiling in that welcome home way. 

Immediately Steve loped an arm around you and pressed his lips to your temple with a whispered hushed tone just for you. “Everything okay?” you hummed a yes, exchanging the sentiment with a nuzzle to his shoulder before turning back to your waiting guests. 

“They just arrived minutes before you and Sam, Alpha.” You say cheerfully, the other three following you off the porch and standing around. You can feel Steve against you, not growling, but the vibrations of silent rumbles shifted through him. Your hand lightly slides under the back of his shirt to press against his lower back, and you feel him calm down, a deep inhale clearing his mind. 

“I was expecting you all much later, and I have a business to run, orders to be placed and people to keep employed within the compound and from the town below. But I’m here now, shall we go inside to talk?” Steve offered with an extended hand towards his front door. Ross once more seemed to look at Steve with disdain, making the Little Wolf in you bristle at the rudeness to your Alpha, but Steve chose to ignore it so you did as well. Judy though was another matter, the woman standing just to the other side of Ross with her tablet for notes, and she seemed to be eyeing Steve in a whole other way. A way that made you self conscious that he didn't have your bite showing any other unmated wolves he was committed. It made your jaw ache as you clenched it shut, your Little Wolf pacing now, panting slightly being on edge.

<She's a threat, I can smell her desire.> The Little Wolf's ears swept back flat against her skull, yellow eyes sharp as they watched Judy flaunt a bit in front of Steve, flashing her neck with sweeps of her hair over her shoulder and lowering her gaze in a way that wasn't necessary for anyone other than her Alpha or Mate. Now that Steve was here, you could smell the change in her, the heated desire this woman had for him. Steve must have felt you tense, cause his hand flexed on your hip and fingers pressed in the curve. 

She is only a threat if we allow her to be. Your attention turned away from her back to Tony and Ross. 

"Yes let's finish up with this." Ross snapped a bit and proceeded up the stairs. 

 As they headed inside, Steve dipped his head to Sam to whisper in his ear. Sam nodded at whatever Steve had said and stepped away from the group. You watch as he leaves, until Steve's touch pushes you gently up the stairs, wanting to keep you with him during this. You embrace for going inside, assaulted by the scent of all the extra people, but the one that was really irritating you the most was Judy. Who flung her hair once more over her shoulder, showing off the slim column of her neck. 

Your teeth bared slightly, although you flashed her a smile, digging for a hair tie in your pocket. “Here, your hair seems to be bothering you.” you held out the offending tie to her and she looked at your hand with a slight wrinkle of her nose, and plucked it from your fingers. 

“Thanks.” she muttered, but was quick to walk away from you. You noticed she flung your hair tie back on the kitchen island counter and stuck to Ross’s side while they settled on the couch. Judy’s nose dropped to her tablet, suddenly very busy. 

Not a threat but she's annoying as hell. Steve isn't even paying her any attention. You stated confidently to you Little Wolf as Steve dropped a kiss to your shoulder while going to the bar to pour some tumblers of the Wakandian liquor to offer the guests. 

“Be careful, it's strong.” he said as he passed it to Ross, Tony and Sharon. The last two he kept for you and him, once he settled in his leather chair, you perched on the arms chair allowing Steve to keep a possessive hand on your thigh. You sip it, licking your bottom lip afterward to clear the droplets collected and smirked to yourself when Steve’s fingers flexed and dug into your muscle before loosening again. 

<His…>

Yes we are. You thought while sipping the strong liquor once more. 

Tony, you noticed, was well aware of what Steve had given him and took a tentative sip. Ross though, shot back a heavy swallow, and started sputter and grabbing a kerchief from his pocket. “Christ Rogers, what was that?”

“It's Wakadian Liquor, courtesy of King T’Challa. So, what is it you want, Senator Ross? You felt the need to come all the way to my Pack to discuss my packs matters?” 

Ross set his glass to the side, and your gaze followed to see that he completely missed the coaster, and your eyes flashed in irritation at his ignorant behaviour. 

“Well as you know, the council over the American Wolves don't condone pack on pack violence. I understand the unique situation with Pierces ex lone wolf.” Ross said, gesturing towards you. 

Steve snapped forward in his seat, a warning growl rising from him. “Her name is Y/N, and I accepted her as part of the Mountain Pack the day she arrived. She was never a lone wolf or lived in the no man's land. Y/N was on the run, for her life. Running from a mad Alpha looking to sell her. She was a victim, she didn't choose to cross boundaries. Treat her as such.” 

To be called a lone wolf insinuated you had abandoned your pack and disrespected your Alpha. A wolf gone rogue and living between pack lines was a dangerous wolf, traveling to find a new pack was acceptable. But to live entirely feral,was rare and often those beasts went a little mad, losing their sense of human side.  

Tony rubbed at his face, easy to tell that the two Alphas were going to start bristling at one another, and interrupted with a slightly cheerful voice. “Okay gentleman, let's be sure we keep to the purpose here.” 

Ross nodded, this time taking a much more careful sip of his drink. “I apologize Y/N. I'm not unsympathetic to your situation.” He stated towards you, which you nodded slightly in acceptance while Steve thrummed his fingers against your thigh, impatient now. “As I was saying, there are proper procedures we must take to investigate Pierce and properly hold him accountable. Now, he’s dead. And he can't pay for his crimes. So Alpha…” Ross snapped out. “What prompted you to take those measures without notifying the Council.” 

Steve slid his arm around your hip while leaning forward, moving to sit on the edge of his seat, instinctively you felt the Aloha growing angered, and slid from the arm of the chair onto his knee. You could feel his coiled muscles underneath you and you leaned back enough to feel his chest pressing partially against your back. “What prompted me, Senator Ross? The fact that Y/N had to come seeking safety while being hunted. Trackers crossed my lines, uninvited, went into my house, uninvited and tried to abduct Y/N.” Steve inhaled deeply, dragging your scent to calm his Wolf down before continuing. “Then I am told about unmated wolves being held captive and sold to the highest bidder, against their consent. But none of that matters, right Ross? Leave it to the council to sit on their asses waiting for something more? How about this, Pierce threatened to attack my pack.” Steve shifted back, easing you both back. “I went to him instead, offered to talk first. It didn't end that way. I'm not going to have any of my family threatened, especially when from what I've been told, the council had all this information and more on file. And YOU all were still waiting? For what?” Steve challenged back. 

Ross glared at Tony before clearing his throat. “I don't know where you might have heard that information, but I can assure you Steve that the council has nothing but all Packs welfare in mind. That's why we were made in the first place. 

“Enough!” Steve snapped his teeth behind you. “I see now that the Council was made to try to control the Packs, do away with the need for Alphas. That's what this is about right? I refuse to sign your Accords, and by me not doing so, you have other packs who are also refusing. The matter with Pierce is just showing how fucking sloppy you all are, half ass work, rather watch until its the prime opportune moment to make the Council look good.” Steve snarled out, jostling you a bit in his lap as his arm tightened around you, probably unconsciously at this moment because his anger was starting to roll from him. 

“You're severely misjudging the Council Rogers, and although your opinions of us are not unknown, I say you best be watching what you say. You originally were for it, and we're still doing good for everyone, even if it's behind the scenes. Just because you and your Wolf got all tripped up saving a bitch in distress and breaking the Law.”

You felt Steve surge behind you, but you were quicker this time, your Little Wolf raging enough that your eyes flashed yellow barely containing her now. “You are in the Alphas house Senator, shut your fucking mouth if you cant be civil!” you snapped out, looming over the seated man when you pulled out of Steve’s hold. He went to stand, and you pushed him back to sit on the couch, Judy next to him giving a yelp in surprise, and you snarled at her enough for her to pull back into Ross.  You turned into Tony next, who threw up his hands in surrender. “Stark I like you, you helped Steve and I when we needed it most. But how dare you bring this man to our home.” Your hand waved over Ross. 

“Y/N, I'm sorry… “ Tony started genuinely but you cut him off, turning towards Ross, your anger still on the surface. You felt Steve move up behind you, but he never tried stopping you. 

“And You,” you inhaled deeply and growled as you exhaled. “You left us there to be tortured and abused. You left Pierce out of control, for what? More evidence? Know how many times Pierce tried to sell me off? Do you want the details of how that happens? I can fucking show you for your files. I know you saw his wall of skins. How many you think he did that to while your precious fucking council was waiting? You know how many he skinned alive?” At this Steve rested his hands on your shoulder, angry tears welling up that you wiped away furiously before continuing. “I remember every single one of them begging for mercy, their howls and screams. It will never go away.” All three of them listened while horror crossed their faces. “Steve, listened to the bare minimum of it all and knew it couldn't continue. So don't ever, EVER come here again trying to accuse the Alpha of anything other than saving the rest of our lives.” You took a deep breath, and your glare fell on your last victim. Judy saw you snap towards her, and she shrunk into the cushions, her hands shaking a bit as she dropped her head to look away from you. “And you know that I'm with Alpha, bite or not. All the neck flashing and bare minimum presenting yourself as a possible mate does nothing but make you look like a fool Woman. I'm assuming you think you're going places working for Ross. Sweetheart, find a new Alpha to work for.” You could feel yourself getting closer to losing control and you straightened, your back slamming into Steve just behind you, and his hands tightened on your hips to steady you. 

“I think my Little One said everything she needed to Ross. Leave, get off my pack’s land and don't ever show your face here again, you are not welcome.” Steve said quietly, the tone dripping with anger and a threat. 

“Now Rogers…” Ross tried again to make his point across while Tony and Sharon both went to stand and remove themselves. Steve roared out from behind you, and you hitched your chin up in your resolve. “NOW!” From outside came threatening howls from around the cabin, a clear sign that they were no longer welcome, and Ross snapped to a stand, straightening his jacket. 

“We're leaving, but mark my words Rogers this isn't over. There's the matter of your missing pack mates. Know where your trusted White Wolf is?” Ross snarled, and Steve started to make a move to lunge at Ross when Tony started to push them out. 

“Were going Steve, Y/N, Pepper says hi.” Tony shoved them both out the doors, and from the glance you saw, several wolves were lounging in front of your cabin, Sam being right on the stairs and Sara just below him. Sam remained impassive, just his ears perking at the opening of the door. Sara though rolled her muzzle to flash her fangs at the trio descending the stairs. 

Sam followed them down with Sara pacing right along with him, all three hurried to their parked vehicle as other wolves followed along. Several other packmates flowed silently into the treeline bordering the road that would lead them off the grounds. 

As the vehicle sped, they were followed with howls all along the driveway, going for several miles, keeping track of where the intruders were. You and Steve remained listening, relaxing a little more the further they got. Steve's hold was loose around you and his head dropped to nip kisses against your neck, breathing in against you while you and the Little Wolf listened with perked ears until Sam and Sara both announced with their own howl the threat was gone. You sagged in against his chest, for a moment and tipped your head back to look up at him. 

“I could have ripped his throat out.” You rumbled, and Steve looked down with a slight amused look on his face when he rubbed your stomach under your shirt, feeling yourself clench under his hands. 

“I know Little One, apparently they lit a fire in you.” A hand wrapped around your neck to slip up to your jaw, tilting your head to the side so he could drag teeth along your neck and followed by the soft warmth of his tongue. Your adrenaline was quickly shifting from anger to lust and desire. “Seeing you get protective was fucking hot Little One. I could fuck you so hard right now.” He bared his teeth against your wayward pulse. Everything about Steve screamed danger for others, for you it was exhilarating, the slight squeeze on your neck left you whimpering as you clenched your thighs together. “Get in our bed Little One, now.” He released you and you spun to face him, grasping his face to lick over his lips and biting that bottom one with a tug while his hand snapped sharply across your ass to send you on your way inside. 

Steve followed you in and watched you disappear down the hallway before he turned to lock the front door. Gritting his teeth as he leaned his forehead, feeling the Wolf shift through him with hunger for you, he was already rock hard when you lit right into Ross, Tony and Judy. Now the need to claim you was overriding all his other desires for you. Snapping back from the door, he stalked down the hallway, his nose lifted to follow your scent. Which built a hunger in his lower gut. 

He was raging hard, everything said that you ached, wet heat for him to get lost in. And when he stopped in the doorway, he saw you kneeling in the middle of the bed, arching yourself while your hands traveled to your back to unclasp your bra. Steve didn't even give you a chance. 

He couldn't help it, he was on you, his hands pulling you in closer to the edge, and a snap of his fingers against your back and sliding his hand around your ribs, he pulled the bra off your front to sharply inhale, catching the sight of you blinking up at him with those wide eyes shimmering back and forth between you and the Little Wolf. Hands moving to cup your breasts, thumbs flickering over the round pebbled tips while descending to claim your mouth, riding you down till you were smothered underneath him on the bed, caging you effectively underneath him. “Fuck you drive me wild Little One.” 

You could feel his teeth sink into your shoulder to keep you still and make you hiss out “Isn’t that my job?” which made Steve bite just a bit harder and make you growl while arching just a bit. Your hands fisted in the soft cotton of his tee and started to shred it till you could pull it away while his hands had your hips pinned in place, slotting a knee in between your spread thighs to grind the hard muscle into your cunt, which had your jolting underneath him. 

Once you got rid of his shirt, yanking the last of what was left over his head that he had to lift himself away from where he was marking you, you rubbed your aching cunt against his thigh again, dragging your nails down his muscled back while arching underneath him, seeking out that friction of his body against yours. 

Steve’s hand snaked once more around your neck, slamming you back into the pillows so he could look down at you, panting as inhaling you wasn't enough, he wanted to taste you, breath you in and get lost in the intoxication that made up you. “Flip over, to your knees Little One.” Leaning over you and brushing his lips against yours while you gave kitten licks to his lips, opening to let his tongue fill your mouth in a hungry kiss for one another. Steve couldn't contain the snarl of need erupting from him, the twitch of his cock constrained in tight jeans. Your nails dug into his back, dragging down while digging in, maring the spanse of his back in deep red welts. You gasped out when he moved down to suck his mark on your neck. “Steve, you gotta let me move.” you chuckled, pointing out the obvious. Steve had you effectively captured underneath him. 

The Alpha gave a warning nip to your pulse before pulling away, smirking down at you. “Sassy Little Wolf.” His palms slapped against your ass cheeks, digging his fingers in and pushing you off his knee. “One more time, flip over and let me see just how wet and needy you are Little One.”  Steve commanded, and pulled back while you twisted to your stomach, his hands sliding along your sides, and grasping your layers remaining to jerk them down over your ass and off your legs. 

Finishing with unbuckling his belt and sliding pants down while your ass swung back and forth to get yourself in position for your Alpha, breathing out deeply while dropping your head to the mattress. You could hear his hungry groan as he moved in behind you, his hands cupping the soft globes, spreading them so nothing was possibly hidden from him. You sighed feeling the cool air brush against your heated swollen cunt, and snuck a peek over your shoulder to see Steve biting on his lip, his eyes hungry while his cock pressed against the lower part of his stomach, dripping from his own desires. A finger trailed along your weeping cunt, sliding so easily into your channel, even when you tightened around him, dropping your head against the mattress once more with a pleading whimper. “Alpha please.” 

Steve stroked your fluttering and clutching walls, his finger slick with your want, and he easily stretched you open with another finger. His other hand smoothed up your back, and grasped the back of your neck, long fingers grasping around the column and dragging you up so that you were leaning on your elbow, your head tipped back to look up. 

“So pretty for me my Little One, taking my fingers so good.” He gave a stroke against the soft spongy spot that made you clench around him, breathing in deeply as he dropped his forehead against the center of your back, breathing out to keep himself under control as his muscles rippled under taunt skin. You started whimpering and mewling whenever his calloused fingertips sunk back into you, snapping your back while pushing back to meet his movements. “Your Alpha is going to fill you up, leave you dripping with my cum so everyone knows who you belong to.” 

Fuck you wanted that, wanted him so hard and deep in you that you would ache moving the next day, that his claim would be all over your skin, bruises from his mouth, and his seed rubbed in till it was all you could scent, leaving you dripping with need. “Please Alpha, make me yours.” you panted, and started clenching around his fingers, the coils in your belly threatening to snap. Twisting your head to muffle into the mattress, you started crying out and curling your toes while Steve started to run his tongue up your back till his chest was draped over your back, nuzzling the back of your neck with soft growls while pressing his words into your soft skin with kisses and sharp nips. 

“Come on my fingers and I will give it to you.” tilting his head and sinking his teeth in enough to hold you still while you let go, his fingers dragging out your orgasm until you wanted to sink into the bed in bliss. “Nu uh uh, Little One.” Steve removed his fingers from your clenching core to hold your hip up, pushing up to take the weight off your back. “Im not done with you yet.” He assured you while you dragged in deep breaths and gave a nod. “That's my good girl, my perfect Little One.” Grasping his base, he dragged his swollen weeping cocks head through your swollen folds, tapping against your clit to make you jolt while he pressed against your entrance. Tight as you were, when he started to press into you, he was able to slide right in, burying himself to the hilt, and you flexed around him with your own groan underneath him, biting against a pillow to muffle yourself. Steve's hand moved to press against your stomach, feeling himself thrust into you, a jolt of his hips rocking you. 

“Fuck Little One.” He growled and you pushed to your elbows, flexing yourself around him. A few shallow strokes went faster and harder, his hands holding your hips in place to keep him from driving you into the mattress. Steve felt so heavy and full in you and around you, it was taking your willpower to keep from falling apart feel each demanding thrust into you, but you met him back, your hands digging into the sheets and your head tipped back to get lost in the sensation of Steve claiming your body, every hitting thrust into your cunt breaking down those walls of doubt just a bit more. There wasn't going to be anyone you could want like this, except for Steve. Even now in the midst of taking you as his, he was still taking care of you, above you was him grunting out praises in how good you were to him, a hand dipped in between your legs, and rolled your clit to bring you maximum pleasure. 

In the midst of this, the need to belong to him flooded you. More then the endorphins sex brought, but genuine resolve that you were ready for it, all that belonging to the Alpha would bring. You couldn't imagine not being here with Steve, and not just these moments, but all of them. The good and bad, you would remain at his side should he want you, and you wanted his immense strength to lean on as well. You finally managed to gasp out from the pleasured haze “Steve, Do it… Claim me, make me yours.” 

Steve faltered over you, his hand flexing on your hips when he thought he heard you tell him to give you the bite, to officially claim you as his own. He clenched his jaw to keep from sinking a hold into you. It was a struggle for a second to keep the Alpha from taking over, he collapsed over you, pressing you down into the mattress, and hissing against your shoulder. “Little One, you want the bite?” His tongue dragged over your ear while you whimpered underneath him, nodding while twisting your head to the side to see him. 

“I'm ready Steve, I know Im yours.” You whispered, Steve’s gaze scanned you, from your swollen kissed lips from earlier to fluttering eyelids, but your eyes kept contact with his, nodding again to affirm that is what you wanted with him. Pushing up to his hands, he placed a deep kiss to the crook of your neck with a deep inhale against you, committing your scent of sweet honeysuckle and arousal to memory. A scent he would never get tired of. Pulling back further he eased his aching cock from you, leaving you lifting your head in question, a slight panic in your voice that he was leaving you. “Steve-” 

“It's okay, Little One, turn around. I want us to do this together.” His hands smoothed over your hips, and along the scars on your back till his hands folded over your shoulders and eased you back to kneel, your back pressing against your chest. “I got you Little One.” He nuzzled against your neck where he always favored, ever since he was first with you. Flicks of his tongue and press of his lips made your racing heart start to ease. 

Reaching behind you to press your fingers through his hair at the back of his head and tug on it to lift him from your neck. You hum gently while easing around to face Steve and cup his face in your hands to crash your lips to his, gliding tongues and teeth. You both tilted into the kiss to deepen it while Steve rode you to your back, his hands planted on each side of your head and his mouth traveled to the corner of your mouth to your jawline, a nudge of his nose had you tilting your head to the side so he could drag his tongue over your pulse and leaving his scent on you. “You sure this is what you want Little One?” He growled, and you squirm underneath him to wrap your legs around his waist with a nod. 

“I- We have never been more sure of anything before Steve.” you whispered and when he lifted his head to meet your eyes, you tilted your nose up to bump against his, your fingers remaining tangled in his hair. “I love you and want everyone to know it.” Your fingers slid down his neck and rubbed against his shoulders before gliding along his biceps. 

“I love you to Little One.” he shifted to one arm to grasp your hand, weaving his fingers with yours, then to the other with the same action. Steve eased himself forward to slide back into you, feeling you gasp and arch underneath him feeling him thick and full inside of you, the slow roll of his hips, dragging him back and forth. “Fuck Alpha…” You buried your face in against his arm as you rolled back to meet him. “What should I expect?” you whimper, flexing your fingers against his. 

Steve nipped lightly against your neck and you tipped your head back for him. He growled softly while lapping at your skin, rolling once more to fill you, press deeper to connect you two. “A complete connection Little One, we will feel one another with strong emotions even when we're apart.” another nip, and another sigh as your nerves flared with anticipation. “We won't have to be shifted for our wolves to be together.” Another promising nip and ghosting of lips against the hollow of your neck, sucking a mark there as he sped up his hips, grunting as he held back the desire to cum inside of you at that moment. “Are you ready for that Little One?” Steve asked, not willing to go through with it if you were having second thoughts. 

You were overwhelmed with love for the man claiming you, and you tightened around him, drawing him in closer. With his barely held control, it made him growl with his next thrust. “Mark me Steve Rogers.” A flash of your neck made his eyes flare yellow in the moment, and he dropped to scent against your neck. 

When he found the spot he wanted, one that was his favorite place to bury his face into because it was soft and warm, everything you were in his life, his tongue soothed over it, and a soft growl to prepare you rolled through his chest before his teeth laid claim, breaking through your skin. You immediately arched into him, curling yourself around his body with a pleasured scream. It left your Little Wolf howling while you came from the intense pleasure, and his body surged forward to keep your orgasm rolling through you in waves. It felt like fire and ice burned from your clenching core, and laced your body with licks of contrast, making you wither and hold onto Steve more. You sought out Steve's firmness to keep from losing yourself, and your head buried in against his shoulder, breaking a pleasured sob into the muscle. His hand broke from yours and cupped the back of your head, each surge rocking you into your mate. The urge to return the bite overcame you, and on his shoulder you laid your own mark, which sent Steve spiraling over the edge. His hips started to stutter to a stop while he buried his seed into you, groaning as he sunk over you. 

The explosion in your mind was another pleasure all its own, leaving you seeing spots in your vision even when you had your eyes screwed shut and your hand not pinned down with his hand, was wrapped around Steve’s side, clutching yourself to him till there wasn't any space between both of your sex blissed bodies. 

Your Little Wolf was tentative in the new connection you and Steve shared, lowering to her belly waiting to see if the Alpha would come, and sure enough the silver Alpha nudged against her, the Little Wolf rolling and nipping under his chin while rubbing against him with excited whines and yips. 

You could feel him, not in the same way you felt your own Little Wolf, but the sensation was thrilling. Steve was the first to let go, gentle with a rub of his hand along your hip and a soothing caress of his tongue against your broken skin to clean off the blood the bite brought. He groaned at the warm iron taste. You unclench your jaw and let go as well, placing a kiss against the mark while sliding your hand up and down his back gently which was still rippling under your fingertips, tracing the marks you left on him gently. “I can feel your wolf Steve.” you whisper in his ear, and Steve lifted his chest off yours, tucking himself up on his elbows, his hands cupping your face, and thumbs gliding over your cheeks, smiling down at you. 

“I feel her to Y/N, she's as much a part of me as he is of you.” Tipping his head to catch your lips, he circled an arm around your waist while pulling up, bringing you with him till you were straddled against his lap while wrapping your arms around his neck to stay in place. Steve couldn't stop his hands from gliding over your curves, the smooth skin along your lower back and over the swell of your hips and down along your thighs. You tentatively touch your neck, feeling the raised heated skin from where Steve bit you, your fingertips tracing the indents where his teeth sunk in. “Do you want to go see it YN?” Steve asked as he grasped your hips, ready to ease you off him now that he was no longer knotted in you, and was safe for you to move. 

“Yea, I want to see it, this is the first bite that was my choice, I want to admire it.” You gave a shy grin, and Steve felt a burst of satisfaction in his chest. You were so happy in this moment, and he was effectively feeling it as well. Easing you off his lap and you tumbled out of the bed, to approach the dresser mirror, lifting your hair back to see where Steve claimed you as his. 

In the mirror, Steve could see your face break into a smile, placing your palm over it. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and you twisted on your toes to approach him. Spreading his thighs for you to step through, he let his hands slide up the back of your thighs while your own fingers slid through his hair and down till your palms pressed against the underside of his jaw, tilting his face to look up at you. “Thank you for choosing me Alpha.” 

Steve's fingers dug into the back of your thighs. “I would choose you again and again my Omega.” for the first time, he labeled you as his other half, the omega wolf to his alpha wolf. In the connection, you both could hear your wolves singing your bonding song. 

“Oh it's going excellent, the asset was well worth the wait.” Brock smirked into the phone as he looked in the large cell used to contain their weapon. “Hold on, I will show you how efficient he is.” Turning the phone around, he tilted the phone so the camera could face into the cell, and he barked out an order. “Go get that Stark man… the one they call Happy. Let the Winter Wolf have some fun with him.” Quickly the hydra agent he ordered went to collect their victim while Brock continued to speak into the phone. “It took a while to break him in but once we did, we unleashed a killer. I had no idea he even had it in him, and makes me wonder now if Rogers has that in him as well. They were trained in the same unit.” Brock heard the scuffle of footsteps behind him, and he swung open the cell door to shove Happy inside, sending him spiraling against the cement floor. With a clang, the door slammed shut and Happy pushed himself off the dirty ground, looking for any way to get out. 

“Rumlow, you know this is foolish, Tony will never let this go.” he grunted as he turned towards the bars. Rumlow crossed his arms over his chest, and smirked coldly. 

“You think Stark scares me any? Bigger picture Happy. Tony is nothing, an Alpha coming to the end of his time. Along with all the other packs across the country. That council shit they all live by will be brought down.” 

“Your fucking crazy Brock, I always knew it.” Happy growled softly, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. “Steve was right to take over your Pack.” 

Brock gave a laugh, banging on the bars to make Happy jump. “Rogers, don't worry I have something just for him. Right now your time is up.” He backed up a bit and re-directed the camera. “Let the asset out.” 

There was a clank behind Happy, and he spun around, reaching up to tug at the collar preventing him being able to shift. Fear flooded him with a sour bitter taste in his mouth, cause he could sense the danger coming for him, still hidden in the shadows. Happy’s Wolf was chained, but his fear made him struggle against the magic binding him with panicked whimpers, while Happy tried his best to see where the attack would come from. A loud snarl echoed from the room and Happy backed into a corner, trying to get as far away as possible now, giving his own warning to stay back. “Get back!” he panted in panic, still now knowing exactly where the beast would be coming from. The large White Wolf padded out, his yellow eyes honed in on Happy while licking his jaws with a bright pink roll of his tongue. “Bucky, fuck we know each other.” Happy tried pleading. Brock behind him burst into a laugh, remarking. “That isn't Bucky, not anymore.” The White Wolf flickered his ears back and forth, studying the quivering man before him and Brock’s almost bored tone filled the silence. “Ubiystvo” Kill. 

It all happened so fast, just enough time for Happy to throw up his hands to try to block his throat, and a streak of white became a mauling set of jaws and rage filled snarls rose over Happy's screams while it tore into him, teeth cutting into flesh and snapping through bones. Within seconds the White Wolf got to his throat and gave a whiplashing shake of his victim, crashing his body against the bars, Happy went limp and dropped to the ground as blood flooded pristine white fur, and red seeped to pool around the wolf’s paws. Brock couldn't help the grin plastered on his face, the wolf before him waited for directions. “You can go back now. Get!” and with that, the White Wolf turned and retreated back to where he came from.

Someone spoke on the phone, and Brock brought it back up to his ear. 

“Oh yes, he will be in the field any day now. We just have to affirm his trigger words and Soldat will be ready for use.”  

It was several days after Steve had given you the bite, your fingers unconsciously slipped along the fresh healing mark while you sat outside around the fire with other members of the pack later in the evening. The bite had ended up sending you into a heat which Steve kept you sated till finally you both came up for air days later, deciding that it was best to let the rest of the pack know you two were actually still alive. Sara gave a knowing grin before she brought her beer bottle to her mouth to drink and once you settled down next to her, she handed one over to you. “Welcome to the Pack, officially now Y/N.” She said and laughed softly while throwing her arm around your shoulder when you sputtered on your beer bottle, glaring at her. Your eyes glanced across the fire at Steve while he wandered around, catching up on what's been going on since the two of you had been locked up in the cabin together. 

“Thanks Sara, it was time. I know this is home, and I don’t have any desire to be anywhere else.” You took another swig while Steve from across the large bonfire seemed to catch a scent, tilting his head while talking to some of the logging crew. His eyes roved over the crowd till they fell on you through the flames crackling between them, and Steve smiled to himself before he turned back to his packmates. 

“I will see you all up there in the morning, first thing.” he excused himself from the small group and wandered slowly around the fire, talking to a few others till he reached You and Sara. 

“Ladies…” He greeted on the sly, pulling you up out of the chair and falling into it to pull you in his lap. 

“Alpha, been a while.” Sara said slyly while Sam came up behind her, plucking her beer bottle from her hand and taking a swig from it. 

“Now Baby, be nice. This is still the honeymoon stage.” Sam teased and Steve tightened his hold a bit, shaking his head at your friends. 

“Weren't you just telling me a couple days ago that it just gets better?” Steve asked, and Sara tilted her head back to look up at Sam. 

“Aww, you really say that? Someones getting lucky later.” Sara sprang up and wrapped her arm around Sam's neck, nipping at his chin playfully. Steve turned his attention back to you, his chin brushing along your neck where he left his mark, pride swelling up that now everyone could see you were officially his. He was content, feeling your Little Wolf so close to the Alpha in this new bond. You purred softly feeling the brush of his beard and tilted your head with your eyes closed, enjoying the sensation he was making along your skin. 

Your fingers danced up his arm, over his shoulder and cupped the back of his neck, nuzzling back into the crook, cuddling up against him. You could feel your Little Wolf sigh in content in this moment, her muzzle stretched over the Alphas back. Her ears flickered back and forth feeling you stir in your mind. 

<You know we’re happy right, this is what it feels like.>

You snicker against Steve's neck listening to her. I know what it feels like. 

<I just wanted to be sure, because Im not letting this go anytime soon.> She curled up closer to her Alpha, who lifted his head to check on her before settling back down. 

Neither am I.

“What are you and the Little Wolf discussing?” Steve asked against your ear, and you lifted your head to smile at him. 

“About how happy we are Alpha.” you cupped his face and nipped at his lips, letting your forehead press against his. “That this was the best choice I’ve ever made for myself.” 

His hands were heavy when they pressed against the small of your back, making you arch into him, the fire crackling before you, the pack all around you… Steve had to admit, he was pretty fucking happy to.

The End 🐺

#welcome to the pack #alpha steve #alpha steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #shapeshifter #werewolf #mcu au #amber writes #sweater writes

[author-morgan]

I don't know if you accept requests, if yes, could you write a smut on Ivarr x fem!reader?

maybe the continuation of that work of yours where Ivarr gives flowers to his crush. thank you♥️

here you are! i hope you enjoy it!

Ivarr the Boneless x fem!Reader

TWISTED LAUGHTER FILLS the forest —the morning mist still clinging to the leaves and soil. You press your back against one of the trees, the wide trunk large enough to hide you from your hunter. The air grows still, save for distant birdsong. Branches snap underfoot. Drawing in a slow breath, you dash forward, hiding behind another tree as you listen for footfalls, crunching leaves, and snapping twigs. 

The underbrush rustles behind you, and this time you are not quick enough. An arm wraps around your waist, and you turn to face your hunter. His eyes are a bright blue —the same shade as when bloodlust sets in— and his lips kinked into a wicked smile. Ivarr the Boneless has you ensnared. Anyone else would shit themselves if caught by Ivarr, but not you —no, this was only a game. You lay a hand on his chest, fingertips pressing into his left breast through the thin linen of his tunic. “What are you doing, little bird?” He croons, but his answer is only a taunting smirk as you push away from him, darting back into the mist. 

You watch for his shadowed figure and dance from tree to tree, laughing as he draws nearer. Leaning your head back against a sapling, you smile upward at the heavens —blue sky breaking through the clouds. Ivarr’s footfalls are close. Taking a deep breath, you make a run for it, not quite ready for this game of yours to end so quickly. Ivarr springs into the opening, both his arms snaking around your waist. There will be no escape this time. You twist in his hold, meeting his manic gaze and grin. 

Thinking to distract him, you push yourself close, rising onto the balls of your feet —lips ghosting across his. Ivarr dips his head down, but you pull away. The back-and-forth teasing lasts only a few more seconds before he gives a soft groan, lips firmly meeting yours. His kiss is merciless and demanding. Rough hands trail down your bare arms, around to your back, and down to your thighs. You gasp into his mouth when he hoists you up, legs wrapping around his waist —lips never parting until your back hits the nearest tree. 

“Nowhere to run now,” Ivarr whispers at your ear, pinning you to the trunk with his hips, one hand braced on the rough bark next to your head. He tilts your head to the side, a finger trailing across your jaw and down your neck, following the neckline of your dress. The shivers creeping down your spine and turning your skin to gooseflesh sends a thrill through Ivarr. His lips take the same path —nipping and suckling, all of Mercia will know of you and Ivarr given the marks he leaves. 

You press a finger to his lips, keeping him from kissing you again. He can read the look in your lust-darkened eyes. Not here. A hard lesson learned from a previous romp in the woods where you both spent the following days scratching at rashes from stinging nettle. “Ivarr!” You cry as he hoists you over his shoulder, giving your bottom a light slap —laughing as he takes the forest path back to Repton. 

“A glorious hunt,” Ivarr announces as he strides past his brother with you still strung across his shoulder. It is not a new sight to those settled in Repton. Since the last harvest festival, you and Ivarr had not shied away from affection —often playing these games, returning with cornflowers and twigs clinging to your clothes and hair. “Now I go enjoy my spoils.” Ubba Ragnarsson shakes his head, returning his attention to the fading map of Mercia laid out before him. 

Ivarr places you amid the furs and rough-sewn pillows of his canvas bower and quickly sinks to his knees, pushing the skirt of your dress up around your waist like a giddy boy unwrapping a present. Lifting your arms, he rids you of the plain woolen dress and the bindings around your chest. His hands float along your curves until he comes to your breasts, flattening his hands against them. Ivarr groans, palming the mounds of flesh and tweaking your nipples into taut little peaks as his lips drag across your jaw. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, moving your hips against his, gasping at the feeling of him pressing against you through his britches. When his hands slip back to your hips and backside, you lean forward, stroking the patchy scruff on his jaw and scattering short kisses across his neck and scarred chest. “This is payback, isn’t it?” You ask, arching into Ivarr’s touch. He laughs, lips kinked into a smile —you have your answer. 

His hand moves to the sensitive spot between your legs, making sure you can feel every movement he makes. “Ivarr,” you breathe in a heady tone, causing him to grin. He pulls away from your breast and stares up at you, at the building ecstasy in your eyes. Ivarr drags his tongue down your torso, his mouth clamping over your clit, kissing it furiously. Your eyes roll back; you are caught in his touch, his mouth, his tongue. Whimpering, you scratch your hands into his tunic, pulling the fabric upwards. “Ivarr!” you cry, panting. “Oh, please–” But he pulls away again, and you let out a whine. The smirk unfolding across Ivarr’s face is unbearable —his lips glistening with your essence. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Ivarr pulls his tunic off and wiggles out of his britches. He wraps his hands around your ankles —gentle shackles— tugging you closer to the edge of the pallet bed. “Tell me what you want, little bird.” He says, eyes darting across you splayed out beneath him —nipples hard and pink, lovebites blossoming at your shoulder and neck. 

“I want you, Ivarr,” you breathe, tracing one of the runes tattooed on his abdomen until your hand slips further down. Reaching between your bodies, you wrap your fingers around his cock. When he hisses through clenched teeth, you smile. Lips against his as you begin stroking him. It takes a moment before he returns to his senses, and when he does, he pins your hands at the sides of your head. His length is heavy, pressed against your core, and slowly you roll your hips up into his. The look he gives you is meant to scold the action, but you only continue.

He frees one of his hands and slides it lightly between your breasts and down further, lining himself up with you and pushing in slowly. His lips seal over yours and capture your groan of desperation and pleasure as he stretches you. You moan and squirm beneath him, but he has you exactly where he wants you. Ivarr can’t help but swear softly at the feeling of your body around him. 

As he begins to roll his hips, sliding out and then back inside you, he groans at your ear and shifts his weight upwards again, hands pressing yours into a wolf pelt. You’re lost then, lost in the pleasure of his movements, the thrill of the weight of his body on yours as he sets your body and senses alight. His hands are at your breasts, your hips, then one hand is at your clit while the other pulls lightly at your hair. Your hands dig into his shoulders and scratch down his back —the brief jolt of pain spurs Ivarr on. 

It’s only as his fingers are working on your clit and coaxing you towards release that you realize he is moaning your name. It’s soft at first, but his mouth is at your ear, and you can hear it. Ivarr is coming apart inside you, and your name is the one on his lips. You smile and turn your head, catching him off guard in a kiss, legs parting wider and drawing up his sides.

Your toes curl, and what you might have thought was downright impossible became a reality as your orgasm begins to build, coming to a frantic, heated peak quickly that he keeps you at for the entire time he possesses you, holding your thighs tightly so you cannot escape from him. “Ivarr,” your voice sounds foreign to your ears. He wraps an arm around the curve of your waist and brings the both of you to lie on your side, his cock still sliding in and out of you —scarred face twisting as he chases his end with wild abandon. 

His hands are on your back while one of yours rests on his powerful thigh and the other on his cheek. Your mouth falls open as a primitive noise comes from both you and Ivarr, though he stifles the obscene sounds by sinking his teeth into your shoulder. Hips stuttering, he pauses —panting as his cock twitches deep in your heat, but then he gives several more, lazy thrusts before stilling completely and pulling you a little closer. “You,” Ivarr pants through breathy laughter, “have ruined me, woman.” All of Mercia must have known by now Ivarr Ragnarsson had gone soft for a baker and farmer. 

It is not often Ivarr speaks of a defeat so lightly. “Ah–” you smile, running your fingertips along the edge of the tattoo wrapping around his bicep “–so I’ve defeated the great Ivarr the Boneless?” You ask, teasing. Grinning, you careen forward, giving his scarred cheek a quick kiss. 

Ivarr’s blue eyes darken and narrow. He is not one to accept defeat. “I demand a rematch then,” he says, rough hand running up your spine and twisting into your hair. 

You’ve no doubt another round would put him on top in this back-and-forth game, but after running through the woods and being fucked properly, nothing sounds better than curling up with Ivarr for a nap. “What say I bake an apple tart, and we call it even?” You offer, knowing between honey cakes and apple tarts, you could almost always get your way with Ivarr. 

He groans, thinking of the sweet taste of apples and spices baked in a flaky dough —there is still a store of apples from last autumn tucked away below the Repton cathedral. Ivarr’s lips twitch into a smile. The only thing sweeter than your apple tarts was you. “You drive a hard bargain,” he remarks. 

“I’ll let you think it over,” you tell him with a soft laugh and quick kiss before settling your head on his chest. Ivarr glances up at the sunlight streaming in through the seams of his tent and sighs, tracing runes and constellations on your back and shoulder. After a few moments, he glances down at you —fast sleep— and begins to wonder if Ubba’s new dream in England is really so bad after all. 

[taglist: @kvitravn @elizabethroestone @kitkitvm @elluvians @fullmoonwolfer1 @ghostieisalone @boodaga @southsideslutt @dynamite-with-a-lazerbeam ]

if you want to be added to my Ivarr taglist just let me know!

#Ivarr #Ivarr the Boneless #Ivarr Ragnarsson #Ivarr x Reader #Ivarr Ragnarsson x Reader #Ivarr the Boneless x Reader #Ivarr Fanfiction #Ivarr Imagine #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #my writing #requested #ghostieisalone #100 points if you know what i was inspired by in the opening part of this ficlet lol

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 8

You’re going to be offended when I tell you I’m still not done. How did this happen? How did this end chapter get so long that I have to break it in half and I still have not finished it? 

Oh right, I wrote myself into a corner and had to get myself out of it in the most outlandish way possible. Yeah that checks out.

For now please enjoy chapter 8 of what is now a 9-chapter story. Because I have no self control.

Day 8: Free Day for @taiqrowweek

Rating:  T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 6.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: Hang...

~

Qrow was thirty-two when it finally happened.

He was working out of Mantle on the cusp of winter. The bustling, compact metropolis had become a bit of a mainstay for him over the years, thanks to his connections with the Omega Alliance. The political party had formed half a decade ago, heralded by none other than Robyn Hill. The movement was quickly becoming a worldwide spectacle, with more factions forming in every major city of the four kingdoms almost every week. With the main branch strategically close to Atlas though, it had become a media-struggle to both stay in the spotlight and to silence the oppressed.

It was just the kind of thing that might turn the tides for omega rights once and for all.

However, for Qrow, the Alliance had become a bit of a safe haven. The group had welcomed him in with open arms and encouraged him to continue his work, with the stipulation the Alliance would be endorsing the rebranding efforts in their press conferences and rallies. In turn, he was given a ‘secret nesting spot’ no matter where he seemed to travel to and a donation fund that kept him so well off, Tai stopped trying to measure his waistline with his eyes whenever he came to visit. All the while, his anonymity was kept intact and his clientele full.

It seemed like an eternity since he’d been able to live so comfortably.

Which led him to where he was that fateful day. The Greenleaf Inn was a well-sized, three-star hotel that always conveniently had its mini-suite open whenever he was around. The bed alone was worth its weight in lien, but the mini-bar fridge and spa tub made him feel like he was a king. The extra space also allowed for more pleasant accommodations for his clients.

That day, he was working with a young journalist by the name of Forest. He was a chatterer and a bit of a political enthusiast, his support for the Alliance borderline fanatic. Most of their time was spent discussing current events.

“Vacuo’s press conference is all in an uproar. Pride leader Kali can’t even get a word in edgewise; no one’s listening to her. It’s all looking pretty bad – then her Alpha gets to his feet. He’s like a monster of a man – wider than a truck and tall as a house. Everyone shuts up when he clears his throat and says his mate has something to say. Then he just sits down and lets her talk. Sienna reported that Kali turned into a real lioness and took charge!” Forest mimicked the swiping of claws. “It was spectacular! But of course, the headlines are all about what Ghira did and Kali’s performance is just a side note. It’s always about the alphas – uh, no offense.”

Well maybe discussing was too strong a term. “None taken.” Qrow replied offhandedly from the floor, more concerned with getting the arch of the fox’s face just right where it curled over the shin bone. He wasn’t even sure Forest heard him anyways.

“Suppose the end result is what matters though. Vacuo was the last agenda we needed to be on. Now we’re ensured the UFK really starts discussing omega affairs this winter. And I think-”

He never did find out what Forest thought – because a rapping on the door cut him off. Qrow turned off his pen, wary as he got to his feet. It wasn’t typical he got visitors out of the blue.

Then a voice shouted from the other side. “Harbinger, hurry up!”

“May?” Forest sat upright.

Qrow was already across the room in two strides, throwing open the door. The blue-haired omega was in a state, her scent bleeding panic as she cut right to the chase, “You need to get out of here! The police are in the lobby, looking for you!”

“What?!” He barked, heart rate skyrocketing. “But how?”

May pushed him back, hurrying inside. “Don’t know. Joanna’s trying to stall, but we only got a few minutes at most before this place is crawling. What do you need? Forest, you too, get up!”

The reporter seemed to snap out of his daze, jumping to his feet. “Why don’t we just hide in another room?”

“That might work for you, but not him. They’re gonna raze this place from the ground up.”

“Then hide him. I’m going down the stairwell.” Qrow insisted, having already thrown his kit back together and snapping the case closed. He got to his feet, pulling his scroll from his pocket. “Here. Destroy it.”

She looked from the device to him, uncertain. “But I can help-”

“No.” He barely withheld the growl. “You’re a lead member of Atlas’ branch. They see you helping me and the kingdom’s gonna run with the bad press. You don’t need that, especially not with the UFK assembly so close.”

For one long terrible moment, he was certain she was going to keep arguing. But any bluster was blown out with a heavy sigh and a helpless, “Good luck.”

He was going to need it.

~

“Shit.” Qrow cursed as he caught a gander of the lobby floor from the little window in the stairwell door. The place was crawling. He could already see a pair of officers at the elevator doors. There was almost definitely one at every exit point as well.

He backed up, trying to think. There was no way he was getting out undetected and the moment they started questioning him or asking for identification, he was going to be in trouble. He thought about reconsidering Forest’s idea – but even if they played a game of Scooby Doo chase with the cops, it wasn’t going to be long before they caught sight of him. He couldn’t just go up to his room and wait for the inevitable either.

He was trapped. His only hope was if he spontaneously learned how to fly.

Unless… He tilted his head up, looking at the flights of stairs. Which went all the way up to the roof.

The buildings weren’t that far apart.

It was crazy. But, it might be his only chance.

Qrow shoved his tattoo kit underneath the last stairwell, pushing it in the corner until the black case was hidden in the shadows. It would be too heavy to take with him. He’d just have to hope no one would be able to find it in the meantime. Appeased, he rushed up the stairs, trying to take several at a time. He was about halfway up the third when he heard the first-floor door open. He froze.

“You really think he’ll come down this way?” A voice, high and reedy, floated up from below.

The other voice was gruff and masculine. “You heard the chief, Viola. She wants all exits covered.”

“Just seems excessive Taylor. All of us for a guy not even hurting anyone.”

“Rookie, I’ll give you some advice: the judgment calls are for the courts. We just need to do our jobs. And yours right now is to get to that top floor in case our perp makes a break for the roof, capeesh?”

She sighed. “Got it.”

The first footfall hit the steps.

Qrow thought about it for half a second – and then he bolted.

Surprise was on his side, because it took the officers a precious few seconds to understand before their shouts rang up and they started chasing after him. He could hear Taylor fumbling with a radio, calling for backup. By that point, Qrow was bypassing the second floor and heading toward the third.

“Stop! Police!” Viola’s voice cracked on the yell.

He felt kind of bad, scaring the newbie. Had he had any breath left, he might have shouted back an apology. As it were, all his focus went onto the stairs in front of him, trying his best not to fall as he climbed five… six… seven… eight-

Bam!

The roof access door swung open and hit the brick. He paused long enough to scope his options –apartment complex to the left, half a story lower, flat rooftop; warehouse to the right, higher, guardrail fencing on the perimeter – before he made a decision and skirted left. The ground underneath him was slippery from rainfall that had frosted over with late autumn’s crisper temperatures, so he struggled for traction, preparing to jump.

“Don’t do it!” Viola yelled just as he did it.

For a moment, as he leapt over ten feet through the air, nothing below but a sharp drop to the alleyway, he felt weightless and free.  He really was flying.

And then realty was rushing up to meet him as his feet hit the opposite roof, slipped on the ice, and slipped again when his hands weren’t enough to catch him. The impact, mostly taken on his right side, was jarring and left him a little breathless and aching. Still, he was able to stand a few moments after, turning back to look at the officers staring down at him across the gap.

“Ha! Better luck next time turkeys!” Qrow saluted them before he strut towards the roof hatch. Now all he had to do was-

Wait.

Why was everything spinning?

The distant sound of cars was fading, and as he lifted his hand to his face, he watched it double before his eyes.

Shit. He was gonna-

The ground rushed up to meet him a second time, having just enough consciousness left to land on his back.

He watched the sky above him until the last star blinked out.

~

She’d been staring at him for the past five minutes.

He could just barely see her above the pages of the newspaper he was pretending to read. He figured she would eventually go and pester her dad, just one room over and making quite a racket in the kitchen as Tai no doubt overdid it in trying to be the perfect host (and would only try harder if Qrow told him it was no big deal). But the longer he tried to wait her out, the more it became obvious his niece had a mission and he was part of it.

Eventually he folded – both the newspaper and his resolve – and turned to her, trying not to be appear as intimated by a mere child as he actually kind of was, “Something wrong?”

Yang lifted her chin up high, stomped her way over from the staircase to his little corner of the couch, and slammed a box of markers down on the coffee table. “Make me pretty.”

“Huh?”

“Like daddy.” She said with great exasperation. She climbed up beside him and with the lack of shame only children could have pulled off the shirt of her PJs and turned so her back could face him. “I want to be pretty too.”

Understanding slowly dawned on him. “Shouldn’t we ask your dad first?”

“I did, he said it was fine.” She hadn’t but Tai thought it was too adorable to be mad about it.

“Alright then.” Qrow turned, pulling a blue marker from the box. But when he turned back to face her, the pen was now black and Yang was two years older. “What do you want this time firecracker?”

“A motorcycle!” She shouted, bouncing excitedly.

He laughed, draping her long hair over her shoulder. “A motorcycle? Now what would a girl like you want that for?”

“I’ma get one when I’m older. Daddy said! I can get a real motorcycle when I turn eighteen.” She told him.

He uncapped the marker. “And that’s what you want, huh?”

“Yep.” She nodded. “He said I could get a real tattoo too, as long as I think really hard about it since this one won’t come off in the bath.”

Qrow started to outline the wheels. “That’s right. You want to make sure it’s something you want forever.”

“Once I decide, you’ll do it for me, right?”

The words halted him momentarily, overcome by the sudden fondness filling his heart. “’Course I will.”  

“You swear?” Yang turned her head, trying to look serious but only managing to look adorably pouty. “Even if they pop out your eyes?”

The snort of surprise burst out of him. “It’s scratch out your eyes – and yes, even then.” And just so she could know that he meant it, he crossed an X over his heart.

“Good.”

He pressed the marker back to her skin, moving onto the bike’s frame, when Tai called out to him, “Qrow, look!”

He rose his head, looking out across the yard to see the omega holding a square, plywood board between his hands. As he gave the nod, Yang didn’t hesitate to bust her fist right through it.

“Looking good!” Qrow called back, before turning back to Ruby. Draped over his lap so she could reach her toys, she was making little action noises with her mouth as she crushed Bastinda underneath Zwei’s massive paws. He was just adding the color to the fur of the corgi version on her back.

A sharp movement had Bastinda flying down the porch steps and a stripe of white going all over her back. Luckily, six-year-olds weren’t picky.

“Bye, bye mean witch.” Ruby waved before she started taking her wolf on a walk along his side. “Uncle Qrow, who’s your favorite?”

He wrinkled his nose, trying not to think of the shoddy reboot that was slowly destroying the integrity of the original. Still, he answered honestly, “Rosette.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she was the big hero.” He explained. “I wanted to be just like her growing up.”

Her eyes lit up. “And now you are her, right?”

He quirked a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Daddy told me that’s why you’re gone so long, ‘cause you’re out making the world a better place.” Another stripe went down her back. She blinked curiously. “Why’d your face go all red?”

“Ah, nevermind that! Hey, you know what this needs?” He looked away, grabbing at the pink marker.

It was the same color his cheeks had been by the time he was turning back around, no longer outside but sitting up in Ruby’s room, consoling the sniffling ten-year-old the only way he knew how.

As he added to the growing chain of roses growing along her shoulder blades, he said, “Don’t let them get to you kid.”

“But it’s not fair! I’m way faster at running bases than Cardin, but they made me sit on the bench the whole time! I didn’t even get to play.” She swiped angrily at her eyes.

If Qrow listened real hard, he could hear Tai’s voice rising from downstairs. The phone call didn’t seem to be going well. “You’re right, it’s not fair at all. Do you know why your teacher did that?”

“Because,” Ruby buried her face in her pillow, the rest coming out muffled, “I’m going to be an omega and omegas don’t do great things.”

He was glad she couldn’t see his scowl. “Who told you that?”

“Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t.” He capped the marker, setting it aside before shifting on his knees, brushing back her hair with his fingers. “Because I’ve met omegas from all over the world, and so many of them are doing great things every single day. Dangerous things even, all so that they can make things more fair for everyone. They’re some of the bravest people I know.”

She rose her head. “Really?”

“Really. But you know what the big secret is?” He lent back, tapping his scent gland. “It doesn’t matter what’s here.” He tapped his head. “It matters what’s in here. As long as you put your mind to it and work hard at it, then there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Ruby considered this, asking, “You’re not just saying that?”

“Hey now, take it from the alpha who can draw. I know my stuff kiddo.”

It earned him one of the few things she seemed to share with her dad – a bright, beautiful smile. But as she went to a respond, a knocking on the door drew his attention.

Qrow blinked blearily at the cell doors where the guard was banging his nightstick against the metal. “Branwen, up! You got a visitor.”

Gingerly, he pulled himself up, his healing ribs screaming in protest at the movement. It took several moments longer before he could actually stand and shuffle his way out the door, following the guard down the hall. He kept his head down, not wanting to meet eyes with any of the other prisoners.

Since he was injured, he was being kept in the protective custody side of the prison. It had its bonuses – he didn’t have to share a cell or run through the motions the general population side did. He also didn’t have to cuff up when they let him out of his cell, mostly because they couldn’t get them on around the sling. The downside was the PC side of the jail was also where the most violent criminals were kept. There was one inmate in particular who-

“Oh little bird, you’ve come fluttering my way yet again.” Tyrian jeered.

-particularly got on his nerves. Qrow didn’t look up, but that didn’t stop the fierce growl from leaving his throat. The serial killer only cackled at his display.

If this was what it was like in here, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d survive once he was reassigned into GP. A whole room full of alphas, all of them constantly competing for dominance, was a disaster waiting to happen. Not for the first time since he’d arrived, did he start wishing he’d presented differently. He’d have better chances in an omega-beta prison.

So preoccupied he was by his anxious thoughts, he’d forgotten entirely why he was out of bed in the first place until he was walking into the visitor’s area. The section was marked by a row of doors, each one leading into a small room that had nothing more than a few chairs and a wooden counter separated in half by bulletproof plexiglass. There was a metal, slated ring in it to allow the two parties to talk.

The guard unlocked the rightmost room, saying, “You’ve got one hour,” before swinging open the door.

Seeing a familiar face, even if it was only Clover Ebi’s, filled him with so much joy he could have cried.

The soldier was all smiles for him, though the cursory look over he gave him left a twist of worry at the corner of his eyes. “Hey Qrow. I’m so relieved to see you. You look… rough.”

“What gave that implication? The fractured wrist or the three broken ribs?” He replied tightly, delicately sitting down. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know my name either.”

“’Fraid everyone does at this point. You’re all over the news.”

He grimaced. “Internationally?”

“If I said no, would it make you feel better?”

“Not if I know you’re lying.” Gods, Tai was probably having a heart attack right now. And the girls… he wondered if they even fully understood what was going on. He raked a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

Clover’s expression was one of sympathy. “Hey, it’ll be alright. Now that I’ve found you, we can get you a good lawyer, rather than the pro bono one they appointed you to. Robyn’s already running rallies in the streets of every kingdom and donation rings to hire the best in the business. And Fiona’s calling about a dozen firms a day. She’s already got-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Qrow cut him off, disoriented. “Slow down trigger. I get I’m not in a great position, but isn’t that a bit excessive for a small end criminal court case? And anyways, it’s not like I’m going to trial tomorrow.”

His flippancy only seemed to make the omega more agitated as he lent back, running a hand over his face. “Oh shit. They didn’t assign you a counsel, did they?”

“I’m not that depressed.”

“A legal counsel Qrow!” He scoffed. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, now he was so off-track he wasn’t even sure he boarded the train. “Am I… missing something?”

With a deep breath, Clover schooled his features, resting his arms along the tabletop to lean forward. “Qrow, your crime is being considered as a global offense. They’re expediating your case through the process so you can be tried at the UFK.”

Realty cracked and shattered around him.

“W-What?!” He squawked, panic setting in immediately. “Are you fucking serious?!” When the other could only offer him a solemn nod, Qrow withdrew, dropping his head onto the table and curling his one good arm around his face, as if it would be enough to shield him from the future. “Oh Gods. Oh fuck.”

He was screwed. Utterly and royally.

The UFK, or United Four Kingdoms, assembly was a yearly session of the kingdom’s four heads of state and their councils. Mostly it was a peace gathering, a way to discuss the improvements or needs of each kingdom and provide support or discuss any eco-social changes that may need addressing. It was why the Alliance had been so prominent in recent months; so that the four heads might talk about potential alternations to omega rights. A discussion that had not been gaining enough, if any, traction in the past few years. That was why Robyn had organized the ‘Prides’ – a central team in each kingdom whose sole job was to attend the national press conferences and make a loud enough roar that the council would have to take notice. Each one had done a fantastic job, and the news channels had been bustling with stories about how this year’s session would absolutely have to focus on the matter of omega equality.

And in one fell swoop, Qrow had ruined that.

Trials weren’t unheard of at the UFK, but they were extremely rare. In the eighty years the assembly had been convening, there’d only been three prior cases that had gone to court there and each one had had a huge impact on universal laws. If he was tried and convicted, there was no telling what impact his case would have.

A tapping on the glass made him look up tentatively.

Clover’s jaw was set with determination. “It’s okay, Qrow. We’re here to help you.”

“No!” He sat up, gritting his teeth around the pain it caused him. “None of you should get involved! I can’t drag you down with me.”

“Qrow, think for a minute – do you really believe your arrest was just a coincidence?”

That drew him up short. “I…”

“Face it, you’re not exactly impossible to locate. Someone’s probably known where you were for a while and they were just waiting for the perfect moment to bring you in.” He indicated the air around them. “And this is it. The absence of counsel, the lack of prep time, keeping your whereabouts classified. It all adds up. They’re trying to turn you into a scapegoat.”

It was hard logic to beat. Qrow wasn’t exactly uninformed on just how messed up the legal system could be – and the more involved he’d gotten with his work, the deeper the rabbit hole just seemed to go. But to have it be twisted onto him in such a way, like he was merely everyone else’s plaything, made him feel violated.

He wondered how his mother would have felt, seeing him like this.

“So now what?” Qrow finally asked.

“Now, we fight back.” Clover replied assuredly. “Your case could be a gamechanger for omegas everywhere. We aren’t just going to lie down and watch it happen.”

He snorted. “So you’re turning the scapegoat into a martyr.”

“No.” The soldier declined, then added with a quirk of his lips, “We’re turning you into our harbinger.”

It took Qrow a moment to get it. Then he laughed.

A harbinger of change. There might just be some hope left after all.

~

Three days later, he met his defense attorneys.

Pietro was a kindly, wheelchair-bound beta with thirty years of experience. The minute the man started talking, it was obvious he knew his stuff as he lined out what to expect for the court process and what laws that may entangle them from certain kingdoms they might have to prepare for. Things Qrow hadn’t even considered, like operating a business out of a building with only a residential grade fire system – a law the more wildfire prone Mistral took very seriously.

His understudy was named Rhodes. Also a beta, as all lawyers were, the man had only a few years on Qrow himself, but he had a sharp wit and passionate aspiration for justice. He spent most of the time keeping a detailed note log on the things being said, explaining it would help them decide on the best strategy to use when they were in front of the UFK.

“The most difficult thing we have to contend with is time.” Rhodes affirmed. “Unlike most high-profile cases handled in the courts, the kingdoms aren’t going to allow the hearing to go beyond a single day so it doesn’t interfere with the other agendas they have to get too. That means limited evidence presentation and witness testimonies. We’ve got about eight hours to prove you’re an innocent man, which means every second in that room is going to count.”

Qrow swallowed hard. “What about the jury? They on a time limit too?”

“No. The jury are the councils.” Pietro explained. “The members of each kingdom’s council board will give their verdict, and it’s the majority vote of each council that decides their verdict. As long as you get a unanimous majority, you’ll be given your verdict. So, our focus will need to be on swaying each kingdom individually.”

Yeah. No pressure.

Rhodes tapped the end of his pen on the desk between them. “As you can see, it’s a bit of a balancing act. Ideally, our witness testimonies need to come from all over. If you can get us even just a moderate list of people from each kingdom you believe would be willing to speak for you then we can scope out the best choice from each one.”

“Perhaps.” The elder beta intoned, rubbing his chin. “Though Vale may not need any pushing. Our focus should truly lie in targeting the kingdom’s core values.”

“We also need to make sure to address the issues with improper due process.”

“A fine point.”

“I hope you both know I’m barely keeping up with this.” Qrow admitted.

Pietro smiled forgivingly. “Don’t worry your head about it, my boy. Just focus on giving us everything we can possibly work with to keep you out of jail. Do you have any family or friends who might speak on your credibility of character?”

There was only one person that came to mind – and there was no way he would even dare suggest Tai to spill his whole story for millions to hear.

“No.” He replied shortly.

“Not even-”

“Really. No. My old man’s a deadbeat. I haven’t seen my sister in over a decade. And unless these things come with a séance, my mom ain’t gonna have much to say either.” He lent back, shrugging his good shoulder. “As for friends, I haven’t exactly been living stably to form many close relationships. ‘Fraid I won’t be much use on that list either – never kept a detailed record to keep my clients safe. But, I know someone who just might be able to rally up a few.”

Pietro nodded. “Then let’s start there.”

Thankfully, that was the last time they asked him about family.

~

One day short of a week later, he was visited by someone other than his attorneys.

This time, the sight of a familiar face did actually make him cry, even if Tai immediately laid into him.

“You jumped off a roof?! What in the Gods’ Realms were you thinking? You could have died!” Tai smacked his hand on the table for emphasis. He wasn’t even sitting, too agitated to. Had the glass not been separating them, he was pretty sure he would have been in for the ear pinching of his life. “Are you okay, or did the fall knock out what little brain cells you have left?!”

Yet, the omega’s worry was so strong, Qrow could scent it through the little holes in the metal ringlet. It was familiar and more comforting then even a single second locked up in this awful place could even marginally hope to feel like. So, he broke down harder.

Tai sighed and gave up, dropping his forehead against the glass. Qrow struggled to reign himself in, but the days had been too long, too awful and too terrifying to stop the broken dam. The most he managed to get out was a wobbly, “m’sorry.” As he curled himself over the desk.

They hovered there, in silence.

Then, for the second time in his life, Tai purred at him, “I‘m here. You’re okay.”

It was like being draped in an extra soft blanket or pulled into an exceptionally warm hug, something he felt from the inside out. The shakes started to fade and the tears slowed to a drizzle, and then even that went away.

When he lifted his head, Qrow could almost pretend the outburst hadn’t happened at all. “Sorry, meds I’m on just make me emotional.”

“Sure they do.” Tai let him lie, finally taking his seat with the heavy gracelessness of someone who just got off an overnight flight.

While there were at least a dozen questions he wanted to ask, the most prominent came forward first: “Where are the girls?”

“In the waiting room. Ruby got scared. Somehow she got it in her head you’d be crippled.” He gave him a disdainful look, “Can’t imagine why she’d think that.”

He hid his grimace behind a smile, “Shoulda just told her birds my age can fly.”

It was the wrong thing to say as Tai scowled. “Don’t joke! Seriously, I can’t believe how idiotic that was. You’re lucky that little stunt only resulted in a few injuries.”

“Well, I ain’t feeling very lucky.” He snapped back. “Seriously what did you want me to do?”

The omega threw up his hands. “Not try to kill yourself! Do you know how terrified I was?! And then I couldn’t find you no matter how many jails and hospitals I called and I thought-!” His shoulder dropped. “I don’t know what I thought.”

But Qrow knew. He knew exactly what kind of worst-case scenarios must have played through his head when suddenly Qrow was all over the headlines after he tried to escape police arrest and was transported to a nearby care facility for his injuries, only to then disappear completely, the system deliberately hiding him to secure him for the big case. It wasn’t until he’d started meeting with Pietro and Rhodes that he’d learnt just how many infringements of his rights there’d already been. He wasn’t even supposed to be in a prison without being tried first. They were trying to work it into his case.

“If it weren’t for Robyn I never would of even of found you.”

Qrow’s confusion spiked. “Wait, how do you know her?”

“I don’t. She called me off your scroll.” So much for destroying it. “Once she got me in the loop, I took the first flight over I could.”

He didn’t know whether to feel thankful, or violated.

Wait.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Robyn was the one he’d directed his attorney team too. “She didn’t tell you anything else, did she? About the trial?”

“She just told me you were going in for it soon and that you could use some support.” Tai replied. “They aren’t really letting anyone in to see you if they can’t show that they’re family. I had to bring Yang’s birth certificate just to get in here.”

(Qrow might have cited Clover – if he wasn’t fairly certain the man could get himself into anywhere on badges and charisma alone.)

Still, relief swept through him. By whatever graces of the Gods there were, it sounded like Robyn had played him straight on this one. She must have figured out why he’d chosen not to disclose that information himself – and of that he could be grateful. He’d rather spend a hundred years in jail then let any of his family take the stand.

Now he just had to make sure Tai didn’t screw the pooch instead.

“Just be careful with that little tidbit. If the press gets a whiff of it, they’ll be all over you.” He warned.

If anything, Tai seemed insulted. “I’m not afraid of some headliners. I can handle it.”

“Can the girls?” The statement drew the omega up short. Qrow felt bad, playing that card, but it wasn’t like reporters had a moral compass. “Just being realistic. This case isn’t exactly coasting quietly under the table, and the last thing I want is my family being dragged into it all ‘cause of my mistakes.”

“They’re not mistakes.”

“Renegade behavior then.”

“You-!” Tai sighed, running a hand down his face frustratedly. “Stop that. You’re not a joke, you know?”

It was Qrow’s turn to draw up short, heart catching in his throat.

Tai barreled on, unconcerned with his organ transplant. “I’m proud of what you do. More than that, I believe in what you do. You make a difference, every day, even if it seems small. You wouldn’t have risked so much, if you didn’t think that yourself. So will you please try to trust in that, so you can tell those judges where to shove it?”

Still stuck in limbo, his heart pressed insistently against his voice box, willing him to say those accursed three words that desperately wanted to burst out. Instead, all he managed was a wheeze of laughter, and a quiet, “I will.”

“Good.” Satisfied, Tai got to his feet. “I’m going to go get the girls, okay?”

“Okay.” He watched him head for the door, calling just as he opened it. “And Tai?”

“Yeah?”

“…Thank you.”

For supporting me.

For being here with me.

For always knowing just what I need to hear.

He couldn’t decide on what was most important to say, so it all got stuck just like before.

Tai smiled like he’d heard them all regardless. “Anytime.”

~

“Are you ready, my boy?”

Qrow looked away from the airship window, where the Amity Tower was looming, to Pietro’s kind smile. It did little to calm the storm in his stomach. “Pretty sure no one’s ever ‘ready’ for this. My whole life’s about to be decided by a bunch of rich assholes who’ve probably never used the word ‘struggle’ in their lives.”

“Then I suppose it’s up to you to define it for them.”

He scoffed, falling back against the glass. “Hate to tell you this wheels, but English was my worst class.”

That at least earned him a hearty laugh. “You know there’s a saying among us lawyers: You don’t cry until it’s all over. So for now, keep your chin up and fight hard.”

Would be an easier fight if it didn’t feel like he was armed with only a pocketknife going against a trove of machine guns. Still, he couldn’t deny the weight of that sentiment. Especially knowing there was so much more to this fight than just what would happen to him.

Momentarily, as he shut his eyes, he could see Ruby. Coming home with tears streaming down her face after being told she wasn’t good enough to play baseball like the other kids. What if her fears were realized and she did present omega? What if she didn’t and, beyond all expectation, Yang did instead? What if one day, someone decided to throw either one of them into a reformatory and he wasn’t there to overwrite the wrongs?

The idea made him sick inside.

He rose up, facing Pietro once more. “Alright then, let’s do this.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Qrow tried to hold onto that feeling of confidence as long as he could as he continued to watch Amity Tower draw near. Like a beacon welcoming travelers to its side, the building stood alone on the seaside of the most northern part of Sanus. It wasn’t really a tower – it was more akin to a concert hall in size and shape. But it got its name from the spire that shot up in the middle of the roof. The decorative piece was meant to mimic the communication towers that each kingdom built to allow for scroll communication across the nations. A display that proclaimed this place would always be a venue in which the kingdoms could speak freely to one another.

As they began their descent towards the airstrip, he finally noticed the crowd. Circling Amity like a school of sharks were dozens upon dozens of people. They were spilling out along the grand front steps and thickly congested across the massive lawn area to the point barely a patch of green could be seen.

“What in all realms is going on?” Qrow breathed. He’d expected a few news reporters, sure. But nothing like this.

Before he could answer, Pietro’s scroll began to ring. He was quick to answer it. “Ah Rhodes, got here safely then? How are the witnesses doing?”

“Everyone is settled and prepared.” He replied assuredly. “Heard you guys were touching down, so I figured I’d warn you about the protest group.”

“Group?” Qrow echoed. “That’s an army. What are they even protesting?”

“Your arrest.”

His head snapped around; eyes wide.

Rhodes continued, unaware, “They’re all omegas or omega supporters from every nation in Remnant. They’ve been gathering here for days.”

“Incredible.” Pietro declared, adjusting his spectacles. “In all my years, I’ve never seen something quite like this.”

The rest of the conversation faded to background noise as he turned back towards the window, something unexplainable but good lifting him. Somewhere inside of him, he knew they weren’t really here for him, but what he represented. He was a loose cog in the machine, a shift from the system, a shield against the onslaught of endless ammo. Or, as Clover had jokingly coined, their harbinger of change.

Yet it didn’t stop him from feeling overwhelmed with support as the doors to the airship opened and the roar of cheers started up. It was a massive, thunderous noise that shook him to his very core then solidified there like an unbreakable diamond, giving him strength he hadn’t had just minutes ago.

Even as he was led out in cuffs, barred between two officers, he found himself walking tall. Like land making way for a river, the crowd parted for them. Some were carrying signs that said things like ‘Justice for Qrow’ and ‘Branwen can win’. There was even a really ridiculous one that said ‘Uncage our bird!’, complete with an illustration of a crow in a birdcage.

They made him smile, as did the few encouragements that he managed to pick out from rumble of hollers trying to reach him.

“You got this!”

“We’re here with you!”

“Your story’s not over yet!”

He carried it all the way up the stairs and through the entrance. Yet, as the large ornate double doors swung closed behind him, it muffled most of the noise.

Silenced once more.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

[frostmarris]

Day 7: Knights, Dragons, and Druids

Pairing: Shikamaru Nara/Sakura Haruno/Kimimaro Kaguya

Rating: Teen & Up

Content Warning: some peril I guess but thats about it

Additional Tags: Medieval Fantasy, Plant Magic, other magical creatures, sakura is stubborn

Summary: Sakura makes a discovery that probably should have been left a secret. 

Notes: ok i lied, one last entry for the @naruto-fantasy-week​

I've had about 1k of this written for months and months and it just so happened to fit the last prompt almost perfectly. Sakuras not a druid but theres def some plant based magic going on

This is TECHNICALLY the first chapter to a multichapter fic, but im just gonna leave it as a oneshot for now and maybe come back to it one day

Enjoy!

Violet Lines

The morning sun barely reaches over the top edges of the stone wall surrounding the castle gardens, daybreak just beyond and peeking into view. Birds chatter and sing as they welcome the sun and, if she listens closely, she can almost hear the sounds of the morning market far, far behind her on the other side of the palace.

The castle is already awake and bustling, but there's no one else out in the gardens just yet - at least no one who might stop her. 

Sakura spares a moment to watch the first few rays of daylight make their arrival before she continues onward, glancing over her shoulder only a handful of times as she passes between rose hedges and meticulously maintained trees, winding her way through the garden on a path she'd long-since memorized. The skirt of her gown drags over the grass and the toe of her riding boots occasionally peek out from under the fabric as she walks, her steps light and leaving the earth as undisturbed as possible.

She spies one of the groundskeepers pruning a bush of peonies and ducks behind a tree despite knowing he's unlikely to try to deter her.

(It's even less likely that he knows where she's going.)

Waiting until his head is turned, Sakura hurries forward and passes more flower hedges, smiling to herself at the scent of the blooms and the way a breeze makes them dance and bow to her. She's almost to her destination, close to the wall and the more open expanse of the garden behind her. Ducking under a low hanging branch, her fingers trail over the bark of the tree until her hands meet a ripe peach, gently plucking it free with a pleased hum before she carefully slips it into her satchel - a treat for later.

As the vegetation grows more dense and the sounds of the castle seem to become more muted, Sakura finally arrives at the cluster of cherry trees, low branches almost braided together with how closely they're entwined, creating a twisted wall of tree and leaves. Undeterred, she reaches out to gently brush her fingers over one of the branches, politely stepping back as the trees seem to shudder.

There's a low groan and a rustling of leaves as the trunks twist and turn outwards towards her, the branches untangling and bowing away to reveal the curtain of ivy covering a sturdy oak door, set into the stone wall. The vines and leaves raise on their own, pulling away from the door to allow her access and bunching up out of the way. Smiling, Sakura reaches for the smooth, golden handle, the finish unfaded despite how many times she'd traced her fingers over the curve and delicate filigree over the years.

The door opens easily and silently, a cool breeze gently blowing her hair back as it travels through the passage to meet her. Hitching up her skirts, Sakura assuredly steps inside, the ivy and cherry tree branches returning to their prior positions as she pulls the door shut behind her. 

The cobblestone path is covered with patches of thick moss that creep up the sides of the walls, the passage just wide enough for her to reach her hands out on either side of her body and her fingers just barely graze the stone. More vines and branches arch overhead, lining the domed ceiling of the passageway and nearly fooling her into thinking she's merely walking under a canopy.

But no daylight permeates through the foliage and her hidden path would be bathed in darkness were it not for the fluorescent mushrooms that dotted the ground and walls here and there, bathing her way in a soft blue light.

The space does not match what should be on the outside, her path straight for much longer than the width of the stone wall, but she's long since stopped trying to make sense of it. 

As she walks, Sakura begins to gather the skirt of her gown in front of her then awkwardly tuck it between her legs, miraculously managing to not trip all the while before she reaches behind her to grab the two halves. Bringing the fabric back around to her front, she ties it off and successfully girds her loins, revealing the brown leggings she wears underneath. By the time she starts folding her long sleeves up to her elbows as well, the path begins to slope downwards slightly, just barely at first before the cobblestone path becomes steps as the decline increases.

It's silent save for the sound of her breaths and her footsteps, her boots occasionally meeting stone rather than moss. The path levels out after a minute or so and Sakura pulls a ribbon out of her satchel, beginning to tie her long, loose hair up and out of the way. The braided plaits at her temples help keep her hair back, but it's the golden circlet that stops her bangs from falling into her eyes.

By the time she's satisfied, her ascent begins, more cobblestone steps appearing in front of her as the passage takes her upwards once more. The path levels out again after a couple of minutes, the steps ending just feet away from another oak door. Several clusters of those glowing mushrooms grow around the doorframe and Sakura simply reaches for the handle, easily pushing it open. Daylight greets her as she exits the secret path, entering a small clearing in the forest. 

A thick ring of trees and underbrush surround the large cherry blossom tree in the center of the meadow and a branch lowers towards her, offering Sakura a handhold as she steps through and out of the door embedded in its trunk. She knows she's fairly deep in the woods, far deeper than anyone in the castle or the town dare enter, but she greets the forest with a smile, closing the door behind her. Moonflower vines move to cover the door once more, having pulled away as they sensed her approach, and the large leaves spiral around the trunk of the cherry tree so thickly, the bark is almost invisible.

The tree stands alone, no wall or path behind it, and leaves no suggestion of the passageway it hides. It's a mystery she's simply chalked up to magic, no longer concerned with its origin or purpose after years of using the hidden doors to visit the woods. She knows it's her own secret treasure - why else would her namesake hide the doors?

Listening to the rustling of leaves in the wind and the singing birds above, Sakura continues onward through the clearing and into the forest, fairly certain of her destination. The tall bushes and shrubs that create a makeshift wall between the ring of trees shake and pull away as she approaches, creating a clear path for her.

"You're worrying your lady in waiting sick, you know."

She'd only made it about five steps out of the clearing and into the trees when the familiar voice greets her and Sakura can't hold back her surprised gasp, turning sharply to the right. She spots him almost instantly, the sunlight that's broken through the canopy glinting off of his armor as he leans against a nearby tree with crossed arms.

He's not wearing his full set, just the breastplate and pauldrons, so his tired expression is on clear display as he eyes her with an almost disapproving look.

"And you, Sir, shouldn't be sneaking up on a lady on her lonesome in the woods." She cuts back, turning on her heel to continue onwards. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Shikamaru sighs, running his gloved hand over his hair, pulled back high in his usual style, as he pushes off from the tree and follows after her. 

"You shouldn't even be out here, Sakura." He calls after her, delving slightly into that rather inappropriate air of familiarity - as he always did when they were alone. "Especially not on your own."

She doesn't reply, but does slow her pace slightly to allow him to catch up to her, listening to the sound of his footfalls on the forest floor - heavy and loud compared to her own. 

Sakura doesn't question how he managed to get here before her. The walk through the hidden passage always takes much longer than it feels, but she's surprised he's finally managed to find the exit after all this time. She used to be able to make it to the woods and back without seeing hide nor hair of the captain of her personal guard, but he'd been getting better and better at finding her over the years.

"What are you even doing out here?" Shikamaru asks, at her side but just a pace behind her. He's eyeing what she’d done to her dress, obviously disapproving but not making any comments in regards to it.

"Running errands," She replies, his arm held out for her to hold as she climbs over a raised tree root.

"What errands could a princess possibly have in the middle of a forest?"

"I just need to grab a few morels," Sakura states matter-of-factly, smiling as she spots a pair of nightingales flit down to lower branch closer to them. "There's supposed to be a really good patch of them out this way."

"Mushrooms? " Shikamaru asks incredulously, rubbing a hand over his face. "That's what all this trouble is for? Mushrooms that I'm sure the kitchens already have on hand?"

She doesn't answer and simply picks up her pace, very pointedly not looking at the knight.

Groaning in frustration, he follows after her and easily catches up, his frown deepened after a moment.

"Wait a moment ," Shikamaru says suddenly as it seems to click. "This is for that witch isn't it?"

"She's been sick the past week and mentioned them the last time I visited, so I thought I'd surprise her," Sakura avoids addressing the part where he said 'witch', acting as if she was just out getting a gift for a friend - which she was.

"Sakura."

"Just because she lives outside of the town and she frequents the forest and she makes the occasional potion and everyone avoids her, doesn't mean she's dangerous!"

Shikamaru is in front of her in a few large strides, reaching out to rest his hands on her shoulders. 

"But it does make her a witch." He says, his expression both concerned and disapproving.

But she simply gives an annoyed huff and pushes past him, obviously done with the conversation.

"Are you going to accompany me on my troublesome errand for my wretched, evil friend, or not?" Sakura calls back, ducking under a particularly low-hanging tree limb.

Sighing with all the weight of the world, Shikamaru takes off after her - uncomfortable with how deep into the forest they were heading, but not about to leave her anytime soon.

The further into the woods they went, the more it seemed to come alive. The canopy shakes and dances in a breeze that blows over the treetops, high above, and the creatures of the forest call and chatter, their voices and footfalls echoing through the trees. 

Sakura's expression lights up as the first small, glowing creature appears and approaches her, leisurely flying in her direction and stopping just in front of her. It's body is almost indecipherable through the bright yellow glow, lost in the light like a firefly in the evening. But the pixie's wings are much easier to spot, long and thin like a dragonfly. 

It circles her head a few times as she walks, chattering on in a voice that sounds like tiny bells, and a quick glance behind her confirms that Shikamaru is still following her in blissful unawareness.

Unable to either see or hear the pixie, he sends Sakura's back a confused look when she whispers something to herself and is completely lost to the fact that she’s asking a tiny flying creature for directions.

Sakura, however, can easily understand the tinkling bells of the pixiespeak and smiles brighter as it leads her further into the woods, more colorful, glowing pixies appearing through the trees to join them. They fly around Sakura with a chorus of happy, ringing bells, some moving in to land and rest on her head or shoulders while others curiously inspect her guard.

A few occasionally pinch or prod at any exposed skin or tug on the hair at the nape of his neck, their laughter ringing louder whenever he reaches to swat at what he thinks are bugs. 

Shikamaru glances around in confusion more than once, trying to find the pesky mosquitoes that seem to be more interested in him than the princess. But he can't spot any pests swarming around him and doesn’t even hear buzzing near his ear when something stings his earlobe, his grimace growing with every moment.

Fortunately for him, they soon arrive at a large, moss-covered boulder, a huge cluster of morel mushrooms circling around the base of the stone. 

Grinning and whispering a quick thank you to her pixie guide, Sakur moves to crouch down next to the mushrooms and opens her satchel, pulling out a small knife and a large handkerchief. She begins cutting and collecting several of the edible mushrooms, placing them carefully on the handkerchief and vaguely hearing Shikamaru move to lean against a nearby tree.

"Did you steal that from the kitchen?" He asks with a sigh when he notices the knife, sounding more tired than chastising.

"I'm only borrowing it," She answers, rolling her eyes but still smiling. A few of the pixies leisurely fly around the large stone while others move to land and sit on some of the mushrooms, pointing out the best ones for Sakura to harvest. Before long, she has a plentiful collection and carefully ties up the ends of the cloth, packaging away the fungi and slipping it all back into her satchel.

Before she puts the knife away, she grabs the peach from earlier and cuts it in half, digging out the pit and tossing it off into some nearby shrubbery before cutting a few small slices off of one of the peach halves. She sets those on a flat patch of moss on the boulder before carefully slipping the knife back into the satchel pocket.

Straightening up, she tosses the full half to Shikamaru and starts eating the remainder, a chorus of happy bells behind her as most of the pixies move in to enjoy their treat.

He catches the peach half easily and sends her a raised eyebrow before taking a bite, not noticing the slices she'd left behind.

"All finished, princess?"

Sakura nods and they move to head back the way they'd come. She takes the lead and he doesn't question how she seems to know the way back - even despite the yellow pixie quickly returning to her. They make it all of five paces before something in the brush catches Sakura's eye and she makes a detour to her left, her expression turning curious as she finds what looks to be an old cobblestone path.

It's mostly covered in moss and grass as the forest floor has reclaimed it, but, as she parts the bushes and plants, she can easily long path leading further into the forest. Sakura smiles, ignores Shikamaru's questioning calls, and begins to follow it as her curiosity overwhelms her.

She only pauses when the pixie grabs and tugs a lock of her hair, trying to pull her back towards the way home.

Reaching back, she holds out a hand for the pixie to land on and smiles down at it, Shikamaru coming into view moments later.

"It'll be fine," Sakura says, to both of them, "Just a quick look to see where this leads."

The pixie's bells sound rather reluctant but it stays perched on her hand, a few of the others coming to follow her. Shikamaru, however, has no qualms with voicing his disapproval.

"This isn't safe," He says, reaching for her elbow and glancing around the darkening forest with worry. The trees are growing larger here, with thicker canopies that only let in just barely enough light. If it were the evening rather than the morning, it would be pitch dark.

"No one ever goes this deep, Sakura. We need to head back."

"I've been coming to the woods since I was a child," She says assuredly, following the barely-visible path. "No harm will come to me."

She wasn't completely wrong. Anyone who spent a decent amount of time around Sakura has seen the way plantlife gravitates towards her and how the earth seems to look after her. No one could quite explain it, as she didn't seem to possess any inherent magical abilities, but it was mostly chalked up to the peculiarity behind her birth.

'A gift from the fairies,' the Queen had said when her daughter was born with hair the color of flower petals and eyes as green as the forest. The royal family had tried for years and years to have a child, always ending in failure and heartbreak, until, miraculously, Sakura was born.

People who have seen how fond plants are of Sakura claim that the earth itself had rejoiced in the princess' birth and must have vowed to protect her.

Shikamaru grimaces, tempted to pick her up and just carry her back to the castle. But he knows it'll be better to just let her fill her curiosity now with him there, rather than risk her coming back here alone .

The path continues on for several minutes before the overgrowth becomes thick enough to make it fade away entirely, giving no inclination of which way to head. Sakura frowns in disappointment and is about to reluctantly head back when she realizes she can see light ahead, only viewed from the corner of her eye rather than directly.

A new lead to follow, she heads through a tall wall of brambles that parts for her, a sight that makes her smile and Shikamaru wary.

On the other side is a large, abandoned courtyard. 

Huge stone pillars surround the clearing, covered in moss and vines and all mostly collapsed or crumbling, and the brick floor of the courtyard is almost invisible through the grass and weeds. A few trees have managed to sprout and rise, dislodging brick and stone - their large size a testament of how long they've been there.

On the other side of the courtyard is a tall, grassy hill - a huge, lumpy mound of earth covered in waist-high plants and flowers and shrubs. It's too large to see over or even how far back it extends and Sakura and Shikamaru exchange curious looks, the latter letting out a frustrated groan when the former immediately heads toward the hill.

"Sakura," He calls, quickly following after her as she explores, "We need to head back."

"Just a few more minutes!" Sakura replies with a grin, the pixie on her shoulder and others meandering around the courtyard and into the sparse trees. "We're probably the first people here in decades!"

She starts to climb the hill but pauses at how hard the earth is underfoot and, after debating for a moment, she reaches down to clear away the grass in a small spot. She's met with carved stone under the layers of earth and she frowns in confusion.

"Or perhaps centuries..." Sakura mutters under her breath, her curiosity only growing as she continues her climb.

When she finally makes it to the top of the hill, she looks out over the expanse of the ruins before her, shocked at the sight.

"It's a castle!" Shikamaru hears her call from above, inciting him to quickly climb up to join her.

Indeed, despite the forest's attempts to take the land back, the decrepit ruins of what was once a large castle lay before the pair. The only visible stone is the upper parts of fallen towers, the building almost entirely collapsed, where the plants are still attempting to fully encase. Only one and a half walls remain, covered in ivy and vines and almost indecipherable had it not been for their shape, and what's left of a grand stone staircase is mostly obscured by a huge tree, the roots bursting through the rock and climbing up from what was likely the main foyer.

Sakura begins to climb down into the ruins before Shikamaru can stop her and he quickly follows suit, catching her arm when they reach the bottom of the hill.

"I don't like this," He says, quietly but sternly as he looks around the ruins with clear distrust. "We should leave."

She slips out of his grip and wanders towards the staircase and its tree, carefully making her ascent.

"I've never heard any sort of story about a fallen castle in the woods - how long do you think this has been here?" Sakura calls, running her fingers over the bark of the tree as she reaches the top of the remaining stairs and looks out over the ruins. 

"It's a grand discovery, yes, but it could be dangerous," Shikamaru is obviously keen to leave and even the pixie's bells sounding slightly worried.

Sakura turns in a circle to take in her surroundings, marveling at how such a thing could go undiscovered for so long. Eventually, however, she sighs and finally nods, turning back around.

"Fine, fine. We'll go. But you'd better agree to come back here with me another time to explore."

Shikamaru groans and rubs the back of his neck but nods as well, unaware of the pair of pixies sitting on his head. His answer and the sight makes Sakura smile and giggle, but her expression is soon turning to one of shock as she feels the stone give way under her feet.

She gasps in surprise as a piece of the staircase crumbles and she feels herself fall backwards and even the tree's attempt to catch her with a branch isn't enough to keep her from falling several feet down the other side of the staircase.

It's a sheer drop and she hears Shikamaru shout her name when he disappears from sight. The bed of moss she lands on isn't quite cushion enough and she groans as she sits up, rubbing the back of her head.

Shikamaru comes running around the corner of the staircase and his relief is immediate when he sees her sitting there, a little bruised but fine.

"See?" He says, moving towards her. "This place is falling apart."

Sakura reluctantly nods and he's just feet away when she feels the ground shift again - and this time she screams as the earth collapses under her and she falls and falls down into darkness.

Her fall is broken by water and the impact winds her as she's fully submerged. Panicking, she instinctively kicks and swims for the surface, gasping for breath when she breaches and manages to grab onto a floating something for support.

It begins to glow fluorescent green at her touch and both the huge lily pad and the hole in the ceiling above give off enough light for her to look around in confusion once she's caught her breath. She's landed in a large underground pond, apparently, the small waves stemming from her body disturbing the surrounding lily pads and making them glow from the movement. 

They're huge - large enough for her to comfortably lay with her arms and legs fully outstretched - and the one she's clinging to feels incredibly sturdy under her arms, barely even dipping down into the water from her weight. Considering the thought for just a moment, she carefully manages to climb up onto the pad and out of the water, its surface glowing brighter wherever she touches.

She hears Shikamaru's voice come from above and she looks skyward, shocked to realize just how far she'd fallen.

The light from the hole she'd made casts down onto the pond in a singular beam, a couple feet away from her current position on the lily pad. Her entry point is high above her, at least 50 feet of a sheer drop, and she sees Shikamaru's head come into view as he kneels down and carefully nears the edge as quickly he can, the yellow glow of the pixie guide perched on his shoulder.

"Sakura! Are you alright?!"

"I'm okay!" She calls, kneeling on the lily pad. "I landed in water!"

She can hear the relief in his sigh even if she can't make out his face from the way he's back-lit.

"Just stay right there!" Shikamaru calls, starting to pull away from the hole. "I'll look for a way down!"

Nodding to herself, she looks away from the light to let her eyes adjust to the darkness and fully take in her surroundings. She's in some sort of cavern, though the walls look carved and built by hand rather than natural, and she turns slowly on the pad, the movement sending more small ripples in the water to make the other lily pads glow again. Her gaze follows along the distant walls, the edge of the pond about 40 paces out in every direction, until she spots a set of stairs carved from the stone, leading up and through a passage in the wall.

"I think I see an exit!" Sakura calls, Shikamaru's head popping back into view a moment later.

"Sakura!" He shouts again, voice worried and frustrated. "Don't. Move."

But she ignores him and moves to carefully stand, taking a moment to find her balance on top of the floating plant. Once she feels secure, she looks to the closest lily pad and, readying herself and muttering encouragements under her voice, hops across the small gap of water. 

She nearly falls when she lands but the pad stays mostly in place and she continues onto the next one, soon getting the hang of it and smiling at the way the lily pads light up under her feet. The glow lasts a few moments after she's lept onto the next and the one after that, leaving a small trail of fluorescent green footprints.

When she makes it to the shore, she lets out a tired laugh and looks back out over the pond, taking a moment to wring the water out of her hair and gown. The staircase passage she'd spotted is just behind her and she looks up at the hole in the stone ceiling.

She'd gotten all turned around when she fell into the pond but, if the sun had been behind them when they'd arrived at the castle ruins and if she takes the angle of the light beam from the hole into account…

"Head right from the tree, Shikamaru!" Sakura yells, as loudly as she can. "The passage leads out that way!"

"SAKURA."

He sounds furious but she doesn't want to stay stuck in one place while she waits for him. The lily pads had been helpful but, if they were able to survive in a pitch black cave with no access to light, there was no telling what else was in the pond.

She turns and heads into the passage, the stairs tall and sturdy under her boots. The stone arches over her head, just a few feet taller and wide enough for two of her. 

Besides a few patches of moss and mushrooms, the stonework is clean and uncovered, not yet reclaimed by the forest. The air is damp and cold and she shivers as she climbs the steps, her soaked clothing doing nothing to keep out the chill. Eventually the stairs end and lead into a long, large hallway of stone - a straight path but with no end in sight.

Sakura knows she hasn't made enough ground to be more than a third of the way towards the surface but, since this had been the only way out of the pond's cavern, it would ultimately lead to Shikamaru anyways. Wrapping her arms around herself, she continues down the stone hall, searching for but failing to find any doors or other passages. The walls are bare besides mounted torches that had long-since gone out and the occasional patch of lichen or mushroom - no tapestries or art or any sign of life.

It's completely dark without the lily pads but her eyes have adjusted enough for her to see well enough. 

Still, she almost doesn't catch herself in time when the hallway suddenly ends and drops off into a huge chasm of darkness.

Gasping, Sakura stumbles backwards and grips the strap of her satchel in tight fists. It takes her a few moments, but she can eventually make out the edge of the drop, the stone floor jagged and broken. She still can't quite see how far the drop is in the darkness and she takes another step back, her expression growing unsure and worried.

She may be stubborn, but she wasn't stupid enough to take a leap a faith over a hole that might be 3 feet long or 300.

Groaning in frustration, Sakura turns to head back to the pond when, out of the corner of her eye, she spots a vague light emanating from the other side of the darkness. It's harder to see when she looks right at it, as all things are in the dark, but it's straight ahead and seems to be at the same level of her position.

However, she's unsure if it's just small or very far away.

Shifting her weight from leg to leg as she bites her lip unsurely, Sakura eventually turns around to head down the hall slightly, managing to remove one of the old torches from its hold after a few moments of struggling. Kneeling down on the stone, she opens her satchel and searches for her tinderbox, hoping the water hadn't gotten in her bag and ruined the contents.

She fumbles with it in the dark for a couple minutes before, eventually, she's made a light and, using the handkerchief that had managed to stay dry and what's left in the metal cage of the torch, stands with the flame aloft. Sakura makes her way cautiously to the edge again and peers out over the chasm, grimacing at its size.

It has to be at least a hundred feet - some sort of collapsed chamber with a domed ceiling that rises high above her, intact despite the scene below. There's large pieces of broken stone scattered around the edges and down into the center but, the more Sakura stares at it, the more she thinks she can see a path down and back up the other side.

Grinning at the chance of a way out, she carefully begins to climb down onto the pit, the stone pieces slanted and lying awkwardly, but spaced enough for her to use them as stairs. Her foot slips only twice as she descends, but she catches herself each time and lets out a relieved sigh when she makes it to the bottom, the torch still burning as she holds it high.

It'll take a bit more effort to make her way over and around the rock scattered about her, but she is determined to reach that light and find Shikamaru. Making sure her sleeves are still rolled up, she starts forward and begins to climb up over a particularly large chunk of stone, finding her balance once she's made it to the top.

When she raises her torch just a little higher, the firelight glints off something metallic far to her right and she pauses in surprise, turning to look curiously.

She moves the torch and catches the reflected light again and, with a quick glance back up towards her exit, she decided a small detour wouldn't hurt.

Sakura carefully walks across the several feet of stone before climbing down, making her way through jagged rock towards the direction of what had caught her eye. As she climbs over the last small precipice, she finds a small patch of cleared ground, a figure nestled into the rubble.

The sight startles her and she nearly drops the torch but, after a moment of carefully inching forward, she realizes it's just an odd... statue?

Her head tilts curiously and she cautiously makes her way down towards it, more detail coming into view. 

It's the figure of a man, carved from stone that might be marble, though she can't quite make out the color under the layers of dust and cobwebs. The statue is sitting in a reclined position on the ground, one leg stretched out and the other bent and raised slightly while it leans back against one of the huge stone chunks, as if it had collapsed there. One arm lays limp at its side while the other hand rests in its lap, fingers curled slightly. The head is angled down, chin to chest, and carved hair draped over its shoulders, a deep-seated tiredness permeating through the stone.

A mask covers the head, long and carved like the skull of a beast and obscuring the face, but the most peculiar part of the statue is the very much not stone dagger sticking out of its chest.

It's obviously what had caught the firelight and Sakura inspects the jewel encrusted dagger curiously, her fingers tracing around where metal meets stone. It wasn't part of the original statue, she realizes - it had actually been stabbed into the rock with enough strength to crack it.

Sakura frowns sadly to herself, wondering why someone would intentionally harm such an admittedly strange but interesting piece of art.

Her gaze drifts back up to the hidden face and her hand moves to trace her thumb along the jaw, strong and sharp, that peeks under the mask. She leans forward in interest when the action wipes away the layers of dirt and dust to reveal a stark white stone underneath, an otherwise perfectly unmarred marble.

Sakura pauses for a moment before unrolling one of her sleeves and using it to wipe away the cobwebs and dust on the statue's face, fingers tracing the curves and lines of the skull mask and revealing the astounding detail in the maker's craftmanship. When it's decidedly more clean than when she found it, she looks back down at the dagger and decides it has no place in the crafter's original vision.

She grips the handle tightly and pulls, the grating sound of metal scraping against stone sending a shiver down her spine but the knife coming out relatively easily enough. Sakura smiles and shuffles back in her crouched position, only to stumble back onto her rear when the ground shakes.

It surely must be an earthquake with how the cavern rumbles and tremors and she sends a panicked look upward, frightened of the ceiling collapsing. The shaking lasts a few moments before it suddenly stills and Sakura is met with the sound of sand cascading over stone.

She looks to the statue in alarm and gasps in surprise at the sight of the twin, pale green, glowing lights emanating from the sockets of the skull.

She's still in her seated position, knees up and arms behind her to support herself, as the white marble of the statue begins to recede, slowly disappearing to reveal very much not-stone skin and clothing.

It starts from the legs and makes its way upwards, the crack where the dagger had been slowly knitting itself back together until a very human man is sitting across from her.

Sakura stares for another few moments and shrieks when he moves.

The sound makes his head lift, sluggish and tired, and she scrambles backwards - only to find her back pressed against a chunk of rock. The green glow from the eye sockets disappears and, with the light of the torch she still gripped tightly in her free hand, Sakura can see eyes of a similar color open, shaded by the mask but very obviously looking at her.

The man sits up, the hand in his lap clenching and unleashing for a moment, as he continues to stare back at her until his gaze drops to the dagger in her other hand.

She follows his gaze down to the knife with a quick glance but, when she looks up again he's crouched in front of her, the skull mask inches from her own face.

"You..." He pauses, his voice raspy and deep. Those pale green eyes close for a moment and Sakura’s gaze darts fearfully over what she can see of his face before dropping down to his shoulder to note that, besides the skull, his hair is the only thing that had remained white.

She's startled from her thoughts when she feels something warm on her cheek and she realizes it's his hand, his thumb tracing over her cheek in a similar fashion to when she'd touched his jaw.

Sakura finds herself blushing despite the bizarre - and worrying - moment.

"You..." He starts again, his hand still caressing her cheek. "You freed me."

"I..." She takes a nervous breath, shrinking back slightly when he pulls away just slightlu and reaches a hand up towards the mask. "W-well, yes, I suppose, but-"

He removes the skull with slow movements, revealing a handsome face with sharp features. There are red markings edged around the lower corners of his eyes and above his eyebrows and his free hand moves to grip her own, his much larger grip circling around the fist clutching the dagger.

"I owe you a debt of immeasurable gratitude," He says, voice still hoarse but softer now. Sakura stares at him with wide eyes before jumping slightly as he leans forward, her cheeks burning when he rests his forehead against her own. 

"My life is yours, as yours is mine." He says, his eyes closing for a moment and his skin feeling like fire against her own.

"I-I-" Her voice is barely more than a whisper and his eyes open again, holding her gaze with an intensity she's never experienced before.

"What is your name?" He asks gently, releasing her fist to reach up and carefully run his fingers through a lock of her hair.

"I-"

"SAKURA!"

They both look up at the distant shout, far off but echoing down the hall Sakura had come through. Her face lights up with relief at the sound of the knights voice and the man kneeling in front of her shifts, his lax posture stiffening.

"SH-SHIKAMARU!" She calls, hoping he can hear her. "I'm here!"

When she looks to the white-haired man again, she freezes in shock. Though his gaze is pinned in the direction of Shikamaru's voice, she can easily see how his pupils have narrowed to slits and that pale green glow has returned, his expression stoney and grim - a stark contrast to the tender look he'd held moments ago.

They hear Shikamaru's voice again and she moves to stand, the man backing away just enough to give her room before he helps her to her feet. The echoing thuds of running footsteps greets them moments before Shikamaru comes into view overhead, absolutely soaked in water and skidding to a halt as he arrives at the edge of the chasm.

He looks around frantically for a moment before his eyes fight the light of Sakura's torch and she lets out a relieved sound, waving up at him. Her call is cut off, however, and Shikamaru's expression turns furious as she feels the white-haired man gently wrap an arm around her waist and pull her back against him.

She glances back at him in surprise, startled to realize how much taller he is than her, and finds him staring up at the knight, his glowing gaze harsh and dangerous.

"Release her," Shikamaru orders, unsheathing his sword in one fluid moment. "Now."

The ground rumbles and shakes again and Sakura gasps, leaning back against him in support before she stiffens at the feeling of a second rumble growing in his chest. An inhuman growl rips through him and he starts to change, growing larger behind her as smoke begins to curl out of his mouth through bared teeth. 

The cloud of fog grows larger and thicker until it obscures him from view and Sakura feels the huge, clawed hand gently move off of her waist. She's moved and tucked away in a stone alcove, lifted body off of the ground before carefully placed back down again, the fog beginning to dissipate moments later.

The man is gone but, in his wake, is an enormous bone-white beast, crouched over the scattered stones of the chasm and tall enough to look Shikamaru in the eye as they stare each other down. Its tail, lined with a row of sharp protrusions that look like rib bones, waves slowly through the air, and sharp claws dig into rock, a pair of huge white wings stretching out for a few moments before tucking against its scale-plated body.

Its head looks familiar and Sakura realizes with a start that it wears a skull mask identical to the one the man had been wearing, though this one is sectioned into pieces and a part of its body, those green eyes filling the sockets with a bright glow.

"You are a fool," The dragon says in a voice deep enough to make the cavern tremble, "If you think you can fight me."

Shikamaru looks slightly pale, but his expression is determined as he brandished his sword, his lips curled in an obvious challenge.

There's little warning before the beast strikes but Shikamaru manages to jump down and into the pit moments before impact as the dragon's maw snaps at where he'd been standing.

Stone shatters between its teeth and Sakura is already scrambling out of the alcove and up the side of the chasm to where she'd seen the light before, watching with frightened eyes as Shikamaru lands with a grunt on a large rock chunk several feet down. He leaps forward moments later and onto the dragon's shoulder, but his sword shatters against its scales when he tries to stab it in as an anchor.

Cursing, he keeps ahold of the hilt and what's left of the blade as he manages to scramble upwards, running down the dragon's back and towards Sakura. He's nearly flung off as the beast turns fast enough to give him whiplash and he loses sight of the princess, reaching out to grip one of the bony spines along its back for support. Once he's sure of his footing, he runs again, the sound of the dragon's jaws snapping at the air behind him a terrifying experience. 

The massive creature curls and twists as it tries to snatch the knight off of its back and gives a ferocious roar that makes dust rain down from the domed ceiling above. Sakura, who has managed to avoid being smashed by the lashing tail, reaches the top edge of the chasm and presses against the wall of the opposite hall. She watches with wide, terrified eyes as Shikamaru dodges the dragon's jaws, his mouth set in a grim line as he searches for her.

When he spots Sakura, he takes off in a sprint, skidding and sliding down the dragon's back when it rears up on its hind legs suddenly before he leaps off with as much strength as he can muster. It's tail whips at the last moment and ruins his trajectory slightly and Shikamaru lands with a hard grunt against the edge.

His arms and shoulders are over the top of the jagged stones and the armor of his breastplate scrapes against the side as his boots search for purchase. Sakura is quickly at his side and helps heft him up over the edge, just as the dragon turns to spot the pair.

Her lips part but, before she can say anything, Shikamaru grabs her hand and takes off down the hallway, the two running as fast as they can.

"He's just going to follow us!" Sakura manages to shout, keeping up with his pace.

"The passage is too narrow," Shikamaru replies, winded from slamming against the side of the chasm.

They both glance back at the sound of scales scraping against stone and a furious roar to see the dragon's head entering the hallway, its neck long enough to almost reach them before it stops short.

"For its body, at least." The knight grunts, not slowing in his pace as they race towards the light at the end of the passage.

Its moments later when the ground trembles and shakes again and Sakura stumbles, hissing at the sudden pain in her ankle and squeaking when Shikamaru suddenly scoops her up, abandoning his useless sword. He continues running even as they hear a great commotion come from behind them, the sound of the cavern collapsing and the dragon roaring as it tries to force open the passage.

Like dominoes, stone hall begins to cave in behind them and Shikamaru grits his teeth, his eyes widening as the sight of the exit finally comes into view.

They can see daylight, but it's blocked by old wooden boards and a curtain of vines and moss, extending into the passage some feet. As they near, the plants actively retreat, pulling away from the planks and out into the open air or higher on the walls. The action casts more light into the darkness and, hearing the collapsing stone nearing behind them, Shikamaru makes the decision to keep running.

He turns slightly to shield and brace Sakura as he barrels into the barrier, his shoulder splintering the centuries old wood and breaking through to let them escape. Shikamaru stumbles and falls, but keeps Sakura from harm as he rolls and clutches her to his chest, landing in soft grass and forest leaves. They barely have a moment to rest and collect themselves, however, and the ground shakes violently and they hear an enormous crash and rumble. 

Though they can't see it, they can clearly hear the dragon's roar as it echoes in the open air.

The pair look back at the way they'd come, taking in the sight of a hidden doorway set into the side of a grassy hill. Sakura's eyes grow wide and she sits up, quickly trying to rise to her feet but stumbling as pain flares in her ankle. Shikamaru scoops her up into his arms again and he looks around frantically for a moment, that clever mind of his searching for an escape path.

As Sakura looks skyward, she sees a cluster of familiar glowing colors heading towards them through the trees and she hurriedly points in the same direction.

"That way!" She insists, hearing a frantic chorus of bells calling to her. "Keep running."

"We're lost!" Shikamaru hisses even as he starts off in the direction she indicated, the sound of the dragon's roar and rampage growing louder. "We need to hide."

"Just trust me, Shikamaru!"

He growls but relents, racing into the woods that seems to part a path for them, not a single branch touching or scraping the pair as they escape. The yellow pixie is at the lead of the group as they meet them, swarming around the princess and her captain with alarmed bells and Sakura grips his arm tightly, pointing forward as the yellow ball of light begins to hurriedly guide them out.

"That way! Keep going!"

"Sakura," He says, panic in his voice, "We're lost!"

"Just follow the damn pixies, Shikamaru!"

"The what?!"

If they weren't running for their lives, she's sure he would have been giving her a look as if she'd grown a second head. Gripping her hair with a frustrated sound, she shouts into the air, pleading and desperate.

"Let him see!"

Shikamaru is about to question her, growing concerned, when he nearly trips as a dazzling display of swarming light suddenly surrounds them, the pixies having accepted her request. 

They never show themselves to humans but their fondness for the princess and the desperation of her situation won over their distaste for being seen and they show themselves to the knight, the chiming bells of their voices making his ears ring. 

He can't understand them but he can most certainly see him and Shikamaru doesn't realize he's stopped moving until Sakura reaches up to grab his chin, physically pull his wide-eyed gaze away from the pixies, and point to the singular yellow glow ahead of them.

"Follow that one."

Shikamaru, bewildered and rather disturbed, nods and breaks out in a sprint again, dutifully following the pixie guide.

The sound of the earth shaking and trees being uprooted grows louder and closer behind them and some of the pixies surrounding Shikamaru scatter and fly off into the woods. A tremor nearly sends him to the ground again and they can hear the roars and growls much too close back the way they'd come.

Sakura thinks she sees a flash white through the trees and she grips Shikamaru even tighter, her expression lightening slightly when she sees a familiar wall of shrubbery ahead. The yellow pixie gives a frantic chime and circles once in the air before following the rest of the swarm back into the forest. When Shikamaru makes to follow, she quickly reaches for his shoulder and points towards the hedges.

"No, no! Keep going straight!" She says, and, despite the worried look he sends her, the knight races ahead, letting out startled grunt when the bushes part for them to reveal the meadow and the singular cherry tree in the center.

"The tree!" Sakura hisses when he looks around like they'd been led to disaster, "Head for the tree!"

They're halfway there when they both glance back at the sound of a large crash and see treetops fall and crumble, the dragon's furious face bursting through the foliage. Its jaws part to reveal bared teeth when it spots them and Shikamaru runs as fast as he can, his expression determined as the beast chases after them.

The moonflower vines and leaves pull away to reveal the door as they approach and Sakura reaches out for the doorknob before Shikamaru can touch it, flinging it open. The moment they're through, she shoves her way out of his arms, lands on her good foot, and slams the door shut behind them, cutting off the view of the dragon's jaws snapping closed just inches away.

Shikamaru quickly grabs her and shields her with his body as he braces for impact, expecting the tree to be torn down around them. But, when there isn't even the barest shake or thud, he cautiously looks up and gently releases her a reluctant moment later, finally looking around their new surroundings.

While he gazes over the moss covered passage in confusion and wonder, Sakura lets out a relieved sigh and collapses back against the wall, her hand over her racing heart. She slides down to sit on the ground, careful of her twisted ankle, and leans against Shikamaru's shoulder when he joins her.

He's quiet for a full minute before he looks down at her, his expression so tired.

"What the hell happened."

#shikasaku #kimisaku #shikasakukimi #sakura haruno #naruto fantasy week #thirrinwrites #thirrinfic

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Crossing Silver | Geralt x Reader | Oneshot

Summary: You and Geralt--Two mutants trained to fight. You’re trained not to have emotions, or ignore them when they arise, to fight them if you have to. But, as it turns out, the two of you realize that the only thing worth fighting for might be each other. Well, that, and some other things. 

Pairing: Geralt x witcher!Reader

Warning(s): Blood, violence, swearing, mentions of injury.

A/N: Yes, another oneshot. I know my WIP list is... well, extensive. But I couldn’t ignore this little idea. I hope you enjoy!  Thanks for reading, yada yada–kofi here, masterlist here, taglist here. Enjoy!

“Hey, White Wolf,” you sneer, “That’s my monster.” 

Geralt turns his head slowly, deliberately. A few of the other patrons at the tavern do the same. You don’t care. You are not concerned with the feelings, or lack thereof, of your long-time rival, and you certainly are not concerned with the opinions of the strangers crowding the generic Vizima tavern. 

“Hm?” 

You could just smack the smirk off of the famous witcher’s face, but you resist the urge and remain cold and impassive, “Just because your little bard friend has memorialized you as the hero of ages does not give you the right to every contract you get wind of.” 

He laughs softly, cocking his head to the side as he studies you standing just behind the bench he sits on, “What then, is your claim on this monster?” 

You cross your arms across your armored chest and glare at him, “I arrived three days ago, you whoreson.” 

Truth be told, contracts have been harder and harder to come by, especially with the winter slowly gripping the Northern Realms. You are running desperately low on coin, and you’d prefer not to spend the winter rationing half-rotten grain or foraging through gods-forsaken forests. You need this monster - but you will not tell him that. 

“Three days?” he chides, shaking his head, “If it’s been three days and you haven’t managed to track the beast down and return with its head, I’d be doing you a disservice if I let you keep floundering around in the mud.” 

You flush slightly, having mostly forgotten the fact that your leathers are covered in dried mud, and you are sure some has smeared on your face. 

Covered in mud and shit. Always in mud and shit, you think bitterly. What a life it is, the life of a witcheress. You’d spent the last three days picking through the swampy marshland just outside the city. Three days, wading through muddy water in your quest to track the kikimora that has, apparently, been picking off locals for several weeks now at an incredibly alarming rate. 

Not wanting to risk another blow to your pride, you clench your fists and narrow your eyes at the man, “I wish you luck, O’ noble white knight.” 

You watch with cold satisfaction as his jaw clenches. You know he hates being called that - hates being accused of being one. Geralt and his morals. Geralt, who is sung about in every tavern on the Continent because he just so happened to make the acquaintance of a prolific poetaster. 

Geralt, who is every god damn thing those ballads claim he is. It is maddening. 

Before he can respond, you turn on your heel and march up the old creaky stairs to your shitty little room - cheapest at the inn - and all but slam the door behind you. 

You’ll get that kikimora, damn him. 

He watches you go, unable to pull his eyes from your shrinking form as you disappear up the stairs. As usual, the sound of your voice - the sight of you - reminds him of all those years ago, back at Kaer Morhen. 

Things had been so different then. 

He sighs, turning back to the table with some effort, and drains the rest of his ale. Seeing you enrages him, because it always reminds him of what could have been - what had been - had he not messed it up. 

But he knows that dwelling on it is pointless and causes only pain. You are witchers, after all. You’ve no emotions, no feelings, no memories that matter. Oh, no - that would get in the way of all the trekking through mud and slime, chasing down monsters three times your size and, if you’re lucky, slaying said monsters in return for meager coin and gazes full of contempt. 

Mutants. Monsters. 

She doesn’t belong with us witchers, he thinks as he stares down at his empty mug. She is like a star, millions of light years away. She burns so brightly, and no one will ever know. 

After all, you’re only a witcher. 

Morning comes too soon, but you force your heavy eyes open the moment dawn breaks. Every muscle in your body screams in protest as you haul yourself out of bed. You grab your clothes, which you hastily washed in the bathwater already blackened after you’d scrubbed yourself clean, and throw them on. You grimace in irritation upon finding that they are still slightly damp. You don’t know why you even bother. 

Clean myself up just to go dive into that cesspool again, you think as you lace up your boot. Fantastic. 

You steal out of your room like a thief in the night, never mind that the morning light bathes the hallway in a watery pale glow. You walk lightly, despite the fact that Geralt is a witcher same as you, and he will no doubt hear the soft footfalls if he is listening for them. Nevertheless, you hope you’ve woken up first. You are hoping to get a head start on him. After all, you’ve known him from childhood - your oh so happy childhood - and so, you know what he is capable of. Far more, perhaps, than any other witcher. Unfortunately. 

The only signs of life that greet you when you reach the bottom of the stairs are the hurried footsteps of a barmaid and two cooks - the one busy tidying up the cramped dining room and the other two busy preparing breakfast for the inn’s guests and any wanderers who might happen in looking for a morning meal. You try to ignore the delicious scent of frying eggs and bacon as you make your way to the door. You haven’t the extra coin - or the extra time - to waste. 

The streets show more activity than the old tavern, however. There are merchants busy setting up stalls, a few people bustling toward some unknown destination or other, and several of Vizima’s homeless population. You feel that you share a connection only with the latter. They are quite human, but treated like mutants just as you are. If you weren’t a mutant incapable of feeling, it would probably sadden you. But, you are a witcheress, so you keep you head held high and hurry to the gates, the sun glinting off the silver sword slung over your back and glaring bright light in your wake. 

“Fuck,” Geralt hisses, pulling his foot out of a particularly deep vat of mud with a loud squelch. No wonder the witcheress was having such difficulty hunting the kikkimora here; it’d be able to hear her - or anyone else - from a mile away. Perhaps the books were all wrong, and the chitinous beasts are an intelligent race after all - what an unusually brilliant place to hide and pick off travelers by the dozens. 

“Having trouble, eh?” 

He turns quickly, startled by the familiar voice. He was not expecting you so early. He’d woken before the sun even tinted the sky milky blue and orange, as it had only just begun to do. Though, he supposed, he should not be surprised. After all, this was your monster. 

In the night, a ridiculous notion had come upon him that perhaps he should listen and leave the beast for you. Things were difficult as of late for witchers. With Nilfgaard on the offensive, it seemed that humans did quite a good job killing one another - such a good job that witchers were mostly an afterthought, called in to hunt necrophages in the battlefields turned mass graves dotted across the continent. He’d quickly let that notion go, however. There was nothing in the code that forbade him from hunting down a wanted beast just because someone else had happened to arrive in town first.  

“Fuck off,” Geralt grunts, wiping his boot on the first solid patch of grass he can find. “I’m not leaving.”

“You want to cross silvers, then?” You smirk at the silver-haired witcher, ignoring the hair that had fallen, sweaty, over your face. You slowly back  up into fighting stance, silver sword braced in your hand as casually as if it were one of the practice swords you used to spar with back at Kaer Morhen. 

Geralt looks at you dispassionately, his own sword still in his hand, but held down and away from his body at an angle. This, somehow, only serves to boil your blood even more. 

“Come on and fight, dammit!” The sound of your own voice startles you; it is raw with years of pent-up anger and sadness. All of the words you had not spoken and could not speak rushed out in that one utterance. 

Chaos and Order - two things witchers did not embroil themselves in. And yet, in this moment, you are pure Chaos. 

“Y/N, I’m not going to fight you,” Geralt says with a shake of his head. “I came here to kill a monster.” Of course, you know what he’s thinking - that you are foolish; that witchers do not kill witchers, and probably something involving his famous moral compass. 

“C’mon, famous White Wolf,” you taunt, “Just a sparring match.” You twirl in a half pirouette, like Visimir had taught you both, and grin malevolently. “Whoever disarms the other gets the contract; and the other hops on Roach and leaves town.” 

Just like back when you were young, it appears that Geralt is unable to back down from a challenge. He smiles his own malevolent smile and readies his sword, “Fine. But you’re not taking my horse.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you sweep your sword in an arch, causing him to jump back with feline grace, “You’ll be needing her to carry you on out of here.” 

Geralt just smirks, letting out a small huff of a laugh, and pivots around, bringing his sword down in a wide arch, which you easily block, locking you both, panting and sweaty, against one another. For a moment, your eyes lock with his. Liquid gold eyes that used to mean the world to you - and somehow still do. You feel trapped in that gaze, like a bug in amber. 

Refusing to let yourself be helpless, you quickly duck and spin, using Geralt’s own force against you to give you speed and momentum as you roll away from him. He may be bigger than you are, and stronger, but you are more agile - faster. Apparently he must’ve forgotten that, because he is momentarily thrown off balance, tipping forward thanks to your sudden move.

You smirk and swing forward in attempt to knock the silver blade from his hand, but he has already recovered, and your blade swipes at air. Frustrated, but not deterred, you let the momentum carry you into a full pirouette, rather than letting it throw you off-balance. 

After all that dancing, the two of you land in roughly the same place you had begun, poised and ready to strike out at each other again - and utterly distracted from the sound of sloshing water a few paces away. 

The elusive kikkimora emerges all at once from the murky depths of the water, reaching out with too many limbs to count and quite comically - were it not for the threat of imminent death - plucks the two of you, one in each large pincer, from the ground. 

The two of you snap to your senses instinctively and immediately, your fight for the moment forgotten. You can feel through your studded leather jerkin where the sharp claws have sunk into your skin. Fantastic. 

“Y/N!” Geralt shouts as he throws all of his body weight in your direction, holding his sword at an awkward angle, pommel facing you. He doesn’t have to speak any words to convey his meaning. By the time his weight has forces the beast’s limb towards you, you have already angled yourself to expertly tangle the blade of your sword with his, effectively trapping the beasts hideous little arms together if it wants to keep hold of both of you. 

“Not bad,” you grunt, using all of your strength to keep your sword locked with his despite the monster’s furious effort to pull the two of you apart. 

“Hmm,” the Witcher grins for a moment, infuriatingly proud of himself. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” 

While you’d like to strike back with some caustic remark, you understand his plan already, and do as he says. Once you have firmly hooked your legs together, you quickly slide your blade up, finally unhooking them, and duck your head against his shoulder just as he thrusts his blade forward. 

The silver glints in the sun as it blurs just to the side of your body, hitting the monster with a loud crack and sending the creature’s black-red blood spraying over your back and shoulder, splatters marring Geralt’s face. 

The trick works excellently, and you feel it release you, that horrible little appendage flailing in the air, spraying more of the sticky-sweet blood all over. Of course, the trick also succeeds in pissing off the foul monster off even more. You wince as you hear the sound of tearing fabric and skin and see Geralt grimace. 

All of a sudden, you are hit with the very sudden realization that you very much do not want him to die. The creature’s pincer is dangerously close to Geralt’s neck, and you worry it could easily squeeze once more and shred his carotid artery. 

Your eyes flick quickly to the monster’s head, including its horribly sharp teeth, and you know what you’ve got to do. You see Geralt register the thought running though your head, but by the time he yells, “No!” you are already flying through the air, somewhat haphazardly, sword in both hands. 

If we make this out of here alive, I’m killing him, you think as you let gravity carry you downwards. Time seems to slow, just as it always seems to in moments like this, and you point your sword downward, straight into the hard shell of the kikimora’s head. 

The thing wails pitifully as the sword passes through with a sickening crunch. You curl in on yourself, both to absorb the fall and in attempt to protect yourself from the onslaught of the creature’s other limbs as it violently attempts to remove you from its back. The creature’s flailing only lasts a few moments as it dies, but one of the sharp talons manages to cut across the side of your face, tearing the skin near your ear. You feel the sharp sting of pain and feel the hair and the side of your face wet with blood, making you hiss in a breath and grip the pommel of your sword even tighter. 

You don’t look up until the kikimora flops, dead, into the water, at which point you ignore the pain in your back and on the side of your head and kick off from its back violently, pulling your sword up with you. 

“Geralt?” you call desperately, scanning the water. 

Thankfully, you aren’t left to panic for long, as the white haired witcher suddenly emerges from under the water, “Y/N!”

Instead of heading for the water’s edge, as you expected, he heads straight for you, treading murky water behind him. 

“Geralt, I’m--” your protest is cut off when he wraps a strong arm around your waist and his lips, warm and familiar even after all of these years, crash against yours. 

“Damn it, Y/N,” he breathes when he finally pulls away, “You could’ve died! What if you missed? It could’ve bitten off your damn head, it could’ve--”

Now its your turn to cut him off, “Shut up, Witcher!” you laugh. “And get us out of this water, it’s disgusting.” 

He looks at you warily, clearly wanting to continue his rant, but he relents and pulls you close, kicking off the murky bottom of the water and propelling the two of you towards the shore.

It only takes a few moments, and you find yourself missing the weight of his arm around you when he releases you. Silence follows as the two of you wring the water out of your hair and discard as much of your filthy clothing as possible until you glance from the Witcher to the monster and then back again.

“Don’t think this means I’m sharing the coin with you,” you say, but all of the venom is gone from your voice. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Taglist:  @fairytale07 @geeksareunique @jesseswartzwelder @haru-ririchiyo  @unnamedmaincharacter @lazilyscentedwerewolf  @valkyriepuff @comicbeginning @alwayshave-faith @hp-hogwartsexpress @curlyhairedandconfused​  @superconfusedandreadytorumble​ @keithseabrook27​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​  @sinnamon-bunn​  @sallyp-53​  @superconfusedandreadytorumble​ 

#the witcher #geralt x y/n #geralt x reader #witcher reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert #geralt reader instert

[pressedinthepages]

Chapter 2: Expectations

Summary: After 30 years of walking the path alone, your heart has hardened over, but it seems there are a couple of cracks.

Series Masterlist

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382063/chapters/59027686

Words: 1754

Warnings: not really any this time, little bit of sexism and swearing, but nothing extreme.

A/N: I know I’m a bit early with this one, but I’m so excited so I can’t wait XD This one’s a bit shorter, but I like where it ended so it’ll be a good setup for the next chapter :) enjoy! Also, the term 'fauntkin' is a medieval term of endearment, essentially meaning "young child."

The sun is high in the sky, a slight breeze stirring dust from the trail as you walk. You can feel eyes burning holes in the back of your armor as you approach the notice board. You’ve arrived in a sizeable town in Velen, almost as far east as Oxenfurt. The people here, you can tell, are well-fed and prosperous. Being this close to a big city tends to leave people with an extra bit of coin in their pockets, but it also tends to come with bigger problems. Sometimes it’s bigger, meaner contracts, or it’s stingy, uptight employers. Your leather skirt billows around your knees, and you are grateful for the lined trousers you wore underneath as the wind bit your nose. You keep the hood on your cloak up, not yet having a chance to figure out just how welcome you are here. 

1225. The year catches your eye from a slip of parchment on the board, glaring at you, taunting you behind a ruse of some poor sap looking for a lost ring. You think back, it’s been about thirty years since you left Kaer Morhen, and you’ve not been able to bring yourself to crawl back up those steps. You’d heard whispers among townsfolk about an attack, just a few years after you left on the Path. You had contemplated returning, feeling a wave of grief come over you as one of the last Wolves on the continent. 

But as you started making the trek towards the mountains, a sense of panic and dread building in your chest. That place had held you down, smothered you, taken everything that you had the potential to be and robbed it of you. It turned you into something not much more than the monsters you are paid to slay and almost killed you in the process. You often found yourself wishing that the damned place had actually finished the job and let you die in the Trials, let you slip from its grasp into the cold, dark earth.

Shaking the daydream away, you peer at the fluttering papers nailed to the board. Most were useless, people looking for misplaced trinkets or threatening their neighbors. However, there was one in the corner that drew your attention, mainly because of the big letters scrawled across the top: WITCHER NEEDED.

You scan the notice quickly, shoving it into your pack before briskly turning and striding towards the edge of town. The contract spoke of a “hoard of flying women, tits sagging in a most horrid manner.” The man who had posted the notice had directed the reader to come to his home, where he would tell them what they needed to know.

As you approach, you see a bearded man with two young children playing as he worked in a small garden. You cross into the yard, the children quieting with your arrival. You clear your throat, the man startling at the noise. He stands and turns to you, taking notice of the two swords on your back and the scar on your brow. 

“I’m here about the contract.” Your voice is even, decades of training and practice behind you to quell any emotion that may be conveyed in your tone. The man’s eyes quickly flick down and back up your body, seemingly confused by your existence. You’re used to it though, everyone is. His eyes settle back on the scar at your brow and it tingles, your hands fighting the urge to scratch at it.

Losing patience, you arch your brow and hold the parchment out to him. He glances down at it and clears his throat. 

“Well, miss, I’m not sure if this is something that you’d really be able to handle…” his voice trailing off as your golden eyes narrowed in disdain. 

“I can assure you,” you sneered, venom dripping from your tongue, “I am plenty capable of taking care of myself. Now, tell me more about what you saw.”

The man at least has the decency to flush, looking askance as he avoided your gaze. His name is Kasper, and as he weaves his story, you know exactly what the contract is asking. There is a dense forest at the base of the mountains where many people go to collect herbs and vegetables. But there is a new nest of “winged things, naked and smelling of rot,” and they attack anyone who ventures to the far edge of the forest. The man says there were about a dozen of them, all of them vicious. They scream and scratch, and they will steal any sort of jewelry or other shiny items with their victim. 

“Seems you’ve been burdened with a harpy nest,” and you can tell that the children are listening intently to every word. “I’d be willing to take care of this for you, but I would like to discuss payment.”

Kasper shifts, scratching the underside of his chin before sighing. “I’ve never seen a Lady Witcher before, but if you feel confident that you can do this…”

“I do, and I am no Lady. I am but a Witcher, one who is here and able to solve your problem.”

You discuss the payment, agreeing on a price that is a few more crowns than the notice had stated, and that you would receive payment upon providing proof of the job being finished. As you turn to leave, one of the children runs to your side. She can’t be more than five summers, and you are briefly reminded of your fever dream full of confusion and betrayal.

“Excuse me, Lady Witcher?” She tugs on the hem of your skirt just above your knee, pulling your attentions back to her. You feel the edge of your mouth turn up slightly, you’ve always been weak at the innocence of children. You stop and kneel, finding yourself at eye level with the little girl. Her younger brother is behind her, clasping onto the leg of his father and bashfully turning his head into it. The girl’s eyes are wide and full of life and joy, and you feel your heart clench for a moment. 

As you peer back at her with your bright eyes that burn with their intensity, you notice that you can’t smell fear. It’s a high, sour smell that permeates the air and follows you almost everywhere you go. But not here, not from this child. She only radiates comfort and trust, and grass. Your nose is especially sensitive to the smell of grass, twitching slightly with the effort to not sneeze onto the girl in front of you. 

“You gotta promise something,” the little girl says, swaying slightly as she speaks, already tired of staying still for too long.

You smile kindly, a movement that you’ve allowed yourself to relearn over the years. There’s not a lot behind it, but it’s better than the empty holes where your feelings used to be. “And what would you have me promise, fauntkin?”

“You gotta promise you’ll be careful, cause if you don’t who’s gonna take care of the scary bird ladies?” she exclaims indignantly. 

You blink in surprise, unsure of how to respond to that. You end up settling on “well, I’ve come back from every hunt I’ve gone on so far, so I have a pretty good feeling about this one.” 

She doesn’t seem convinced, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “And then what? What about when another monster comes here? Will you come back?”

“If you’d like for me to, I will gladly return,” you say, and before you can register what happens she throws her arms around your neck and you stiffen, unused to the blatant display of affection. But as she rests her head on your shoulder, you gently wrap an arm around her waist, returning the gesture as best as you can. Your legs are at an awkward angle and they begin to ache, but you wouldn’t move for all of the coin in the world. It’s been decades since you’ve felt such trust from another person, and you can’t let it go before it’s ready. It’s easy to imagine a life full of love like this, easy and warm.

The girl moves back, her mind wandering to far-off worlds with sunshine and happiness around every corner. You watch her go as you stand, your lungs feeling a bit too tight and your eyes watering just a bit. You turn and head towards the forest, feeling your heart harden back up with every step back into your life.

…

    The dwindling light from the sun casts rays through the leaves of the forest. They flash bright reds and yellows, precarious along the branches that dance on the breeze. The bright colors remind you of the approaching frost, and you decide that as soon as you complete this contract, you’ll move further south. The sooner you get there, the better, so that you can hopefully establish a presence in a town that would be willing to house you during the winter. 

You’re kneeling at a small stream that runs through a clearing in the heart of the forest. You’ve set up a small camp for the evening atop a hill behind you, and you followed the sound of trickling water in the hope that you may get (at least a little) clean. You’ve left your armor with your horse at the camp, leaving you in a light chemise and your trousers, your two swords still strung across your back. You rest your hands in the stream, the cool water cutting through your skin before embracing it, swirling and gliding through your fingers. You take a deep breath in, surrounding yourself with the tranquility of a quiet forest, smelling only the earth and the water and the animals that call this place their home.

The peace did not last long, however, as the wind carried the sound of light, bounding hoofbeats followed closely by heavy, thundering footfalls. You stand, scenting the air as you move. You’re upwind, and all you can gather from what smells you can catch is that they’re alive. No shit, you think to yourself, unsheathing your steel sword and swinging it around your wrist to grip it. The threats are far too close for you to be able to rush back to your camp, so you face the direction they are coming from head-on. You raise your sword across your chest to strike just as the first ‘living thing’ bursts through the thicket into the clearing.

#hollow things #eskel x reader #fem!reader #female witcher #series #my fic

[goldenponcho]

Unlikely Friends

Merry And Pippin meet a very unusual new friend in Fangorn Forest, and Pippin is developing the strangest crush.

Pippin/OC

The cool night air wafted through the branches of the sleeping trees, swirling gently along the forest floor and through the curly locks of the two tiny hobbits who slumbered in a cradle of roots and moss. It had seemed ages since Merry and Pippin had slept so soundly. Trying to sleep when hanging from the back of a galloping Uruk was a chore more than anything, and the poor hobbits’ aching arms and wrists finally rested lax agains the roots hugging their sleeping forms.

But a pointed ear caught the rustling of nearby foliage, and Peregrin Took’s eyes flashed open. As the haze of sleep left him, he registered where he was, and slowly, he made out the shuffling and hushed voices only yards away from the small clearing they lie in.

“Merry,” he whispered to his friend, who dozed in a bed of roots next to him. “Merry!” He prodded at the other hobbit’s side, who recoiled with an irritated groan.

“What is it, Pip?” he mumbled blearily without opening his eyes.

“Wake up! There’s somethin’ in the woods!”

Meriadoc Brandybuck rolled over, rubbing the back of a hand over closed eyes, and propped himself lazily on an elbow to listen. Slowly, his brows knit together, and he opened his eyes, now wide awake as well.

“More than one somethin’s…”

With the snapping of twigs and rattling of leaves underfoot, the murmuring drew closer.

Merry tugged Pippin’s sleeve as he stood, “Get up! We’ve got to hide! Now!”

The two halflings hurried quietly to huddle behind a large elm tree on the opposite side from the direction the voices came from.

“Right about now, I’m missin’ dwarf especially.” The voice was nasally and higher pitched, “Now that’s red meat if I’ve ever tasted it! Nicely marbled too. You ever ‘ad dwarf, Traz?”

The other approacher gave a steady sigh, “Can’t say I’ve partaken.” This voice was deeper than the first but clearly female, though with a subtly gruff edge.

“Closest I can compare it to is a nice hearty mutton. Plenty chewy!”

Pippin’s breath caught in his throat. Orcs! Not now! Not again!

“If you don’t stop talkin’ about food, we’ll see how chewy you are…”

The hobbit realized then that he had never seen a female orc before, and even through his fear, he felt the urge to take a peek. And that’s what he did. Slowly, carful as to not scrape his clothing against the tree bark, he moved to have a look around the tree. He could make out the silhouettes of one smaller orc and another one about the size of a fully grown man.

“I bet you’d like to see how chewy I am…”

He was almost certain the male voice had come from the smaller one. That larger one had to be…uruk-hai, were they called? He squinted to make out her features. It was impossible to decipher much other than the thick furs that outlined her form against the night sky. Just as he caught himself looking a bit too long, a twig snapped under his heel.

“Pippin!” Merry exclaimed silently and caught his cousin’s cloak by the collar to steady him and pull him back behind the tree. They weren’t left long to wonder if the pair had heard him.

“We know you’re there…” the female orc warned, her tone dry and unshaken.

The frightened hobbits heard them step closer alongside their tree, and Merry grabbed Pippin’s arm and pulled him to sneak around the opposite side. The two thought for a moment they might be able to slip away undetected, but Pippin turned to be met with eyes peering down upon him, glowing as they reflected the blue moonlight.

He gave a shriek, alerting Merry to the danger, and they shot in the opposite direction, only to be set upon by the smaller orc, who still practically towered over them. They narrowly dodged the creature, Pippin jabbing an elbow in it’s side for good measure.

“Oi!” the orc hissed, “That weren’t called for!”

“Stop!” the other commanded, but the hobbits ran as fast as their short legs could carry them.

And that’s when Merry was snatched into the air by the net he had stepped into just ahead of Pippin.

The other halfling stopped in his tracks, “Merry!!”

“Go, Pip! I’ll be fine!!” he reached for his sword and struggled to free it.

“I’m not leaving you, Merry!” He froze as he heard heavy footfalls sprint to stop behind him, and he turned on his heel, and unsheathed his own sword.

“Don’t you touch him!” Pippin’s voice shook more than he would have liked.

“Woah! We’re not here to hurt you!” the female orc still remained featureless under the cloak of night, “Calm down and don’t move another inch.”

She stepped gingerly forward, and Pippin held out his sword defensively, “I’m warning you! I’ve had training!”

“Heeyyy…I believe you, but there’s no need for any of that.”

There was a rustling behind him, and Pippin whirled around and lashed out at the other orc behind him with his sword, “I said get AWAY from him!!”

“No! No! Don’t run that-“ a loud metallic snap and a searing pain in his ankle sent the poor hobbit toppling, and he cried out in pain, his vision a swirl of darkness. He sobbed as he grabbed at his foot to find it caught in a metal vice.

He saw the glowing eyes approaching closer again, “That’s what I was trying to tell you…”

“Get away from him!! You won’t eat my friend!!” He struck out blindly with his sword, and he heard it make contact as the orc snarled in pain.

“Hey!! Would you LISTEN to me! I’m trying to help you!”

“Help me?!” he cringed at the throbbing in his leg, “You’re an orc!”

“Don’t trust her, Pippin!” Merry called, through pants as he attempted to saw through the thick netting with his blade.

“I am…” she kneeled slowly to come closer to eye level with him, “And I’m here to help you. You HAVE to trust me.”

The apparent gentleness in her voice took him aback, and his sword wavered for a moment before he caught himself and directed it firmly towards her, “You swear on your life?! You swear on…on…” he fumbled for something an orc could be held accountable to, “…on your lord, Sauron, that you won’t harm us?”

“If it makes you feel better…” he could see well enough to make out her raise her right hand and put the other over her chest, “I swear on the MAGNIFICENT and ALMIGHTY Lord Sauron!”

“Be serious, now!”

She chuckled, “I’m sorry! I’m not exactly a huge Sauron fanatic. May I disarm that bear trap on your leg, now? I believe it was hurting you.”

His brow furrowed as he tried to read the ghostly eyes before him, until he finally nodded into the darkness, swallowing hard, “Fine.”

He heard Merry give a sound of disappointment and as the lady orc scooted toward Pippin, she nodded to her companion, “Scraw, could you CAREFULLY get our other friend out of that net, PLEASE?”

Though it was clearly said in half jest, Pippin found it strange to hear an orc utter the word “please”. She only had time to remove what seemed to be a lantern from her side when a chop, followed by Merry’s scream and collision with the ground echoed through the forest.

“That’s why I specified CAREFULLY!” she rolled her eyes muttering under her breath, “... pa-gog aukuk...”

“Sorry!” Scraw shrugged, then hoisted the freed hobbit roughly to his feet, dusting his cloak off for him.

Merry backed away, “Yes, yes! I’m fine! Thank you!”

“I’m going to remove my scythe from my belt so I can light this tinderbox,” she waved the little round tin toward Pippin, “Is that alright?”

He calmed his unsteady breath at the word “scythe” and nodded. She sat the opened tin on the ground, then slowly removing said short handled scythe, she struck the flint along the side of the blade. The box smoked, and Pippin could barely see only hints of her face as she blew on the glowing tinder. Then, the lantern was lit and with a flutter of flame, the young female orc’s face was finally illumined.

Pippin was surprised at what he saw. Her features had a certain harshness to them, but it was perhaps only because her dramatically arched brows were knitted in concentration. She wasn’t nearly so grotesque as the creatures they had escaped from the night before. She had dark eyes, he thought black, even, under even blacker bushy hair that blended seamlessly into the furs on her shoulders and back. Her nose was broad and almost flat, and full lips partially hid the large fangs in her slightly open mouth. Teeth were normally the defining feature of most orcs, but when her mouth closed completely, they were almost entirely hidden. More than anything, she reminded Pippin of a large cat, like the ones he had seen in pictures from the old books Bilbo Baggins owned, calmly basking in the afternoon sun.

Pippin was so lost in thought that he barely registered her say “Hold your breath,” before she had firmly gripped either jaw of the trap and forced them open. He hissed with a sharp inhale as his ankle seared, then dulled to a throbbing ache.

“Is it broken?!” Merry approached his friend.

“Probably snapped the little thing right in two,” Scraw, approaching close behind, nodded with a snort and a smirk in his voice, “Might ‘ave teh amputate, eh, Trazna?”

“Stop trying to scare them, pinhead!” Trazna berated her less than helpful companion, then nodded to Pippin, “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.” And before Pippin could nod his consent, the entire forest seemed to rustle and the THUMP THUMP THUMP of something massive fast approached them.

Trazna gasped as she turned in time to see the massive ent lunge for her, and all Merry and Pippin had time to do was shriek “Treebeard!!” and “Treebeard! NO!!” She let out a startled yelp that transitioned into an animalistic growl as Treebeard grabbed her by the leg and hoisted her up to dangle in front of his large, barked face.

“Orc!” his mighty voice rumbled, “You dare to prey on MY hobbits?!”

Trazna huffed, “I wasn’t preying on anything! YOUR hobbit is injured!”

“By your doing, I see!” Treebeard arched a craggy brow.

“She did help us, Treebeard,” Pippin urged his large friend, whose skeptical glare flashed between the two.

“We didn’t know anyone else was here.” Trazna assured, “We set the traps to catch deer and rabbits, not people.”

“And you would NEVER satisfy your hunger with a couple of tender young halflings such as these?”

It was now that Trazna noted that Scraw was nowhere to be seen. Incompetent coward... “It might surprise you, but I don’t make it a habit of eating things that can talk to me.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“She’s telling the truth! Right, Merry?”

Merry glanced to Pippin, a bit more skeptical than his cousin, but he nodded, “He’s right, Treebeard. We thought they were after us, but they were trying to warn us about the traps.”

“TRAPS?! More than one?!” Treebeard glared toward the captive lady orc.

“There are five others,” Trazna confessed, “We can remove them if it pleases you. But now, I need to tend to your friend’s wound, or it’ll fester. And I’d really prefer to be right side up again; the blood’s pooling into my head.”

“She would have taken us by now if she had wanted us,” Pippin winced as his injured ankle brushed the ground, “And the whole festering wound thing sounds even less pleasant than being eaten…”

“If I try anything, you have every right to stomp me into the ground.”

Treebeard creaked with a long grumble, seeming to be on the border of being convinced, then he exhaled slowly, rattling his own leaves as well as the ones surrounding them, and he dropped her none too gently to the ground.

She landed on her back not far from Merry with an “oof!”. “Thanks…” she mumbled not exactly in appreciation, untangling herself from the long furs now flopped over her head. Then, rubbing her side, she got to her feet to come and kneel next to Pippin.

“I’m gonna pick you up, now. Alright?”

Pippin’s stomach leapt into his throat, but he nodded, with a small “yes”.

Trazna lifted the halfling into her arms with no effort, treating his sore foot as tenderly as a bird’s broken wing. Those dark eyes glanced down kindly into his, the moon only reflecting off them slightly, “Pippin, wasn’t it?”

He felt his cheek brush lightly against the soft fur of her cowl, and he thanked the gods she couldn’t see the color in them in the darkness, “Yes! Uh…Peregrin Took…but most call me Pippin.” He had realized just as he had begun speaking that she actually might be able to see him growing red in the dark. Orcs were, after all, known for being active in very low light.

“Traznarad,” she stopped in front of a tree, “You can call me Trazna.” She knelt to lie him delicately in a mossy patch between the roots, placing the lantern next to them, then went to take hold of his foot, “I’ll be gentle, but tell me if this hurts.” She slowly began rotating his ankle, and he inhaled lightly.

“That hurt?”

He nodded, “A little…”

“Is it broken?” Merry repeated his earlier question, “Honestly, Pippin, if you broke it, I think we might really be up the creek…”

The younger hobbit scowled, “I didn’t do it on PURPOSE, Merry!”

Trazna shook her head, “I don’t think it’s broken. But you should stay off it for a few days,” she nodded toward Treebeard, “I’m assuming your friend can help you with that.”

She turned to Merry, who she came nearly eye level with even in her crouched position, “Do you know what an athelas plant looks like, Merry?”

He nodded, “Kingsfoil! I’ll find some!”

“That way,” she pointed behind him, “There are no traps that way.”

Merry quickly took to the woods behind him, leaving her and Treebeard to look after Pippin. “Yeah, it’s definitely not broken,” she felt around his ankle, careful not to irritate the exposed wounds on either side, “You’d definitely be carryin’ on a lot more if it was,” here eyes met his, “You have some impressively strong bones.”

The halfling chuckled lightly, “Well…hobbits are surprisingly sturdy creatures, you know.”

She smirked as the little hobbit puffed out his chest as best as he could in his horizontal position, “Are they really? I hadn’t met one before, to be honest.”

“Oh?! Well, then, might I say that I’m happy to be the first,” he grinned, “And I’m sure Merry is happy to be the second.” Trazna laughed, baring fangs that didn’t seem quite so terrifying as before.

Trazna procured a small stone basin, filling it with a bit of water and looked up to address Treebeard looming above them, “With your permission, Treebeard, I’ll need to build a small fire to boil this water.”

Concern crossed the ent’s jagged features, “Always burning. Always flaming!” he heaved a rumbling sigh, “But what must be done…must be done.”

She nodded with a look of reassurance, “I’ll put it out like a responsible camper.”

As she set the basin over the fire she had made, Merry sprang forth from the brush, a fistful of kingsfoil in each hand, “We won’t want for kingsfoil here! The underbrush is loaded with it!”

“Fantastic!” Trazna motioned to the slightly bubbling water, “Toss it there.” As Merry followed her instruction, she settled to rest on her haunches to wait.

Pippin watched in fascination as the sweet smell of the athelas permeated the air and put him at ease, “We’ve only met one other person who knew about kingsfoil other than the elves.”

Trazna nodded, “Well…people tend to forget that orcs were once elves,” she retrieved two bottles, one thin and empty, the other larger and full of an amber liquid. She handed them to Merry, “Fill this halfway, if you would, Merry.”

Merry did again as he was bid, and Pippin’s smile wavered, “So then...those stories...what Morgoth did to the elves...it’s all true.”

The water had boiled and fizzled out quickly only to leave behind the mushy leaves, which she scooped out and handed toward Merry, “It’s what is widely believed. And it certainly lines up with the...circumstances I’ve witnessed,” Merry gave a look of sadness as well as she portioned some of the plant into the vial with quick instruction to shake the corked concoction, and Trazna paused in realization of how much she had dampened the conversation. She smiled reassuringly, “But it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, and besides...” she smirked between the two, “I can catch twenty rabbits with my teeth in the time it takes an elf with his fancy little bow and arrow to shoot one.”

Pippin laughed, and Merry looked slightly startled before laughing as well.

“How’s this?” Merry held up the now viscous mixture.

“Perfect!” Trazna took it shaking it once more for good measure, then uncorked it, “One thing elves DON’T know, is that a mixture of pine sap, olive oil, and beeswax can act as an antiseptic and speeds the healing process even more.”

“Oh, grand!” Pippin leaned to watch as she made ready to apply the mixture, “What’s “antiseptic”?”

Merry rolled his eyes at the simplicity of his friend and ruffled his curly hair playfully as he sat next to him, “It means it will keep your smelly old foot from rotting right off!”

Trazna approached with the amber liquid gleaming in the moonlight, “Alright, this will sting.” Pippin braced himself before wincing with a barely muffled whimper of pain. “Sorry,” she winced as well in sympathy, retrieving a bit of cloth to dress the wound.

Pippin exhaled steadily, glancing from where she tied the bandage then up to her face, “Thank you.”

“It’s really the least I can do…” she faltered as admiring green eyes stared into black. She was about to continue before they heard a call from nearby.

“Traznarad!!” the voice was deep and rasping.

The orc woman stood, “Maugor!”

“More orcs!” Treebeard stepped between them and the group of orcs and one intimidatingly large troll next to which stood Scraw, looking especially proud of himself for bringing reinforcements.

“It’s alright, Treebeard, they’re with me!” Trazna stepped around the ent’s massive leg.

“What’s going on?” Maugor eyed the massive creature next to her with a warning glare, then the two halflings behind them. Merry and Pippin stiffened at the sight of the large orc. If there was any doubt that Trazna was an uruk, there was none whatsoever with this creature. He stood at least as tall as any of them they had encountered in the hoard the previous night, and he wielded an impossibility large battle hammer. Hair as black as Trazna’s flowed down his back in a braided crest, and the fangs that jutted from his lower jaw were large enough to be considered tusks.

“It’s ok!” Trazna held a calming hand toward her companions, “The little ones got snagged in our traps. I just finished dressing one of their wounds.”

The small pack lowered their weapons; even the troll deflated a bit, looking a bit dim instead of angry and intimidating. Maugor stepped forward as Treebeard as well let down his guard, “Come, then. We must take leave of this forest. It seems it is much too dangerous for our kind here.”

“Well we can’t just leave them to starve,” Trazna pled kneeling back down to help Pippin prop himself against the tree’s trunk.

The youngest hobbit’s ears perked at the possibility of food, and as usual, he was the first to speak up, “Our friend Treebeard can offer his protection while you’re here.” Maugor’s intense gaze darted to him, and his brain stammered for his next words.

“Treebeard can, can he?” the ent rumbled.

The uruk bowed slightly, a motion that belied his savage appearance, “I understand that a hoard of orcs and trolls may not be of much comfort to you, but we do not intend to bring your forest or its inhabitants any harm,” he stood to his full seven feet at least, “Save for a deer or two; we do have to eat.”

Trazna scoffed, “We’re hardly a hoard, anyway; there are only nine of us.”

““Very well...” Treebeard creaked, “…we will allow you shelter until you must take your leave.”

“Take your leave!” Scraw jabbed his elbow into the leg of the troll who stood beside him, “Ya get that, Bognaut? That’s a tree joke.”

“Tha’s a clever one, tha’ is,” Bognaut slurred with a low but not exactly intimidating laugh.

Maugor turned to the orc next to him with a nod, “Fintherok, take Deak and Babgoth to check the rest of the traps. I smell a doe nearby; perhaps we’ve caught it.” Fintherok did as his leader had instructed, quickly disappearing into the woods with the other two orcs, and Maugor turned to the younger uruk, “You had best hope there’s more than just a doe in those traps, Trazna; we can barely keep eight orcs and a troll fed as it is.”

She looked up at him, still perched on the balls of her feet above Pippin, “Well, come on! How much could two halflings eat?”

Said two halflings gave each other a sheepish look, “Right!” Pippin quickly recovered, “How much could we eat?”

After two does and two rabbits were retrieved from their traps. Fintheroth, a tall, lithe orc and Babgoth, a small, female orc with large eyes, skinned and gutted the catch a ways off in the woods. Not much went to waste, though, as many of the orcs didn’t mind eating the organs or even chewing on bones and sucking out the marrow, so the meat was divvied up and done with as each party member pleased. Traznarad showed the hobbits how to make a pit oven, where their fire could be easily controlled and not endanger the forest, something for which Treebeard was silently grateful for.

Merry and Pippin…though, especially Pippin, revealed their ill proportioned appetites quite quickly. The two were given the rabbits, roasted and even seasoned nicely in their newly built pit. Trazna as well preferred her meat cooked, though, she had said with a toothy grin, she liked it quite rare.

The band of bizarre characters laughed amongst themselves as they ate, many roughhousing and sharing less than savory tales of exploits and bragging, much in the way they had witnessed with Saruman’s hoard before, but in a rather more pleasant nature. Trazna sat with the hobbits, enjoying the new company.

“So Maugor…” Merry said somewhat under his breath, “He’s your…”

“Oh! We’re not related,” Trazna shook her head, taking a bite of the venison flank she had wrapped in a leaf to hold a bit like a sandwich, “But…we have been together for a long time. We escaped one of the breeding pits near  Mordor together a decade ago. No, my birth father was killed when I was quite young.”

“I’m sorry,” Pippin abandoned his rabbit for the first time since it had been handed to him to look at her sadly.

“That’s alright,” she returned a sad but reassuring smile, “I remember him a little…but not much.”

“Was he an uruk?” Merry continued, before taking a bite from the leg he had dislocated from his own rabbit.

“No, actually, I…” she paused, considering her words, “…I don’t know whether I would be considered an uruk myself, or not,” the halflings now gave her full attention, “My father was an orc from Mordor, and my mother is a half orc from Harad. See, I was born naturally, whereas Maugor and his kind were born from the ground,” she shook her head, a slightly strained look crossing her features, “I don’t know the exact process, but I know it’s a lot less pleasant, all things considered.”

Pippin forced his less mature side to ignore the implications of this statement, instead inquiring elsewhere, “Your mother is still alive, then?”

“Yes,” the shine in her dark eyes glittered, half in reminiscence and half in sorrow, “She’s a prisoner in Harad. That’s where we’re going. We wanna free the captive men and orcs there.”

“Captive?” Merry’s brow furrowed, “Aren’t the Haradrim sided with orcs?”

“No one sides with orcs. They side with Sauron,” she gave a dry laugh, “Orcs are pawns just like everyone else in Harad. There’s hardly a choice in anything for an orc. If we decide we don’t feel like terrorizing innocents anymore, we aren’t exactly given the choice to leave freely,” her gaze turned to Pippin, whose green eyes stared wide with a now idle cheek-ful of rabbit, “Orcs are all prisoners, and we’re specifically conditioned not to realize it,” she shook her head, now leering into nothingness as she tore off a chunk of meat. “But not us…” she glanced back toward the hobbits mid chew, “Not ME.”

Pippin frowned in thought. He had never considered the orcs as prisoners before. Truthfully, they all seemed to enjoy the destruction and cruelty they inflicted on the weak and innocent. But then again…most armies seemed overly keen on bringing death down upon the enemy, and as Sauron intended to bring darkness to the world, he would seem like a hero to creatures that feared light. He came to realize that this made the whole thing even more disturbing.

These musings were pushed out of his mind as Trazna nodded to them. “Being a captive did teach me some useful skills, though,” she went to her belt again and retrieved what looked to be a small metal and an irregularly shaped lump of copper, “Most orcs unwillingly under Sauron work in one of the industrialized areas created by Saruman,” she began shaving away at the little chunk of copper meticulously, “I learned metalworking there.”

Merry’s golden curls bounced as he shook his head, “I thought orcs only made crude armor and weaponry.”

“Well,” Trazna gave a matter-of-fact shrug, “That’s what we were SUPPOSED to make. But I made other things when I could. You can bet I got flogged for it more than once though. I did make it out with these!” She pulled out her scythe and, to both hobbits’ surprise, in a quick twist of her wrists the gleaming blade was now two separate weapons.

Pippin shuddered, “I suppose you could do a bit of ghastly damage with those.”

“Sure…” she pursed her lips indifferently, “…but they can do a lot more than that. I can climb a wall with them, I can light kindling with them,” she ran a nail across the abrasive sides of the blade she had used to light kindling earlier, then sliced at the air, “If there are branches in my way, I can hack down-“

Treebeard grumbled next to them, startling all as they had almost forgotten he was about.

“…my internalized…disrespect towards nature?” she continued sheepishly with a chuckle, and the ent grumbled something intelligible before retreating to whatever tree business he saw to each night. She handed each half of the versatile tool to each halfling for them to look at.

Each examined the intricate details of their half, and Merry traced fingers along the blade, “The engraving is like somethin’ ya might see in a dwarvish...even an elvish weapon.”

She bowed her head, “I took a bit of inspiration from both...of course, with a bit of an orcish twist.”

“You made these?!” Pippin half asked, half exclaimed in awe, carefully testing the sharpness of the tool, before looking up to what she worked on now, “And what kind of tool will that be?”

She looked up to him, a slow smile spreading across her face, “It’s a duck.” She held up the little copper piece, and indeed, it was taking the unmistakeable shape of a water fowl.

Pippin nodded, grinning stupidly, “Ah! So it is!”

The corner of her mouth twitched as she suppressed an amused chuckle as Merry, took the two blades and twisted them into one, handing it to Trazna, who put it back in its holster.

“So…” she continued, casually going back to her carving, “...what do hobbits usually do when they’re not hauling an elvish weapon of mass destruction across the continent?”

Pippin went moon-eyed, “You know about the ring? OW!!”

Merry elbowed his cousin hard with a warning glare.

“I do now…” Trazna paused again to gaze up at the now guilty expression on the young hobbit’s face, “All we knew was that it was a weapon, and Sauron wanted it,” she eyed the two with a knowing smirk, “It’s THE ring, isn’t it? You have THAT ring with you?”

“Not us…”

“PIPPIN!!!” Merry scolded his friend a second time.

“We can trust her, Merry!” Pippin argued, “Don’t you think she’s proved that by now?!”

“Frodo didn’t even trust all of the Fellowship with it!” Merry shook his golden head, “Gandalf wanted it secret for a reason!”

Trazna held up her hands defensively, “Hey! Say no more! If you can’t talk about it, I won’t ask.”

Pippin looked to her apologetically, “I’m sorry. We mean no offense…”

She grinned down to him, “None taken.” Pippin lowered his head, trying to hide any evidence of the heat he could feel in his cheeks, as she continued, “It would probably be best that neither of us spoke of the other to anyone after tonight...according to the enemy, we’re all up to no good.”

The halflings smiled to each other, and Merry nodded, “Nothing’s changed there. That’s what we were known for back home; bein’ up to no good.”

“Oh, yeah?!” Trazna arched an eyebrow, holding up the copper duck to examine her progress before putting it down, “Have we run into a couple of delinquents in the deep, dark woods?”

Pippin’s eyes twinkled with mischief, always one to take the opportunity to brag, “We were in the middle of raiding Farmer Maggot’s crops when our journey found us,” he elbowed his cousin with a cackle, “We made off with quite a haul that day, eh, Merry?”

Merry nodded with a chuckle, and Trazna clutched at the carved string of teeth about her neck as if they were pearls, “Morgoavh’uk thos! You’re a couple of criminals!”

Pippin grinned cheekily, picking his teeth with a rib, “Aye! Already got holda’ some a’ yer spoils at it is!”

Trazna laughed heartily, “Ya know, as a kid back in Harad, we used to-“

“I’m sorry, Traznarad, but we must move on,” Maugor interrupted, and the trio turned their attention to the towering uruk, “We only have a few hours more of darkness, and we won’t get far once the sun rises.”

Her face fell before turning to face the two hobbits with a sad smile, “Well...I guess this is it, then...”

Merry and Pippin adopted the same solemn looks as Trazna stood, and Pippin felt a pang of regret that their new friend had to leave. It hadn’t been until now that he had truly realized that parting ways was inevitable and that it would bring him sadness. He felt a slight tightness in his throat, “I guess so...”

Trazna knelt, placing a hand on each of the hobbits’ small shoulders to give them an affectionate squeeze, “Don’t get into more trouble than you must.”

“A bit late for that,” Merry gave a dry laugh.

“Do you think we might see you again?” Pippin had blurted the question before he realized how stupid it was. Trazna beamed down at him, cupping his cheek and rubbing a gentle thumb across it. Pippin’s heart thumped at the intimate contact as Trazna seemed to be searching for an answer.

“If I say yes, maybe we will.”

Pippin took the hand that had been on his cheek between his significantly smaller ones, “Then we’ll see you then.”

She nodded, “Goodbye, Pippin...Merry.”

They said their final goodbyes and watched as Traznarad and her clan retreated into the dense wood.

Finally, Merry spoke, a knowing smirk across his face, “Well, I never thought I’d see that of you, my dear Peregrin.”

Pippin cocked his curly head, “See what?!”

“All starry-eyed over an orc woman?” Merry shook his head dramatically, “What would the folks back home think?”

Pippin’s jaw dropped with a scoff, “I was NOT “starry-eyed”!!”

“No shame in it, Pippin! She’s quite pretty,” Merry patted his now beet-red faced friend on the shoulder, “ESPECIALLY pretty for an orc.”

The younger hobbit pouted, shrugging off Merry’s hand.

“Come on, Pip,” he chided, “She was sweet on you.”

Pippin’s head snapped in his friend’s direction, “She was?!” Merry’s grin was wide and smug, and Pippin straightened as tall as he could, “I mean…of course, she was!” He waggled his head proudly, thumbs hooked under his suspenders, “No female is immune to the Took charm, no matter the race!”

“Yeah?” Merry cackled, “Or maybe she really did want to eat you but was just too polite.” Pippin looked wounded before Merry mussed his curly hair. Noting the melancholy that had shrouded his friend’s countenance, he continued, “Who could say...maybe you will see her again.”

A slow smile once again spread over Pippin’s face, and he seemed himself again, “Yeah, maybe we will.”

Black speech phrases (Forgive me if these aren’t exactly accurate.) Pa-gog aukuk — dumbass Morgoavh’uk thos! — Morgoth’s balls!

#pippin #peregrin took #lord of the rings fic #pippin/oc #hobbit/orc

[jenovahh]

Chase - Part 2

His words settled deep in your bones, stoked the fire in your belly as those long dormant instincts came to the forefront. You couldn’t ignore the predatory gleam in his sky blue eyes, those same eyes that had looked upon you with such disdain, now turned on you with a hunger so vicious it made you weak in the knees.

“If you intend to hunt me as you say...” you begin hesitantly, despite the adrenaline flowing through your body to run already. “To the winner, go what spoils?”

He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling at your attempt to stall. “You should know by now I am not a man of many words, as amusing as it would be to watch you squirm by describing just how I would take you.” Your tail stiffens at his brazenness, eyes watching as his own are half lidded, swiping his tongue across his lips. “Though I suppose I should be clear, hero. When I hunt, I hunt for keeps.”

The finality of that statement makes you shudder with lust and fear all at once, knowing that should he catch you, nothing will be the same. Zenos was not a man afraid of permanence; that much was sure after he had slit his own throat. You would be claimed by the former prince, the Garlean hunter, body and soul. Could you belong to him? This...this...

“Ten minutes.” You say sternly, meeting his gaze with a resolution you do not feel.

“Ten minutes.” He echoes. “I hope you’re not too tired Warrior. Do try to make this enjoyable.” He shifts his weight to one leg, completely at ease with the situation while you feel ready to snap.

“Only if you enjoy losing your so called prey.” You hiss, preparing to turn away from him.

“Think what you must, to keep those spirits up.” He cackles, his voice dropping low. “By the end of tonight, you will be on my cock.”

Those words are enough to make you take off running.

You make the unfortunate mistake of breaking out into a sprint. While you did remain active, your stamina called for staying alive in battle; not running for your life. You run as if he is hot on your heels, but Zenos is a man of honor, for you cannot hear the sound of his footfalls on your tail. You wonder if he stays behind because it plays into his wishes, the need to chase just as you need to be chased.

Your lungs are screaming in protest, your throat dry from swallowing air much too fast. Your stride breaks as your energy depletes, only able to do a light jog as you keep yourself moving forward. It’s hard to move quickly through the brush of the Black Shroud, it’s forests thickening as you leave the settlements behind you in the dark. Creatures of the wood all seem to give you a wide berth, as if you are not alone in sensing that something far more fearsome is on it’s way.

You can’t deny you’ve not dreamt of this very scenario. Perhaps not exactly as it’s playing out at this very moment, but you have imagined turning to find cold, blue eyes behind you, warm hands pressing you to the ground, hot lips on your neck as the object of your desire takes you, claims you for his own. You tried to be sickened by the notion; even if he had left his crimes in the past, you felt you should still be disgusted. You’d imagined over and over the disdain you would endure had the Scions found out of your lustful thoughts, ashamed to say that it only seemed to fan the flame of your lust for him into a full on blaze.

The sound of a twig snapping makes you nearly scream in fright, finding it only to be a nearby couerl in the wood. You almost scream at it in frustration, for making you acknowledge that Zenos is entirely in control of the situation, that he can unravel you with little effort. The creature snarls at you, making you wonder if you look as doe eyed and small as Zenos makes you feel. You growl at the monster, flaring your power to send it scampering off with its tail between its legs. Smirking, a little of your confidence returns, feeling back on the top of the food chain.

Oh, but there’s always something above the other, isn’t there?

That’s what the darkest part of your heart was hoping for, even as your legs carried you into the blackest parts of the forest, the canopy so thick that even moonlight barely shown through. It’s truly beautiful here, the forest quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of cities and towns. Peaceful, with the sounds of a stream bubbling, a wolf howling...

Medallions clinking together. Heavy, hurried footfalls.

Adrenaline shoots through your veins as you find the energy to sprint again, nearly tripping over a root in your clamor to get moving. 

You know you hear him because he wants to be heard. A hunter as skilled as he would not make a sound unless he wished it. He wanted you to know he was coming.

He wanted you to know he was close.

A groan tears from your throat as your thighs burn from exertion, reflexes keeping you from running into the trees as you fly by. Can Zenos climb? you idly wonder, spotting a rather large tree up ahead. You give one hesitant look back,  seeing him still quite a ways behind you, but the fact that he has you in his sights is all you need to spur yourself into action.

Summoning what strength you have left, you vault from the ground, practically throwing yourself at the wise, old tree before you, landing with cat like grace on a sturdy branch. You look over your shoulder, and he is still running; drawing his sword without losing stride. Even from up high you can see his smirk, your eyes widening as the sword glows a glaring red. “You wouldn’t!” You call, legs already anticipating the fall.

Unfortunately he would, his sword cleanly slicing through the trunk as if it were paper, watching with blatant satisfaction at your horrified face, gravity pulling both you and the tree down to the ground. You manage to leap from the branch just before it makes contact with the lush earth beneath you, stumbling to regain your footing as you try to take off once more.

He’s right there.

He’s close, frighteningly so, but you can’t find the will to push yourself harder just as you can’t make yourself stop. Giving in would be denying yourself more than it would be denying him, your instincts screaming at you to run, run, run--

His breath is hot on your neck, but his whisper sends chills down your spine.

“Got you.”

You land on the forest floor as ungracefully as possible, pinned into place by his weight, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to shove him off. He lets you thrash and flail, spending little effort to grab your wrists and pin them down to the cushy grass. “Such fire.” His voice is raspy, gravelly in your ear, and it takes all your self control to not moan just hearing it. “Such spirit.” He hisses as you unintentionally brush up against him, feeling how hard he is, feeling how big he is.

The fact that it’s all for you, makes you whine in his hold. 

“Get off of me,” you growl, crying out as he takes one of your ears between his teeth, your high, keening cry echoing amongst the trees. “It would seem I’ve found a sensitive spot...” Bringing your wrists together, he pins them with one hand so that the other may trail down your back. “Is your tail sensitive as well?”

Before you can protest his hand is at your tail, the leather of his gloves smoothing through the fur at the base. There’s no holding back the low moan that comes from your throat, your face flushed as your hands claw at the ground. “How...bestial.” He muses, giving one last squeeze.

“Y-You’re the beast...” Any bite you have is weakened by the pleasure in your voice, ears pressed against your head as you wish he would just touch you. “Really now?” he croons in your ear, pressing himself against you. “Shall I show you how much? Shall I indulge you in your savage ways?”

He barely moves to dodge your elbow as you jerk at him, giving you just enough leverage to scramble from beneath him. You don’t get far, his hand grabbing your ankle and dragging you back. “Did I not honor your need for a head start? You must honor my victory.” He rumbles lowly, flipping you to face him. He pins your wrists down once more, the action only making you hotter rather than making you tremble in fear.

“You and I both know you don’t want it to be an easy victory.” You hiss, wishing he would get between your legs rather than sitting on top of them. He gives a growl much lower than your own, his eyes burning with passion like a cool flame. “Easy, no. It is your surrender that I crave.”

He roughly jerks down the front of your shirt, uncaring for your whines of protest of how much it cost you. “Don’t you think we’ve danced this dance quite long enough?” He questions, high quality leather smoothing over your now exposed breasts, your breath hitching as they brush across a nipple. “I have been quite forward in my advances, and still you saw fit to deny me. Wondering at exactly what it was I wanted.” His eyes leave your own to watch the motions of his hand as he hungrily kneads one breast, listening attentively to your light whimpers, flicking his thumb across a hardened peak. “I have only wanted you, Warrior. I have wanted my sword through your chest, to make you mine. And now...” He gives one last squeeze before bending over, his breath ghosting across your skin. “I have you.”

Perfect lips latch on to your breast, tongue laving over your skin that has you panting for him. You do not hide your pleasure, moaning loudly like a wanton as he does as he pleases. He goes ever so slowly, as if he is but a young lover singing his first praises, taking his time to drag his tongue across your skin. You relish the attention as much as you curse it, for the pleasure only feeds into that need to rut, to be claimed.

“More,” you demand, trying to arch into his body as best you can, mewling as he releases your nipple from his mouth. His own eyes are filled to the brim with lust, that same overwhelming hunger you’ve seen before, though it has an edge to it that is almost downright feral. 

“Feeling impatient, are we?” His voice is husky, bringing his free hand to his teeth, tugging the glove off as he’s unwilling to release you quite yet. “You aren’t alone in your haste, but I intend to savor my prize.” He murmurs, his voice so low that it has you arching toward him with a moan. Take his time he does, but he is not gentle in the least. More skin is revealed to his ravenous gaze, wrenching your clothes apart as quickly as he can. He nips and bites and kisses the flesh he reveals, making you squirm beneath him. “You smell delicious.” he rasps, finally releasing your wrists so that he may trail his attentions further down your body.

You had the errant thought of whether someone like him could be affected by the scent of a Miqo’te in heat. The scent did not have the same potency as to another Miqo’te’s nose, but could still incite the same desires in other races. It was only meant to entice, though it was said that for some, the scent could send others into an outright frenzy. The look in Zenos’ eyes leaves you wondering how much of it is his own lust for you, and how much of it is brought about the call of your body.

It matters little as your hands thread through the strands of his hair, shiny and soft as satin. He nips and he kisses, biting hard to leave marks you know you’ll have to hide when this is all over. Your pants are practically ripped from your body, the threads of your clothing not standing a chance to his superior strength. “Zenos...” you whine, wishing he would be inside you already. He nips at your inner thigh in reprimand, causing you to jump in his hold. “You will not rush me.” It is both a statement and an order as he brings your legs over his broad shoulders, his breath ghosting across your moistened lower lips.

His eyes don’t leave your own as he presses his mouth to your slit, even as you throw your head back in ecstasy. You’re far too enchanted to not meet his eyes again, his tongue swirling around your clit, sucking on it so fiercely that it has you moaning in ecstasy into the cool night air. As his attentions increase, so does the jerking of your hips as you struggle to press them further in his face, stilled by his arms holding you down. His name falls from your lips over and over like a river, uncaring how loud or noisy you are as his tongue reaches inside you, your body doing it’s best to drag him deeper.

Your hands fist in his hair as you get closer to the edge of oblivion, the action surprisingly welcomed from the low groan he gives into your sopping cunt. The ferocity in his stare speaks of absolute control, that even though it is he on the ground kneeling between your legs, it is he who controls your pleasure. He drinks down your honey like a man dying of thirst, focusing on what makes you cry out the loudest. Your cry turns into a full on wail as he slides a finger in while still sucking your clit, your back arching like a bow as your vision gets hazy. “Z-Zenos...gods,”

At that, he pulls away, smirking at your disgruntled yell as you clamp your thighs together in a futile attempt to try and keep him in place. “Do not speak my name with your savage gods.” He hums, the sound of clothes shifting reaching your ears as he frees his length, spreading your thighs further apart to settle himself between them. “Unless, you are looking to be claimed on this night much like your savage gods do...”  You faintly notice how he’s still mostly dressed, his shirt partly opened, his pants shoved halfway down his thighs while you are naked on the forest floor. You can feel the very heat of him as he takes himself in hand and rubs against your folds, teasing whimpers from your sinful mouth. 

You feel like you’re this close to falling apart, be it from his seductive tone, his words, or his cock rubbing against your needy opening. “Zenos, please,” you whine, trying to move your hips so that he’ll slip inside, but his grip is firm. “I think I quite enjoy the sound of you begging.” He muses, resting on his knees so that he may loom over you; to better look at your surrender. “Tell me what you want.” His voice is soft, but demand is oppressive in its weight.

Baring your fangs, you try to summon strength into your pleasure laden limbs, trying to flip the two of you over. He smirks all the while, pinning you down by your wrists, cackling into the night. “It seems that speech is beyond you, my beast.” His voice is completely torn around the edges, his hair in disarray as he flips it out of his face. His eyes are wild, filled with so much desire and admiration that it makes you give in, but he’s already through waiting. “No more words then.” Keeping your wrists locked in place with one hand, he feeds himself inside you, groaning low as your body draws him in as far as he’ll go.

His hips move slowly, as if to savor the feel of you, and to let you feel the length of him. As mad and defiant as you are, you cannot hide your pleasure, moaning with each stroke as he pulls out to the very tip, and slowly thrusts back inside. His eyes leave your face to look down at where you’re joined, his tongue running over his lips. When his eyes meet yours again you can see the passion there, his hips matching the ferocity of his gaze as he pistons them harder into your own.

Hovering over you, his lips clash with yours, his kiss as brutal as the thrust of his hips. It’s hard to focus on the kiss when you keep moaning the way you are, though he seems to not mind, pulling away with a final nibble on your bottom lip. Pleas for him to go harder, faster, are barely intelligible with your wanton cries spilling forth, his hands moving to grip at your plush backside to bring you harder down on him. He angles your hips just so, a hand moving to stroke your clit and you come undone, already wound tight from his earlier attentions. His name leaves your lips with a shout, body trembling as you ride the waves of bliss. 

He doesn’t cease his thrusting, merely slows down as you come from your high, with your body gripping him so tightly. The whine that comes from your throat is one of light protest, his cock still brushing against your sensitive clit. He seems highly unapologetic, his hands moving to wrap your legs around his hips, caressing the skin with a gentleness you did not think him capable of. Soon enough it becomes pleasurable once more as his hips roll into your own, slowly stoking the fire of your pleasure to a wildfire.

His hair falls across his shoulders, framing his face like a curtain, moonlight catching the golden strands in the most enchanting way. Your heart thuds in your chest as you gaze upon him, a tiny voice inside you whispering it wouldn’t be so bad to be claimed by the former prince. You reach for his face to bring him down for a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he slams his cock inside you. Even in your surrender, you still defy him, teeth and tongue vying for dominance as he pushes you towards ecstasy again.

He thrusts as if he wants you to remember each one, his grip on your hips borderline painful with his strength, and yet you can hardly notice it beyond the pleasure. So brutal is his pace that you cannot even move your hips to keep up, only able to take his assault on your body in the sweetest way. Your cries warn him of your approaching orgasm, his face buried in your neck as he growls your name in a way so possessive, it sends shocks up your spine. “Z-Zenos,” you whine, eyes shut tight, you’re so damned close. “Take what you want,” he rasps, voice raw with pleasure. “Come for me,” he groans in ecstasy as his release assaults him suddenly, arms clutching you tight to his body, erasing all space between you. The feel of his seed spilling inside you is enough to send you over the edge yourself, howling your release out into the night.

Digging your nails into his back, you clutch him tighter to you, mewling as he tries to push his cock even further inside. Desire still flares strongly within you, but you’re much too tired from your earlier run to even think about going another round. You let out a small noise of surprise as Zenos rolls onto his back, taking you along with him.

“We can wash in the morning.” He sighs, looking entirely satisfied for more reasons than one. His arm is heavy against your back, curling around your waist to keep you against him. “Let us rest, for now.” Though rest was the last thing your instincts called for, your body found itself more than willing to listen to his orders.

Morning finds you comfortably tucked against the same warm body you fell asleep on, the scent of your coupling still lingering on your skin. Sitting up carefully, you take the time to study Zenos’ features; the most relaxed you’ve ever seen them. He really is beautiful you think, his skin glowing in the morning sun, the light catching in his hair in a way that makes him seem almost angelic. You gently brush your fingers down from his neck across his torso, marveling at the muscle beneath your finger tips.

The oh so familiar burn begins between your legs, your touches becoming a bit heavier, rousing a light moan from the man at your side. “So soon?” he grunts, hissing as you gently brush your fingers across his length. “You are insatiable.” He laughs, leaning into your touch.

“You know what you signed on for.” You purr, swinging your leg across his hips to straddle him. “You said you were here to claim. I will make sure you stay true to your promise.” 

He hums lightly, eyes half lidded as they glint dangerously. “That was never to be questioned.” He brings you down for a heated kiss, his hands finding your hips to grind you against him. “I have won my prize, and I intend to treasure it.” He sighs at the friction of your body, the sound of you moaning atop him. You continue that way, hidden in the deep forest where no one can hear your cries of ecstasy.

====================================================

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging this so more people may see it!

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #FFXIV #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #lemon #my writings

[mymusehatesme]

Red, Red Riding Hood

Words: 1340

Part: 6 of 6 - In which there is one more sacrifice for you to make.

    Part one, two, three, four, five.

Summary: Two gods protect the villages within a 100-mile radius - but an annual sacrifice is required to extend the protection into the next year.  This year, you are the sacrifice.  But you have a different plan in mind.   [Gender neutral reader.]

Warnings: Blood, violence, blades, being chased around the woods, and references to past self-harm.

A/N: I am new to the whole writing/posting fanfiction thing, so I’m learning!  If something is missing or is weird, please let me know - thank you in advance for your patience!

Masterlist

You inhaled sharply as you came to and registered the flat surface you were lying on.  “This is the second time I’ve awoken on this table,” you muttered.

“Hopefully, it shall be the last,” Sam’uel said flatly, helping you sit up.

You groaned and rubbed your thigh – which was now devoid of pain. “What happened?”

“Dean healed you, you passed out, and then he brought you back here,” he replied simply, leading you to a chair he had placed next to the cabinet across from the door.

Looking around, you noted the absence of the person who had, apparently, saved your life.  And let you win.  “Did… did he tell you what happened?”

“Yes, of course.”  His back was to you as he looked out the window and into the darkness outside. “It’s a little past midnight. He’ll be back soon.”

“Where did he go?”  

Heavy footfalls sounded on the sturdy wooden walkway, declaring Dean-Mon’s return.

The door burst open, he stepped inside, and announced to Sam’uel, “Well, they ‘all stood witness to the events that transpired within our woods’,” making air quotes and making a mocking expression, “and they said we’re good to go on it.”  Shucking his coat off, he shut the door carefully and toed out of his boots.  “I mean,” he ruffled the light dusting of snow from his hair, “we were gonna do it anyway, but I think they already knew that, so….”

You had a feeling that Dean-Mon didn’t care for whoever ‘they’ were that ‘stood witness’ – though Sam’uel seemed unsurprised by anything Dean-Mon was saying.  Gesturing to the fireplace, he said, “I finished your potion for you.”

“Aww.  Thanks, Sammy.”

“Screw you,” but there was a lightness in his voice and a ghost of a genuine smile on his face as he and Dean-Mon walked to the oak table, “Let’s get this over with.  We’ve been like this too long.”  The plain wooden bowl in the center of the table sat ominously as the brothers stood on either side of the table.

“Psh,” Dean pulled a knife from his belt and rolled up a sleeve, “You and me both, kid.”

You blinked.  What the hell was going on?  “Um.”

Sam’uel glanced at you as Dean-Mon sliced his forearm, groaning slightly as blood dripped into the bowl.  “Stay there,” he ordered as Dean-Mon wiped the blade and handed it to him.  Sam rolled up his sleeve, as well, and made a cut on his arm in the same space as Dean had.

You closed your eyes and turned toward the door to your room as you tried not to listen to the liquid dripping into the bowl.  You desperately wished you could run away, hide; get far away from here and go back to the life you were taken from.

Peaceful. Calm.  Safe.  Well, except for the annual ‘Somebody’s got to go into the woods this year!’ thing.

You snapped back to reality when you realized someone was standing in front of you.  Sam’uel held out a mug of the iron-stinking, red liquid to you.

Your eyes were wide as you stiffly shook your head and shrank away from it.

His jaw clenched and he took another step forward, proffering it again.  “Drink it,” he ordered tightly.

Shaking your head again, you whispered, “I really don’t want to.”

“Do you want the tributes to continue?”  Dean-Mon stepped away from the bowl with two other mugs in his hands and stood next to Sam’uel – who was still glaring at you.  “‘Cause if I remember correctly, you said that you wanted to be the last.”

You swallowed and looked up at the Woodcutter, utterly terrified.  That wasn’t what was supposed to happen.  You were supposed to win, and then return to your normal, god-sacrifice-free life.  “Yes, but… it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Nothing in this life is supposed to be anything.  The only things that are promised in this life are death and the dawn – you are not promised love or joy or friendship.  You take what you’re given, and you do something with it,” Sam’uel ground out, “We are giving you this.  Now take it… and drink it.”

Your heart was pounding.  Your hands were trembling.  Gods willingly bleeding and offering- no, ordering a mortal to join them in immortality?  That was barely a ghost of a rumor.  You took the mug and both of them relaxed slightly.

“One more sacrifice. That’s all.”  Sam’uel took a cup from his brother and said, “You have to drink all of it, Y/N.  All. Of it.”

Not afraid to die, mother, I’m not afraid to die…

You brought the mug to your lips and allowed your gaze to fall on the dancing flames below the empty iron cauldron.

“You keep saying you’re not afraid to die,” Dean-Mon mused quietly, “Does that mean you’re afraid to live?”

Yes.  No. I’m not sure anymore.

“Is,” you began nervously, “Is it gonna hurt?”

“Yes,” Sam’uel answered, approaching you and placing a heavy hand on your shoulder, “It will. But we will be here to help you through it.”

You swallowed. Took in a deep, steadying breath. And lifted the mug to your lips. It tasted sweet and foul at the same time.  You grimaced, but you drained the cup.  Shuddering, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and set the empty cup on the floor.  Sam’uel and Dean-Mon had drained their mugs, as well.

They looked at you and you looked at them.  “Well,” you whispered, “Now what-”  Horrible pain sliced up the front of your torso, from your navel to your throat, and you gasped.

You didn’t know when you ended up on the floor, you were only faintly aware that your knees ached with the force at which you dropped to them.  The same pain carved along your spine and you arched against the new agony.  Crying out, you felt strong arms wrap around you and pull you against the two gods.

They were in pain, too.  They shook and took in heavy breaths as they held to you and each other.

“Dean…” Sam’uel breathed through gritted teeth.

“I’ve got you,” Dean-Mon promised, his voice tight with pain, “I’ve got you, I got both of you.”

No one in the villages truly understood what happened or why.  It became a new tradition for the gods to come down the mountain every year at midnight for three days.

The first night, two nights before the full moon, the sound of an ax felling trees would sound from dusk til dawn.  The second night, a figure clothed in a blood-red cape would walk around the inside perimeter of the forest, carrying a lantern to light their way.  On the third night, when the full moon rose and shone over the snow-covered landscape, a great wolf stalked through the woods and circled the forest; the creature paused every hour or so to let out a long howl that rattled the windows in the houses in closest proximity to it.

The elders of the villages hadn’t caught on to why the gods were making themselves known in that manner or who the red-cloaked figure was.  So the next morning, the tribute was sent up the mountain – and the following morning, they returned.  They told the village elders how the gods greeted them warmly, gave them a meal and a place to sleep (the windchime hanging had bones and a little bell hung from the lowest one) and then sent them home when the sun came up.

The villages were still protected by the gods, there was simply no more need for sacrifices anymore.

There was no more need for blood to be shed, and the people rejoiced.  But no one wandered furthered into the woods than was necessary, and they certainly didn’t set so much as a toe off the path, either.

No need to tempt fate, after all.  The Wolf might miss the chase and the Woodcutter might need some meat for his dinner.

< part five

@paintrider13-blog

Thank you so much for reading!  I hope you enjoyed this!

The next story in the fic series is ‘Silver and Gold’ - Jack and the Beanstalk.  Each of these stories will be exploring different aspects of this world; some stories will be a mashup of tales, but my Muse wanted Red, Red Riding Hood done first.

#spn fic #fairy tale au #red riding hood au #reader insert #dean winchester #demon!dean #woodcutter!dean #sam winchester #soulless!sam #wolf!sam #fic: red red riding hood #fic series: welcome to the fairy tale #mymusehatesme

[jamesquinlanmeservy-author]

Cover Reveal For An Echo of the Fae by Janelle Leanne Schmidt

    (The cover art/design was done by the amazing Savannah Jezowski with Dragonpen Designs.)

  Book Blurb:

  Echo enjoys the peace and solitude of the Faeorn forest, regardless of how strange spending time in the “haunted” wood seems to others.

  But on the cusp of her thirteenth birthday, the discovery of a family secret reveals why Echo has never been drawn to the sea like her mother. This discovery shakes the foundations of her world and sends Echo on a quest, not merely into the forest, but into the heart of the fae-lands themselves, to rescue the sister she didn’t know existed.

  Elves, dragons, and fairy courts will put Echo’s wit and resolve to the test. But with time running out for her sister, will Echo even be able to save herself?

  A fairytale adventure perfect for fans of The Secret of Roan Innish and The Girl Who Drank the Moon.

    Endorsements:

“Enthralled by the terror, charm, riddles, and beauty of a richly depicted fae world, I devoured this marvelous book in two sittings! Readers of all ages will love Echo, a heroine strong in her weakness, clever and resolute amid her doubt and fear. An Echo of the Fae is sure to satisfy lovers of adventure and faery!” — J.M. Stengl, author of The Faraway Castle Series

    Author Bio:

  Jenelle first fell in love with stories through her father’s voice reading books aloud each night. A relentless opener-of-doors in hopes of someday finding a passage to Narnia, it was only natural that she soon began making up fantastical realms of her own. Jenelle currently resides in the wintry tundra of Wisconsin—which she maintains is almost as good as Narnia—with her knight-in-shining armor and their four adorable hobbits. When she is not writing, she homeschools said hobbits and helps them along on their daily adventures… which she says makes her a wizard.

Follow Jenelle around the interwebs to get news about latest releases and her writing adventures:

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    Excerpts (if you choose to share an excerpt, please choose just one to share, thank you!):

  My earliest memory returns often in my dreams. My mother’s soft smile caresses me as she bends down to kiss my forehead, my own tiny hand reaching up and trying to capture a lock of her long red-gold hair between clumsy fingers that refuse to obey my wish. A soft, sweet humming fills the memory, a tune that is both dear and yet unfamiliar. Eyes filled with love gaze down at me, and a gentle laugh, a man’s laugh, fills the room. Strong arms encircle us both, my mother and me, and I know I am perfectly safe. Perfectly loved.

Another sound permeates the memory: a rhythmic, rushing, liquid sound I do not recognize, but which fills me with a deep longing that threatens to burst out of my chest and leave me completely hollow. In the dream, it is merely a subtle noise in the background, but when I wake I feel a desperate need to find its source. Sometimes the longing clutches me so tightly that it leaves me gasping, desperately sucking in each breath as if through a narrow reed, my lungs screaming as though they have forgotten how to breathe the very air I need to survive.

It is rare to have a memory from such a tender age, especially one so vivid. And yet, that moment is locked in my thoughts with perfect clarity. During the day it grows distant and faded, but it has haunted my sleep in full, vibrant detail each night for nearly thirteen years.

So why is it that the face in my dreams is wholly unfamiliar to me? Why is the mother from my memory a stranger?

***

Echo sat on a salt-smoothed boulder, her knees pulled up to her chin, watching the other village children playing along the beach. Some of them traversed the shore collecting shells in wicker baskets. The braver ones waded out into the water, splashing and swimming in the gently rolling waves. A shudder coursed through her. Even if it were not early spring and the waters were warmer, nothing would induce her to go any closer to that surging surf and those unfathomable depths. Who knew what untold terrors the placidly sparkling surface concealed?

A cluster of girls stood in the wet sand where the waves lapped about their ankles, baskets swinging from their arms, the foaming water swirling at their feet. She imagined ghostly, watery hands reaching out to capture them, pulling them beneath the surface, deeper and deeper until all memory of light and warmth was long forgotten.

***

    She lay still, listening. All was quiet in the house below. Or was it? A voice filtered through the hammering rain—Dadai’s deep rumble, and then Mamai’s treble answered, though Echo could not make out the words. Another rumble of thunder, and beneath its rolling bass, she could just pick out the higher-pitched creak of the front door opening.

Quietly, so as not to alert her parents, Echo crept out of her bed, dragging her quilt with her, and tiptoed to her window that looked out over the front of the house. Before the open front door, she could make out a faint rectangle of light on the ground below. Gusts of wind buffeted the cozy house, and she squinted into the pelting rain to see who might be going out. Then the hinges creaked again and the light disappeared, plunging the outdoors into darkness once more.

Through the driving rain, a hint of movement drew her attention to a shadowy figure crossing the yard. Echo strained her eyes, but she could not make it out. Then, a flash of lightning, another, and another, lit the sky in quick succession. Echo caught her breath. Walking through the storm, hair long and flowing unbound around her in the tempest, her skirts fluttering in the wind, Mamai walked heedlessly into the rain toward the tip of the peninsula. Echo stared out the window, willing another lightning bolt to scatter the darkness. When it came, she saw her mother descending the rocky stairs that led to the beach. Her head soon disappeared below the cliffside, out of Echo’s view.

Her head spun as she leaned her elbows on the windowsill. Where had Mamai gone? Why could she possibly need to be out in such a storm? No houses lay that way, so it couldn’t be a sick neighbor. The docks were on the other side of the peninsula, and anyway, if there were a problem there, it would have been her father who attended to it. The mystery of it lay heavy on her thoughts as she awaited her mother’s return.

But she did not return.

Echo’s eyelids grew heavy. She struggled to keep them open, propping herself up in an uncomfortable position in an attempt to stay awake, but eventually she succumbed to the insistent embrace of sleep.

***

  Do the fae read books? Echo wondered suddenly, and voiced the question before she had time to consider whether or not it might be rude.

“We don’t read about life; we live,” Malilia replied. “And we learn, not from reading, but from living.”

“That’s beautiful,” Echo said. “And yet… hollow.”

Malilia arched an eyebrow. “Hollow? What is in your books that is so wonderful?”

“Everything!” Echo enthused, warming to the topic. “Why, in books you can be anyone, go anywhere. There’s a freedom to reading unlike anything else. When you read, it makes you think differently about the world and your own life, and sometimes it helps you understand what’s going on around you by showing you a different perspective. And… well… there’s beauty to be discovered in books, more real and more true because it’s only limited by your own imagination. And besides, it’s…. it’s just… fun!”

Malilia grew thoughtful. “This is something you care about.”

“Yes.” Echo felt a little embarrassed. She did not usually speak so forcefully. “I like reading.”

“I can tell.” Malilia’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

***

  “You dare steal from the King of the Winter Court?” The voice reverberated through the air, its sheer, palpable power pushing Echo to her knees. The lantern dropped from her nerveless hand and clattered on the ground.

Echo bowed her head respectfully, racking her memory for every snatch of folk-tale she had ever heard about the Winter Fae or the Dark Host. “Forgive me, my lord,” she whispered. “I did not intend to steal from you. I merely seek to save the life of my sister.”

She heard soft footfalls approach across the sable ground but she did not dare raise her eyes, not even when she felt the touch of hot breath on the back of her head.

“You smell of truth.” The voice sounded puzzled. “Rise, seeker.”

Echo stood, wincing at the pain in her feet. But that thought fled with the rest as she came face to face with the largest tiger she had ever seen.

Upon reflection, it was the only tiger she had ever seen. But she was reasonably certain that, should she ever see another, it would be quite different from the monstrous beast that confronted her now.

Her eyes were even with his shoulders, and he stared down at her from his impressive height, his long whiskers twitching inches above her face. His fur was utterly black, the color of coal. Instead of stripes, Ritioghra’s—for it could only be Ritioghra—body was covered in swirls and whorls of gleaming blue, the same color as the Everflame. His eyes gleamed like two massive stars of an identical shade, and he gazed down at her with an expression of ferocious curiosity. He was utterly terrifying and utterly beautiful.

Terror coursed through her veins like ice, but the light of intelligence in his eyes gave her courage. “For-forgive me, my lord.” Echo gave a wobbly curtsy.

The tiger stretched with a lazy nonchalance. Every line of his long body rippled with power and strength, like the unstoppable force of a river about to burst its banks.

  Cover Reveal For An Echo of the Fae by Janelle Leanne Schmidt Cover Reveal For An Echo of the Fae by Janelle Leanne Schmidt (The cover art/design was done by the amazing Savannah Jezowski with Dragonpen Designs.)

#Cover Reveal

[bestestbird]

I started reading Yakusoku no Neverland, and me being me, I started thinking of a Voltron a/b/o version. I won’t spoil it for anyone who hasn’t read it, but it’s really good, and I’ll put everything else under the read more. (I’ve written another fucked up a/b/o AU if anyone is interested)

So this is essentially a story about an omega farm, where omega’s get shipped off at the age of 18 to alpha’s who’ve bought them. Keith, Lance, and Pidge are all omegas that were born and raised in the farm, and have never met an alpha. They don’t even know that alpha’s exist. Shiro, and Hunk are alpha’s (I haven’t decided what Coran, and Allura are)

The Galra own and run the farm because they are the default bad guys.

Here’s the story :)

"SHAYYYYY!" Lance yelled, clutching a stuffed toy shaped like a bug, "how could you forget Mr Cave-Bug?"

 "What are you yelling about?" Keith asked, shooting him a dark look from the doorway where he stood.

 "Shay forgot her stuffed toy," Lance whined, lifting up the bug for Keith to see.

 "So?" Keith replied, sour expression still on his face, "she's long gone by now. Papa's taken her to her new family, they'll give her loads of better toys than that."

 "But Papa made this for Shay! It's a reminder of us!"

 "There's nothing we can do about it," Keith retorted, not moved in the slightest.

 "Actually," a voice piped up from by the window, "there's still some lights on at the gate, she might not have left yet."

 Lance's head whipped round to stare at Pidge, who was pointing outside. He scrambled across the room, to get next to the little gremlin. Pidge was right, outside, in the distance, was a faint orange glow that could only be cause by lights in the gatehouse that marked the border of their orphanage.

 "If you hurry you might be able to catch her before she leaves," Pidge added. Lance grinned, and turned on his heel, towards the back door.

 "Pidge, you're a genius," he called over his should as he rushed to the exit. Pidge loudly snorted behind him, but he knew that the little omega was grinning without having to look at them.

 Lance grabbed the backdoor handle, and twisted, it rattled, but didn't move.

 "It's locked," Lance half said to himself.

 "Of course it is, Papa's gone, he wouldn't leave the doors unlocked," Keith replied, standing behind Lance. His proximity made Lance jump, he hadn't realised that Keith was so close.

 "Move," Keith ordered, shoving Lance as he did.

 Lance let out an indignant, "hey!" as he was moved aside. Keith ignored him. Instead his fished into his pocket, and pulled out two long bits of metal, which he pocked into the doors lock. Lance watched in curious silence as Keith jiggled them around for a while.

 "There," Keith announced, pulling back, and turning to smirk at Lance.

 "What did you do?" Lance asked, looking from the door, which appeared the same as ever, to Keith.

 Keith grasped the door handle, turned it, and swung the door open.

 "You can pick locks?" Lance asked, shocked at the revelation.

 "Nice," Pidge whispered from behind him.

 "C'mon, don't we need to hurry if we're going to catch up to Shay?" Keith said instead of answering. Lance's shock instantly changed to delight.

 "I knew you cared."

 That earned him an eye roll before Keith turned to run out into the night with Lance following close behind him.

 It didn't take them long to get to the gatehouse, but their pace slowed as they closer. Partially due to fatigue, partially due to the fact that they weren't meant to be out at night, or anywhere near the gatehouse, regardless of time.

 "Do you think Papa will be angry?" Lance whispered, but Keith didn't reply, "it's special circumstances, right? He'll understand," Keith still didn't reply, "okay, so he might be a bit angry, but he'll understand, and forgive us. He loves us."

 "Shhh," Keith said suddenly, raising a hand to quiet Lance, who frowned at him.

 "What?" Lance began, looking around for a sign of something. All he could see was the glow of lights from the gatehouse windows. No shadows passed across the light, there was no movement at all. Perhaps that wasn't what had spooked Keith, so instead Lance strained his ears, trying to listen for something. There was a faint hum that Lance recognised from when the shipments of food came in. It was a car engine.

 They hadn't left yet!

 Lance hurried forwards, grabbing on to Keith and dragging him along with him. The care quickly came into view, parked under the arch just inside the still locked gate.

 "Lance, stop," Keith hissed. Lance didn't.

 "What are you whining about? They're still here!" Lance replied, grinning as he looked back at Keith. His grin froze in place as he saw Keith's face. It was hard to see in the faint orange light, but he looked white as a bed sheet, and scared, no, terrified.

 "Can't you smell that?" Keith asked. Lance paused, and raised his head into the air slight, before sniffing curiously. There was definitely a smell. Not the grass and dead leaves smell of the forest, not even the petrol smell of the care. It was something else, but it didn't scare Lance. It was nice, a warm smell. He'd never smelled anything like it before.

 "It smells nice. Some kind of food? Do you think they'll give us some if they know that we're Shay's friends?"

 "Food? Don't be stupid," Keith growled. Lance didn't wait to hear the rest of what Keith was going to say. He hated when the omega got like this. Instead he turned and headed towards the truck that loitered in front of the gate.

 "Lance. Lance!" Keith called after him. Lance could hear Keith's crunching footfalls as he hurried after him.

 "Shay," Lance whispered as he reached the truck. No one seemed to be about.

 The back of the vehicle was a covered in a tarp, with a partially open flap. Light glinted off something inside catching Lance's eye, and making him peer inside. His breath caught, and he let out s sudden sharp gasp.

 Keith hurried up behind up, what's wrong?" He asked, placing a hand on the other omega's shoulder.

 "Shay?" Lance whispered.

 "Shay?" Keith repeated, turning his attention to the inside of the truck.

 On her back, staring straight up at the ceiling was Shay. She was naked, with her legs bent, and splayed out open. The metal cuffs on her arms and ankles were what had caught Lance's attention.

 "Shay," Lance said louder, stepping towards his friend. She didn't reply. There was a glassy eyed look on her face. The only sigh of life that she gave was the steady rise and fall of her chest.

 Lance raised one shaking hand towards her, and stumbled as he tried to reach for her.

 "Is someone there?"

 Both the omega's shot wide eyed looks in the direction of the voice. Keith's hand on Lance's shoulder gripped harder, and then yanked him down. Lance went easily to the floor with Keith. There was a thud of footsteps, barely audible over the pounding in their ears, and Keith shove Lance under the car. He quickly followed after. They barely made it under the car before a door swung open.

 Large boots came into their line of sight, and the smell that they'd noticed earlier filled the air. It heavier, almost oppressive compared to light hint of it that they'd been able to smell before.

 Lance didn't know how to describe it words other than emotions. It smelled like suspicion, annoyance, and boredom.

 "I didn't hear anything," another voice called from still inside the gatehouse. Then another set of boots appeared.

 The same voice spoke again, "it was probably the bitch in the back."

 "She's been pulled under, she won't be making a sound for ages," the first voice snapped.

 "Well, maybe she's not as under as we thought. Y'know, one ride would sort that out." The scent in the air changed slightly along with his word, and there was something in his voice that Lance didn't like. It smelled, and sounded slimy.

 "Can you pay for a ride? She's a virgin, they're going to notice if she's not when we deliver her. They're raising premium omega whores here. Rare, good quality merchandise. People pay a lot for an omega who's never met an alpha before."

 The second voice made a noncommittal noise, "sounds a bit overrated."

 "You're the one who wants to fuck her so bad.

 "Whatever-,"

 "My good alpha's, what's wrong?" Lance's eyes went wide, and turned to stare at Keith, who had an equally shocked look on his face. That was Papa's voice.

 "Thought we heard something."

 "Turns out it was nothing."

 "Good," that was Papa's voice again, "now, shall we head back inside and finalise this transaction?"

 'Finalise the transaction'? Was...was Papa a part of this. No, no way.

 "Yes, Sir."

 'Sir', they called him sir. No, no, no. Papa would never do this. Never.

 Lance could feel his whole body shaking, but somehow, he felt numb. He barely registered as the feet in front of him disappeared, and he almost couldn't feel Keith's insistent tugging on his arm, or the hands that gripped him as Keith pulled him up off the floor, and away from the truck.

 "Wait," he said faintly, and Keith paused, eye's searching everywhere.

 "What? Lance, we need to leave. Now."

 "Shay," Lance said, slowing waking up, "we can't leave her."

 "What else are we meant to do?" Keith snapped, beginning his tugging again.

 "We have to take her with us," Lance answered, turning back towards the truck. Keith's grip on his arm tightened.

 "How?" He hissed, "She's out cold to the world."

 "We can carry her," Lance said, his voice cold.

 "How?" Keith hissed louder this time, "She's bigger than both of us," Lance opened his mouth to argue, but Keith carried on, "and where would we take her? Back to the house? Papa works with them. He sold her."

 "He didn't."

 "He did, you heard them. He sold her. There's nowhere for her here. We can't save her, and if we don't leave now we'll be worse off than she is!"

 Lance opened his mouth to argue, but a different voice cut him off.

 "I definitely heard something this time."

 Lance and Keith exchanged one terrified glance, and then ran. They ran straight for their house, not looking back to see if anyone was following. They ran away from the men, they ran away from Shay. They didn't stop until they were crashing through the back door, and collapsing onto the familiar floor.

 With heaving chests, and terrified eyes, they finally looked back. All that was behind them was the dark expanse of their back garden. The light from the gatehouse was gone.

 "What's got you two so spooked?" Lance almost screamed as he spun around to look at who had spoken. Pidge stood down the hall from them, looking sleepy, but surprised.

 "Nothing," Keith said, his voice sounding shaking. Pidge looked like they didn't believe him.

 "Okay, did you find Shay?"

 "No," Keith replied in the same voice.

 "Okaay, so what happened to Mr Cave-Bug?" Pidge asked, looking at Lance, who looked down to his empty hands.

 "Fuck," Keith whispered.

#Voltron #a/b/o dynamics #My Writing #another new AU #shklance #hunay #hunk/shay #bestestbird words

[thejamesoldier]

Heyooo. I absolutely adore your writing and look up to it so much, and I just wanted to put a request through if you don't mind. I was thinking about a Bucky or Seb x reader, where he's some sort of a dark angel king, or a dark immortal of sorts (not vampire though), and he develops a strange fascination with the reader, and the rest is up to you. ☺

Hi anon, I hope you enjoy this!! I know you said you didn’t want Seb/Bucky to be a vampire, and he’s not, but I hope you don’t mind that I included them in the story as other characters? (If you don’t like it then I can rewrite this to your liking :D xx) Anyway on to the story!

(oh and one of my favorite hoes and wife Kumi aka @mellifluous-melodramas wrote a fic about Unseelie!Seb first, so GO READ IT HERE!! It’s amazing and also completely different from this story so don’t worry xx)

No Faith, Trust or Faerie Fucks

Pairing: Unseelie Fae King!Bucky x Y/n (as Tony & Pepper’s daughter)

Summary: Y/n Stark is in the wrong place at the wrong time as unsavory characters come out to play.

Overall Tags: lots of lore and shit I hope its not too confusing, ANGST (sorry i cant help it), smut, fluff to make sure I don’t murder yall’s hearts, and the usual humor

Tagged Lovlies: @captain-chimichanga, @creideamhgradochas, @evilmermaidsinc, @buckyandsebsinbin, @simplyme8308, @notsoprettykitty, @ryverpenrad, @whintersoldiers, @mini-muffin-mountain, @the-one-and-only-vampcake, @james-bionic-barnes, @badassbaker, @kenobi-and-barnes, @fangasms101, @almondbuttercup, @mar-gega, @vacam79, @nenyakj, @angryschnauzer, @rosegoldarmour, @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @takemetoneverland91, @jenairedale, @musichowler, @seargantbcky, @mllx-anazra, @amrita31199, @jenna-luke

Chapter 1 - Just a Spoonful of Y/n

Your feet ache like the Devil himself kissed them.

Uneven roots, spiteful twigs, and bitterly sharp rocks take turns stabbing against the thin worn down leather souls of your shoes as you run. The gnarled forest canopy sneers down at you as you tear through prickled bushes and low-bearing branches, the dark leaves hiding you from the worried stars twinkling frantically above them. The constellations sprint across the moonless map of black sky trying to keep up with you as you move with silent terror through the smirking chessboard of tree trunks.

You are filled with an inescapable sense of dread, knowing that no matter how far you run he’ll always be a breath behind you.

Sensing the chase, ancient life that has lived in this forest for centuries awakens with an elemental inhale; it goes unnaturally quiet (you swear even your own breath and pounding footfalls became muted) before a loud breeze rises seemingly out of the grave of the forest floor and howls as it gathers body and slithers its way through the bark maze, weaving – hunting – ominously like a snake in grass until it finds you. Your throbbing lungs heave against the burden of the unforgiving pace you have set for yourself when the wind finally slices past you. It scrapes its sharp chilled fingers across your cheeks, like claws of ice digging in and actually breaking the skin, leaving your face stinging, numb, and wet. Whether or not the wet was from your terrified tears or drawn blood you wouldn’t ever know. You would have cried out in pain and fear had you any air to spare.

With your instincts leaving you no choice you continue ripping through the evil growth around you praying to any higher power who may be listening to please deliver you to safety. The long, heavy material of your skirts betray you by getting caught under your already unsure footing, listening to the sick spell this dark wind is whispering into the quality winter wool. Those same ice claws snag and pluck at the hem of your dress as well, the hissing breeze fluttering and galloping along the forest floor by your feet. With a wheezing grunt you fist your hands in your thick skirts and lift up the material and continue running, ignoring the branches snapping at your now unprotected face and the shrubbery that takes bites out of your exposed ankles as you rush by.

After what seems like an hour of running you begin to feel yourself being herded by the wind at your ankles, at your back, at your sides; if that’s even possible. The constellations are loosing sight of you as you start veering away from the thinning edge of the forest you were desperately making your way towards, and unknowingly begin slowly arching back to the middle and thickest part of the forest. Under the influence of the ancient darkness that lives in every cell of life here, you start to lose sanity and sense, forgetting the original direction you were going in.

He’s coming, Your mind shrieks at you in full fledged panic when you still haven’t reached the forest line, I can feel him!

The wind nips at your heels like loyal hunting hounds as you start stumbling. Your body is weak and shaky and you are lost. You can feel that fear in your body spreading like a chill down your spine – inevitable and inexorable. Cool mercury inks through your veins, smooth and silver and fatal.

A fated root finally gets the better of your frantic footing and you crash to the ground with a surprised huff knocked out of your chest. The tears flow silently and endlessly down your cheeks, but you are much too frightened to notice as you spit dirt out of your mouth and struggle to breathe. The flight instinct slowly transitions to fight as the chill in your veins and heart starts to petrify your limbs to a solid stand still. The loose dirt under your hands starts to – impossibly – turn to sinking mud, working to shackle you in a prison of wet cold earth and sure death.

The wind bellows with rage as it tries to push you back down when you attempt to rip yourself free, drawing its icy fingers into fists and punching holes in your determination. Once you allow your body to fully release the instinct to run a switch flips, and in one deep esoteric breath your soul absorbs the only other option left to it. Your heart beats thunderously under your ribs as you grit your teeth and stand.

You find that fighting is a much less frighting instinct to embody. Instead of fear souring your stomach and pumping poison into your heart, clean pure merciful fury replaces it. This fury gifts you strength, a clear mind freed from the trap of ethereal darkness surrounding you, a clarity to see the full chessboard in front of you. You see the entire spider’s web now and instead of fearing death you can see the spider.

It’s just a forest.

It’s just wind.

It’s just dirt.

It’s just a spider.

It’s just a man –

“I am no man.”

The wind suddenly dies down and stops whipping around you like a flock of angry vultures. A cold foreign sensation ripples through your body as you swivel on your newly recovered feet and see the spider – him, the man who you were running from. Or not a man…

You try to frantically squint through the shadows where this, this creature hides in, not daring to move from your spot and holding your ground this time instead of running. That fury reignites in your chest as silence stretches between you two, and spreads hot and powerful throughout the rest of you, lending energy to your exhausted muscles and air to your throbbing lungs and burning throat. Your fists clench at your sides and your lip snarls up to expose your teeth.

“You sound like a man.” You speak with a clear cut voice, the rage you feel exposing itself through the violent wobble in your tone.

The anger hides your lie. He did not in fact sound like any man you have ever heard. His voice seems to be made up of the howl of the wind that had chased you all this way, the rustle of dead leaves in the trees, the creak of ancient roots in the earth; a dark melody manifested by nature itself weaving into a baritone so delicately sinister it made the small hairs all over your body stand up, and your skin prickle like you had been dipped in a boiling pot of ants.

“Step into the light you coward!” Comes your growled demand as the largely uncomfortable feeling that he can see you and you can’t see him gets the better of you.

The man-creature says nothing in response and doesn’t make to move out from the thick convenient shadows veiling him from you of everything but his silhouette. His tall frightening black shadow remains a few strides away and only cocks his head to the side a tick.

“I am no coward.”

That fear from earlier batters at the high walls of your fury now, begging to be let back in. Let me in! Let me in! Run I say! RUN!

You swallow stiffly but don’t let yourself falter. If you run again you have a feeling that you will end up in the same place you are now. Until you face this man-creature you weren’t leaving this forest. The trees seem to bow towards him, the leaves fluttering to graze him in worship, the branches arching protectively over him, the bushes fluffing at his feet. With a start you realize he is almost part of the forest itself, a personification of the nature around him.

Having never encountered a supernatural creature before you were a little at loss for what to do, but you have heard many stories from the people of the village and at Court. Tales of vampires, shifters, werewolves, kitsune, and if you’re lucky: Fae.

You did not in anyway gather a goodness from the being before you, so that cancels out Fae-folk. The only tales you have ever heard people recount about Fae were ones of hope and protection and hard-learned lessons that always ended up exposing you to truths. With a shaky breath you readjust your footing below you, bracing yourself,

“Are you a vampire then? Hunting me for my blood?” You question the darkness in front of you, his silhouette murky in the ever present black fog that mists and blurs the strict lines of the shadows.

A scoff emits gently from the blackness, “I am no vampire.”

A part of you relaxes but then you stiffen again,

“A werewolf? Are you hungry for my flesh?”

Something akin to a bored, exasperated sigh whispers out from the shadows this time.

“Humans never cease to disgust me with their base, vulgar minds.”

You’re stumped at what to say or do. The rage is starting to simmer out of your system as this stalemate un-nerves you further with each second. Your fury gave you strength but each moment you spend talking the more that shakiness begins to re-settle in your bones. With a desperate attempt to reclaim your weakening strength you try another tactic.

“Vulgar I may be, but a coward you still remain sir,” You hesitate before pushing yourself forward and charging right at the darkness, “Afraid a base human will see you? Cowering in the shadows like a deer before a cougar–,”

Before you can take an official step into the shadows a hand as pale and hard as marble, and as cold as packed glacial ice comes out of nowhere, securing fingers of granite around your neck.

You make a tiny choked sound of surprise and it takes you a shocked second to realize that this hand isn’t coming from the shadows, but beside it. There are two beings here not just one. Out of reflex your hands come up to grasp the forearm of the offending hand at your neck as the hand lifts your feet easily off the ground and your mind scrambles to adjust to this new frightening information.

You didn’t even know – didn’t sense – that there was more than one creature. The panic breaks the damn of your anger in an overwhelming avalanche as you frantically scour the trees and darkness around you wondering if there were more hidden creatures. The face and body that belongs to the hand around your neck appears out from beside the shadows after a moment of you dangling. When it comes into full view your throat clogs as you try to gasp against his tight fingers.

It – he – is beautiful.

He wears a quality navy tunic with a cream undershirt that sprouts frothy lace at his neck-collar and wrists; his pants a deep calico to abruptly stop above bare feet. No shoes. The skin you can see is as bright as a full moon, flawless, like milk being poured into a cobalt glass goblet. His eyes seem carved directly from the horizon of a crisp winter sky – a blue so bright and unearthly it has to have been stolen directly from the Gods’ own minds. His features are too perfect: high proud cheekbones bordering a straight long nose that points down to full, impossibly soft looking lips that are framed by a sharp chin and chiseled granite jaw. His hair is short and shines gold like wisps of sun atop his head, hair so fine it looks like it would feel as soft as a sun ray’s kiss. He isn’t real.

He isn’t human, Your mind corrects.

Before you can think of how to respond to everything that is happening, the fingers at your neck tighten just a hair more,

“My Master is no coward.” This impossible blonde creature somehow hisses down at you even as he raises you above his head. His frame is so tall and packed with dangerous muscle you fight the urge to faint with fear.

You instead stare wide eyed at him, eyes ready to pop out of your skull, hands futility clutching at the white marble skin trying to breathe as pressure builds steadily in your face from lack of air.

The silhouette of the man-creature still shroud in the shadows whispers something in some ancient tongue, the words almost caressing the very air around you like they’re alive.  

Immediately the supernatural blonde releases your neck and you drop to your knees and fall forward onto your hands, swallowing thirsty gulps of air down and coughing harshly when your throat fails to adjust. Your hands subconsciously fist the dirt below your hands as you frantically try to gain bearing on what’s going on. One anonymous supernatural creature you could maybe escape from, but two?

Not a chance in hell.

And the fact that you pissed them off?

Yeah, double no. You’re dead meat…literally.

The fact that you are going to die starts to steadily push down on your shoulders, coaxing you to just lay down on the ground and give up. Your ears are mute to the hushed old-world words being exchanged by the two man-creatures who are calmly discussing your fate.

You barely have the energy to be startled as the same cold stone hand grabs the skin at the back of your neck and lifts you to your feet like you are a runt of a pup litter. You hadn’t even noticed the beautiful blonde had moved behind you while you heaved on the ground. With a fearful spark in your gut you realize the first man-creature still hasn’t moved out from the shadows and you still can’t see him – it, whatever the male-creature is. You wonder after a dazed moment if maybe he can’t step out of the shadows, like its a cage, but you quickly shove that note aside because its the middle of the night and there is no moon tonight. If light was his concern there isn’t any to hide from at the moment, only concerned stars peeping down through the dark canopy trying to catch a glimpse of how you’re fairing.

“My Master desires you to live,” The blonde practically hisses behind you, his hand still unnervingly gripping the back of your neck, once you gather your balance atop your shaking legs and the quiet has set in for a nice long uncomfortable stretch of heart beats. These supernatural creatures wield silence like a knight does his sword. “In return for sparing your life, My Master requires payment.”

What is left of the warmth in your body drains and seems sucked out by the ice touch at your neck.

“He will require a…” The pale male-creature trails off a tad frustrated, murmuring more ancient words seemingly to himself rather than to his ‘Master’, almost like he’s trying to find the right translation.

As he struggles for the words you shake violently under his hand and stare petrified at the shadows in front of you, trying to make out eyes or a hand or a shoulder while simultaneously hoping you aren’t successful in your search for a physical presence. Seeing the creature would only make you even more scared but a sick curiosity keeps twisting out of your attempts to catch it. You knew that whoever is behind the shadows is most definitely watching you though, his gaze feels like a branding iron against your soul but instead of unbearable heat it feels so cold that it burns. Another wave of renewed never ending unease shimmies down your spine when the beautiful creature behind you gives a soft ‘ah’ of triumph.

“My Master requires a, a slice of your soul.”

Your heart gallops through the resulting field of silence as what the blonde says sinks in, and then the muscle within your chests freezes solid.

“A s-slice of my soul?” Comes your whisper of naked horror.  

The shadows in front of you somehow grin.

The blonde man-creature behind you does not respond, doesn’t even sound like he’s breathing. Your mind scatters into chaos trying uselessly to find a way out of this situation. You have never heard of a creature who eats souls other than the Devil himself and his creations.

You jump out of your own skin when you feel the lips of the creature behind you brush the shell of your ear,

“Do not fear. To be owned by My Master is not painful or meant as a punishment,” With disgust you try to wrench yourself free of the hand but to no avail. “It is only rightful payment.”

“I’ll die first!” You cry at the two of them as you continue to struggle knowing you won’t get away but it feels good to try anyway. Before you can register anything else the shadows waft swiftly away from the black silhouette and your vision suddenly goes dark.

James steps up to this human woman with slight distaste and mild irritation. He grips the sides of your cheeks with his hand hard and tilts your face up at him, watching your open eyes dart around with rising panic.

“Why can’t I see?!” You shriek as your face burns under the freezing touch of a new hand at your jaw, the one at your neck still and unmoving.

A bored snarl curls James’ upper lip as he looks down at you.

Humans, he thinks.

He glances up at Steve behind you and nods in warning. The blonde vampire closes his eyes and braces himself, he never did like this part.

James lowers his lips to yours, just barely allowing the skin to touch, not wanting to contaminate himself with the filth of humans more than he has to. But he’s hungry and you’re right here. And since he cannot possess a soul without that soul’s permission, your life force will have to do. For now.

You jump helpless and pathetic under the unyielding pressure of two deathly cold hands as you feel a sensation against your lips. In your blindness you at first can’t fathom what it is, because its too cold to be skin and too soft to be anything but the wind.

James connects his gaze with your blind milky one and he inhales.

White hot flames suddenly lick at every vein, muscle, cell in your body. You try to scream but find your lungs incapable of breathing in any air, like you have a feather down pillow being pressed over your face. You’re being suffocated then.

What an odd method of killing, considering they’re supernatural creatures, A strange disconnected part of your mind notes.

Your insides feel like they’re being turned inside out, like a hook dragging your guts out through your mouth. The muscle of your heart beats in a wild un-synchronized symphony of panicked thuds. James remains perfectly calm if not a little grossed out at having to be so close to you. But as he gets the first real taste of your life force – your energy – pulsing into him like liquid sun pouring into his hollow black-hole of a soul, he realizes he can’t get enough. Its not enough.  

James can sense Steve’s rising unease as he continues inhaling from you longer than he planned to. Aside from the usual sweet flavor of fear, there’s an undeniable spice to you that brings James to life in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries. Like a finger curling at him, urging him to take more, to take it all.

“Brother, please,” Steve hushes to him in their mother tongue over the top of your head, an ancient Celtic language long since deceased. “You promised me.”

At this James abruptly stops inhaling and glances away from your eyes to meet Steve’s, his azure irises true and just as bold as they were when he was a human. The Unseelie Fae King let’s go of your face, steps back, and gives Steve a small but reverent bow. A show of the highest respect, especially coming from him who bows to no one and nothing.

Steve nods back in acceptance of this silent but profound apology and slowly lowers you to the ground. You have long since passed out by this point.

“She still owes me a part of her soul.” James states not really at anybody but just a promise for the forest to remember and hold you to. The trees rustle above them and eagerly accept the honor.

“Yes Master, perhaps we should take her back to her family so she may recover.” Steve agrees, suggesting the gentlest option for you as they both stare down at your limp body curled on the forest floor at their feet.

A sage expression gathers on James’ face, “I shall claim my debt after, then.”

The blonde vampire bows his head in acknowledgment and is about to scoop you up to return you to your home when James holds up his hand. Steve freezes in submissive patience, waiting to hear what his Master – his Sire, his Bond Brother – wants. James only steps forward and picks you up bridal style himself. Steve furrows his eyebrows at this, knowing James despises humans most of all among the creatures on this earth, but his expression stutters into grateful reverence when James adjusts you so your head drops to hang back, exposing the elegant line of your neck.

The Unseelie King handles you like a chef would a tenderly prepared meal.

“I fed, and so will you Bond Brother.” James hushes in that gorgeous ancient tongue as he takes one grand stride to stand right in front of Steve.

James arranges you so your feet touch back to the ground and your back rests against his broad chest, your dead weight no more of a burden than carrying a feather would be. He wraps a hesitant arm around your middle and cups the side of your face as your head falls to one side with an impossibly smooth palm. Steve’s eyes glow impossibly bluer as he stares ravenously at your neck, veins pulsing under the strain of your heartbeat trying to recover from the events of the evening.  

“Devour.” James whispers knowing Steve waits for his permission.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to smooth a cool hand down your neck before licking over the skin thinnly shielding his favorite artery, like a doctor would wipe with a towelette of alcohol before sticking a needle in. The vampire snaps his fangs out while opening his mouth. As Steve is one of the original vampires his fangs are so long they are near the length of a human child’s pinky. James holds you steady, watching his Bond Brother fondly, before Steve hunches down over you. He opens his jaw wider and sinks his teeth into you like steel through warm butter.

The second your blood spurts against his lips Steve groans in absolute ecstasy as his eyes roll up into he back of his skull. He makes sure no blood gets on your clothes or his, having had much practice with this, and sucks from you like a man dying of thirst at a fresh cool spring. James leans forward and presses a brief but caring kiss to Steve’s forehead while his vampire continues to drink, lost to everything but the taste of your blood.

James smiles as the familiar feeling of intimacy at having a human’s essence pulse through their bond starts to come to life like rivers of mercury slowly weaving their way into a sea of blue. He can feel you inside himself and coursing through Steve, he can feel your leftover fear and fury, feel your subconscious panic even though you’re not awake. He can sense it all, like you’re part of him. Of course this connection will fade, not his bond with Steve but the bond you have temporarily formed with the both of them.

From the look on Steve’s face, he’s not tasted a human as delicious as you in a while. James mulls over this fact. His desire to possess you only grows as he casually strokes some of Steve’s hair out of his face when the golden strands fall over his closed eyes.  

You will be his, and by extension Steve’s as well (when James feels like sharing). Though as you begin to pale in James’s arms he feels a strange urge to be selfish, to have you all to himself. Usually him and Steve share all their meals but as your eyelashes flutter in pain and the echo of your heart beat in James’ own hollow chest starts to weaken considerably, he shoves Steve off you.

Albeit gently but still a shove. Steve looks a little shook as he stumbles back from you, fangs red and dripping, but regains himself quickly from the frenzy of blood-food-meal-warm-life.

James looks down at you limp in his arms and before he knows what he’s doing, ever so lightly touches the tips of his free fingers to the assaulted skin of your neck, watching with foreign satisfaction as the skin heals instantly. Steve stares at James for a second consumed by a wave of shock. A shock that, when James looks up and sees, speaks of a side to the Unseelie King long since forgotten.

James hasn’t healed anybody (and never once a human) in centuries.

With monumental self disgust James sneers and chucks you to the ground, shivering like your touch revolted him. Before you can crash to the ground Steve catches you with unnatural speed and holds you bridal style tight to his chest, gently licking up the leftover blood on your neck under the careful eye of his Bond Brother. Steve always has been a compassionate drinker, feeling the urge to be tender to the human who’s blood courses through his dead veins.

James visibly relaxes when Steve pulls his lips away from your neck. Steve notices and sees right through him.

“Get this blood bag out of my sight.” James scoffs with regal distaste when he catches Steve staring at him with suspicious wonder.

Steve only bows obediently and takes off at a sprint, following your scent trail out of the forest and all the way to your grand home estate. You weren’t royalty, but your family’s money made you the closest thing to it apart from having actual royal blood. He easily picks across the vast gardens and grounds and jumps in through an open window that permeates your scent once he reaches the main house. Steve quickly gathers that you are a wealthy young lady of status by the grandeur of your family’s estate and the magnificence of your chambers. Steve lays you down on the silk sheets of your large four poster bed, hearing several heartbeats thudding out of sync to their own master’s rhythm throughout the house.

As he arranges your head to lay at a comfortable angle against your multiple feather pillows he can’t help but brush his fingers over the spot on your neck where his Master healed you. Steve doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels a distinct tug in his chest.

James is calling him.

Steve sighs internally (as he doesn’t actually breathe) before jumping back out the open window as silent as an owl with the moon on its wings. Just before Steve turns to sprint unseen back to the cover of the ancient forest he catches the name ‘Stark’ carved in a flourish on a stone crest sitting atop the stone wall boarding the estate’s main house.

Stark, Steve thinks as his body whispers through the night, No wonder she tastes so good.

Okay!!! So there you have it, the first chapter to my unseelie!bucky fic! Lemme know what you think pretty please? xxx

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#unseelieking!bucky #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes AU #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #Nikki writes #request #thejamesoldier #No Faith Trust or Faerie Fucks

[bardslament]

Love Like the First Song of Morning Part I

Summary: In which Nico and Will go on vacation, particpate in a Beltane ritual and raise an ancient evil (as you do). Fluff, smut, mythological shenanigans and flower farms ahead. Nico and Will are about 19 in this fic and have been together about 4 years. Encouragement makes the next installment come faster :)

                                                 Beltane Part I 

“And lo it was written, Will thought as he tripped and fell face first into the loamy earth,”on the day thou wouldst find yourself running for your life through a green wood, a tree root shall rise to meet you. And it shall sabatoge you.”

Your life is safe, a mocking inner voice that sounded suspiciously like Cecil sang, your virtue on the other hand…

Will flushed. Of course  his inner demon sounded like Cecil. “Shut up, you,” he told the smug inner voice. “If I go down, you go down.”

Inner Cecil snickered. Oh, you’ll be going down all right..

The flush deepened. Pointedly ignoring inner Cecil, Willl pushed himself up from the lush tangle of ferns, tilted his head and listened. The forest spilled around him, verdant and vibrant and alive in a sultry, satisfied way that stirred at something primal in the pit of his belly. He could practically feel seeds and unfurling and pushing their way to the surface with sultry pulses that made his face flush and his cock twitch. Somewhere, hidden in the lush braken curves of ferns, a hermit thrush called and it’s rippling melody swam languidly through the still air.

And it was still, Will realized. The leaves shivered under the wind’s touch then stilled as if waiting. All was silent except for the hermit thrush. The forest was rigid and expectant. Waiting. The dappled shadows stretched languidly, then reached slender arms out to Will.  Closer and closer they slid, before drifiting, gentle as an angel’s kiss, to caress his ankle. Instinctively, Will moved into the touch, his legs falling open. A dark chuckle floated on the air and a familiar voice edged with the song of Italy floated on the breeze. “Got you.”

At that, his eyes snapped open and he scrambled to his feet. “Oh, no, you don’t. You aren’t going to win that easily,” he said. Turning he plunged blindly into the forest and ran as if the Hound of Hades was after him.

The forest roiled around him in a sea of ochre and lime and emerald. His feet sank into the lush spill of ferns and moss. Spiderwebs clung to his face and the wind whispered urgently against his lips. “Give in,” it seemed to sigh. Will ignored it, pressing on. He had lost the trail, but if he got to a clearing, any place with some decent sunlight, he could use the sun to orient himself. He leapt over a moss covered log, only to jump back as a shadow reached for him.

He darted in the opposite direction, managing to make it about 10 feet before another shadow darted out of the shade of an arching fern frond and nipped at his heels. He wheeled around and sped between a break in the trees. His lungs raced like bellows, the air smelling of cedar and sunlight and earth. Sweat dripped into his eyes. . Each precious footfall into the woods was a hard won battle, and each time he would make a small inroad before the shadows would rise again, coaxing him in a different direction. Herding him, Will realized with a chill.

Heeding the shadows for now, Will ran and ran. His blood raced and the vulnerable skin around his wrists tingled, as though familiar hands had wrapped around them. A dark, primal part of him reveled in being chased, in the predatory attention he could feel arrowing in on him. Part of him, the head of the Apollo cabin, wanted to win on principal. But that primal part, drunk on the mating song of the forest, had no interest in winning. It wanted nothing more than to be pinned and fucked and mounted. That part of him waited patiently, knowing it was only a matter of time.

When at last he saw the distant light of a clearing, he put all his strength into a final burst of speed. To his surprise, no shadows stopped him and he made it unimpeded only to stop in astonishment at the beauty spread before him. He had heard of the patch of forest that had burned a few years prior from an errant lightning strike, and he had expected a dark, angry scar in the earth. Not this. The lightning’s trace remained, to be sure, in the blackened skeletons of the trees, the dark bare earth. But life had begun to recolonize, the brambly wild roses unfurling velvet petals and a rich scent to the endless cerulean sky above. In the corner of the meadow, two stags clearly in rut battled each other. Their bugles and the angry clash of their horns rang across the clearing. Mist blanketed the lake curved around the other side of the meadow. Two swans glided on it’s surface in a languid dance, their long necks tangling around each other. It was eerily and relentlessly beautiful.

Will took a step, then another, tilting his head up to the sky like a sunflower. The golden rays poured down upon him, gilding his hair and skin honey-bright. He should have been able to feel the wheel’s of his father’s chariot as it raced across the sky toward the west. But to his surprise, he felt nothing more than a  distant, syrupy tug. He frowned, and focused harder-

The body striking him came out of nowhere,, muscular arms wrapping around his abdomen as they fell to the ground. Over and over they tumbled, the world spinning around them in a blur of light and birdsong, the scent of roses and the clash of antlers. When the world finally righted itself, Will found himself on his back, a familiar demigod perched on top of him. One leather gloved hand cupped the back of his head protectively, preventing him from banging his head on the rocky ground. Nico grinned down at him, his brown eyes with their distinctive colorless streaks dark and hungry against his olive skin. Hooded eyes that looked ageless and ancient, like they had known too much sadness. Will frowned, and reached to cup Nico’s face. His fingers smoothed the creases around his eyes, sending his healing power into them. Nico’s eyes softened, and he reached up to curve his hands around Will’s. He gently pulled Will’s hands away and placed a soft kiss on each of his palms and then pressing them back down to the ground.  His hair spilled messily around his face. The wreathe of flowers woven through the dark curls, should have looked absurd, with their calendula flowers and laurel leaves, but they didn’t. They looked, Will mused, fiery and regal. As befitting the Ghost King.

#i wrote a thing #solangelo #nico di angelo #there will be trouble and magic #will solace #comments are life