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punkandsnacks · 4 years

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Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Eleven; Reveal.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

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Trigger Warnings: !!! major blood gore/violence/death !!! in this chapter-

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Another week in the life of a soon-to-be-wedded young woman perched delicately upon the dizzying precipices of matrimonial bliss; for she had to suffer yet another outing with her intended huffy Sergeant.

They were bid to the local theatre three towns over, this eve, to take a the comedic operatic of a show. A paltry pastime perhaps, Hux was not keen, where Iris entered the evening determined to have some share of joy in it.

She’d often found a healthier outlook far more substantially bearable, than that of a venomous one. A better application of her energy as far as she’s concerned; her determination to enjoy such things outweighs the scope of misery she could place upon her evening.

She’d be sat down upon a comfy seat. In the dark. Not conversing. That sounds like some sheer brazen luck to her; she won’t have to interact with Hux or his overbearing unctuous mother. But then her mind callously interjects that she’d have to spend the rest of her life married to the man. So one night’s reprieve was almost sadly tragic. A happenstance to be mourned.

Pitied. If she had anyone who could so pity her in that manner.

They could certainly pity her now. Sat in a dark coach. Travelling and clunking along to the theatre house.

Hux sit’s opposite inspecting the quality of the shine of his boots. Besmirching his valet’s hand no doubt.

She sits opposite. All wrapped up in her velvet cloak and another silk dress he didn’t compliment her on looking so becoming in.

A better man might’ve atleast called her pretty. Might’ve atleast made her feel just the tiniest bit flattered that he has her on his arm. No such luck with the loveless Armitage Hux.

Moody silence sits with them. Almost as if a completely intrusive third passenger. Heralding the frosty silence that’s colder than the light of the icy moon outside tonight. Catching on all the snow. Shining over brown-frosted hills and dead winter trees.

They come to the gaiety of the theatre. Even as the coach pulls up, Iris can see numerous men and women flocking there. Driven in by the chill and the desire for the show. The name of which is emblazoned above the door. And in peeling posters all along the torch lit front of the stony theatre building.

A creamy edifice of domineering cotswold stone. The sleeting snow, like mush and rain and ice, patters and melts into the roof and seeps soggy into the dirty pavements. Spitting gloopy down from the heavens.

The weather is a foul as Hux’s somber mood. He barely looks at her just as he barely offers her a hand down from his coach. She had wounded his ego most sorely the other night. With the carriage and the wolf debacle.

Iris has never known such frailty or scorned derision greater than that of a man’s bruised ego. Softer than eggshell.

She would be more incensed at his sullen mood. If she wasn’t already suffering in other ways. A persistent headache had taken up residence in her temples. It pinched and hurt and her tolerance for annoyance had furiously lessened.

They cross the steps up the foyer, and cut through the bustling crowds to come to the gathering of their family who await them. Their carriage preceded their own by mere minutes. Maratella rewards herself being so sly and forward thinking in sending Hux to fetch Iris in their second coach whilst the rest of her family rode on with her and Brendol.

She fancied she was giving the budding lovebirds a moment alone; probably imagines they’d steal a kiss or gabble excitedly about their wedding plans. Hopes for the loving future ahead. She wasn’t to know they were barely on speaking terms.

Hux catches her elbow before they reach their assorted relatives. Brings her to a stop.

“Might we endeavour to appear civil, tonight Iris?” Hux speaks lowly into her ear. Stooping over her. Looking as if they are exchanging some lovers secret from a trysting moment.

“I should like to set an example of gentility for yours and my families interests. For we both know what is at stake if we are, after all.... destined to be wed.” He tells with a note of dullness to his voice.

Be still my swooning heart, Iris remarks to herself dryly.

“There is no quarrel between us, Sergeant. And if there is, I assure you, it is certainly not being offered from my quarter.” Iris insists. A veiled comment meant to remind and remark how annoyingly taciturn he was behaving.

Without mistaking her utter joy at correcting a gentleman’s behaviour and the out-coming matter of it being inherently satisfying; she’s more vexed at how he can seem so displeased with her conduct.

He does have the gall to look the tiniest bit ashamed to that confession. He offers her a flicker of a curtly guilty smile. Nodding. “Very well.” He adds.

Iris looks down and gently takes his offered arm. He stands straight. Peacocking, puffing his chest out in his scarlet uniform. They stride across for their families with perfectly false smiles pasted on their faces. An air of geniality seeping out of every pore.

Posy and Flora are the first to not so subtly comment at their sister and the titian haired Sergeant being left alone together for an entire carriage ride. Again.

Her mother leans to Maratella and smiles something unto her friends ear. If her relatives get any the more transparent, Iris strongly suspects she’s going to scream and start tearing out her hair.

Iris nods a hello to the Huxs’. Brendol is in attendance tonight. A man of late age, little hair. Thinning russet red that hints at his sons colouring. He is portly and acts and speaks as if he disapproves greatly of everything in his path.

The man is merely eyeing her with the same bored indifference as his son. Mutters something to his wife about getting to their seats before too long. Looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. Bedecked in his army uniform too. The heritage of proud soldiers, the noble and gallant Hux ancestors. Men with soldiery and lust for war and medals and honour in their blood, dating as far back as the Normandy landings, most likely.

She felt something then she never fathomed she’d feel for Armitage- she pitied him.

Growing up with a father who domineered and controlled his interests as much as her mother had controlled hers. She was raised and bred for marriage? Hux was raised and bred for the glory of war. No matter if he wanted it or not. Anything to continue the proud heritage. She suspects they are perhaps more alike in that regard than she first thought.

She however, cannot pretend it makes her love him any the more. Respect him slightly, possibly. But her heart and feelings are still sworn away to another man.

“I’m very much anticipating the performance. Maratella you are very generous to invite us all to take use of your box. Such a fine view.” Iris insists to Mrs Hux. She had even said that it would not be so prudent for Iris to start calling her ‘her second Mama’ if she so wished. For they are almost connected as family already.

“Indeed. Miss Ashton you are most welcome. My dear friend and I jointly share the box for the season. I think mayhap you know of her? Lady Spencer...” She preaches jovially. Loudly enough for everyone around them to hear. Whether by design or accident- Iris cannot say.

Iris nods. “Indeed ma’am. We were at her ball at Cavisham House, just last eve.”

Maratella’s face falls with comedic over-exaggeration. “Oh we did most want to attend. Alas so many parties and assemblies we are promised to at present!” She gushed.

“Armitage and I got caught up at the Countess of Whetherby’s assembly last evening. Hux took dances with many fine young ladies. But I dare say he missed you something most acutely awful my dear.” She winked at Iris. Reaching over and patting her hand in mock comfort.

Her levity didn’t lessen the barb of insult that struck through her heart. She’d waited on Hux being in attendance all evening, and he thought so little of her, he took dances with other women.

Now atleast she knew where she stood. No matter Maratella’s telling her otherwise. That pity she spoke of before, quickly dried up. The well of her good thoughts for Hux quickly dried up. As it usually does mere seconds after prevailing herself of his company.

She rather wants to drop the arm of his she’s now holding in fake mannerly affection. Only she doesn’t get the chance too. Maratella is already rabbiting on and boasting about something else.

“Alas, I had word from my poor friend Lady Spencer just this eve. She sent me a missive. I chanced on its arrival just as we made ready to leave. She so hates to decline an invite to the theatre. But she is struck down with pains of the chest. A nervous compliant I fear.” She admits sadly.

“She did say she sent a certain gentleman to take her place. I believe you are of his acquaintance, Mrs Ashton. He claims one with you...”

Mrs Ashton frowns most keenly. “Pray. Who might that be?” She comments.

“That would be me, I believe.” Interjects a new deep voice into their conversation.

Iris’ skin crawls. And not in any sort of horrible way. But the very best way. That smoke and whiskey-molasses voice that sets her bones quivering is like manna to her ears.

So sudden his appearance that all the blood in the upper half of her body rushes suddenly to her face. Heating her cheeks. And she’s never been more aware of her spine being a column of thrashing fizzing and excited nerves.

Their party turns around and sure enough, there is Lord Ren. Stepping out of the shadows of the nearest hallway. He looked oddly at home amongst the scarlet blood walls, the shadows, and the cloaking velvet curtains of the nearest entryway. Hands behind his back. His impassive figure cuts a handsome image.

Black coat and breeches and boots as always. An ivory silk waistcoat the colour of old bones sits on his top half. A searing white cravat knotted at his neck. Collar tipping under his chin. A monochrome monstrosity. So monstrous because he’s so beautiful Iris can liken no other sight in the world like him. He was truly a wondrous beast.

He appears so opportunely. As if summoned by the devil. Sculpted out of thin air. In a great rushing shift of air he brings with him the cologne that’s almost as tantalising as his very handsome looks. Sandalwood, rich dirty earth and something cold and opulent, fragranced, like frost crusted on mint leaf.

Iris takes great pleasure in knowing his mere presence grits her mothers teeth to dust. She’s biting back her tongue. So as not to be uncivil in front of Maratella. Showing up her host was the height of rudeness.

“Lord Ren.” Maratella gasps excitedly. Preening and fussing with her appearance. Kylo looks over at Iris warmly. Sets her soul on fire with those honeyed black eyes before he smoothly rolls his look across to Mrs Hux. His second host for the evening.

His vampiric charms and hypnotic influences seep out of his every pore. The aids to the ultimate predator. He can enchant anyone. Even the vapid likes of Mrs Hux.

She’s reacting to him - blushing and fluffing her hair curls. Even in her late age. Humans are always so susceptible to him. He never has a problem attracting interest. He’s tall, dark and far too beguiling. The weak mortals - of either gender - throw themselves at his feet and fawn into madness that he might dare look at them.

His eyes are however, set upon one prize. And at that very moment; Kylo’s ultimate prize has her hand hooked on another insipid man’s elbow. That won’t do.

He eyes the contact with fleeting derision as Mrs Hux flatters and compliments him every manner. As if her tongue simply drips honey and sugar.

“... Indeed. We are all so honoured you will be making up our merry party this eve. Lord Ren.” She wheedles.

Kylo tips his smirk across at Caroline Ashton. Who looks ready to spit venom at him past her forked tongue. She was reddening with rage. Clutching her hands together like she wanted to break bone.

“I am excessively happy to make up the party.” He smiles. Hoping it would be a dagger in Mrs Ashton’s scaled skin.

“Lady Spencer simply begged the acquaintance on me. I couldn’t possibly in all good grace refuse it.” He shows off.

He sees Caroline flinch and watches the veins strain at her temples. He will torture her for every second. Tenfold. For what she’s putting her daughter through. Making her suffer the attentions of a arduous prick, who thinks himself the finest soldier England has ever produced.

That makes Kylo scoff. He known soldiers like Hux: men who flock to the uniform, quick to put it on. Not so quick to honour its pride and meaning.

Men like him; fighting men like him are one’s born out of centuries and generations upon generations of soldiers forced unto the army life by their domineering and stuffy fathers. Kylo casts an eye over Mr. Hux who boredly inspects his pocket watch. Doesn’t so much as even turn his head toward Kylo.

He’s seen a hundred men like this. And they flee from battle. Unable to take the horror of being cannon fodder. They think themselves above it. Better. Superior. They don and peacock their red coats but when it comes down to committing the savagery of fighting in battle, they run.

Kylo’s slit the throats of a thousand deserters in his day. He’s sure when the next war comes - and it will - he will be called upon to do more of the same.

He’d take ten peasants with the will of iron and guts to defend their homeland with their bare bleeding hands, warring to the bone, over a thousand preening dandy officers like Hux. Ones who picked the lint and specs of dirt off their uniforms. Bragged about their commissions and then would doubtlessly abandon good men to die when battle finally came.

“How long have you known Lady Spencer sir?” Mrs Hux asks.

“Not at all until I met her at the ball last Eve. Mrs Hux. She was most grateful for my ousting an awful drunkard who was causing insult to her guests.” Kylo explains.

Mrs Hux looks amazed. Iris blushes. Posy and Flora look all flirty up at the tall Lord. Mrs Hux looks ready to swoon.

Armitage appears bored and annoyed. “How very gallant of you Lord Ren. Did he offer you insult perhaps, snub your grand title? Laugh at your boots?” Hux sniffs with derision.

Kylo locks eyes with the redheaded cur who dared to offer him, the landed peer, an insult. The ember warmth leeches from Kylos eyes and his smile drops. His stare hardened to black frost. His eyes glitter darkly in the lowlight. Like shiny, scuttling black beetles wings.

“Actually, Sergeant, he offered foul mouthed insult to your beautiful fiancée. You would know of this, had you not left her unattended all evening.”

Hux sneers and his lips twitch to snarl an ugly response. Kylo looks nonplussed. Though behind his back, his knuckles crack white where he curls his fist. And he feels the veins in his arms and his biceps strain, itch and tense not to retaliate.

Sensing the men bristling over Miss Ashton. Maratella suggests they all take to their seats for the performance begins soon. The Ashton’s walk off with Brendol and she takes the time to turn around and hiss at her son. Her sugared smile disappears and coldness takes its place.

“Armitage. Remember your manners. Don’t be so uncouth in front of Iris. And especially not to Lord Ren.” She shrilled at her son, before she takes her leave.

Hux cups over the back of Iris’ hand where it rests on his elbow. Kylo stays stood opposite. Glaring at the man. Seeing his hand on hers made his blood itch for terrible violent things. He aches to reach across and twist Hux’s stupid neck til it crunches into pieces.

What’s worse... is that Hux doesn’t love her.

He will never love her. He is using her for show and want of connection and that is all. Instead of appreciating the beauty on his arm... he’s using her to manipulate the emotions of another man he detests.

Kylo so very much wants to dismember the sad prick. The animal in him claws at its confinement’s. Slobbering maw baying at the gates of his temper. He swallows and keeps it tamed - for now.

“Hux. Please. I beg you. There is no cause for incivility here.” Iris insists.

Sensing the bristling and enflaming of masculine tempers flaring up around her. Kylo looks calm. Hux looks snotty and more and more like a spoilt brat not getting his own way. The poncy Sergeant barely turns his head to her when she speaks.

He’s fraying on the last ragged rope holding Kylo’s inner beast in check. In his time he was raised to hold women in high regard. They were warriors. Mothers. Strong farmers, and skilled craftspeople. People worthy of alignment with men. In this rabid society? They are merely goals and dowries to be won. It sickens him.

Hux looks like he wants to stomp his foot and stroppily exclaim that Lord Ren started it. He eyes as the crowds about them thin away. Off to their seats. He snatches his arm off her. Steps forward.

“Do not dare think to correct me, woman.” Hux says lowly at her. Before he turns his head to Kylo. Still addressing her. But his eyes stabbing into Kylo.

“Lord Ren should be apprised of speaking so discourteously towards me.” He warns. Thank goodness he wasn’t isn’t full ceremonial dress and had his sword strapped to his side. He might have run Kylo through.

Lord Ren raises one sardonic brow. Really, there was an advantage to his lofty peerage ranking as a Lord. It meant he was always in a position to arch a sardonic brow. His smirk tips up on one side too.

“You offer me threat? Sergeant?” Kylo asks. He’s twice the man’s width. And three heads taller.

There’s no question who the real power is. Kylo’s itching to show how much. Slam the pathetic boy up against the nearest wall. Feet off the ground. He could choke him there with one hand. It would be no more to him than swatting away a stray flea.

“I do, Sir. Maybe your foreign ways make you unaware of the standards here in our polite society. But understand me; it is in very poor taste to try a poach a man’s intended from him.” He snarls. Voice reedy thin.

“In my foreign experience...” Kylo digs at his poor choice of words. “I seldom recommend that senseless men such as yourself leave their beautiful ladies unattended. Who knows what may come to pass...” Kylo suggests.

He wouldn’t allude to their kiss last eve and bring her mortification and embarrassment. Hux recoils to spit some more venom but Kylo steps up.

“Perhaps if you bore an ounce of gallantry and backbone you’d be better placed to deserve a woman like Miss Ashton. A curious intelligent woman, whom you can overlook and subjugate at every turn. She deserves a far better spouse than some coward in a uniform.”

“I would call you outside if I believed you had any honour with which to meet me.” Hux seethes.

He was challenging Kylo to an illegal duel. Not over Iris’ honour. But rather his own. How typical. Lord Ren’s amused face quickly turns into the most terrifying expression she’s ever seen. Such fury steeling his handsome features.

“Don’t dare talk down to me, of honour.” Kylo cautions. Iris’ mouth gapes. Such wounded fury in his eyes.

“You believe that because you don a pretty red coat that you are the most valiant warrior to ever set foot on this earth? I’ve seen such carnage and bloody fighting that it would make you shudder in horror and scream out in your dreams. I’ve fought in more wars than you can ever name, boy.” He spits in gross insult.

“I gladly lack many things your fetid society seems to value. But don’t you dare accuse me, of lacking honour.” Kylo seethes.

“I will not waste my time listening to more of this effrontery.” Hux straightens his back. Pretends not to be undignified and stalks off towards the box after his family.

Iris sighs in his wake. It appears he’d forgotten to escort her. She wasn’t entirely sure that was a bad thing. She didn’t wish to spend time with such a spoilt brat of a man, who can’t look behind his own ignorant scope.

“I detest many things. But a man such as he who so readily and openly snipes to others and thinks himself loftily superior, is not something I can pretend to stomach.” Iris offers to Kylo. Chewing lightly on her lower lip in trepidation.

He walks quick across to her and gently plucks her hand up to kiss it. Putting it on his arm thereafter. If her own idiot of a fiancé won’t escort her, he sure as hell will. Damn the cur for making less of her.

“I’m so sorry for his conduct Lord Ren. And any insult you offered you. ” She offers. Even though he’s trembling with anger and rage, entwined with disgust for that man. He doesn’t let her see how close he came to loosing his temper. A hairs breadth.

He’s sure to look stern. But his eyes are warm. “Your apology is not needed. Iris. He formed and spat those words. You did not.” He tells her seriously. He lets the bitter bile of rage slip off his tongue. She calms him.

Her beauty soothes the beast.

She looks ashamed. Ashamed of being connected to such a low example of man. “A woman is supposed to support her intended in every manner...” She says with perturbation.

“Well. He makes that venture impossible.” Kylo admits lowly. She smiles a little. Agreeing. Though she dare not speak such terms aloud.

“If I might add, You look very handsome tonight. Miss Ashton.” He flatters. Where her cloak was taken some time ago by the porter, the exquisite nature of her dress came into view.

A soft teal blue silk. Simple cut. He’s seen it on her before. The one with the low back and the sweeping train. He admired it on her before, and he will do so again. She shouldn’t be made to feel plain or boring in her dresses when she really did look truly beautiful in each one.

Tonight there is a thin necklace with some pretty sparkles and paste gems of some blue stones set around her neck. He watches the broach of it raise and sink with her breathing. His eyes run unhindered along her collarbone. Watches the jitter of her pearl drop earrings.

They walk up the narrow little carpeted stairs, and come along the hallway. Selecting their door they join the others in Lady Spencer and Mrs Hux’ box. The theatre was not exactly a grand one. Though the building was magnificent in its Georgian architecture it was a small country place of not much elegance. Candles flickered low, and the gloomy edifice is only made bright by the stage lights blinking upwards towards the painted scenery and the backdrop of draped red curtains.

The rest is lost to darkness. Ladies and gentlemen mill about in their seats, shifting in the rows of seats below. The upper circle opposite is populated too. As busy as the rest of the place.

The show is shortly to begin. Kylo doesn’t have time to admire the look on Caroline’s face seeing him deliver Iris to her seat. Glaring at Hux sharply, who gave him his own acerbic look right back. They watch the big impressive Lord stride down the box toward his seat.

Hux leans into her. “I make no such apology for my exit. I cannot stand a man who thinks so meanly of brave soldiers, such as I.”

Iris sighs to herself. Of course he overlooked the fact that he was the one who started the tirade of insults in the first place. He turned Kylo’s chiding the Sergeant onto a martyrdom for all English soldiers.

“I understand.” She says dully. Her head is throbbing. Temples hurt.

If she says anything else she’d get too incensed with him. He didn’t even defend his poor actions. Kylo was directly correct about Hux; he really did have no backbone or honour where she was concerned.

The curtains pull apart. The play begins. Lord Ren settles in his seat. Down the far far end of the box by Maratella and Brendol. Iris finds it not at all ironic or unsurprising that there’s a box length of people between them. Doubtless that was her mothers doing.

Kylo knows it too - he catches her eye where their seats are set back. A wry grin tugs at his lips. Despite herself, Iris blushes at it. She looks down into her lap. Hux turns to the side and catches her blush. Sees how Lord Ren turns away. Smug and smiling. It piqued his interest.

Iris tries to concentrate. But it appears the niggling headache she began to suffer earlier was pounding incessantly at her temples. She’s reminded of it every time there’s sharp clapping or the pitching whine of a violin chorus. The room suddenly feels much too much. Too hot. Too stifling.

Her dress feels too sticky - clinging to her back and her chest. She forgot her fan and she wished she would have remembered it. So she wouldn’t now be gasping for air.

Another thundering round of applause sharply rippled through the theatre. She shuts her eyes and winces at it. How it stings so at her head.

Hux continues clapping beside her. Elbows jostling her. Kylo frowns at the idiot not even sensing she was unwell. He doesn’t applaud. He looks her way with a frown of interest. Brow creased with concern.

It wasn’t long til the intermission now. Barely a half of an hour. Kylo watches her face crumpled in pain. She stands and says something idle and quick to Hux. He nods and she slips away. Out the darkened door. Into the shadows of the dimmed theatre.

Kylo turns his head back. Tries valiantly to concentrate on the insipid comedy play. But he finds he can’t. Especially not as a moment opposite catches his eye. Draws his eyeline to the opposite box. Where a dark coated man with golden hair slips out the door. Smirking directly at Kylo. Piercing eyes stabbed into Kylo’s nonexistent soul. He knows that smirking face.

Viscount Eversleigh. The most foul letch on two legs. The drunkard he had thrown out of the Spencer’s ball last night.

He couldn’t leap up and go after Iris. It would look planned. He had to leave it as long as possible. He tried to think that the perfidious and indocile Eversleigh had gone to fetch a drink. Yet he seemed like the kind of man to order someone to do it for him.

Kylo’s worries and paranoia seeps heavy through his blood like rotten sticky tar. He hates this sickening feeling. He prayed that Eversleigh’s exit wasn’t fuelled by Iris’. He really did.

He has no such blind faith left in mortal men. He may be the darkest foulest creature, but it’s nothing to some men’s filthy aspirations. Some were truly vile. Especially those men gone on drink and snobbery who view the world as quite their own.

Kylo launches out his seat. Hot in pursuit. So quick in fact it rattled back on its far legs as he rose out the thing so quick. Storming for the door. He almost yanked it off - ripping it clean of its hinges, like matchwood. If Hux wouldn’t care for her, the task fell to him. To protect his little Dove.

Iris made her way down the stairs. Stopping before she got to the foyer. She needed air and in search of it, she rounded the stairs up to the boxes and found a narrow dingy hallway which snaked out onto a dark alley.

The door was left wide open and cold slushy grey of night and the scent of damp and dirt spilled inside. Seeping onto the cold wet stone doorstep. Darkened by the spitting slush of rain.

She takes deep lungfuls of the bitter air. It hurts her lungs but the cool feels so soothing on her skin. Her skull still echoes with the nasty pain of headache. But the air helps aids her.

She no longer feels so suffocated. Stifled by this evening and her dress. Forcing herself to be civil to a heartless man she doesn’t want. It takes it toll of her already sore shoulders from carrying the weights if other people’s expectations.

Oddly enough, when she’s talking to Lord Ren, her worries and all those bothersome fretting’s leave her mind. For a second, she feels like someone sees her for the sheer value of herself. See’s and cherished her as a whole. It’s an awfully heady feeling for the likes of her; who always felt sought after merely for marital status and connection. She who was always made to feel like an example of regency gentility for marriage. And never having any dreams or aspirations beyond.

She sighs. Crosses her arms over herself. Hears the silk rasp. Feeling how the cold nibbles savagely at her arms. Stings her chest and turns her necklace to savage ice resting around her throat. Before she starts to shiver, she shifts herself from the doorway and turns to go back inside; entering back into her paltry monotonous existence.

The one that made her chest seize up in panic, the same thing clawing through her blood. The one that made her want to run fleeing every chance she got.

Damn family reputation. Damn propriety and society. She could run for the coast with the meagre pin money she has saved. Hidden behind the loose skirting in her bedroom. Behind the door. She’s gotten used to stashing the odd sixpence in the velvet pouch therein. She has a neat little sum tidied away by now.

She could go for the coast. Where no one knows her. Down and across to Dorset and seek for work. Or maybe Plymouth? Perhaps give herself a new name. Invent a dead husband who died in the war, invent a past that wasn’t at all true. Wear a wedding band that represented nothing more than a falsehood.

She may yet find work in some great grand house for a noble family. She has a good brain and much knowledge, she could be a Governess well enough. Teach young girls or young masters in the nursery. She was so vastly tempted by the idea. Atleast that way she’d have a life she could control.

She’d almost run away so many times. She was merely ten and four the first time she tried.

Barely longer in the tooth than Flora was now. And she’d wanted to bundle her meagre possessions into a carpet bag, and go scrounge together a life earning a measly palm full of pennies in some dirty gin soaked tavern on the outskirts of London, where no one would know her. Anything was a desirable alternative to staying and having her head bitten off day in day out by her mother. Always ready to find fault with her eldest.

Caroline Ashton’s fears of propriety and want for connection completely ate her up. There was no affection in her of any sort.

There wasn’t anything else there in the woman behind that porcelain front. Iris remembers learning that the day her mother clipped her across her cheek in a harsh slap for not getting the practiced dance steps right. That was the first night she dreamed of running away.

She regrets the memories now. They are no more than barbed reminders of her failed hopes. She’s never been brave enough to run. Her penance for her spoilt dreams. She’s stayed. She’s the biggest coward she knows of. Never could quite summon the guts to do it.

She sighs deeply. Turning and heading for her seat; the intermission began soon. She wanted to avoid the crowds if at all possible. She makes it just to the corner of the dingy hallway.

And where she’s looking down at her feet, when she looks up she’s gasping and jolting backwards at the sudden apparition of the man before her. Blocking all discernible light from the hallway beyond.

Stood there with his foppish mane of honey curls. His sapphire coat and his biscuit coloured breeches. Viscount Eversleigh. He stands. Smirking. Twiddling the golden sovereign ring around around around on his little finger. Anticipating her.

So suddenly she shrunk back with a gasp. “Lord Eversleigh.” Iris timidly greets him. Her back hits the wall where she stumbled.

“Iris. Isn’t it?” He seeks. She doesn’t care for the fumes of whiskey on his breath and on his jacket. Or his attentions. His manners. His looks. She didn’t care for anything and everything about him. And if he had a dog too? Well. She didn’t care for that either.

“We are not intimately acquainted.” She dismisses. He would never have known her first name.

He chuckled and stalks slowly towards her still. Backing her into the wall. She had nowhere else to go. Her hands scrabble against the smooth cold plaster. She can hear her heart hammering in her ears. Aware her chest is heaving and he notices this too.

“We could be...” He smarms at her. Smile tugging up. There’s a glazed look of something she can’t quite read in his eyes. And it’s bright and awful.

“Tell me, my dear, how long have you been lifting your skirts for Lord Ren?” He coos. Flattening her to the wall. His coat brushing her chest. “How long has he been fucking you?”

She’s mortified. And scared. Her mouth gapes. Such insulting speech. “I beg your pardon...” She gasps.

“Don’t be all missish. My dear. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he pays court to you. Holds your hand. Much more than that redheaded prick does.” He scoffs. The shock of his foul language lands on her skin like the lashes of a cracking whip. They leave her sore and reeling.

“Indeed you are mistaken, Sir. And you are drunk.” She holds firm but her voice wobbles. She recoils from his breath as he stood over her. Intimidating. Hands flat to the wall by her shoulders.

One either side. He’s enclosing her. Trapping her. She turns her head to the side. Repulsed. He watches her neck corded, straining with each breath.

She feels the heat of his breath roll down her skin. “Please move...” She ushers lowly.

“How often does he get you under him? Hmm? Every day? Every week. Do you scamper over to his estate under the guise of running errands. Get on your back for him. Knees spread to the sky.” He drawls. “Bet you look a pretty picture... lying out under him, ready to be rutted.”

Iris glares up at him. She grits her jaw. She’s dealt with the foul four legged creature of fangs and venom that is her mother. Like a Greek harpy. She tries not to let this entitled man scare her.

“Get off of me.” She bites in a lethal little whisper. Full of rage and grit teeth. She almost shakes with it. He was making her feel lesser than her worth. She won’t stand for that. Not under any condition.

He smiles more. His hand skims down for her hip. Brute fingers rasping the silk. He grips the side of her thigh. Hard. He licks his dry lips and she wants to empty her stomach contents onto his shiny brown boots. “A man like me could make good use of such a gorgeous plump arse such as yours, Iris.”

She’s had more than enough. She brings her hand up, striking quick, she slaps him hard across the cheek. He’s too drunk and stupid to respond quickly. He had none of his wits about him.

She wriggles out from under him. Gathers up her skirts as a bundle in her arms and dashes away. She hears the commotion of him. His boots clack the tiles. He shouts and barks after her slurring. He sounds like he was following. Pursuing her.

And then it stops. It all stops.

There’s a garbled yell. Muffled and the yelling. And then, silence. Nothing but the sleeting rain pattering down on the stone doorstep where she was just stood. The wind howling down through the open door. Bringing the bitter frosty cold with it. Howling desolate down the eerily silent hallway.

“Turn back.” Comes that silvery honey voice in her head. The ancient one she can’t fathom to whom it belongs. It’s almost as if it’s always been there. Always croons sweet melodic things at her. The silvery voice that swims in her dreams.

“Turn back around. You’re perfectly safe little spark. There’s something you need to see...”

Something terrible is ringing dark and violent down in her bones. It makes her slow to a stop.

She doesn’t know why. But something within her along with that voice, calls upon her body to stop. And she turns back.

He wasn’t there-

She thinks she’s descending into madness. That she dreamt him. Or made him up. But then again, the fumes on his breath were far too vile for her to have conjured them up. Foul breath and sloshes of Scottish malt whiskey. She saw a stain on his collar where it had dribbled onto his chin. Down onto his cravat. She couldn’t have made up such an unnecessary detail as that.

She treads cautiously back down the tiled corridor she just fled down. Eyes flitting all over. She must be taking leave of her senses. Venturing back into the place where the man she ran from is residing.

She comes to the corner. Puts her cold hand to the wall to steady herself. The rain is louder. The wind howls more vicious. The cold pricks her skin like a ream of dressmakers needles rasping her into pain. The hair on the back of her nape stands to vulgar attention. Black nasty fear rotting in her veins like cloying syrup. Her heart feels too loud.

A whimper leaves her throat. Her chest pounds ragged with a shaky breath that leaves her in a tremble.

For there’s a handprint smear of blood and spraying droplets dribbling down the pale yellow wall just ahead.

Her gaze is drawn to the tiles of the floor, where little crimson drips shimmer in the half light, leading out the door. Into the raining and the dirt and the foul smog of the open brick alley way beyond.

Through the rain and the dark. She focuses on the big dark shape she can identify as a man. Hunched over. Her gaze is drawn downwards to the pair of wet brown boots. Dripping with something viscous and black.

Scarlet-black. Blood.

Those lifeless legs and limp arms lay prostate against this humungous dark shape. Bowed over the soon to be corpse. Dark head bowed. Iris recognises the scent of the cologne fading in the air. Mint leaf. Sandalwood. And rich dark earth.

And she can hear slurping and groaning.

Her eyes cannot help but leak tears. Sheer fear bubbling up in her body.

She almost can’t comprehend what she’s seeing. Her eyes must be traitors. They’re lying to her. She can’t possibly be seeing this. This must be the death of her sanity. Throw it in a grave and cover it with soil. Mourn the loss of her saneness.

There’s a slick thud as the dark shape drops the figure in its arms. Bloodied pale hands, big wide hands, drop Eversleigh’s blue coat collar. The limp man looks comically small against this dark beasts proportions. He’s dropped to the mud and dirt of the alley floor. Strewn into the filth where he belongs. The dark shape puts one hand to the brick wall. Crimson cakes it’s round yet sharp fingernails. It’s human hands.

It turns its shaggy head back to her. It’s not a beast. It’s a man. With gold eyes ringed with garnet.

Lord Ren.

And there is blood smeared raw and dripping down his mouth. Over two sharp fangs protruding from his plump upper lip. Staining his teeth. Running in sticky red rivulets over his handsome chin and dribbling down his white silk waistcoat.

He looks right into her. Pierced into her eyes and stunned her brain, persuading her not to move so much as one muscle.

She can’t know how long they stand there gazing at each other. Kylo stalks in to her. Sleeting slushy rain dotting on his hair. On his shoulders. On his blood stained front. She shrinks to the wall. Tears silver in her shimmering eyes.

She wants to speak. She can only stare. He’s nearing the doorstep.

“Little dove...” He seeks. Panting. Her eyes catch on the way that even his usually white teeth are bleeding crimson. It sticks in the cracks between them.

“Wh-what...” She seeks. Shakes her head in disbelief.

“Iris. I will not hurt you. I offer you no threat. Believe me.” He pledges. Reaching out a steady bloodied hand to her. Raising them both. Showing her he means his word. He means no danger to her. Never to her.

She doesn’t know if she’d rather sob, or run or scream- her brain cannot choose which.

“There’s this voice in my head.” She begins in a sob. Shakily pointing at her throbbing temple.

“And it’s telling me to..to... trust you.” She cries. Conflicted by the blood lusting monster she sees in the man before her. Caught in those haunting eyes and the blood and the gore of this shocking moment. He’s the same, yet so different. its painful.

Kylo is moved by the fact Iris can hear Draegan in her head. Ever the lenient one. He was reaching out.

“You trust that voice?”

She nods. “I must be mad.”

“You are not mad.” He soothes. “What I am is as real as you or I, standing here right now.”

As real as the bee stings of cold rain he can feel on his cheeks. The wet stickiness of his tamped down hair. The wind on his skin. And Eversleighs blood in his throat. Tasted like warm metal and whiskey spice.

Her eyes drift back to the slumped man in the dirt on the alley floor. “Is he?” She gasps. Seeking as to his state of life.

Kylo doesn’t tarry in his answer. But he keeps his words soft. “Yes.”

For the way he assaulted her, Kylo should’ve taken his head clean off. He’s done it before.

Hearing the vile thoughts in the drunkards perverted head about all he wanted to do to her when he got her alone, it well justified Kylo’s ridding the earth of the bastard letch by ripping his neck out. He turns back, nudged the tip of his boot into the man’s head. Turns the bastards throat away so she wouldn’t have to see the gore.

When he twists back, Her gaze sticks on the harsh glare of gold that was his eyes that were usually the deepest handsome shade of russet. Such savage eyes.

A terrible thought clicks in her head like snapping bone. “All those deaths of late... the wild animal attacks. It was- you?....”

“I’m afraid so.” He answers her curious questions.

She gasps anew. “It all makes sense now. And that Wolf...” She begins. “The one with the golden eyes.” The pieces start slotting together.

He nods.

Her mind can’t make sense of this insensible thing.

She expects to wake up any minute and this be the dizzying reaches of some far off, fantastic fever dream. Scrabbling first her bedclothes as the dream fades from her imagination.

“D-Do you wish to kill me, Kylo?” She whimpers.

He looks agonised. “No. Iris.” He pleaded to her so honestly.

“No.” He croons.

“In fact if anything happened to you, it would most likely kill me.” He assures her.

Her mouth gapes again. He watches those rosebud pink lips part. There is nothing but majesty and integrity on his face. In his features.

“I hardly know what to say...” She admits.

“I didn’t intend for you to find out the nature of what I am, in such a manner as this.” He confesses.

“You were going to confide in me?” She seeks.

“Yes I was. But when I saw this stupid drunk sneak after you. I had no choice. My hands were tied upon the matter. I could not have you hurt.”

“You did it to save me.” She comments.

“Of course I did, my dove.” He explains.

“I-“ She’s so moved she can hardly form words. Questions zip and crackle around her head like a crackling roaring fire. Like splintering logs fluttering with sparks.

She’s so dazed and enchanted. She almost doesn’t hear the applause come from inside that signifies the start of the intermission.

Kylo’s voice snaps her out of the stunned haze that swims in her mind like a pool of thick dark black treacle. She can’t free her arms or legs. The thick of it is swallowing her whole. His voice manages to finally disturb her out of it.

“Iris. You need to go. Now.” He tells. Eyes flicking upwards, hearing the clamour from within of footsteps and clattering doors. Crowds are descending. They can’t he found like this.

She barely summons the energy to move. “How will you-“ She looks back at the lifeless corpse of Lord Eversleigh.

“I’ll take care of it my Dove. But you must not spare a worry for me. You must go now.” He orders gently.

She slips around the corner and walks quickly away. Quitting the scene. Kylo watches until she moves out of sight. Her blue silk skirts trail away. He watches her as she moved back into polite society.

He looks down at the corpse and the blood seeping into the dirt. His pretty gentle Dove is back into the folds of politeness and civility.

How fitting;

The beast is out here. Confined out into the filthy muck and the snow and the blood, where he belongs. Outside, banished to the shadows.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #Kylo ren x oc #vampirelovestory #vampire!kylo #vampire au #adam driver #very wolves and doves #vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #Iris vibes🕊#Draegan vibes 🥀#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#blood #violence #death #mentions of death

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yukiwrites · 5 years

Text

Worry, Realization and Love

Thank you so much for commissioning me, @killroy877! I hope you like it ;D

Summary: Robin was tasked by Chrom to help Noire have more faith in herself, lest she broken down during battle and took all of their allies with her. The tactician never realized how much he had been thinking about Noire, not until a storm stranded them both inside a cave...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

The battle against Valm raged on.

Stranded in an unknown territory and fighting for a desperate cause, the Shepherds had to be on constant watch for enemies. Say'ri knew where to lead them so they could be away from the Emperor's might, but they knew what it meant to be at war; and how to be ready for battle at the first signal.

They were headed towards the Demon’s Ingle to fight off Yen'fay's forces once and for all. However, for the past skirmishes, something had been bothering Chrom.

Not only him, but quite a dozen of his companions as well.

The Exalt approached his friend and tactician, Robin, placing one hand over his shoulder. "Robin, you know Noire, yes?"

Squinting, the tactician could already tell where this was going. "We all know Noire here, Chrom. I'm guessing you're talking about... that?"

"Yes, that." Chrom nodded, his expression sullen. "It's getting out of hand, and the people around her in battle can't focus. I want you to deal with this before someone actually gets hurt."

Robin crossed his arms, tilting his head towards his friend. "... You're just throwing this responsibility on me because you have no idea how to deal with it, aren't you?"

Chrom's brow flickered as he looked away, squeezing Robin's shoulder.

The tactician sighed, deflating in defeat. "You ass."

"Hah!" The Exalt snickered. "Thanks, Robin. I'm counting on you."

"Yeah..." Robin felt the urge to stretch his neck and shoulders, as though ready for a fierce battle. Well, he was going to fight something, in a sense.

Not only he had to deal with Tharja's stalking almost daily (she somehow lost the initial fervor after getting married to Donnel, though she was still persistent), now he would have to have a talk with her daughter.

Sure, Noire was a sweet girl. So sweet, in fact, that it was impossible to really get mad at her: she was always doing her best to be useful and not to get in anyone's way. Her mastery of the bow was unparalleled as well -- even the archest of archers recognized her skills, though by no means called her his superior.

She was a great cook, attentive to details, good with her hands and was also great at mending wounds. "I'm used to being sick and hurt, so I kind of picked up some knowledge over time," she usually said whenever someone praised her in regards to that.

Being a farmer's child, she, too, was in touch with nature, and knew how to navigate as well as survive in deep forests.

But, -- and that was the thing worrying Chrom out of his mind -- she was frail, both physically and mentally. Whenever she marched into battle, she would tremble so much it took her a long time to aim her arrows into the target. Don't get her wrong; she never missed a target and never delivered accidental friendly fire (those times with Inigo were... calculated), but the way she carried herself into battle raised the soldiers' overall anxiety.

Being her mother's daughter, Noire was an excellent lurker, -- neither foe nor ally could feel her presence behind them before she fired -- but that meant that the soldiers could always hear someone sniffling down their necks during the battle, despite not knowing where she was.

The poor thing would sometimes snap and laugh hysterically, firing so many arrows at once the allied swordsmen at the front could barely land a hit on the enemy before all foes fell to her bull's-eye.

She was doing her best, yes; but it was unnerving in more ways than one.

And now Robin was supposed to deal with it.

How, exactly? He knew Noire didn't mean anything bad by behaving the way she did; on the contrary, she always made sure to make herself scarce so as not to spook people with her... loud persona. And he couldn't simply spring up to her and tell her to 'steel herself' for battle.

Everyone was scared of marching into battle, no matter how composed they were. The sturdiest of knights still directed a silent prayer to Naga before any skirmish, no matter how small; the most talented mages still took a deep breath as they erected a barrier around them once the signal was given.

Noire was just a single girl doing everything she could to overcome her fears by jumping into action. She was frail, but she still fought on; she was physically weak, but she still lunged crates and heavy buckets about so as to do her part; she knew she was unstable, and did her best to avoid people whenever she exploded.

What could one say to someone so aware of themselves like that? Robin barely started on his task and was already at a stalemate.

"For now, I suppose I'll just talk to her..." he gave up thinking and headed towards the mess hall -- surely she would be helping someone as dinner was about to be served.

He hit the nail on the mark: Noire was just drawing water from the nearby stream to help with tonight's stew.

Robin approached carefully as she filled the bucket. "Good evening, Noire."

"EEK!! R-Robin!!" Startled, Noire let go of the bucket altogether, leaving it to flow along with the stream. "Oh, no! The b-bucket!"

"Wait, I'll catch it!" The tactician moved quick on his feet, jumping over the stream so as to catch the bucket as it swayed towards the opposing bank, catching it as it was about to hit some shallow rocks. "There, I got it!"

Noire placed both hands over her chest. "T-Thank you... I'm sorry I got startled like that, but please don't sneak up on me!"

"O-oh, forgive me for scaring you. I wasn't trying to conceal my presence or anything." He jumped back to where Noire was, holding the now full bucket. "Can I carry this back since I already have it?"

"B-but I volunteered to-"

"Actually, let me carry it, please?" He tilted his head to the side, not noticing how he smiled. Watching her gave him inspiration, somehow. She was always ready to help wherever aid was needed, no matter how menial the task was.

Noire fidgeted on her feet, looking around as though someone could jump out of the bushes and scold her. "A-alright, thank you for offering..."

Robin adjusted the bucket on his left hand. "No, thank you for letting me help."

Blinking, Noire didn't know where to look, and directed her gaze downwards instead.

"Actually, that's the reason I came looking for you." Robin broke the silence.

"... To help me carry water?" She stole a glance at him, a shy smile growing by the corners of her lips.

Robin noticed he liked seeing that expression on her face, but snorted with her remark. "No, not this, but your tendency of overexerting yourself."

Noire stopped on her tracks. "... Oh."

The tactician could feel how the temperature dropped slightly and gulped. "I know you only want to be useful, but forcing yourself to help or to fight will only make you feel more and more anxious about everything."

"..." Noire remained silent, her small and thin hands trembling in a tight clutch.

Robin almost reached out to her, unsure of what he was going to do. "Everyone's scared of being at war, Noire. From the strongest soldier to the smartest mage, they're all afraid. I don't think I can offer you the best advice on how to take care of oneself, given that I've overworked myself to losing consciousness and all... But!” He took a deep breath. “But I still want to help you, Noire. It hurts me to see you so scared and sad during battle -- everyone's worried, as well, not just me."

"E-everyone? So I'm really not good at all, am I?" She finally spoke, but her voice was so very faint that Robin needed to bend his head towards her to listen. "If... If I'm not being useful, then there's no need to keep me here!" She raised her head, displaying the tears which had sprung up in her eyes. "I can't even be useful by delivery a blasted bucket to the mess hall, so what's the point in keeping me?!"

"N-Noire," Robin gasped, putting the bucket down so as to reach out to her with both hands. "It's not like that at all, Noire-"

The archer sniffled, gulping down her tears. "Thank you for delivering the water for me, Robin. I'll... go rest or whatever you want me to do. It's like everyone only sees me for my frailty." She whispered, turned on her heels and ran off.

"Wait-" Robin meant to follow, but even if he did, he didn't know what to tell her.

And there was the water to take into account, too.

What a disaster! He really was looking at her from her frailty, and not from how hard-working she had been for trying to overcome her fears! He was only seeing how weak-willed she seemed to be, when in truth, she was arguably the strongest one of them all! She fought despite only wanting to go to a peaceful home; she did random chores no one seemed to bother to do despite the condition of her body because she felt the need to assert herself!

What could one say to someone like that?

Crestfallen, Robin returned to the mess hall with the water.

"Oh, thank Naga! I was about to go draw it myself." One of the cooks in charge accepted the bucket gleefully. "Watch the skies, mister tactician. I think we're in for a great storm."

"Hm?" Distracted, Robin tilted his head upwards. The sky was clear. "But there are no clouds...?"

The woman winked, pointing to the far, far horizon. "The wind's getting too cold for comfort, despite being spring. I wager anyone who lives 'round this parts or who is acquainted with the land can feel it too."

"That's something to take into consideration..." Robin placed one hand over his chin in thought, though the faraway storm was quickly blown out of his mind as it swamped itself with Noire.

She was carrying such a great burden... What could he do to help her?

The question never left his mind, even after two days of marching. He had tried to approach the subject with her more than once, but Tharja's genes were strong in her: she knew how to disappear.

Robin sighed for the nth time that day, slightly shivering from the cold weather that's finally caught up with them. The more they approached the active volcano, the worse the weather turned.

"It's an ambush!!" One of the scouts yelled by the edge of march. "They're waiting for us at the road leading to the volcano!"

Robin widened his eyes and but a glance to Chrom was enough to make both of them nod in agreement. "Pull the convoy back and prepare everyone who can bear arms to battle! We must press on! The Dynasts might still be behind us!"

"Sir, yes sir!" Soldiers yelled left and right, quickly getting into formation.

The battle soon flared as the enemy left their hiding spots towards the Shepherds.

"Archers, take the higher ground!" Robin ordered, getting between the front and back line, wielding his tome. Then, he hesitated, looking over his shoulder so as to look for Noire.

There she stood, trembling as a leaf, holding up her bow alongside her fellow archers. She gulped more than once, her eyes shining with tears.

Noire... Robin thought, his heart flaring up with emotion.

There wasn't much time to get distracted, however. The enemy soon broke through the Shepherds' makeshift defenses, diving deep into their formation.

The path was narrow, the woods around them were thick and they couldn't allow the enemy to reach the convoy. If their supplies were destroyed, so would they, especially in this foreign land brimming with enemies.

The archers pulled back towards the highest elevations they could find, be it tall ledges or treetops so as to give support fire.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Noire almost chanted as she bumped into them, trying to find a good shooting position. "We'll be okay, we'll be okay," she sniffled, her arrow trembling.

"Noire! Don't be scared! We'll drive them off!" Robin's voice echoed through the battlefield into Noire's ears, making her suppressed tears fall.

"D-Don't keep worrying about me!" She shot an arrow towards the enemy in front of the tactician, allowing him to look back to her. "I'll fight, I will... I m-must..." She cocked another arrow, but widened her eyes as quickly when an enemy swordmaster broke through the line towards Robin. "No!!" She shot.

"Whoa!" Robin closed his eyes as the arrow grazed his cheek, landing perfectly on the enemy's eyesock.

"No, no, no!" Noire dropped her bow, holding herself as though she could fall apart. "Nooo!"

"Noire!" Robin huddled himself through foe and ally alike towards where Noire had ran to.

"Robin!!" Chrom yelled from atop his horse.

"I'll bring her back! If we're not back by nightfall, we'll meet at the volcano!"

"Dammit, Robin, don't go off by yoursel-" Chrom felled an enemy, meaning to bark to someone to go after his idiotic friend, but every single soldier had their hands full at the moment. "Come back safely, at least!" He cursed under his breath, droplets of rain wetting his cheeks and sword. "Great, now visibility's about to be poor! Redouble your attention, men! We can break through!!"

Robin ran towards the woods Noire had fled to, his heart wrenching with worry. The storm predicted by the cook caught up with him before he did with Noire, but he didn't dare stop.

Not as puddles of mud hindered his movements, not as wet branches caught up all over his coat. He wouldn't stop until he brought Noire back.

"Noire! Where are you?!" He shouted over and over, despite barely being able to hear his own voice under the heavy rain.

Yet, somehow his ears caught on a very familiar sound -- of someone crying.

"Noire!!" He ran towards the sound, finding a shadow curled up under a tree. A lightning struck down a nearby tree, illuminating the area for a split of second.

But that was enough for Noire and Robin's eyes to meet. "EEK!" Startled, the archer jumped out of her skin from the loud bang.

Robin didn't allow himself to breath in relief. "Come on, we gotta find a place to hide! We can't go back like this; visibility's too poor!" He grabbed her by the arm and ran towards where he thought the mountain was, in hopes of finding a shelter under the rocks.

"I'm s-sorry, I'm so sorry...! I ran off during battle!" She cried, futilely drying her tears as the rain washed them anew.

"It's alright; what matters is that you're safe. For now, let's focus on finding shelter!"

"A-alright!"

They needn't look far -- there was a small cave by the edge of the woods they were in, and quickly did they run inside as lightning struck back and forth all around them.

Panting, Noire crouched so as to regain her breath, her entire body trembling. Shaking, Robin quickly looked around for dry branches and the like. "We need to keep warm!" He shivered, running towards the end of the cave. "C'mon, Noire, don't stay too close to the entrance."

"R-Right..." She dragged herself on her feet, striding towards him.

"I think this is a common resting spot for travelers, look," he pointed down to the remnants of a fire at the very back of the cave. "I think I saw a blanket on that corner... Someone must've forgotten it, but I'm not about to count my blessings."

"Mektch!" Noire sneezed, as cutely as a kitten. "T-t-t-that's great!"

Startled, Robin quickly stripped his coat, spreading it on the ground with a wet sound. "Hurry, take off your clothes!" He turned around to grab the blanket, shoving it on her after.

Noire broke.

"H-h-huh?!" She blushed furiously, helplessly holding the dry blanket over her wet body.

Robin placed his tome on the ground and resigned himself to using it as fuel for the fire. "This isn't the time to be bashful; we need to keep you warm! C'mon, I promise I won't look, so please...!" He frantically looked from her to the tome, momentarily forgetting the words he had to chant for the magic to work.

"O-okay...!" She sniffled and turned around so as to strip, trusting Robin would do the same. He was so... desperate. It even made her hope that it was all for her sake instead of just part of his job. "I'm done," she announced, wrapping herself with the blanket.

The moment she said it, the cave lit up with the crackling sound of the fire. "So am I! Phew!" He sat over the wet coat, drying his forehead. "C'mon, sit by the fire and warm yourself!"

Noire obeyed quietly, sitting beside Robin over his coat. She wrapped her arms around her knees, the blanket loosely covering her shoulders.

Robin used his bracers to dry part of her forehead, trying to keep his eyes away from her cleavage. "How are you feeling? Warming up?" He asked softly.

"... I'm sorry..." She said faintly. "T-thanks for coming after me; I think I'd still be under that tree if it weren't for you."

"I'm the one who has to apologize, Noire. I'm sorry for not taking your feelings into account when I shoved my ideals on you the other day." He cleared his throat, droplets of water falling from his drenched hair. "I more than anyone know how hard you're working to, say, deserve your spot in the Shepherds."

Noire blinked slowly, looking up endearingly. "... More than anyone?"

Robin coughed awkwardly. "M-more than anyone. I've been watching you for a long time, Noire. I know you push yourself to the breaking point to make people's lives easier, but that makes me so very sad. I wanted you to rely more on us, to share your troubles and to lean more on us, on- on me." He stuttered, sniffling.

Her heart thundering louder than the lightning outside, Noire opened and closed her mouth, suddenly feeling much, much hotter than a second ago. "R-Robin, I..." She looked at how his body shivered from cold and slightly lifted her arm, looking away from embarrassment. "W-won't you also cover yourself with this? I don't want to be the only one warm."

"N-N-N-Noire," Robin stuttered, and it had nothing to do with cold.

She dug her face between her knees. "P-please? I don't think I can say anymore if I don't feel your warmth here."

The tactician gulped, his throat suddenly dry. Noire was a beautiful woman, and it took all Robin had not to think about her slender nude body under that old and smelly blanket.

That situation; their desperate needs to protect each other from before; the way he never noticed how much he watched her and how happy seeing her smile made him... It all led to a clicking sound inside his mind.

He loved her.

By the gods, he loved Noire!

How adorable she looked at that very moment; too embarrassed to even face him, and still offering him a place of warmth... He could barely hold his tongue back from shouting his newfound feelings to the world, even it that world was composed of only him, Noire and a damp cave.

Still, he quickly did as she asked and stripped, slowly scooting closer to her under the blanket. As his cold shoulder touched her warm one, they felt a spark of energy running through their bodies.

"I... I just didn't want you to think I was useless." She confessed finally, wanting to pop that silence like a balloon. "We fought for our lives back in the future, and everything around us was dark. But when we came here, we had you. Your smile and your g-guidance made me want to b-be a better me. I want to fight to bring peace, and n-not just for my life, like it was before."

"Noire..." He whispered, reaching out to her.

She looked up at him with pleading eyes, his fingers trailing spots through her pale skin. "I-I also want to be relied on, you know? B-by... you..."

"Oh, Noire; but destroying yourself will only make me sad, instead!” He pressed his forehead on hers, not realizing how he panted. "I can't stand seeing you scared or overworked... I want to be there for you always! For anything! ... Do you understand what I mean?" Their noses rubbed on one another, their breaths intertwining.

"I do...!" She sniffled, pulling him to her, opening her mouth for a deep kiss.

Ah, how sweet she tasted!

Robin reciprocated the hungry kiss by exploring her mouth with his tongue, quickly wrapping his arms around her tender body.

Noire let herself be embraced, lowering her legs so her chest touched his. Her soft pressure made Robin's body be hit with a flash of energy and heat, slowly descending her to the ground.

"Mhn... Robin..." She bemoaned once their lips parted, Robin placing himself over her as she lied over his coat. His mouth didn't stop, however -- he trailed his tongue from her lips to her jaw, then her neck to finally her breasts. Sensitive as they were, she let out an adorable "eek," once he touched and tasted them, making Robin roll his eyes in pleasure.

He could feel his erection already pulsating, free and eager to please the wonderful woman under him. "Oh, Noire, you're so beautiful," he whispered as he went from one nipple to the other, making her rub her legs in anticipation.

She could feel herself gapping with desire -- of his touch, of his kisses, of his everything! "R-Robin...!" She dug her nails over his back, silently pleading for his entrance.

Inebriated with her alluring smell, adorable voice and fantastic taste, Robin turned his unfocused gaze to his beloved, once again taking her lips in a long and deep kiss. He adjusted her waist under him, bringing her closer to his dripping erection, promptly prodding it over her vaginal opening.

A moan died by her throat, her lips occupied by his; her body flickering with desire.

They needn't words for what came next.

Slowly did Robin put it in, mindful of how tight she felt around him. "Ro-b-gghan..." She gasped loudly, squeezing her eyes in pleasure.

"N-Noire, you feel so good...!" He let out an exclamation of surprise, closing one eye in pleasure. "Is it okay if I-mmph!"

"D-don't talk, n-not now." She huffed, wrapping both arms around his neck. "D-don't stop either."

Panting, Robin felt the thin thread of self-control snap and put it all in at once, her gasps of pleasure spurring him to do it again and again and again and again, the heat of their bodies merging into pleasure, melting into love and dissolving into strangled moans.

He took it all out and shoved it back in, each time becoming easier than the previous. She squeezed him with everything she had, adorably calling his name as pleasure held her tenderly. Her body shook with the orgasm first, overwhelmed by all the new sensations as tears of joy fell from her eyes.

"Oh, Noire...!" Robin gasped, liberating himself inside of her, a surge of pleasure washing over his body and sapping him of his strength. "Noire, Noire, Noire..." He whispered over and over, each word stealing a tear from the archer's eyes.

That night, they wouldn't need words to express their love.

Maybe tomorrow.

But tonight, the world was only Robin, Noire and their damp, love-filled cave.

#noire #robin #robin x noire #fire emblem awakening #fanfic commissions #a sin a day keeps the thirst at bay #my writings #Yuki's Commissions

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