#Dullahan x reader

[monstersandmaw]

Male dullahan x gn reader (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

OH boy, this is a personal one for me on a number of levels (which usually means it's gonna tank), but here's the first of my five new commissions - this one is for the incredibly supportive and sweet @doomfisthero.

It features one of the Supernatural Biker Gang I mentioned in this post, which a lot of you seemed to like, so I hope you're keen to meet the cheeky, goofball dullahan with a heart of gold! Not gonna lie, I went way over the agreed wordcount for this one because it's the world I've already started building, and it's got characters I've already been thinking of for a while.

Content: gender neutral reader who experiences severe anxiety around being pranked/practical joked, which occurs at one point in the story. There’s no malicious intent or bullying behind the prank, and it gets discussed afterwards. The reader is a writer, doing research for a story about bikers, and has no idea that there's something a little 'extra' about this gang. Their friend, Adi, is dating one of them already, and I hope to write their story soon too.

Wordcount: 9216

“God, this was such a stupid idea,” you muttered as you approached the only shop on that wide, empty side street. Its metal sign swung gently back and forth in a light, autumn breeze, displaying a full moon on a black background, with a cruiser-style motorbike silhouetted in front of it, and the white, artfully-distressed font underneath it read ‘Full Moon Motorcycles’.

A second later, your friend stepped out onto the pavement and you knew there was no turning back. Adrianne grinned at you, so you kicked your feet back into motion and closed the distance between you, offering her a small hug. Your leather messenger bag bumped against your hip with the movement, and you wondered if perhaps you should have left your notebook and stuff at home for this first time. It felt more like an interview than getting to know them, and you were worried the group of unfamiliar bikers might take offence that you essentially wanted to study them for your novel.

“Ready to meet the gang?” she laughed, sweeping her messy, dark blonde hair back out of her eyes. “God, you look terrified. Come on, they’re nice! Except maybe Pixie. Don’t mess with her, but she’s not here today. Or Demon, but even he’s ok when you get to know him, I swear.”

“Not helping, Adi,” you grumbled.

Ever since she’d started working for Dahlia Ink across town about six months ago, Adrianne had been hanging around with the group of bikers who all got their ink done there it seemed, and it had almost felt like serendipity in action when she’d told you about them over coffee last weekend. You didn’t tend to talk much about your writing, even with your friends, but you trusted Adi, and she’d always been supportive of your career as an author, so you’d shyly opened up to her about your latest idea for a story featuring a group of bikers. You did leave out the part where the bikers in your story were mostly vampires and werewolves, with a few other supernatural species thrown in as well. Fantasy had always been your comfort-genre, but people had snickered in the past and made you feel like it wasn’t a ‘serious’ genre that ‘serious’ writers pursued, so you’d omitted it this time while telling her about it.

“It’s the perfect excuse for you to come and finally meet Țepeș then!” she’d blurted excitedly into the foam of her cappuccino, her green-brown eyes going wide with excitement at the idea of including you in her group of new friends. They all had weird nicknames, and you had no idea if it was a ‘biker’ thing or just a ‘them’ thing, but you’d been burning up with curiosity about them ever since she’d first started dating the one called Țepeș. “I’ve been dying to find an excuse for you to come meet him. Plus you can ask him anything you want to know for your story, and — oh…”

Her face had fallen, and you’d frowned, heart dropping already. “What?”

“Eh, he’s… he’s not completely non-verbal, but Țepeș doesn’t exactly find talking easy. Maybe you could come to the shop and meet the rest of them instead though? I’m sure Pickle or Pumpkin would love to talk your ear off about their bikes…”

“I dunno, I don’t want to get in the way,” you’d said, trying not to let that tiny, kindling ember of hope in your chest wink out completely. “But if you wanted to ask them…?”

She’d run it past her boyfriend, and Țepeș had said he’d ask Hank. Hank, apparently, was the guy who ran the bike shop where they’d all met and first formed their group, and two nights later, you’d got a text in all caps from Adi saying ‘BASIC BIKER 101 FOR WRITERS IS ON!!!! When are you next free?!!!’

A week later, you and your messenger bag with notebook and pens had shown up outside Full Moon Motorcycles, with little clue what to expect, and a heart full of trepidation.

Adrianne giggled as she ushered you inside, and to your relief, you found there were only two other people inside instead of a shop full of strangers. An array of bikes for sale was lined up around the right hand side of the space, and against the back wall there was a wooden counter almost like a bar, where the vintage till and a few key chains were displayed, while the left side of the space appeared to be a more general spot for tinkering and hanging out. Even with the light flooding in through the two huge, picture windows on either side of the door, the lighting was soft, and the polished concrete floor created a mellow atmosphere. The scent of coffee and motor oil hung heavy in the air, and you found it oddly comforting as you soaked it all up.  

Behind the counter, a stocky man with greying, wavy hair that wasn’t quite long enough to tie back but was too long to look tidy smiled you and raised a meaty hand. His blue tartan shirt stretched precariously over a hearty paunch, and he exuded a jovial kind of warmth as his honey-brown eyes crinkled. “Hey there,” he said. “I’m Hank, though most people round here just call me Dad —”

“— he adopts literally everyone who walks through that door, so congrats on joining the family,” Adi laughed.

“Take your pick on names,” Hank chortled. “I understand you’re a writer…” He seemed interested and a little impressed, which was a bit of a confidence boost.

“Yeah,” you croaked and cleared your throat. “Yeah… uh… thank you for letting me hang out here for a bit. I don’t know anything about bikes… I’m just looking to learn a bit so it makes sense for my novel, you know? I’m not going to get in anyone’s way.”

“Oh, you’re fine,” he smiled, gesturing dismissively with his massive paw of a hand. “You just ask what you like and we’ll do our best to help you out. You must know Țepeș already if you’re Adi’s friend?”

You shook your head and Hank looked across the room to where the other person was lurking at the back of the space. You hadn’t noticed Adi leaving your side, but when you turned around, you found her standing with both hands pressed fondly against the chest of the tall, imposing biker dressed all in black and wearing his helmet too, which you thought was an odd choice. But what did you know about the habits of bikers? You were there to learn after all; learn and observe.

Adi waved you over, and you swallowed your nerves and cast Hank a farewell glance before approaching. When Adi stepped back, Țepeș pushed himself off the wall and held out his hand to you to shake. It, like the rest of him, was covered in leather or padded gear. There wasn’t a scrap of skin showing on him anywhere, and with your own face reflected in his black visor, it was impossible to get a read on him.

As if she’d read your mind, Adi smacked Țepeș in the chest with the back of her hand and said, “At least put your visor up, you big, intimidating doofus.”

He snorted a silent laugh and lifted the catch on his visor to reveal a sliver of pale skin and irises as black as the rest of his leather gear. Like Hank’s though, his eyes were kindly, and he closed them briefly as he inclined his head in a kind of apologetic bow. You shrugged, and he laughed breathily.

Hank chose that moment to come over, and you jumped as he clapped you on the shoulders. How a man built like a grizzly in autumn had moved so quietly was a mystery. “Come on, Țepeș, why don’t we give our new friend a demonstration of how a bike works? Since your Ducati is in, why don’t we use that?”

Țepeș gave a quick nod, and ducked away through the door that stood in the centre of the back wall, and a moment later, he pushed an absolute monster of a bike out into the empty space. He jutted his chin towards the front door, and Adi nipped over to open it for him, and when you frowned, she laughed. “That Streetfighter is so fucking loud,” she snorted. “You do not want him starting it up in here.”

“And nor do I!” Hank called, now mysteriously back behind the till though you hadn’t heard him leave. You made a mental note to weave something like that into your story for the supernatural biker characters, and then nodded, feeling sheepish, and followed the two of them out of the shop and onto the quiet side-street outside.

Until six months ago, Adi hadn’t known anything about bikes either, so she used your introductory tutorial as a kind of test for herself, interspersed with little glances up at Țepeș to check that she’d got it right. He either nodded or pointed to correct her, but he didn’t speak. She hadn’t been kidding about him being mostly non-verbal.

After Adi had shown you the basics of the bike’s anatomy, Țepeș patted the seat of the bike and gestured to her to get on it, but she laughed and shook her head. “No way, babe. I’m way too short.”

He put his fists comically on his hips and shook his head, then patted the seat again like he was trying to get a wilful cat up onto a chair.

She made a noise of protest, but did swing a leg over and then hoisted herself evenly into the seat, both legs dangling freely a good way off the ground.

“Happy now?” she shot at him and he nodded emphatically, bringing both hands to the sides of his helmet in a way that mimicked a person losing their mind over a cute kitten. “You’re lucky I love you, you overgrown dork,” she muttered. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to you. “Since this beast has made me get up here, I’m going to start his bike. Not so funny now that I could actually fuck it up, is it?” she grinned.

Țepeș remained perfectly still, and you got the impression it was a comical warning.

“I can’t flat-foot it,” she said to you, “So I’m gonna rest my left foot on the curb after I’ve flicked the kickstand up,” she said. “You can’t start most bikes with the kickstand still down.”

You noted that down, and let her get on with the rest of the sequence uninterrupted, which seemed a lot more complicated than you’d imagined.

Near the end of your tutorial on how to start a bike and the basics of clutch control, and the apparent struggle to find neutral, the sound of a number of approaching engines tore through the quiet afternoon. You looked back over your shoulder to see three sports bikes round the corner and make their way towards you.

The three riders couldn’t have been more different. The one you noticed first was riding a big, brash, bright orange bike that reminded you a bit of a sporty looking dirt bike, and he was wearing, of all things, a black and white cow onesie, with a cow helmet cover complete with fabric horns and ears.

“Fucking Pumpkin,” Adi laughed. “Honestly. I think you’ll love him.”

“Pumpkin?” you asked, wondering how on earth he’d got that name. Then again, Țepeș was a pretty unusual nickname. Perhaps he was a vampire under all that leather, shielding himself from the fury of the sun with his biker gear just so he could spend more time with his human lover during the day… You yanked your over-active imagination back into the present and out of your fantasy novel, and watched the trio of bikers approach down the quiet side street.

“Yeah, Pumpkin’s his name. It’s because he’s a —” Țepeș elbowed Adi in the ribs sharply enough that she had to grab the handlebars to stop herself toppling off his bike. Her eyes went wide and she instantly clicked her jaw shut.

As an author, you were used to watching and studying people, and noting your observations for later. Another writer you knew online had called it ‘cataloguing the everyday’, and it was an apt description. Adi had very nearly given away something huge about Pumpkin, and Țepeș had given her a silent but stern warning.

“Because he loves pranks, like on Halloween?” she finished a little too quickly. “He dresses up with silly helmet covers all the time and he likes to play jokes on people.”

Maybe he wasn’t your kind of person at all. The very idea of having a practical joke pulled on you was enough to make you feel sick and shaky all over. You'd always hated them, and they’d always left you feeling devastated and on-edge if they happened to you. The more you trusted the person, the worse it felt afterwards.

Țepeș’ huge hand landed carefully on your shoulder joint and you looked up to find him smiling reassuringly at you. At least, you thought he was smiling reassuringly. All you could see were his glinting black eyes that were creased at the corners, and the way the apples of his pale cheeks were slightly more squished than usual behind the padding in his helmet.

You tried out a smile of your own, and then realised that Adi was talking again.

“He’s such a goofball, but that’s got to be his craziest outfit yet! You should see his other helmet covers; they’re all bonkers. My favourite is the pink rabbit one.”

Țepeș nodded once in agreement and let go of your shoulder. You swayed a little at the loss, feeling untethered.

“The guy on the red Ducati is Demon, and the short one on the Ninja in the middle is Pickle.”

When the newcomers spotted the three of you standing around Țepeș’ bike, Pumpkin revved raucously, almost seeming to make his bike laugh with joy at the sight of you. Then he hauled it up into a massive wheelie, only dropping back down once he’d torn past you in a near-vertical pose. Your heart was in your mouth the whole time, but he looked relaxed and even amused behind that absurd costume as he landed it and swerved the bike around to make his way back towards you while the other two came over in a more sedate fashion. In fact, they were so sedate it reminded you of two sharks approaching, and your mouth went dry. Adi had said they were cool with you being there and asking questions, but just then, it didn’t really feel like it.

The one riding the lurid, neon green bike was so short that you wondered for a crazy second if maybe they were a child. The owner of the red bike revved his something wicked as he cruised to a stop, and you had to fight the urge to step back. It felt like being roared at full in the face by a lion, and it didn’t help at all that the guy had curling ram’s horns adorning his black helmet. Even though it was a nippy autumn day, he was wearing a white t-shirt that showed off a golden tan and a truly impressive physique, and his black jeans had a rip in the knee that added to his tough-guy appearance.

Standing beside his own bike, Țepeș folded his arms and jutted his chin in a warning. Demon revved his deafening bike once more though, and the back wheel skimmed from side to side on the tarmac as blue smoke churned up into the air.

Țepeș shook his head and a few seconds later, Demon stopped his mini burnout, and instead leaned forwards on the bike, resting one arm casually on the tank. His whole attention was fixed on you and you tried hard not to regret all of this. It was research. You were here for your story. It was fine. His visor was tinted like Țepeș’ was, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze through the plastic just as clearly as if there had been nothing blocking his eyes from yours.

“Just giving a welcome to your new friend, Țepeș,” the guy purred in a silky baritone that made you think of teeth in the dark.

As the brief puff of acrid smoke from his tyres cleared, the short rider flipped their visor up and regarded you with beady, golden eyes that had to be contacts, surely? Even the pupils were slitted like a cat’s. 

“Who’s this?” came a reedy, tenor voice from under the helmet. Definitely not a child after all, and their skin had a strange, greenish tinge to it that you initially took to be makeup until you realised it went all the way down their cheeks as well. Tattoos? Some kind of condition? You tried not to stare.

Before either you or Adi could respond to their question, the cow onesie rider screeched to a comical halt beside the other two, locking up the front wheel and making the rear of his bike kick up like a bronco, and Adi shook her head. “Pumpkin, honestly. What are you like?”

“I’m Legen-dairy!” he grinned, gesturing wide with both hands. “Oh, hey! New friend?!” he exclaimed, waving enthusiastically when he saw you standing awkwardly beside Țepeș’ bike. He had a lilting Irish accent and a playful intonation that warmed you to him immediately, despite knowing about his penchant for practical jokes.

“Don’t mind Pumpkin,” Adi smiled at you. “He’s… something else.”

“I’m highly a-moo-sing, is what I am,” the guy chuckled. His words sounded clearer than the others behind their helmets, and you wondered if it was something about the design that made it easier to hear him.

“Oh god, please stop with the cow puns,” Pickle groaned, casting him a withering look with those unusual eyes.

“But Pickle, I’m udderly fantastic!”

“Stop.”

“This is just plain bull-ying!” Pumpkin whined, and then he started to bop up and down on his bike as he sang, “My milkshake brings—”

“If you howl one more out of tune word, Demon will eat you for breakfast, and not in a fun way,” Pickle said, casting a glance at the biker with the horns on his helmet.

For answer, the biker in question cocked his head just a little to one side, and Pumpkin slumped in his seat, arms and legs dangling comically, head lolling forwards so that the soft horns on his helmet cover flopped. He let out a long, sad mooing noise sound that dissolved into giggles at the end, and Pickle punched him on the arm.

“Loser,” Pickle snorted with obvious fondness.

“Anyway, I want you to meet my friend,” Adi cut in, turning to you. “I’m sorry you had to meet Pumpkin when he’s in this mood, but —”

“Moo-d!” Pumpkin interrupted triumphantly and immediately burst out laughing. He almost tipped backwards off his big, orange bike. Even you managed to crack a shy smile at that one. It was infectious.

“I give up,” Pickle said, and hopped down off his green Kawasaki, disappearing into the shop without a backward glance just as Hank stepped out.

“How’s that lesson going?” he asked you.

“I’m not planning on riding solo any time soon,” you smiled, “But I’ve got enough of an idea of how things work to start writing, I think.”

Hank nodded and, glancing around at Pumpkin who was still bouncing up and down and making his suspension creak a little, said, “Ah, they’re all idiots, but they’re kind, and they’re my idiots.”

He introduced you by name, and told Pumpkin and Demon why you were there. Pumpkin seemed intrigued, tilting his head to one side and calming his crazy energy a little as he regarded you through the tinted visor, but Demon growled softly as he pushed himself upright again and folded his arms across his ripped chest, muttering something about letting their guard down again.

Țepeș moved away from his bike, petting the back of Adi’s blonde head in a fond, distracted gesture, and then signalled for Demon to follow him inside, which, to your surprise, the big guy did. He walked like a Greek god — like he owned the place and not Hank — but it was clear that he had respect for Țepeș.

Pumpkin took advantage of their absence and leaned a little way off his bike towards you. “So, you’re a writer? That’s pretty cool. And you’re writing a… a book? A story? About bikers?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s not the main focus, but it’s a big part of it.” If you hadn’t wanted to open up to Adi about it being a supernatural fantasy story, you sure as heck weren’t going to admit it to a bunch of intimidating, high-octane bikers. “It was Adi who suggested I come and learn a bit more about it all from you guys though…” you said, not wanting them to think you’d just inserted yourself into their group without invitation. Especially given Demon’s weird reaction.

“Awesome,” Pumpkin said, fist-bumping Adi then turning back to you. “You gonna ride with us? We’re all heading out in a bit so you should come too!”

“I… maybe?” you faltered. That had not been on the cards for the day, but the more you thought about it, the more your heart began to race.

“The KTM has a passenger seat,” Pumpkin said, gesturing behind him and patting his pillion seat. “You can be my backpack if you like! I promise I won’t wheelie. I’m not taking the onesie off though,” he added, mooing and shaking his head so that the fabric horns waggled comically.

His energy and enthusiasm really were infectious. He bounced up and down again like an excitable, cow-print puppy, and you bit your lip. The idea of holding onto him, of being perched on the back of his mad, orange bike, was oddly… enticing. Even with his embarrassing costume.

“Come on,” he said. “It’ll be fun! It’s only a short ride because Coco’s Honda’s playing up for some reason,” he added. “Is she here yet? I don’t see her little bumblebee…”

“Bumblebee?” you asked.

“Coco’s bike is a Honda Hornet,” Adi supplied. “She’s got these little antennae for her helmet too. It’s so cute. And no,” she added to Pumpkin. “You guys are the first.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of the day’s riders to arrive, and soon you watched a screaming pink bike roll up, with its rider wearing baby pink leathers and a pink helmet. Her name was Barbie, appropriately enough, and a few minutes later, a skinny guy in all black leathers with a black helmet bearing a decal like a maw full of teeth pulled up, alongside Coco on her black and yellow Honda Hornet that looked very much like the Transformer.

“I see why you call it Bumblebee,” you said to Adi, who was standing on the pavement with you, chatting and slipping you random bits of information about both the bikes and the bikers. The others had all gone inside, leaving you with Adi still casually sitting astride her boyfriend’s enormous, black Ducati Streetfighter outside in the sunshine, and honestly it was nice to catch your breath and let your heart rate settle again.

Pumpkin, apparently, was only a few years older than you, and he had moved to the city to get away from his family and their career expectations for him. His name was actually Callahan, or Cal, but literally everyone called him Pumpkin.

Pickle was non-binary and surprisingly a full decade older than you. They lived with their mother, who needed a bit of extra care these days, and had taken up riding only a year or so ago. Demon, Adi didn’t discuss at all, and she said little about Barbie other than that she kept herself to herself a lot and was pretty shy.

Coco came out to soak up some autumn sunshine a while later, and was one of the only bikers who actually took off her helmet. Beneath it, she had thick, wavy, chocolate brown hair and brown eyes that made you want to drown in them, and a smile so pretty it made your heart skip several beats. She gave off the kind of energy that made you feel safe and relaxed, and you let out a long, slow exhale, feeling the sun wash up over your skin.

That peace lasted until Demon stormed out of the shop, followed by Pumpkin, Țepeș, and Pickle.

“Everything ok?” Adi whispered to Țepeș when he came over and hugged her tightly from behind before passing her a spare helmet. He nodded and jerked his thumb towards his bike. “Yeah, I’m good to go. You coming?” she asked you, and you found yourself nodding before you’d even realised.

“Yes!” Pumpkin bayed in triumph and you startled, not having heard him return to his bike. “You’re mine! I claim you. You’re my backpack!”

“Like anyone else wants a human for baggage,” Demon muttered so quietly you weren’t sure you were supposed to have heard it. As he passed, he slammed his visor back down and you could have sworn that he’d had completely scarlet eyes. You wondered if you were losing your mind a little bit, or if the fantasy of your novel was beginning to bleed into the real world through your over-active imagination.  

Pumpkin practically vaulted back up onto his orange bike and he held out his hand to you. “Alright! My precious and beautiful backpack,” he said, “Hop on!”

Easier said than done, you thought, ignoring the compliment. You watched your reflection distort in his visor as he turned his head when you faltered anxiously.

“I’ll look after you, I promise. But I’m gonna rely on you to tell me if Pickle’s coming for my killswitch, ok?”

Recalling your brief lesson with Țepeș, you eyed the red switch on his right handlebar and said, “That?”

“Yeah, that. Protect it at all costs,” he giggled. “I mean, not all costs, obviously but… Actually, scratch that. It’s Ninja you wanna watch out for. He’s a sneaky, sneaky boy. He blends in so no one sees him coming…” A few of them laughed in a way that made you feel like there was more to it than just an inside joke, and your stomach churned.

A glance back at the skinny guy on the black bike behind you revealed Ninja tilting his hands outwards in a ‘who, me?’ kind of gesture. Hank came over and gave you a helmet, taking your messenger bag from you and promising to keep it safe behind the counter. You slid the helmet on and buckled it up, trying not to feel like an impostor.

Getting aboard wasn’t as hard as you’d thought it was going to be, with brief instruction from Adi and Pumpkin on how to put your feet on the pegs, though you did clunk your helmet against Pumpkin’s when you leaned too far forward, but he made things easier by telling you to hold him round the waist. He turned back over one shoulder and said, “It’s kinda forward, but I don’t mind. You’re cute and I don’t want you falling off.” He had such a lovely voice — warm and rich and reassuring — and you found yourself laughing softly.

“If you say so.”

Pumpkin talked a mile a minute and you really had to work to process everything he was saying as it tumbled out of him in a wild, happy torrent. “You are cute! You’re gonna have a blast today. I can’t believe I’m your first! Oh, and watch out for silly string too. I don’t think Pickle has any in their pocket today, but last time they got me good and it was all over my helmet and my orange baby,” he added petting the tank of his bike.

Your heart lurched at the idea of these pranks maybe escalating, and you tried to swallow down the nausea; you did not want to be sick in a motorcycle helmet. The cold sweat took a while to evaporate and you were sure Pumpkin would feel your heartbeat as you clung onto him before he’d even started the bike. The cow onesie did add a little levity though, and you tried not to feel too silly.

When Adi was safely aboard Țepeș’ bike, Țepeș revved his readiness a few times from the rear of the group, and Pumpkin nodded. “Forward!” he yelled, pointing like he was leading a cavalry charge as he nudged up his kickstand and prepared to draw away.

Adi had been right.

The ride was amazing.

Terrifying, exhilarating, wonderful, and, in the strangest way possible, it made you forget everything.

All you could focus on was the way Pumpkin moved with the bike like it was a part of him — almost like a rider and his horse — and on trying to move with him as he leaned into the corners. He was slim and fit beneath your grip, and he didn’t seem to be wearing any kind of padding under the onesie, but he was wearing biker boots instead of ordinary shoes. There was something alluring about the fact you’d not seen his face and he’d not taken his helmet off. Țepeș had a similar vibe, but it was Pumpkin and his wild, silly energy you found yourself drawn to. It was almost euphoric to be able to press the front of your body against this kind, funny stranger’s back and let him sweep you along the roads.

Of course, there were shenanigans at the first red light you came to.

Pickle came for Pumpkin’s killswitch immediately — almost like they were testing you — but you tapped Pumpkin on the shoulder when you saw Pickle stalking up the line of bikes. Ninja covered his killswitch and waggled a finger at Pickle, and when Pumpkin saw who was coming, he patted your thigh a few times. “Nice one,” he said with a grin evident in his voice. “Best early warning system and best backpack ever! You can ride with me every time!”

You glowed with pride, even though you knew it was probably only fun and games, and when Pickle failed to catch Pumpkin’s killswitch and the lights changed, you laughed with the rest of them as Pickle bolted back to their Ninja and hopped comically onto it at the very last second while Pumpkin sped away fast enough to make you yelp and grip him hard around the middle. You felt him laugh and held him tighter.

He petted your hands where they were laced securely in front of him, and even though you didn’t have comms in your helmet, you got the message: ‘I’ve got you’. You did feel safe with him despite his love of pranks, and you were literally trusting him with your life as you rode behind him.

When the ride came to an end about an hour later, and the group drew to a halt at Full Moon Motorcycles again, you were shaky with the aftereffects of adrenaline and from simply holding on, but beneath your helmet, you were grinning wildly. Secretly, you already couldn’t wait for the next ride and prayed he would ask you again.

Pickle pulled their bike up on your right, the green Ninja 400 idling gently, and when they killswitched Pumpkin’s bike at last, Pumpkin guffawed, but without missing a beat he extended his right leg and tapped the gear lever down to put Pickle’s bike into first, making the bike stall and lurch forwards.

“Gotcha!” he crowed, and then helped you off the back by letting you steady yourself on his shoulders. “And for the pièce de résistance,” he said, fishing in the pouch of his onesie, and he turned something cylindrical in your direction. “I was saving this for Pickle, but since it’s your first ride, you deserve a decent celebration!”

With a loud bang and a flurry of coloured squares of paper, a confetti cannon went off in your face and you screeched in shock, tripping over your heels and landing hard on the pavement behind you. The pieces of paper fluttered down around you while panic and fear and everything you hated about being pranked exploded out of you. Your heartbeat went through the roof. You just glimpsed the horns of Demon’s helmet in the doorway to the shop, and your heart dropped when you saw he was laughing.

Pumpkin was laughing too, and pointing, and beside him Pickle clapped their gloved hands and crooned, “Oh man, he got you good!”

He had got you good, and you hated it.

You hated that it was just a silly, harmless prank, but you were reacting like he’d done something serious. You hated that you couldn’t just laugh it off the way they all did. You hated that you took it so seriously; that it felt like the worst kind of betrayal of that fragile trust you’d started to put in a stranger. And then, behind the visor of your helmet, the tears began to flow uncontrollably.

A huge figure appeared in your blurred vision and you looked up to find Țepeș kneeling down beside you. He blocked the others from your sight with his massive body, and he lifted his visor to show his black eyes full of concern.

You nodded, trying to pull yourself together and grateful beyond belief that the helmet was still covering your face, even though it felt like you were running out of oxygen in there. Pulling yourself together was like trying to hold a bag full of sand with fraying seams. You were seeping and spilling out all over the place and you couldn’t stop. You tried to tell yourself it was just a confetti cannon. You tried to tell yourself it was just a bit of fun.

You tried, and failed.

“I’m… I’m ok… I’m…” you gulped, aware of how choked your voice sounded.

Țepeș stood and held out a hand, pulling you to your feet and ushering you carefully inside. You didn’t miss the way he put himself between you and Demon, who was still snickering in the doorway, and you let him lead you into the shop and into the back room.

He snagged a box of tissues from under the shop’s counter in passing and guided you into a chair. He signalled for you to undo your helmet, which you did with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry,” you gulped as you drew it off over your head and set it on the floor. “I’m sorry I’m overreacting.”

Țepeș shook his head and squeezed your shoulder, offering you a tissue.

“It’s just a prank, I know that, but…”

Again, he squeezed your shoulder, and you took a deeper, steadier breath.

“I hate pranks. Even the harmless ones. I always overreact like this. I’m sorry. It’s not his fault, but… I thought… I thought maybe he… he wouldn’t…”

A knock on the door made you jump, and Țepeș made a ‘stay there’ gesture with his hand and ducked out of the room. A short, seemingly one-sided conversation passed outside while you fought to control yourself again, and then Pumpkin ducked inside.

“Hey,” he said, and your heart broke a little at the change in his energy. It was like he’d completely deflated. He was still wearing the cow onesie though, which brought a slightly hysterical chuckle to your lips before you could stop it. “I’m so sorry,” he said, dropping to one knee in front of your chair. “I… I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

“It’s not you,” you said, sniffling and turning away, cuffing at your eyes. “I just overreacted.”

“You didn’t overreact,” he said, and your brain screeched to a halt.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have done it to you. I didn’t know if you were cool with it, and I just assumed that… that because everyone else likes my pranks… that you’d be ok with it too, and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never ever pull anything like that on you again. Ever.” He crossed his thumb across his heart. “I swear on my True Name.”

The wording was odd, but the air seemed to crystallise around you for a second, and your breath caught. “Like a Fae,” you mumbled without thinking.

He tilted his helmeted head a little. “Yeah,” he said and his voice had an odd ring to it. “You… You know about… about the Fae?”

“I’m writing a book…” you croaked, not really thinking about what you were saying. “Supernatural theme… I’ve always written fantasy stuff… Look, I’m sorry. I’m over-sharing about stuff that isn’t even real. I’m good,” you said, and stood up abruptly, setting your borrowed helmet down on the chair and turning to look at him. He was on his feet again, but he was just standing there.

You walked out into the main shop but he called your name and you halted and turned back around. “Yeah?”

“Are… Are you gonna come back?”

You bit your lip. You probably had enough to write the book now — the biker part of it wasn’t even the main focus after all — but until the prank, you’d felt included and welcomed, and, as you thought about it, the prank had also been meant to welcome you into the fold. It wasn’t Pumpkin’s fault that you had reacted the way you did.

“You want me to?” you asked.

“Please,” he said. “Please, I’d love it. I’ve… I’ve never had anyone I’ve wanted to be my backpack before, and you rode like a natural today,” he added, taking a step towards you. “Please. I promise no one will do any pranks when you’re with us. No silly string, no confetti cannons.”

“I don’t mind it… With the others, I mean,” you said, the words grinding out of you like a boulder uphill. “I mean… So long as it’s not me.”

“Ok, we’ll dial it back,” he compromised. “I’ll even give you one of my little stretchy sticky hands if you like so you can team up on Pickle with me. We duel at the lights sometimes. Does that count as a prank?”

You shook your head, fighting back a resurgence of emotions, mostly good this time.

“Ok. I’m really sorry,” he said again.

“I believe you,” you said.

“Thank you,” Pumpkin replied, his whole body looking relieved. It was amazing how expressive someone could be, even without being able to see their face. “Let me give you my number and I’ll text you when we’re going out next. Or… Or maybe we could go out just the two of us?”

That seemed like way more pressure than you’d been expecting, but you nodded all the same when you realised you weren’t put off by it at all.

As you left the shop not long afterwards, having recovered enough to let the red fade from your eyes, Demon looked you up and down and then approached Pumpkin. You glanced back over your shoulder to see him looming down over Pumpkin, and you just caught him growling, “What happens when you need to take that helmet off eh, Dullahan? You think that cute accent is going to be enough to hide the fact you don’t have a fucking head under there?”

Your breath caught and you tripped, turning away before either of them could notice your reaction.

For a moment, when Demon had spat the word ‘Dullahan’ you’d thought he’d said ‘Callahan’ — Pumpkin’s real name — but the instant he’d said Pumpkin didn’t have a head, your mind made the connection.

Dullahan.

A Fae without a head, traditionally a headless horseman.

The way Pumpkin had moved with his bike, like it was a living creature, had reminded you of a horse and its rider, and you had to wonder if the nickname ‘Pumpkin’ had come from the cartoonish depictions of Dullahans on Halloween with a pumpkin for a head instead of their real one. They did have a head, you knew from research for your writing, but they tended to keep it hidden since that was where their power resided. They could only be harmed if you hurt their head, or if they were wearing it when you attacked them.

But that was all fantasy, right?

Then Demon’s red eyes flickered across your memory, and the weird emphasis he’d put on the word ‘human’ in his snide remarks, and the way you’d thought maybe Țepeș was a vampire because he kept his skin covered up, and the fact that Pickle’s skin was entirely green and they had gold eyes with cat’s pupils… it was all way too much of a coincidence. Right?

You walked home in a daze, not even saying goodbye to Adi who was talking quietly with Țepeș in the long, late afternoon shadows cast by the bike shop’s wall.

Over the next few rides with Pumpkin, you tried to figure out a way to broach the topic. If you just blurted it out, you had no idea how the others would react, so you dropped little hints to Pumpkin that you were writing a supernatural story and that you’d been researching the supernatural for a while, and how you’d always hoped there was more out there than met the eye. You even mentioned it a couple of times on group rides to see how the others reacted, and predictably, it was Demon who bristled, and Pumpkin who looked uncomfortable. Like he had a secret he wanted to tell you.

Each time you did it, he looked torn, like he was right on the cusp of telling you the truth.

It finally came to an ugly head one afternoon as the riding season drew to a close in late October and you all came back from a huge group ride that had included a few more riders whom you’d not met before, but who evidently knew the rest of the group.

As you went inside to return the helmet that Hank always lent you, you caught the sound of an argument and hung back in the small storage room behind the main shop to avoid it, heart in your throat and the helmet forgotten in one hand.

Pickle was standing in the main area of the shop with their helmet dangling from their hand this time, and you gasped when you saw sharply-tapered ears and a row of pointed teeth in their mouth, and green skin that went all the way down below their collar. Definitely not a tattoo. They looked sharp, their features inhuman; like one of the goblins in your novel. If you’d needed confirmation that they weren’t human, this had to be it.

Pickle was  arguing with Adi and Demon, and Pumpkin was there too, looking helplessly from one to the other of them.

Demon was shouting, and he didn’t have his helmet on either. Perhaps they’d thought you’d already left. The horns that adorned his helmet were… actually attached to his head, not his helmet. He had horns. They obviously grew from his hairline, his black hair waving around them like a river of oil that had a rainbow sheen on it, and his eyes were a luminous, blood-red with slit pupils too. He rounded on Pumpkin like a Wolf on a rabbit. “You think just because we let Țepeș’ little human blood-bag in, we can risk exposing us all to just anyone?” Demon snarled. “I thought you wanted to keep our kind a secret? Now you’re siding with him?”

“Hey!” Adi exclaimed, but Pickle’s lip curled and they turned to her.

“He has got a point, Adi, though the blood-bag comment was way out of line,” Pickle said. “We have to be careful, but —”

“This is different,” Pumpkin interjected. “Ok? I’ve never been in love before, and I love —”

“No. It’s not fucking ok! This is the one place we get to be who we are,” Demon countered, his deep voice cracking as he clearly fought off tears. He sounded afraid and upset in a way that went right to your heart. “This is the one place where we can be safe, Cal, and you’re jeopardising it for all of us. And if we start letting humans in, if our secret gets out —”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Pickle said faintly, staring straight at you watching the argument unfold, stunned. They were arguing because of you. Because Pumpkin had taken a liking to you — in fact, he’d just said he loved you…

A pair of gold eyes and a pair of scarlet eyes stared at you, while Adi stood there hugging herself and looking hurt and unsure, and Pumpkin was standing stock still with his black helmet still on but you knew he was looking at you too. Was he going to defend you, or discard you and stick with his friends? They weren’t human. None of them was human. Demon’s eyes were blaring a violent red and he had horns growing out of his black hairline and curling back over his head, and there was a watercolour patch of red creeping over his golden tan as if he was losing control of his form. And Pickle was apparently some kind of goblin?

“You’re a Dullahan,” you said quietly, looking at Pumpkin. “A Fae.”

“You know?” Demon hissed, taking half a step towards you. “How the fuck do you know?” and then he shoved Pumpkin back with a hand at each shoulder. “You’ve taken your helmet off already? Did you disclose your head’s location while you were at it?”

Pumpkin shook his head vehemently but then he lifted his shiny, black helmet off in what looked like an act of defiance to Demon.

In the void where his head should have been there was a swirl of bluish-green smoke emanating from the stump of his neck, like the aurora in the night sky, and his skin was a dark, slate-blue colour. Your mind struggled to accept what you were seeing, but with the additional evidence of Pickle’s green skin and Demon’s horns, you knew it all had to be true.

Walking closer, as if moving through a dream, you ignored Demon’s constant, caged-animal growl, but you did jump when the door flew open and Țepeș burst in. He strode straight over to Adi and wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulders, tugging her close and putting himself between her and the others. He cocked his head in an impatiently curious manner and Adi answered his silent demand.

“Demon’s laying into Pumpkin about flirting with a human while hiding what he is,” Adrianne said, glaring flatly at Demon. “And he called me your blood-bag,” she added.

Țepeș’ fists curled, leather creaking, and he took a long, slow inhale, as though he was trying very hard not to lose control and launch himself at Demon.

Before anything else could happen, someone clapped their hands abruptly from the side of the shop where the till and the bikes were arrayed, and you all jumped.

Hank was standing there and his eyes were glowing golden. “This family is built on trust,” he said in a low, gravelly bass, and you saw that his canines were chunkier and longer than they usually were, and his hair seemed thicker and fuller, his beard a little bushier around the chops. “And if we welcome each other into it, we must be prepared to trust each other’s judgement.”

“We’re just a little research project!” Demon said, rounding on you. “Adi told you what we are, didn’t she, so you thought you’d come and study us like a science experiment?”

You were still staring at Pumpkin’s empty collar and wondering in an odd, detached kind of way where it would be considered polite for you to look now — did you look at the point where his eyes would be if he had a head, or did you look at his chest? Only a second or two later did Demon’s words filter through and you blinked. “What?”

“You’re writing a fucking book about us! How does that count as trustworthy?”

“I’m not — It’s not about you,” you shot back. “The book isn’t about you. The protagonist is dating a vampire who’s in a biker gang, but… Adi didn’t tell me anything at all about you. I didn’t know you weren’t human until… until I overheard you accusing Pumpkin a few weeks ago. You said something about not having a head under his helmet, and you called him a Dullahan.” You swallowed thickly and watched the shock filter through everyone’s expressions at your words. “At first I thought you were saying his name, but then I realised you said ‘Dullahan’, not ‘Callahan’, and because I’ve looked into supernatural stuff, I put two and two together. I’ve known for weeks,” you said, chest heaving as you fought to maintain some semblance of composure while you finished your defence. “I could have said something, or I could have just not come back, but I trusted you guys.” Tears finally blurred your vision. “You treated me like family. Why would I betray you?”

Pumpkin moved first.

He strode across he space, dropping his helmet on the floor with a loud crack that would have made anyone who needed a helmet to protect their head wince, but you figured his was purely for decoration and disguise anyway. He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you close to his body. His arms almost lifted you off the ground and he cradled your head in one hand while his left arm curled around your waist and squeezed you so tight you gave a little wheeze.

His voice came from nowhere in particular, just like it did when he had the helmet on, and he said, “You are family. And I love you. If I have to leave this one to be with you, I will.”

Your heart stopped for a moment before you hugged him back, desperately. “Don’t. Not for me.”

He only hugged you harder.

From somewhere off to your left, Hank gave a low, rumbling growl and then muttered, “Kids. Honestly.” Then a little louder, he said, “Demon, go and cool off somewhere. Țepeș, for God’s sake, stand down, and Pickle, go and put the fucking kettle on. I need a cup of tea with half a bottle of whisky in it after all this drama.”

Pumpkin drew back at last, and you looked up at the haze of blue-green smoke that seemed to swirl upwards in a constant stream, like a recently extinguished candle. “How can you see me?” you asked. And then, with a little more alarm in your tone, you yelped, “Wait, how can you see where you’re driving?”

He laughed and leaned in close enough that the aurora-light swirled across your vision and caressed your face with a feather light breath, and you shivered. “Magic,” he whispered.

Demon hadn’t gone anywhere, and was regarding you with a more level gaze. His eyes were still red though. “You knew?” he said. “All this time?”

“Yeah,” you croaked as you refocused your eyes from the magic of the Dullahan’s body to Demon’s very much corporeal body. “I mean, I suspected.”

He sighed, still staring you down. Pumpkin stepped a little in front of you, much as Țepeș had for Adi, but Demon shook his head. He worked his jaw for a second and then slowly held out his right hand. His skin was red instead of the golden tan it had been, and his nails were black and claw-like, but the gesture was one of reconciliation all the same. “Welcome to the family, I guess,” he muttered hoarsely.

You smiled faintly, and Pumpkin took your left hand in a show of solidarity, sliding his gloved fingers around yours while you briefly shook Demon’s hand. “I really didn’t know what you guys were when you said I could come and hang out with you, I swear.”

“I know,” Demon bit out. “I can taste a lie, and you’re telling the truth.”

With that, he stalked away and carefully slotted his helmet on over his horns. You realised that there were specially-tailored holes in the crown of it for the horns to fit through, but when it was on, some kind of glamour made it look like the horns were just attached to the surface of the helmet. Outside, he swung a leg over his Ducati and started it up, revving it and launching away amid a scream of tyres and over-worked engine.

“Give him time,” Pumpkin said as he looked down at you. In the swirl of the smoke at his neck you thought you could make out the features of a face for a moment, but you blinked and it vanished. “You’re family now though, so he won’t give you any more trouble.”

“He did just insult Adi pretty spectacularly,” you pointed out.

“And he’ll apologise to her,” Pumpkin said. Țepeș loomed threateningly beside Adi in silent agreement. “For now, you want to come for a ride with just me? Come back to my place maybe?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Bet you have questions too…”

“You going to fact-check my novel for me?” you asked with a playful smile, and Pumpkin laughed. It felt right to hear his loud, giggly laughter filling the space again.

“You’d actually have to let me read it for that, love, and you said you didn’t like showing your work to anyone until it was done.”

“I could make an exception for you, I guess,” you admitted with a bashful smile.

With Pumpkin still holding your hand, you paused on your way out to check on Adi, who looked a little hurt but otherwise alright, and you promised to check in with her later. Țepeș handed Pumpkin his helmet, and you let yourself be led from the shop. Your helmet was still in your slightly numb fingers, never having put it down, so you slid it back on with shaky hands.

After climbing with familiar ease back up onto the pillion seat of Pumpkin’s orange KTM, you snaked your arms around his middle and squeezed.

“I’m sorry it all came out this way,” Pumpkin said before he started up his bike. “This was not how I planned to tell you. I had no idea how I was going to break it to you, but that… that wasn’t it. I know you hate surprises, and that was a big one.”

“Not all surprises are bad,” you admitted. “And this one turned out ok in the end. Come on. I want to find out how much I’ve got wrong about the Fae.”

Pumpkin guffawed, his laughter audible even after he’d started up his bike and pulled away.

Turns out, you’d quite a lot wrong about the Fae after all, but Pumpkin was only too happy to put you right over pizza and a movie on his sofa that evening.

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one. If you did, please consider reblogging to show your support as well as leaving a like and/or a comment.

Do you want to see the other members of the group? Remember you can find out more about them here in this early post if you're curious. Tepes already has a love interest, and Ninja the mimic is claimed too, but if you're curious, lemme know!

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#supernatural biker group #dullahan #male dullahan #dullahan x reader #reader insert #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster biker #fantasy biker #biker dullahan #demon #vampire #werewolf

[angelltheninth]

The Dullahan Boyfriend Experience

Pairing: Male!Dullahan x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cunnilingus, rough oral sex, hair-pulling (for both), mouth fucking, party, blowjob, praise, deepthroating, cum eating, facial

Word count: 1.3k

Ao3

A/N: I wanted to post this on Halloween, I am so late! Not enough smut with dullahan's either. They have a detachable head! That has so much potential!

Halloween was the one day of the year where you could go out with your boyfriend and not get weird looks. If anything everyone just assumed it was a really fancy costume, and when he took off his pumpkin head they just thought he was a head shorter.

Well the pumpkin was a mask, he wanted to go as the Headless Horseman, but his head trick was in his nature as a dullahan. It was his secret. Your secret.

"Thank you for going to the party with me. It'd be pretty lame if I showed up all on my own." Not to mention the endless teasing you'd be subject to from your co-workers.

"Of course darling. I'm happy to have went with you, especially on a beautiful night like this. But are you sure you want to stay with me tonight? I'd be more than happy to accompany you home." He pealed off the pumpkin mask as you walked on the dimly lit path, revealing very pale, almost ghostly skin, shining green eyes in pools of black and neatly combed back black hair that ended in a low ponytail. "What? Something on my face?"

"No. You're just really pretty. I missed seeing your face tonight." You stopped in front of him, cupped his face and leaned in for a kiss, "I've been wanting to do that all night."

Even though he was a creature of the night you thought you saw something akin to a blush dust his cheeks, "Me too darling."

"And," You pop his head off and bring it close to your lips, "There's something I've been wanting to try with you, if you're feeling a little frisky tonight."

His eyes widen a little. He was a cute and shy most of the time but when it came to your more intimate activates he's been known to go a little harder and was very enthusiastic to try out new things with you.

"What did you have in mind?" Oh he definitely blushes when you whisper it to him, "Oh! So then you want us both to... and your dress... you're not wearing anything underneath?" You nod and smile into the next kiss, "And you're okay with doing it here?"

You nod again, "I am, and I've been eager to get started since we left the party." You hand him his head back and lift your dress up so he can see how wet you are already. "See? Don't you want to have a taste?"

"Yes." He says breathlessly even though he doesn't really need to breathe in the first place, which will make what you have planned next even better. "I do. I could eat you all night my darling." He hands you head as he throws his coat down next to a tree for you to sit on. He gives you a small bow as you take a seat, ever the gentleman. "Even then I'd never get tired of how sweet you taste. I swear I will never-" His next word is muffled as you bring his head between your legs. You watch as his hands go still in the air, surprised.

"Such a sweet talker. But I need that talented mouth for something other than words right now. Please."

Hearing you plead in that sweet voice, and even more so seeing how excited you are for this, how much you want his mouth on you makes his shyness melt away in an instant. "You have me." He whispers against your folds and gives you a slow lick, "You have me, all of me." He hastily unbuckles his belt and palms his erection, trying to get himself hard as quickly as possible. It doesn't take much when you taste so sweet on his tongue already, when you're leaning back with your mouth hanging open in pleasure.

How can he resist such an invitation?

Already closing his eyes in anticipation he stepped closer to you and bend at his knees so you could suck his cock properly. The moment he felt your tongue licking the underside he had to lean against the tree for support, his need coming in the form of a muffle grunt between your legs.

You could clearly imagine his face, twisted in pleasure, as you stared sucking him off, easily taking him in your mouth while his closed around your clit and have it a firm suck. "I can't get enough." He spoke, drunk on the taste of you already, "You make me feel so good darling. I want to be with you all the time. I want to make you feel good too."

You responded by pushing tugging on his hair a little and moving him further down. He got the hint and pushed his tongue deep, as far as it could go, licking, prodding, tasting you as he pleased.

One of his hands ran through your hair and pushed you just a little too soon, "Fuck! Sorry!" He stammered and tried to look at you only to hear a small laugh.

"It's fine. You can be a little rough sometimes, I won't break. I promise." You hummed against his cock, kissing up and down the length before taking him back in your mouth, moaning as you started to taste more and more of his cum on your tongue. A few more well placed licks on the tip and he was coming into your mouth, his hips snapping forward wildly and desperately while his mouth closed around and lapped at your pussy.

"Keep doing that. Make me come on your tongue." You mewled as you pulled back, causing his cock to slap against your chin, his cum dripping down onto your breasts. "Close!" You gasp when he taps on your sensitive clit with your tongue and drags his tongue in a slow circle around the little bud of nerves and finally back down into your cunt, pushing you past the brink and making you ride his face through your orgasm. Not once did he stop what he was doing, easing you through it as well as the aftershocks.

"You alright darling?" He asked, still between your legs. You only gave him a hum in response, to which he chuckled to. "Can you pull me up? I want to kiss you." Ignoring the fact that he was kissing you, but not in the spot he was asking.

"Are you? Your knees look a little wobbly." You comment as you bring him up to see just what a mess he's made of you and how much he's shaking too.

"Oh! I'm alright!" He quickly pulls his pants back up and kicks his legs from side to side. It looks pretty ridiculous when he doesn't have a head on. "See? Good as new. Can I have a kiss now?" God was he cute when he asked it like that.

How could you say no to that?

You couldn't. Despite both of you still tasting like each other you pulled him close and kissed him. You held him there until you needed to breathe, something you envied him a little for not needing. "You're so cute. I love you so much."

"And I love you too my darling. Do you uhm... maybe want to go again? Not here, on a bed perhaps?" He blinked and avoided your eyes as if he wasn't just eating you like his favorite dessert a minute ago.

"Is this your way of asking me to spend the night? Because if so then the answer is yes." You watched a big smile dawn on his face and saw him pump his fist before offering you a hand, "Such a gentleman." You commented when he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his cum clean from your body and then his own face. "Oh, I guess I need to give you your head back."

"I like you holding me actually. Your embrace is always so warm." He gave a dreamy sigh as he began a slow walk, you right by his side, feeling as happy as can be.

#monster x reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monsterfucking #monster lover #dullahan x reader #monster imagine #monster x human #monster x girl #monster smut #dullahan smut #monster fic #monster bf

[aoiveae-monsters]

HALLOWEEN WITH THE MONSTERS!

Including Mothman, Dullahan, Yautja and Khonshu

Edid: Finally a real note. Just a Post of my beloved silly skrunkles. Also for Khonshu's part I used witch reader from the headcanons I wrote for him before because I just felt like it.

Mothman

- He has seen humans celebrate halloween before but didn't quite understand it, always wonderd why humans tried to mimic other monsters.

-Once you properly explain it to him, and talk about free food- he's hooked. His antenna stand straight and he goes to put on a white blanket to go as a ghost Trick or Treating.

-He could already go without a costume but he looks so cute and happy in his little white robe, you couldn't bring yourself to tell him.

-You go around everywhere and he does the most adorable chirb when he says "Trick or Treat", almost everyone gives him extra candy because it's that cute. The sweet old Lady next door gave him a full bucket of candy and his antenna did a cute little wiggle.

-He munches himself into a sugar rush with all the candy he eats. Also he hand feeds you candy. Still in his costume too. By end of it all you got a chonky moth in a ghost costume, happily purring as you rub his belly.

Dullahan

-Come on, Halloween is one of his fav times of the year. He get's to walk around freely, get candy and scare people shitless! He even made you a matching outfit to his.

-You'll both be riding on his steed, scaring unasuming mortals. Sapphire Flames erupting as he let's out a wicked laugh, terrifying anyone he sees.

-Sometimes he'll put his head somewhere for a person to pick up and then igniting his eye sockets, giving the poor someone a heart attack.

-Other than that he'll gallop the streets with you, drawing the attention of other halloween goers, drinking up all the praise he get's for his "costume". Will do tricks like taking his head off in front of everyone. Let's the children even play with with, creating dancing figures with his flames.

-In the rare event he meets another Dullahan, he'll talk for ages with them and do some duo pranks. The horses will just chill with you, judging their riders.

-Like a real Gentleman he comes back with his head filled to the brim with the candy, all for you. He won't answer any questions about how he got it...

Yautja

-It was suprisingly easy to get your mate to celebrate halloween. He's mostly excited to adorn you in the bones of the beasts he hunted.

-He's purring the entire time you put on your costume, the skull of a xenomorph being your mask.

-He himself puts on something, some giant jagged bones. Sharpening his claws and showing off his face. You two will have all the eyes on you.

-If you wanted candy however, you could have simply asked him to get you some, your mate loves to spoil you, but if Trick or Treating is what you want than you shall have it. He can never say no to you.

-With him by your side, you get aalllll candy. After getting the sweets going to horror maze is a MUST. He doesn't get scared but he puffs up with pride whenever you get spooked and cling to him.

-Lowkey he scares the workers there. Some other people there think he works there and fan over him.

-By the end of it all you turned him into a halloween fan, he cannot wait for next year, but before the night ends there is one last thing you two need to do...going on a hunt!

Khonshu

-The God of the Moon wasn't too interested in your mortal holiday. Yet somehow, you managed to convince him to go with you, manifesting him in a corporeal form. So that's why you asked him to teach you the magic to invoke entities...

-But you did go through all the hard work to summom him into the material plane, he can't bring himself to say no to his favorite human. And it has been centuries since he last walked the earth with mortals.

-Okay fine, you did it, you got your oh so great and benevolent god to acompany you during this wicked night. Steve and Marc are beyond impressed with your skill to make Khonshu do anything you want.

-Surprisingly enough though, you didn't have to say anything about Khonshu needing a new look, all his idea. After all, the god has decided that since he'll walk among mortals after so many years, he might as well dress for the occasion.

-Pale bandages and golden crescent moons get replaced with black robes that shine like the stars and are adorned with blood red moons. He looks a little like a Vampire.

-Old Birb Man mantifests some fangs after you said that, threatening to take a sip out of you.

-He even dresses you up himself, whatever costume you had before will be changed to make you look worthy to be a god's consort. All will look upon you with awe. Only the best for his beloved star.

-You walk the streets together, the witch and their terrifying patron drawing the eyes and adoration of everyone.

-Daddy Khonshu decides to go even extra and cause a Blood Moon, with a jack'o-latern face filling the celestial body.

-He puffs up when people compliment him, ah yes, how he missed the worship of mortals. Hand feed him the candy you got and he'll coo about how a perfect human you are, his best accolyte. That's how you find out about Khonshu's massive sweet tooth

-However manifesting Khonshu for so long takes it's toll on you, invoking a deity upon the material plane is quite a lot of work. Khonshu already plans to reward you plenty for not only for letting him walk among the earth again but also feel the joy of halloween.

-The night ends with you getting usherd to bed, face lovingly carresed before Khonshu dematerializes.

-While all gaze upon a grinning blood moon.

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #terato #monsterxhuman #mothman x reader #yautja x reader #khonshu x reader #Dullahan x reader #my writing #gender neutral reader #predator #moon knight x reader #moon kight

[2kmps]

IN A SLEEPY TOWN

headless horseman x reader masterlist | ao3

story synopsis; “the horseman who rides atop his alabaster steed, cloaked in crimson without a head.”

in the sleepy town of Moorwick, you are drawn into the legend of the horseman when you learn it is associated with your father’s disappearance twenty years ago. when the local ghost story turns to be anything but that, and a bargain goes awry, you delve into moorwick’s dark history with hopes of saving more than just yourself.

story warnings; graphic descriptions of gore & violence, stalking, manipulation, murder, brief mention of child murder, mc gets injured quite often, brief mentions of suicide, frightening & grotesque imagery, horror, manhandling bc the horseman is a tank, elements of mystery, very detail + prose heavy, implied parental negligence, mental illness is discussed at length in certain chapters. originally posted 11/2019.

thank you, @ceruleansol for proofreading 💙

chapter synopsis & links

chapter one; you travel to the sleepy town of moorwick in search of your missing father. with little more than some luggage and your car, you're immediately steeped in the mysterious ways of the residents and of their local boogeyman— the headless horseman.

chapter two; you spend a better portion of your day in the archives of the moorwick public library researching the phenomena surrounding the town. by nightfall, you wander into the haunted forest to confront these myths yourself

chapter three; with the town of moorwick abuzz for the parade, you make every effort to escape your pact with the horseman, only to be thwarted by suspicious circumstances. when you’re lured back to the atticus, your next encounter with the horseman is anything but pleasant

chapter four; some time has passed and you continue to return to the atticus, no closer to solving the mystery of the horseman’s head. after an encounter with the dead, along with something far worse, you were beginning to understand the horseman’s existence wasn’t so straightforward.

chapter five; you could no longer refute that your relationship with the horseman was more complex than you initially thought it to be. what did it mean? Just as you’re coming to terms with this, colson offers a gift that could change everything. and moorwick’s more prestigious residents let you know that there are eyes always watching.

chapter six; you are determined to get answers from the horseman regarding the whereabouts of your father. It goes horribly awry. to make matters worse, new information comes your way about the peculiarities of moorwick, making the search for the horseman’s head far more complex and there are some people determined to keep it that way.

chapter seven; following that bloody night in the forest with the horseman, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back. It’s only after a startling revelation from asta lang that you find the courage to return; albeit you find that the horseman isn’t your only encounter.

chapter eight; the mystery deepens as you confront the one person who may know more about colson’s intentions than anyone else: theodore sinclair. As the nature of your relationship to the horseman evolves, you’re left wondering what it all means.

chapter nine;

chapter ten;

chapter eleven;

this is a series repost from my deleted blog officiallytheduchess/cardeneiv. chapters 1-8 are not up-to-date with my current writing style, thus you are likely to see shifts in focus and storytelling as a result.

I do intend to revamp this series once officially completely and rebuild it from the ground up. as my skills as a writer have grown, so has potential for this story and the world within.

please reblog the individual chapters & the masterlist! reblogs are the only way that work gets shared around this platform and it's important to do so!

©️2kmps. all published work for this series belongs to me. you may not reproduce, translate, or publish it on any other platform without my explicit consent. fanworks are permitted with clear and obvious credit.

#headless horseman #dullahan #headless horseman x reader #headless horseman x you #headless horseman x y/n #dullahan x you #dullahan x reader #dullahan x y/n #monster fiction #monster fic #monster x human #monster fucker #monster story #monster #monster x y/n #monster x you #monster x reader #original writing #original fic #writing #.02 #2k writes #monsterfkr

[maidenseekingmonsters]

Dullahan monster romance coming soon.

If I manifest it through a moodboard, it will totally write itself faster, you know?

Image credits X-X-X 

#monster x reader #reader insert #monster boyfriend #female reader insert #monster romance #exophilia #dullahan x reader #headless horseman #wip: let's not lose our heads #writeblr

[rea-grimm]

Trafalgar Law Masterlist

Dullahan Headcanons

Merfolk

Sleep protector

Vampire pt 1

Vampire pt 2

One Piece Masterlist

#one piece #one piece x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #law x reader #Law #dullahan law #Masterlist #Monster Piece Masterlist

[atnightiscream]

Your Dullahan partner making you hold their head to your neck to give you ticklish kisses while their body stands behind you, threatening to tickle the hell out of you if you drop their head.

So giggle all you want, but don't you even think about pulling them away. It's your fault! You drew on their face! Take your consequences you little jerk!

#k I'm crawling back into my cave now #have a tickle thought #sfw tickle thoughts #sfw tickle #monster x reader tickle #i honestly adore Dullahans

[devil-doll13]

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper

Ciarán x Gn!Reader.

Tw: Gender neutral reader, also reader gets kidnapped by Ciarán so yeah, somewhat Dark Romance, Stockholm Syndrome as the reader is imprisoned/isolated, Angst, reader is very autistic coded idk it just happened the fic was doing whatever it wanted, also you die at the end… Sorry. This is a bit of new territory for me so please tell me if anything else needs to be tagged!

I’m out of the writing block gulag and I present to you, this… Fic. It sort of ended up being almost fairytale-like in nature because that just made sense for this character. Hope you enjoy.

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Spring

One day, you must run away. Far away, into the wilderness of your country, and leave behind you the pains of the day.

The first sprouts of the year have perked up above the soil, but they do not bloom yet. The grip of winter still holds life captive, a thick white mist blanketing the ground in an eerie shroud. The stone walls of your haunting ground jut out of the land like the teeth of felled giants, grey and silent. Then down yonder, the slabs of the stone circle stand guard like sentinels, murky in the fog. What they protect, who can say; or perhaps it is something you are protected from, as the elders in your village have told you.

You wander over the moorlands and clamber over streams and bogs, well loved and well travelled. From time to time you sit and rest upon a rock protrusion, humming some innsong, feeling some tension leave you, watching the day go by and the birds fly free, unbothered by your quiet presence. Later you think you had better make for home again - though it may be unwelcoming to you - lest you find yourself wandering the countryside ‘till the wee hours of the morning, led astray by visions in the mist.

And strange visions you indeed have.

The air is thick with some unknown energy. Alive, it seems, with the buzz of a hundred thousand watchers. All peering at you, the foolish little mortal, who has long frequented their mushroom doors and ancient tree carvings and hidden glades glittering in the sunlight. You, so unaware, so painfully human. You have known them for almost as long, though you remain but a trifling amusement in their eyes. Only one - one as alone and bereft as you - sees you truly and wishes to know you truly, more than any fellow villager would care to know you.

Then, he appears before you; or reveals himself.

His shadow falls onto you in the fading light of the setting sun, and you can do little but stumble into the bogwater and scream before this dusky knight and his dark mare are upon you. He reaches out and captures you in his arms, deathly cold like you imagine the inside of a coffin. You struggle in vain, but his grip is a vice, cutting and metal, hard. All goes dark as you imagine you have been killed; been taken by the reaper, perhaps God has come to destroy you for your wickedness, your sins and abnormalities.

It remains dark when you awake. But no longer are you held so tightly; you lay on soft, blanketing bedsheets. Adrenaline jolts you upright and you cry out in panic at the ghastly sight of your kidnapper, the icy fire hissing and flaring at the base of his neck, the only dim source of light to illuminate the room you’re in. He towers over you, imposing, stealing your breath from your chest.

“Please, please don’t hurt me…” You choke out.

The flames hiss louder, sharper, which only makes you more frightened, but he makes no moves to harm you. He gazes over your trembling form, seeming almost nervous in the way his gauntlets fumble. Still, you grimace away when he steps closer and reveals a small handkerchief, glowing. But it is not the fabric, you realise, but what is held inside.

Golden apples, their scent so sweet and intoxicating, and water from the clearest spring. He nudges you, though not forcefully, to eat and drink; still you have no choice, you think. As you bite into the fruit, you feel it numb your senses, and soon you give in to tiredness and fear and go to sleep, hoping and praying you had been dreaming; imagination wild and disturbed.

But no Springtime dream is this; you awake there, but mercifully warm. The soft bedsheets are still draped over you, lovingly arranged. A single source of light sits atop a podium, carved in a strange, circular fashion unlike any mortal design you have known. You sit up and see it is a glass bauble full of fireflies.

Your captor is nowhere to be seen. For a while you languish in your foreign bed and feel no desire to leave it, but fear of his return spurs you to leap from it, still dressed in your travel clothes. There must be some way out of this shadowy place, you reason, and with a feverish sweat and pounding heart you seize the flickering glass ball and try to navigate your way out of your room.

You cannot tell how much time has passed since you were taken here, for you are surrounded by grim, rocky walls overtaken by black ivy. It smells of damp moss and ancient dust, and the dark, cavernous space echoes your unsure footsteps back at you. Soon, you begin to suspect you must be trapped in the bowels of some dungeon, imprisoned here. Your heart, so heavy in your ribcage, sinks ever further into the abyss as you realise there seems to be no clear path back to your home. It is a labyrinth, your route only discernible by the uncanny murals etched across the stone.

You then feel a sudden itch urging you to turn back, to seek out the safety of your new cage, and the foreboding metallic steps sounding from the end of the gloomy hallway hastens your flight away from here. You hide underneath your sheets, as if a child again, and cry bitterly. You are not brave enough to face your kidnapper, nor are you willing to endure whatever tortures he will subject you to. You, so young, so full of life before, can see no way out of this all-consuming darkness.

Summer

After some further attempts, your hope fades into apathy, and you give yourself to grim resignation. You sleep as much as you are able, and dream of better things, of your village. Burrowing into your sheets like a worm into soil, feeling twice as wretched. You wonder if you are missed - or at least if your work is missed - or if your absence is noticed at all. For years you longed to disappear off to somewhere quiet and peaceful, but not like this.

Now you regret those wishes; your most desperate plea to God is that he spirit you back home.

Your captor visits to give you food and drink, though you have lost all appetite and eye the apples warily, remembering your sleepy daze when you ate them last. More unnervingly, he lingers in your room and watches you, sitting or standing. He does nothing to you, so eventually you start to feel a little safer in his presence, but no less anxious. Sometimes you try to speak to him, to reason with him:

“Who are you?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Why won’t you let me go?”

All met with silence. He has no head; you suppose he cannot speak. You are certain now that he is not human, and though his appearance is that of a knight, you see no heraldry to mark his allegiance to any kingdom. You begin to wonder if he is some vengeful or sorrowful spirit, accompanying you in death; or if he is the Devil, subjecting you to your own personal tormenting Hell. Your nervous thoughts quickly spiral out of control, and you toss and turn without rest.

Soon you tire of laying in bed, of the neverending sleep, and with your little light source venture out again into the labyrinth. This time you take a thread from your clothing - as worn and frayed as they now are - and use it to remember your way. You still fear what may happen should your captor meet you outside of your room; though he has been docile and calm for all the time you have known him, you know the nature of such otherworldly beings can be fickle.

Perhaps now the overworld has been cast in balmy Summer, the April showers past and gentle breezes blowing fresh, warm air into the fields, crops swaying. For an unknown amount of time, you have been stuck here, and seen no face but your own, reflected back at you in the Spring water. As far as you can tell, the only other being in this place that is not your captor is his beautiful black mare. She resides sometimes in a sort of rock stable, which you come across during one of your tentative trips outside your room.

In life, you felt an affinity for animals, preferred over other people, demanding and loud. She is rarely without her rider, but in those odd moments you creep into her living space and offer her your gilded apple. You braid her black mane and comb your fingers through it, all the while wishing you were back home and with the steady workhorses. She is like none other that you have seen in your memory, strong and dark and with wise, inquisitive eyes.

One of these times, you happen upon your captor doing the same. It is far too startling to see him dote on the mare as you do, with gentleness you have never seen him display before; or never cared to notice. You leave quickly and try to dispel the memory of it, so little does it fit your fearful perception of him.

Now you begin to study the mysterious murals by light of the bauble full of fireflies; simply for lack of things to do. They tell strange tales, but they all seem interconnected somehow, and though they resemble no Christian creation, you can still recognise their unearthly beauty. Over many trips outside to decipher them, you piece together the story of a knight who, seemingly having committed a great sin, is banished from the fair courts and made an exile, cast into the dark realm you now live in…

Only too late do you recognise the knight as your captor. It hits you unpleasantly, for you spent some time filled with pity and empathising with his plight. Both of you, prisoners of this place, and now he sees fit to chain you here in fetters alongside him.

Of course. No one, human or not, would wish to live in this awful place. Not willingly. An eternity of being alone, surrounded by this gloom and reminders of your own failures, would be unbearable. You understand this so keenly, for weren’t you alone before? Loneliness, A frighteningly human sentiment to associate with that terrifying figure. How could you sympathise with him, your jailer? You remember again the gentleness with which he tended to his horse, and feel disgusted, confused.

Your stomach ties itself into knots as you stand there, thinking and feeling too much. But then, you hear again the sound of footsteps approaching, and in panic you almost drop the bauble filled with fireflies. It is too close. You sprint back along your path of string, and there you see him towering over you, and flee fearfully back to your room to drag the great door shut and prevent his entry. Far too soon, you hear a great weight thrown against it that reverberates in your very bones. You recall that sword that lies by his hip, lethal-

“I’m not letting you in!” You cry, shivering.

He stops. There is quiet from behind the door.

For a moment, you feel an icy wave of terror wash over you. Have you overstepped? Will he force his way in now, and kill you for your insolence?

“I-I’m not letting you in until you agree to let me go.”

You swallow thickly, holding fast to your momentary courage; if you have dug your own grave by now, you may as well lie in it.

Silence. Then, you flinch as you hear the metallic step of his sharp sabatons, scraping against the floor. They become more distant and faint, until you are certain that he is walking away, away into the labyrinth to do God knows what, only you hope he does not come back to punish you.

You cannot sleep after that. Fear and hunger gnaw at your senses; you fed your apple to your captor’s mare. Miserable, you try distracting yourself by humming that innsong, but you find you have forgotten the tune. Little by little, your past life is slipping away from you.

When he opens the great door, you cannot stop him. But this time, he does not pass the threshold. You watch as this massive armoured being does the most unexpected thing: he kneels before you. His flames burn brightly, as deep a blue as Summer’s night sky. In his sharp, unsure gauntlets he offers up a bundle of fabric you quickly recognise as a collection of your old clothes, and between his fingers he clutches a beautiful red poppy.

This… You stare at him, unable to think or speak.

He does not move, only remains bended at the knee, awaiting your response. Your mouth is dry. Even you recognise this as a romantic gesture. Your captor is trying to court you, his own prisoner. You want to laugh at him for his absurdity; laugh madly.

“…I’m not taking it unless you let me out.” You say.

But he does not agree; or he cannot communicate without action. Still you know that your attempt to escape is futile, and that refusing the gift would ultimately be pointless. Slowly, hands shaking, you receive the gift. The fire on his neck hisses, flaring so suddenly it would’ve made you jump in the past. Now, you expect it. As a show of defiance, you still shut the great door on him, and he makes no effort to stop you. Soon, you hear his footsteps again, fading into the dark unknown.

You look down at your hands full of items. The poppy almost appears as if it will wilt in your fingers; in this place without life or light. You know now that it is Summer, and some sense of peace and calm washes over you. Now, with your old clothing, with a reminder of the overworld, you feel at strange ease.

Autumn

By now, you have adapted well to your new routine.

There is no sun, and the only way you can measure days or weeks is by the frequency of his visits. Each time he returns, he kneels upon his knee to meet you, offering a poppy. Each time you reject him, only you ask if he will let you go, or let you see your home again. He refuses, then leaves to resume his duty. Thus begins and ends the cycle of day and night.

Your suitor is not forceful, but he is persistent. He brings you other things, too, to make your cage more homely. It is the most comfortable and warm place you know in this underneath, catered to your fragile human body. You feel betrayed by your own emotions, as you find yourself touched by his consideration. You know you are a prisoner here, but somehow you see him in new light; with no others to talk to, you have started to confide in him despite your risky position here. He stays close and endures your occasional insults, and now you suspect he delights in your better mood, or at least in the idea that you have accepted your fate.

You speak, he listens, and watches you. Before, no one would ever do this, and dismiss you. All your flights of fancy, no matter how strange, are humoured in a way you never expected. When you express a desire to see something that will grow still in this barren place, your idea for a mushroom farm is fulfilled. It gives you something to do and look at; you adopt hobbies and pastimes you never considered before, too burdened with your work.

Still, you refuse his love. But as time passes, you feel less discomforted by his presence. His aura is calm and steady, reassuring like something ancient that has been in existence forever, like the stone circle you remember from your home. Then, as you feel more secure in your standing here, you leave your room again to explore the labyrinth.

Now when you meet him here, you greet him. You are no longer afraid, for you have learned with time that he detests to harm you. He starts, as if he is just as surprised as you yourself are. Together you sit in the dark, two prisoners at peace. When you feel tired, he extends a hand to you, offering to pull you up. You hesitate for a moment, remembering how he snatched you before. Still, you take it, and though it is cold it is not discomforting like you expect, but solid and cool. Without thinking, you hook your arm into his, though he is tall and dwarfs you. He leads you happily back to your room so you may sleep, and when you watch him leave you find yourself wondering what his hand, underneath the gauntlet, truly feels like.

After that, the connection between the two of you begins to strengthen. The barrier that kept you from touching now has seemingly been broken, and when you walk to and from your chamber it is together, arms linked as if you were both on a leisurely stroll. When you pretend that it is, it makes things simpler, so that you can forget the gloom that surrounds you. Better shackled as one than divided and alone, left to rot in this desolate place.

So your affection for him is not only of the heart, but rational. You make the most of your shared imprisonment. Perhaps you forget that it was he that dragged you down here, but as he caresses your face so lovingly, it no longer seems to matter. You learn then that his embrace is strong and enveloping, and see ashen skin beneath the armour which you kiss, falling further into the abyss, losing sight of all that you had sworn to fight against. He is, to you, as devoted and passionate a lover as any human man could be, and far greater still. You no longer have the willpower to deny your heart’s desires.

Perhaps now the outside world had begun to wither and die, as the seasons change and the leaves begin to fall, rotting into the dirt. You, a trifling mortal, should see fit to be buried with them; but your fate has been altered, changed now. Loving so utterly has transformed your heart and mind, your soul, and you still eat of the sweetest fruits and drink from the clearest spring, boons earned by your lover’s exploits. You now wish to become like him, without end. To become deathless, and forget, forget it all…

Winter

Still, you recall the sweetness of spring, the fruits of summer, the colours fading in the harvest, giving way to cold and deathlike winter.

This time, when you ask him once again to bring you back to your mortal world, it is not to leave him, but to experience these joys once more before you must let them go forever. To be his forever. He agrees, though reluctantly, as if you are terribly fragile and sick; though you feel so feverishly cheerful, as if you have gained new life and new being now. Only he bids you to hold on tightly to him, gripping your hands firmly in his as he holds the reins. You obey and bury your face into his travel cloak, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. The atmosphere shifts, the air is fresh, and you breathe in deeply, crisp and serene.

Your eyes, accustomed to darkness now, sting painfully in the light. Even though the skies are grey, sombre clouds brooding over the land, you see life once again for the first time in an aeon. Dying now - or already dead - to be reborn in the next life.

“I want to see my-my old home...” Your teeth chatter. He squeezes your hands that tremble against his chestplate. It is cold; not like he is cold, but from the bitter chill of winter. Under your shared shroud of fog, the grass is frozen, you see all around you the pale glaze of white. All is still, and the howling gale quiets in your lover’s commanding presence, pacified.

Together you ride across the moor, concealed by shimmering mist. Though you still recognise your country, you soon realise it has been changed. Then, with horror, that your old house has long been gone. All is replace now with new, alien structures and colours and brightness, a future so grotesque you are repulsed by it. You regret coming here now.

How many years have passed? The familiarity, the comfort you expected to find here, is gone. All that is left now is urgency and confusion and noise. Time has abandoned you as readily as anyone you have ever known; except for him, your lover. You no longer belong here, but to him, to his world.

You look at your hands. What is your essence, now not human, but also not like him? Now you feel that you wish to turn back, return to the dark and quiet of the underneath. But your folly leaves you untethered to your lover’s cloak, and in that moment his mare draws up and you slip off her back.

Then, you fall from the horse. You hit the ground.

As your body touches bitter soil and earth, you revert entirely; for you always have belonged to the overworld, a mortal fool. Your hands soon appear gnarled and withered, your hair overgrown and grey, as you age into a feeble elder, returning once again to the dying land. The last thing you see is that black gauntlet reaching out for you, as longingly as it did on that Spring day. But Death takes you first and steals you away, a cruel twist of fate that ends your story, as pitiful and as unfortunate as it had began.

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @flower-crowned-lady, @solmints-messyocdiary, @probably-a-plant-thing, @myers-meadow)

#the seasons idea came from the whole Hades and Persephone myth #the ending was inspired by Irish myths/folklore though #Ciarán #🗡️ #Ciarán x reader #oc x reader #slasher oc #horror oc #dullahan #fic #my writing

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕬𝖈𝖊𝖕𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖘

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: First time trying this.Have the snippet of my writing.

TW: Decapitated head?

Arms out, stalking my way forward. I felt like I was trying to move my way through a swamp. Unseeable roots coming out of nowhere. Thick fog coming up to my waist. Dark branches overhanging above. Whispering incoherent things within its shadowed bark.

A yelp, and rapid shots sounded off from somewhere. Echoing throughout the forest while I halted my moment. Ears straining to pick up anything my other senses couldn’t. A faint thudding was heard before it faded out.

The hair on the back of my neck suddenly rose. My gut growing heavy, telling me something just isn’t right with this forest anymore as it became eerily silent.

Despite my gut telling me to flee. I crouched in my place, alert. Trying to decipher what the hell just happened through the fog. Trying to justify the reason not to run.

Did someone just surprise themselves with a tree and shot at it? Did they get scared by an animal and shoot at it in defense?

Quickly moving my back up against a tree. I held my breath as the same thudding from before came back louder. Heavier. My eyes blindly trying to search through the dark fog for the source. Seeing nothing but the grayish-blue of the fog and moonlight combined.

Exhaling slowly, I lowered myself to the ground, and patted the area around me. Searching for something to protect myself with. Eventually, finding a piece of wood, and held it up close to my chest.

Hearing the thudding getting closer, and closer. I pinpointed that the sound came from behind the tree I took defense on.

Tightening my grip on the piece of wood. I readied it above my shoulders. Elbows out, ready to hit this unknown threat as hard as possible.

Men, were dropping like flys out here. The cause unresolved. Not a single thing on our enemy.

First to peek out from the side of my tree was the big, glowing eyes made of crimson. Its nostrils having the same glow too. Almost like it would breathe fire. Then the slick, jet black pelt of the beast. Its long mane matching the color of its pelt. Flowing almost gracefully along its shifting movements.

Just as I spotted the mud, caked hair of a decapitated head of some poor soul on the black saddlebags, the beast reared up in surprise. Crying out as the rider tried to regain control.

Adrenaline shooting through my system. I quickly swung up at the rider. Hitting them square in the stomach. A loud crack reverberating off as the wood shattering upon impact. Knocking the rider off his horse and to the ground with a heavy thud.

Flicking off the splinters from my gloved hands. I swiftly unsheathed my dagger within my vest, and pinned the rider beneath me. My knee digging harshly into their body underneath their ribs with a hand on their shoulder for stable strike.

Rising the blade up. I lifted it above my head. Going for a fatal attack. Yet froze in place.

This rider was cloaked in black. An old, yet polished mercenary uniform from way back. A sword sheathed around their waist.

This… man, didn’t belong here. He was from somewhere else. Somewhere else, entirely.

What was even more unsettling, was this man didn’t even have a head.

#headless horseman #mythical creatures #myth #folklore #dullahan #horseman #hessian mercenary #first post #first writing #sleepy hollow #reader insert #x reader #oneshot

[monstersandmaw]

Monsters & Maw Patreon returns 21st October, with a Dullahan story in time for Halloween!

Extract:

A mist on Samhain night coiled its curious fingers through the hawthorn hedgerows and carded the bone-pale grasses along the verge with gentle, sighing caresses. At the fulcrum of the year, when the last warmth of summer had truly faded, and the biting maw of winter had yet to show its teeth, you came truly alive for a precious few weeks.

You sighed around a smile, softly sweeping the birch bristles of the broom back and forth across the flagstone that marked the entrance to your cottage, and hoped to sweep away the bad luck that seemed to have gathered like choking dust in all the corners of your life that year. You were ready for the restorative stillness that winter would bring, but you weren’t quite ready to let go of the bounty of a rich autumn either.

That afternoon, you’d set your carved Jack o’ Lantern grinning on the step, and you’d given your private remembrances to the recently departed. You’d walked sunwise round your house with a bough of smouldering fir to cleanse the space with smoke, and you’d offered firewood from your stores to the village boys who’d trekked all the way out to your lonely cottage to make sure that your hearth was included in the communal bonfire. In the morning, you would go down to the smouldering embers on the village green and light your own torch to bind your hearth to the rest of the community, but for the moment, you were alone on the edge of things.

Now, as the tiny crescent of moon sailed out from behind the bare, silhouetted branches of the old copse of ash and oak behind the drystone wall, you leaned a moment on the wooden gate at the end of the garden path, and tilted your face to its frail, faltering light.

Your breath made ghosts dance in the air, and as you rested there and smelled the last of the mint in the garden beside you, the sound of hoofbeats on the road disturbed the dark and the quiet of the night.

It was far too late for any of the villagers to be venturing up the road now. Travellers were rare on Samhain night, and yet a horse was approaching at a steady, measured walk, and eventually, the hazy outline of a rider on a huge, ragged mount melted from the mist.

Your heart leapt to your throat and you stepped back, trying not to trip or stumble or bolt to your house for fear of insulting the rider. This was no human being sitting astride that monstrous horse with its rolling red eyes.

For one, the rider had no head.

“Dullahan,” you breathed before you could stop yourself, and you felt their attention sharpen onto you. You bit back a hissing curse at your stupidity just in time and stood your ground. There was an iron horseshoe above your door, and you wondered if that would be enough to protect you from this Unseelie Fae.

The horse’s hooves slowed and it tossed its head, snorting and blowing steam in the cold night, and the rider turned to regard you with a head that wasn’t there.

---

You will be able to read the whole story on the 'Little Ghosties' tier of Patreon from 21st October 2023!

I hope to see you there for more like this, and if you want to know a little more about it, here's the post I made to let folks know about my Patreon coming back!

#dullahan #dullahan x reader #dullahan romance #fae romance #fae #patreon #ghosti's patreon

[mgrfp]

Monster Girl Romance Fiction Prompt #25

You get along very well with a Dullahan at a debate tournament and pretty soon you're dating. It's a normal relationship once you get used to her head not always being attached. The trouble starts when she says you should be more touchy-feely and you get her body mixed up with her mother's.

#dullahan #headless girl #monster girl #monster x reader #fluff #writing prompt #mgrfp #please use that tag if you write this story

[terato-is-life]

A Dullahan who owns a coffee shop finally ask you to hang out with them because they simply LOVED your personality and the way you laugh.

#exophilia #monster x human #monster boyfriend #male monster x female reader #monster family #monster lover #monster girlfriend #female monster x female human #female monster x male human #male monster x male human #dullahan

[2kmps]

IN A SLEEPY TOWN - CHAPTER ONE

headless horseman x reader | 5,249 words

story synopsis; “the horseman who rides atop his alabaster steed, cloaked in crimson without a head.”

in the sleepy town of Moorwick, you are drawn into the legend of the horseman when you learn it is associated with your father’s disappearance twenty years ago. when the local ghost story turns to be anything but that, and a bargain goes awry, you delve into moorwick’s dark history with hopes of saving more than just yourself.

chapter synopsis; you travel to the sleepy town of moorwick in search of your missing father. with little more than some luggage and your car, you're immediately steeped in the mysterious ways of the residents and of their local boogeyman— the headless horseman.

thank you for proofreading, @ceruleansol

for more chapters: masterlist

The town of Moorwick was in rapturous applause that day on October 27. With their claps hard and strong, it became impossible to distinguish between them and the drizzle pattering atop clusters of colorful coats lining the streets outside of the town hall. There, a number of officials of the town council found agitation that the ceremony should be held today in the rain rather than break decades-old tradition and host it in the thickness of morning fog tomorrow or next week.

In the four-day span of your stay in Moorwick as of current, you became well acquainted with the region’s autumnal weather, which seemed to entail invigorating, crisp air at night in companionship with the type of rainfall that managed to seep through your clothes, flesh, and left you cold to the marrow. During the day, there seemed to be no shortage of police at work with their shrill sirens and flipping lights to block off landslides on the main roads from overnight.

Three of those landslides had thwarted your passage into Moorwick for a solid three days, leaving you to the mercy of cruddy motels overcharging for beds with stains a tad too dark to be anything auspicious and water with the faintest tinge of yellow.

During checkout at the final detour of your trip, the man at the desk went on a tangent about the old days as a fisherman on the coastline right up until his eye was plucked out by a crab and had to retire. You managed sounds from your throat that quivered from your discomfort, attention floating from the adjacent hallways hoping to reel another patron in alongside you.

“By the way there, you ain’t heading towards Moorwick by any chance, are ya?”

When you turned forward again, the man was nearly bent all the way across the counter, elbows just nearly reaching the end of the desk. In his one eye that didn’t catch an unnatural sheen from the dim, orange light overhead, you thought you saw traces of lunacy in it, the stare of a man with the anxiety and burden of stories to share.

You honestly didn’t want to know.

“Yeah,” you offered with a withering voice. “Going there for family stuff and whatnot. The town has a website. It looks nice enough. But they always do, right?”

The man shrunk back from the counter to his own side, digging his heels back down onto the floor. He regarded you with such a pitying look and a frown that it spurred a rush of shame to creep up your neck and across your face. “I see. Well, best do ya business and leave. Take my word for it when I say don’t go below the surface. Sometimes, taking things as they appear is better.”

He pulled a receipt from the register under his desk, fumbled with it in his knobby hands and bulbous knuckles to smooth out the wrinkles before handing it over to you. There for a moment, the slip of white paper hovered aloft in the man’s hand, unable to find yourself willing to reach for it.

Quick to take your reluctance in stride, he gave a hearty laugh that broke into hoarse cracks of coughs that he smothered behind a fist. “I only say—I only say that because ya giving me the feel of one of those folks who just doesn’t let things be.”

You slipped the receipt from his fingers quickly, crushing it into a wad against your palm with a taut smile pressing lines into your face. “Won’t say you’re wrong. Take care.”

His words stayed with you for days afterward, staved only by the static of the radio as your only friend on the stretch of road alongside the forest. The trees had tantalized you into a lull, unassuming, yet you often found your eyes veering from the road toward them as though noticing a stare from across the room. It was a sensation that ensnared you all the same even after your arrival in Moorwick.

The day of the ceremony at present wasn’t an exception to this. By that point, the rain had tapered into a fine mist that dampened your skin as you shucked the hood from your raincoat behind your head, face pointed purposefully ahead.

Standing front and center now on the lowest steps of polished, slick stone was the mayor of Moorwick, a man barely a decade older than your own, though even that was a generous assumption. As he reached toward his face, a single finger erect to move aside a piece of dark hair that had fallen out of place, a silver medal hanging by a thick ribbon of deep blue rattled in his hand. The other held a simple plaque inscribed with gold in the black facing.

He surveyed the crowd slowly, undoubtedly recognizing all of the faces present there in the crowd until you felt his gaze settle on you. It had to be that you were still paranoid from the car ride there, you thought; the mayor and yourself had never once crossed paths, not once. You were certain of that.

And yet, you were familiar with the chill that gripped you when you were being watched, observed. It was different this time around; it wasn’t some intangible entity that haunted the foot of your bed at night, but rather a man of flesh and bone with a stare that seared into you. Your heart plunged into your stomach, forcing your legs to shuffle around in place, feeling the men on either side jostle you with their elbows as they clapped along with the rest.

Just as you thought to yank the hood up to conceal yourself, his head snapped to the side while a smile fit for a dashing gentleman carved into his lips, teeth a glistening white. He took several paces to the side, arm extended to mold against an elderly woman’s back as she ambled out from the crowd, holding a hand against her hip as she went.

“Hard to believe it’s been twenty-three years since we began doing this, right?” he spoke mirthfully, his voice humming from a pair of speakers located on adjacent sides of the sprawling crowd. “Once again, for the twenty-third year in a row, I would like to present this, uh, award to Moorwick’s very own Asta Lang! One hundred forty-five, can you believe it?”

The commotion grew louder by the second; the buoyant shouts and cheers, whistles and clapping had begun to warp together into a single cacophony of noise so grating it struck you between the eyes. Although the clouds held their dismal tone, expanded over the town like an ominous specter, and the ruckus was head-splitting, you willed your feet to stay anchored to the front row.

You clapped along with everyone as Asta, a rather short and frail-seeming woman with gray hair situated in intricate braids, bowed her neck toward the mayor to accept the medal and plaque. Once adjusting the ribbon at her neck, he cuffed an arm around her again and ducked his head near her ear.

Asta found you then, undoubtedly with the help of the mayor, and her thin lips pulled high close to her wrinkled cheeks dabbed in roughly blended fuschia. She turned her hand toward you, waving far more vigorously than she had for anyone else, keeping her smile long enough to tempt one of your own.

“Asta Lang, everyone! Asta Lang! Give her a good round of applause.” His words won him that response, rousing yet another wave of cheer through streets that quickly ebbed like a tide receding from shore when he shook a hand above his head. “So, just a reminder, good folk! The parade is only four days away! Four! Make sure to submit your booth tickets and finalize paperwork with the town council. We want this year’s parade to be the best yet! Don’t forget the contest in unmasking this year’s Headless Horseman. Who will it be?”

You were relieved to find your opportunity to shoulder your way through the sea of bright raincoats to the opposite end where you had seen Asta depart just moments ago. The mayor had such an air about him that it was hard not to find yourself captivated by what he had to say, yet strangely, all he had to say was nothing of consequence to miss.

Either way, you seized your escape and trotted across the grass, sinking underfoot with a trail nipping at your heels whilst shoe prints gushed with brown rainwater. You found Asta some ways off from town hall at that point, heading toward the main road with her husband in tow and the shiny new medal still hanging low against her chest.

“One hundred forty-five. Even I can’t believe it. I’ll fix all of that moaning and groaning from those youngsters wanting my spot by downing a whole bottle of prosecco and cheese.” Asta gave a huff as you eased yourself into a slower stride alongside them. “But look here. Isn’t it beautiful? It will look wonderful on the mantle, won’t it, Winston?”

She pinched the thick silver coin between her fingers near his face, an older man himself of 120 with the looks of one barely challenging his seventies. He adjusted the rim of his tweed hat with a crooked finger, nudging at his wrinkled brow with a thumb as he leaned in to get a better look at the medal.

“Quite nice it is, ah, but,” he stuttered, flicking the medal a few times. “Will it fetch a nice price, I wonder?”

Asta swatted his hand away hastily, tucking the medal under the protective layers of her coat, offering her husband a final admonitory glance before finally turning toward you. Four days into knowing this woman did not lessen your astonishment that she was truly 145; the wrinkles in her face did not align with your imagery of a human to have reached that age. You complimented her upon your first meeting, saying she couldn’t have been older than eighty. She seemed moved to tears.

“This fool doesn’t know anything. Just ignore him.” Asta gestured with her head toward him, receiving a dismissive wave in return. “Oh, yes, dear, won’t you join us for dinner? Before we left for the ceremony, I put in just the loveliest roast. Winston and I haven’t had guests over in a long time. It would be nice to have that company again, won’t it?”

Winston gave an affirmative grumble, reaching toward his neck to stroke the loose skin hanging low. “I would say so. Could give us a good excuse to pull out the red wine from the cellar. It’s a fantastic age now.”

“Oh, Winny.” Asta sidled closer to him, fussing with the hat on his head. “You know what the doctor said. Don’t you dare. I may do my morning walks, but I don’t have the energy to haul your ass to the cemetery.”

Their exchange was an oddly endearing thing, urging you to smother a laugh in your throat that radiated out into your voice. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind the company? I haven’t had roast since I was a kid.”

Asta shuffled closer to you again, carefully winding her arms around one of yours, holding onto you in a manner you felt was almost protective. “Yes, yes, my dear. We’d love that. I’d rather you spent time with us rather than… sitting in that empty old house.”

“Been empty for twenty-some years now, hasn’t it, Asta?” Winston said, ruminating on this as he curled his fingers inward to rotate the gold wedding band clearly too small for the swelling in his hands. “Hard to believe it’s been over that already. When you get to a certain age, you just stop counting. You become a little less pressed on time you’ve lost and focus more on what you can still be doing.”

“Mmm, that is true. Getting old has its perks.” Asta jutted her lips, dark eyes flicked heavenwards in momentary thought, tightening her arms against yours more. “That aside, I would also like to talk to you about, well, your father as well. That’s why you’re even here in Moorwick to begin with.”

The mention of him jerked your head toward her sharply, curiosity piqued. Meanwhile, the thick letter resting in the knapsack on your back felt a great deal heavier than it did before. It’s unlikely you would have ever found your way to Moorwick had it not been for the letter, being that it was a town days from any significant metropolitan area. It wasn’t exactly the most accessible location.

You dug your heels into the soggy ground, pulling Asta to a sudden halt that teetered her a bit too much. “Asta, what can you tell me about—”

“Oh, good, good! I didn’t miss you all just yet!” called the voice of the mayor from a distance. He approached with careful strides through the grass, hiking his pants above his ankles so as to not sully them with rainwater or mud. He had yet to come to a full stop before he had his hand extended toward your waist, straight and rigid, and clad in black wool.

You took a step away, disarmed by just about everything about him. From a distance, he was rather attractive, but up close, he was unarguably handsome with eyes that you likened to amber and a warm complexion. His hair was far more disheveled than it had been previously, making you ponder on whether his townsfolk turned into an angry mob, or he ran all the way here.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He clicked his tongue, flinching as though to reprimand himself. “Colson Sinclair, Mayor of Moorwick. It’s always a pleasure to see new faces.”

Edging a smile to your lips, you took his hand and gave a strong shake, a slight nod, and offered your name to him as well. “Nice to meet you as well, Mayor Colson.”

“Just Colson is fine. No need for the formalities.” He flashed you a radiant smile, dwelling on the handshake for a moment longer before slowly releasing your hand. “I heard you’ve moved into your old man’s house. About time someone occupied it. It’s just been sitting empty all this time. Your father, though, I’m so sorry to have been the one to—to, well, break you that news.”

You stared him in the face, matching the intensity of his own stare. “Do you know much about my dad, Mayor Colson? I’m trying to learn everything I can. Come to terms with it, y’know?”

Colson made a noise under his breath, tilting his head against a bent finger scratching his cheek. “He and I were colleagues for a while, worked as a notary in town hall for a handful of years. Actually, he may have been there before I even became mayor. It’s been twenty years. Stuff gets fuzzy.”

Your eyebrows jumped up, yet you were careful with your words. They spun in your mind and danced like fire on the tip of your tongue. Nothing he said made sense. Perhaps it amounted to nothing more than the stress of his responsibilities, though.

The silence that permeated the air was disrupted by Asta as she gave a noisy sigh that hissed through her teeth. “Children, if you will, my feet are wet, and I am cold. I would like to go home and enjoy my roast. Colson, you come along as well. There’s enough for everyone.”

Colson patted a hand against his chest. His laughter was airy and smooth. “Always looking out for me, Asta. I’ll have to take a rain check on that, I’m sorry. Don’t make that face. Another time.”

With that left said, Colson was quick to toe his way across the drenched ground to the sidewalk, smoothing out his pants and giving a swipe across his peacoat and hands. He left for an unfamiliar part of town to you, toward the harbor if you had any recollection of the layout.

Tall sheets of fog waited ahead for him there, yet just as in his greeting to you earlier, he was dauntless and ventured toward it without so much as a falter in his step.

“Really strange guy.” you said, passing a furtive look toward the older couple.

Asta flicked her fingers with a scoff. “He isn’t a half-bad kid when you get to know him.”

“He’s a punk who’s never worked a day in his life,” was what Winston had to say, removing himself from Asta’s side to mosey on the path toward home. “I’d like to get home before dark, if you don’t mind.”

By the time you reached their home, the slithers of light through the bloated clouds had all but been swallowed by the curtain of nightfall. You thought that the night in Moorwick was darker than in the city, darker than anywhere you had ever been for that matter. There was a stillness in the air accompanied by a silence that felt loud in your ears.

It came to a great relief to you once you were settled at their dining room table, a quaint little round table fixed with a beige tablecloth that glistened beneath the light with accents of lace. With a single look around, you knew their home was a treasure trove of precious memories collected over nearly a century. A number of trophies and medals were lined meticulously along shelving on the walls, undoubtedly untouched for decades and a delightful home to some crawlies.

“In my youth, I was an athlete,” Asta explained at your side with her carving knife and tongs as she pulled apart the succulent roast from the bone and nestled a good portion onto your plate. The warmth of the morsel wafted around your head and in your nose; it was a comforting embrace from the bite of the autumn night and your unease. “I once tried out for the Olympics, you know.”

You rested your hands atop your thighs, drumming your fingers there to sate your impatience. “Oh, really? What for?”

She continued to gingerly load your plate with sauteed vegetables and the stewed potatoes and carrots that had marinated in the roast broth all day, reminiscing meanwhile on the better part of her life spent as a gymnast. Losing her chance at the Olympics did something to her, she told you, still harboring some weight of dismay in her tired voice.

“You’ve always done your best, Asta.” Winston flicked out a handkerchief to lay it flat across his thighs. “Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve never done less than that.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” she replied, wiping her hands clean before taking her seat at the table.

Dinner passed pleasantly with Asta and Winston as they recalled times during their youth, particularly of their adventures getting hitched and gallivanting from country to country for a time, typically stowing away on boats to get to where they were headed. Their retelling of those stories meant something to them. You noticed it in the way their faces were aglow, their smiles just a little wider, and the softness that touched their eyes when they gazed at one another.

For a time, it was enough to deter your thoughts from the inevitable until it wasn’t. The tip of your fork lightly skimmed across the embossed veins throughout the plate in front of you, emitting a shrill scratch on occasion.

It was enough of an indication that the time had come. Winston was the one to collect the dishware and take it from the table while Asta led you toward the front of the house into the sitting room. There, the ceiling seemed to move away from you, and the room expanded wider at all sides. It was filled with the very same kind of novelties that gave the rest of their home its charm, and a pair of armchairs far too exquisite for you to sit in, but where Asta led you anyway.

“Take a seat, take a seat.” She gestured to your chair, chest rising and falling sharply with a sigh. “There is a lot for us to talk about. Some of it is better to sit to hear.”

The purple seat groaned beneath your weight when you dropped into it unceremoniously, knapsack pulled in front of you like a child’s toy while you rummaged it for a moment. Your fingers skimmed across a textured envelope, sturdier and far thicker in design than anything you had received before.

Asta’s jaw tightened at the sight of it, her chin tilting higher while her thumbs danced across each other atop a crossed knee. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen that. I’m glad it ended up in your hands.”

You nodded your agreement, dropping the stout envelope on the glass table positioned between your chairs. “I wouldn’t have found out anything otherwise. I’m still confused that I had to find out everything through a couple of letters instead of a phone call.”

“Would you have believed a phone call?” she challenged. “After all, we spoke a few times before you found your way here. I stay true to what I said before. I won’t guarantee the information I have on your father is what you want to hear.”

With a thin smile, you shifted to the edge of your seat and twisted your fingers together between your legs. “Asta, I packed two suitcases and barely gave my job notice that I’d be gone. I drove across the country for nearly a week, got caught up in three landslides, and now I’m here in an empty house that used to belong to my dad. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes.” She choked a laugh, a grin. “Yes, I think you will be as well.”

Just as Asta’s laughter settled into jumps in her chest, Winston shuffled into the room with a silver tray nestling an ornate teapot with a tall spout and a pair of cups similarly crafted. His hands trembled with the weight of the teapot, nearly missing the cups as he poured. “It’s a special blend, my own special blend at that. Never met a person who disliked it. Don’t be the first.”

You took the saucer and cup from him as he handed it to you shakily. “I wouldn’t imagine it.”

“Good, good,” he chimed, dropping a cube of sugar and then two more into the other cup, likewise offering it to his wife afterward. “Three cubes of sugar, tablespoon of honey. Just the way you like it.”

Asta craned her neck back to plant a kiss on his cheek, sending him off from the room then so you were alone with her. The first sip she took, she swallowed and blew out a breath; the second sip loosened her shoulders and molded her into the chair.

“As you know from the letter, your father is legally acknowledged as having passed. As you are the next of kin—his only kin—his belongings and property are now yours, should you choose to have them.” Asta began, lowering her cup to the table below. “It’s all a very complicated situation. My, how to begin…”

You didn’t drink from your tea but rather moved it to the table similarly. “He wasn’t present for most of my life. He upped and just disappeared one day. No explanation. No phone calls. No birthday cards, Christmas gifts. And then twenty-something years later, I get a letter with an official seal saying he’s passed, but you wrote me one, too.”

“Yes, yes, I did,” Asta replied, collectedly. “I asked Colson to have my letter included to you as well. Colson wrote to you all of the legal information, but I wasn’t satisfied with that. I wanted you to have a better understanding of the circumstances.”

Your eyes dropped towards the letter atop the glass table, recalling the pain that gripped your heart like a vise and opened a void in your gut. “Colson says dad is dead. You say he disappeared.”

“He disappeared twenty years ago on a rainy day in November. I remember it well.” Asta bobbed her head slowly, much like in a motion of a mechanical doll. “I will admit, no one truly knows anything about the circumstances around his disappearance. There was nothing left behind, there was never a culprit, nothing to collect. Only a fascination.”

She was egging on your curiosity, coaxing you to want to delve deeper into it. Whether it was by the uncertainties already surrounding this situation or the innate sensation to recoil—trepidation of an unalterable outcome—you hesitated to push the words from your lips.

“Fascination… of what kind, exactly?”

“Of a kind that I wonder whether you’ll be able to understand.” Asta eased closer to the end of her seat, reaching for the spoon in her teacup to swirl the black drink inside. “Moorwick has been my home for a very long time, and with my age, I have learned that the world is far more complicated than we give it credit for. Your father disappeared somewhere on the outskirts of the forest.”

You stared at her. “Was it searched?”

“The forest? Oh, dear, the Atticus Forest takes weeks to thoroughly search, and even then, it would be easy to miss something. For a time, it was, by daylight at any rate.” She continued, “You see, your father was fascinated by the forest and what may be hidden there.”

The way she spun her story to you sent your mind down a path you weren’t sure you wanted to hear. There in the sanctuary of her beautiful sitting room, you felt the cold grip of something at the back of your neck, bristling the hairs there and bumps high across your arms. Although the room bathed in a soft light, leaving no shadow to the vividity of the mind, you still sat there exposed to this room and town with a large chip in your armor.

With some dubiety to her, and the thoughts that swarmed in your head, you spoke at last without knowing what would tumble out in the tones of your voice, “So, you’re basically telling me that a ghost took him.”

There was something in the way that Asta withered back into her chair, taking glimpses from the corner of her eye as though looking for someone else there. You tightened your arms around the bag against your chest, occupying your fingers with the slim beads hanging from one of the pocket tassels. “What? Is there something else I should know, too? Just throw it out there to me, might as well at this point.”

Asta smacked her lips together and drew her hands together firmly. “As I’ve—as I’ve said, there are things that I wonder if you’ll be able to understand. Your father was no fool to what dwells in that forest. I believe he actually went deep into the heart of it with an intention, and he was noticed.”

“Noticed?” you urged her on. “Noticed by what? A hunter? A ghost? What?”

“The Headless Horseman, my dear.” Asta swallowed an exasperated laugh at bewilderment on your face, having expected that much of a reaction from you. “Moorwick, this wonderful town I love, has a very dark history and an even darker legend. The Headless Horseman who rides atop his alabaster steed, cloaked in crimson without a head.”

She spoke the latter like a nursery rhyme, trailing the tip of her tongue across her lower lip. “He is said to be the warden of the forest, though in life he was a ruthless man—a disgraced prince turned mercenary who lost his life twice. Twice.”

You weren’t sure how to interject to this ludicrous story; this old woman was actually trying to tell you that your father had been stolen by a headless horseman in the woods. For you to deplete so much of your time and funds just to hear this—what the hell were you even doing in this town?

Chasing ghosts now, apparently.

Asta didn’t balk at your disbelief. Rather, she pushed forward with her story. “The first time the horseman lost his life, he was felled and rose again to slaughter the town of Moorwick. The second time, he was decapitated by a sword and buried in a deep grave without his head. And again, he rose from the dead and has waited in the Atticus Forest ever since.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Finally, the thoughts in your head aligned with your words. “My dad is dead—dead at worst, missing at best, and you’re telling me a ghost story! A ghost story! Asta, what the hell?!”

She remained seated in her lush chair, unperturbed, posture impeccable yet stiff as you sprung up from your own and circled the room, tousling your hair with a hand to quell your nerves—better yet, to keep from agitating a fight with Winston should he overhear the ruckus.

“I told you that what I had to say may not be what you wanted to hear.” she reminded with an edge that stung you with the realization you had an outburst as a guest in someone’s home, and it flooded your face with hot shame. “Please sit down, and drink some tea.”

You didn’t for a long while. Instead, you dug a path in the high pile of her carpet, never once straying from the sitting room. When your nerves settled enough to speak without a bite of snark, you returned to your chair with a hard flop. “Okay. So, the Headless Horseman took my dad. Where would he have been taken?”

Asta blinked once, twice, opening her mouth to cracks and croaks snagging in her throat. She hadn’t anticipated for you to entertain the idea that there was something to what she said. “I—well, yes, he—I suppose he would have been taken into the heart of the forest to the Horseman’s grave. At least, that’s what the legend has us believe.”

You juggled her response with a subtle nodding of your head. Clearly, this woman was out of her mind, but it was the only lead you had to go on at this point. Searching a forest was unquestionably stupid, especially without a map or understanding the layout of the land, but yet there lingered a halo of light, a flicker of hope that somewhere in her contrived story, some truth rang to it.

“Moorwick has a library, right?” you asked.

She turned her head with a sidelong stare. “Yes. Three branches. The main branch is near town hall.”

Again, the room was plunged into silence while you considered your options from this point forward. You could easily pack your belongings from your father’s home, take everything you saw and hightail it straight out of this shitstain of a town. You could go back to work at the beginning of next week, block Asta’s phone number, and be done with this entire mess.

"Will I assume you’ll be at the library for sometime tomorrow, then?” Asta piped up, leaning forward with a far too curious glimmer in her sunken eyes.

You would have to leave your things as they were in your father’s home for a while. Hopefully, they didn’t gather dust with how much still lay there undisturbed in gray blankets.

“Yeah, I’ll be there most of the day.”

You wanted answers, and you weren’t going to leave without them.

divider @/anlian-aishang

repost from my deleted blog officiallytheduchess/cardeneiv

if you enjoyed reading, please reblog!

#headless horseman x y/n #headless horseman x you #headless horseman x reader #headless horseman #dullahan x y/n #dullahan x you #dullahan x reader #dullahan #.02 #monster fiction #monster fic #monster x human #monster fucker #monster story #2k writes #original fiction #original story #original writing

[loousir]

[Dullahan] New Years

Dullahan Male x Male Reader

Duncan

Notes: Reader drinking a (mostly orange juice) mimosa, tipsy Duncan, this one's a quickie so don't expect anything astounding

Masterlist

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A yawn escaped through your lips as you sat lazily on the freezing park bench, waiting for your headless best friend. You looked around as you waited somewhat impatiently for the tall ravenette. "Hey hey hey!" A deep, smooth voice called out to your left. You looked to see your best friend of 8 years, walking over to you, holding his head in his hands. "Finally Duncan, what took you so long?" He laughed and handed his head to you.

"And stop carrying your head around like you can't put it back on. It scares the kids." You said "attaching" his head to his neck. Duncan shrugs and checks his phone. "Let's get going. Kierran wanted us there before the majority showed up. Plus it's damn cold out here." You nodded and started walking along side him.

"I thought you would say no." Duncan said suddenly. You shrug. "Yeah but, Kierran is my second closest friend so it's kinda hard for me to turn him down. Plus your going too so..." He laughed and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as the two of you walked. "Beanpole." You mumbled out. "You're just short." "Ok, no. You're 6'3 without your head so shut it."

The both of you laughed and continued the walked to the soon-to-be party house. Thankfully, the walk was not that long and you got there pretty quickly. Duncan knocked on the door but before he could pull his hand away fully, it opened. Kierran, a muscular guy who's even taller than Duncan, stood with a huge smile on his face. "Duncan, (Y/n)! I'm happy you two made it!" He said pulling both of you into a bone crushing hug.

Your face was smashed into his peck and Duncan's head nearly fell off if not for you catching it. "Kierrs please..." You managed to say while tapping out on his back. He laughed and let both of you go before inviting you into the house. "Sorry I kinda rushed you guys to be here." He said after you closed the door. Duncan laughed and held his head in his hands again. "Don't worry about it man! It's all good."

Kierran smiles and turns back to you again. "I just wanted us five to hang out for a bit before things got crazy." He said, motioning to the other two seated in the living room. Both are friends you've know for years, Jasgrola and Neytyn. Jas is the best lady friend you could ask for, and she had undoubtedly the best beard in the friend group thanks to her dwarven origins. Neytyn is a Pixie but he's surprisingly shy for sposedly being a mischievous creature.

For any wondering, Kierran is a half Orc, his other half being human. Anyway, the five of you have always been close, even after graduating. "Neytyn, I'm surprised you're here." You said, walking over with the other two to sit in a circle. Neytyn nodded as his cheeks flushed. "Y-yeah. Jas convinced me but she also said I could leave when more people show up." Jas laughed and nodded. "I'm just glad that both the recluses, of the group showed for a bit." She said, slapping a strong hand on your back as you sat next to her. Duncan followed and sat on your other side, leaving his head to sit on his crossed legs.

Kierran had disappeared into the kitchen while you two had sat down but soon enough he came back with a tray of drinks. "Of course we can't go without tradition of mimosas for new years." He said, handing the glasses out to their respective person. You take a sip of yours and hum. "Thanks Kierrs." You say, holding your glass up to him. Once all the glasses were passed out, Kierran took his spot between Jas and Duncan. "To yet another tolerable year." Duncan said, holding his glass up between the five of you. Naturally, the rest of you joined in and clicked glasses before taking a drink.

Duncan did whatever it is he does to consume drinks and it always made you laugh cause he looked stupid doing it. "Hey, you wouldn't be laughing if you were in my position!" He said, setting his drink on the table next to yours. You shrug and nod your head to the side. "True, but I'm not in your position." Duncan elbowed your side and laughed along side you. The five of you continued to chat and hang out until the party really started.

People steadily arrived and you hid away in a small corner next to the sliding glass door that lead to the back yard. Duncan of course was walking about, talking to various people and once the party had officially started, he was near nowhere to be seen, leaving you by your lonesome. Even though you had agreed to come, you knew how it would be. Shying away in a corner, playing on your phone and since Neytyn typically never came, you never had a wall flower buddy.

At least until today. Since Neytyn hadn't actually left, he ended up finding you sometime after things got busy. "H-hey..." He stuttered out quietly. You looked up from your phone with slightly surprised eyes. "Hey. I... Didn't think you were still here." You said, patting the spot next to where you were sitting. He happily sat down next to you, almost relieved in a way. "Thanks... And y-yeah... I've uhm... Got something I wanna do before next year." He said, deathly serious but you couldn't help to smile, knowing he was unaware of the joke he made.

"You gonna tell me what?" You asked, looking over to him with a small tilt of the head. Neytyns face lit up with a blush as he looked away. "I... No... Ca-cause then you'll tell..." You reached over and turned his face back towards you. "I'm not Kierrs." You said with a small smile as Neytyn averted his gaze. He looked at his own phone and checked the time, seeing that it was almost midnight. "I-I wanna confess... To Jas..." He whispered, looking back up to you. You smiled more and pat his head gently. "How am I gonna go find and tell her in ten minutes?" You asked, laughing softly as he just shrugged and looked away again as your hand fell from his face.

Little had you realized, your whole interaction had been seen by a slightly intoxicated Duncan who had mistaken your conversation as some form of confession. He was currently making his way through the crowd and just as Neytyn was standing up to go find Jas, Duncan grabbed your hand and pulled you outside. "See you soon I guess?!" You said to Neytyn, trying to figure out why Duncan was practically dragging you to the tree in the yard.

"Dude, what is your problem!" You said, finally yanking your hand away. Duncan stared down at you with an upset expression. His head was on crooked as he stepped closer, pinning you against the tree. "Duncan, seriously..." You said, starting to get nervous from the silence. He continued to stare down at you, his expression softening as he inched his face closer.

The tree had small fairy lights resting on its branches, casting a soft yellow glow on their figures. "I think I'm in love with you..." He whispered lowly. Your eyes widened slightly at his confession. "I'll love you more than that little fairy boy will..." He grumbled out again, closing the distance between you two and pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. Duncan was drunk enough to be confident and sober enough to know how you might feel about his actions.

He started to pull away once he thought you didn't reciprocate. You were so lost in the moment you forgot to respond and grabbed his head off his shoulders and kissed him like tomorrow would never come. His body didn't respond as quick as his lips but eventually followed, holding onto your hips gently, pressing your body into his own. "Neytyn is straight, Duncan." You stated once you pulled his head away. Duncan's eyes widened slightly before closing out of relief. "Oh... I thought he was bi..." You laughed and hugged his head to your chest.

"You're a real dumbass you know that?" You teased, making him eye level with you. "Am I your dumbass?" He asked with a cheeky grin. You rolled your eyes and set his head back on his shoulders. "Maybe..." You teased again. He whimpered softly as he pulled you intoba hug, followed by a soft laugh. "I'll take that as a yes..."

You checked your phone to see that it was 12:02. "Happy New Year." You whispered, kissing his jaw gently. He smiled and pulled you into another sweet kiss.

"Best start to the New Year I've ever had."

#male x male reader #male monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster x male reader #m4m #exophilia #male reader #x male reader #mxm #dullahan #dullahan x male reader

[rea-grimm]

Dullahan Law

Imagine Law being dullahan (headless horseman)

He looks like he can't relax, but if he relaxes, falls asleep, or forgets himself, he might inadvertently reveal that he's not human

Some people think that as a dullahan he is undead because of his pale skin and the circle under his eyes, but he is normally alive

His abilities are the same as from his devil fruit

You are the only human on board and you originally thought that the captain was also human

Law was charmed by you from the start, but he didn't want to show it. Either so he doesn't scare you unnecessarily with the truth about himself and he wants to avoid possible betrayal

You found out that he wasn't human by pure chance, and maybe it was the best for both of you

You were looking for the captain and you found him in the corridor - Bepo was just carrying some boards for repair and passed Law - you greeted them and they both turned in your direction - as they turned, Bepo literally hit Law on the head with the board and his head fell down - You were shocked and froze on the place

When you noticed a kind of smoky flame coming out of his neck and how his body hesitantly moved towards his head, you crouched down and carefully lifted his head which thanked you - you muttered it's okay and handed the head to his body when he then put on the right place

From then on, it was as if an invisible wall broke between you and Law became more relaxed around you

You like to tease him when he's locked in the study and doesn't pay attention to you - you sneak up behind him, grab his head, and kiss him before you give it back to him again 

If he forgets about you for a long time, you'll run away with his head - Law then in return threaten you he would take your head instead

The doctor has a stiff back and he loves it when you start massaging him - he leaned back and you feel how he relaxes - during that time you learned to grab his head when it fall

He's happy when you're in his study and you need to read or something while he's working 

He's still not used to resting and you can see how sleep is trying to overtake him - as is he sitting, you can see how his head slowly sinks until there's a bang and his head fall on the table. Of course, that blow wakes him up, and he puts his head back on and continues on - sometimes you have to steal it from him to make him go to rest

Law Masterlist

#one piece #one piece x reader #trafalgar d water law #dullahan law #Monster Piece