#Tales of Destiny ii | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doumadono · 6 months

Text

Warnings: violence, viking!Dabi, viking!Shoto, earl!Endeavor, viking!Natsuo, viking!Hawks, fem!reader, viking themes

Summary: in a Viking world of power, secrets and warriors, a young woman captured during a raid finds herself entangled in the life of Dabi, the enigmatic eldest son of the ruthless earl. As secrets, scars, and desires collide, their unconventional connection unfolds in a tale of love, danger, and destiny

Word count: circa 6.1k

A/N: if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series, please let me know ♥

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER • NEXT CHAPTER

ACT II - SHADOWS OF DECEIT

In the steamy chamber, you, your initial shock gradually replaced by compassion, hesitated for a moment before approaching the bath where Dabi sat. You knew it was your duty to assist him, but the sight of his scarred skin made you cautious. Your hands trembled slightly as you prepared to help him bathe. "Can I help you bathe?" you offered quietly, not fully sure how to start the conversation.

Dabi regarded you with those piercing turquoise eyes, a hint of curiosity evident. "You can," he replied simply.

As you assisted Dabi in the bath, your hands gently touched his scarred skin, your fingers moving with care over the gnarled patches. The silence between you was broken when you couldn't resist your curiosity any longer. "How did you get these scars?" you asked, your tone soft and understanding.

Dabi leaned back, closing his eyes briefly, as if summoning the strength to share his story. Eventually, he nodded, and his voice carried the weight of a painful history as he began to recount the tale of how he had come to bear these disfiguring marks. "It happened when I was just a child," he began, his words tinged with a mixture of bitterness and sorrow. "My own father, the earl of this village, attempted to kill me by pouring boiling tar on my skin. He saw me as a threat to his position and did everything he could to eliminate me."

You listened with a heavy heart as Dabi continued to describe the cruelty he had endured, the story of a young boy who had survived a brutal attack and grown up to become the man you saw before you, marked by both physical and emotional scars.

As you worked, the steamy chamber filled with the scent of herbs and the sound of water splashing. "It's scary and so sad," you murmured softly, your words echoing the sympathy that welled up within you in some way.

Dabi frowned, turning his head slightly to face you, his eyes locked onto your. "Don't pity me," he snarled, his voice laced with defiance. "I don't need that."

You felt a pang of regret at your words but continued your actions, gently washing his skin, the soap and water mingling with the steam. Your touch was a silent reassurance, a way of offering comfort without words, as you carried out your task with care and understanding.

The bath process, while seemingly mundane, became a moment of connection and shared understanding between two individuals whose lives had become unexpectedly intertwined in a world of harsh realities.

Dabi couldn't help but break the silence with a question that weighed on his mind. "Aren't you angry with me for what I've done anymore? You seem so calm?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You paused for a moment, your gaze fixed on him, and then you responded firmly, "I'll forever hold a grudge for what you and your men did. It's unforgettable and unforgivable. The pain of losing my friends will never fade, but what can I do? I'm nothing but a slave now."

The words hung heavily in the air, and the room seemed to grow even more suffocating. It was a stark reminder of the atrocities that had occurred during the raid, the wounds that would never fully heal, and the complex emotions that tied them together in a world where forgiveness was a rare and elusive commodity.

The bath eventually came to an end, and Dabi rose from the water without the slightest concern for his nakedness.

You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting to intrude on his privacy by looking at his unclothed form.

Dabi noticed your discomfort and chuckled, his voice laced with a snarky edge. "Haven't you seen a naked man before?" Dabi asked casually, as he nonchalantly wrapped a towel around his narrow hips. His tone was light, as if he was attempting to ease the tension that lingered in the room, although the enigmatic smile on his lips suggested a hint of mischief. His comment, while teasing, hinted at a sense of amusement.

Shyly, you admitted, "I have seen a few times before, but… it does make me uncomfortable." Your voice held a hint of bashfulness as you confessed your unease.

Dabi grinned mischievously and remarked, "Well, well, you must be a sweet virgin then, untouched by a man before."

His comment caused a rosy hue to spread across your cheeks, and you cleared your throat, struggling to find a response. Finally, you replied, "That's not something I think is necessary to discuss, sir."

Dabi chuckled darkly, his eyes locking onto yours as he told you, "I appreciate your help, but I no longer require your assistance. You may proceed to other tasks."

With a respectful nod, you bowed your head and quietly left the chamber. Once the door was closed behind you, you took a deep breath, attempting to steady your racing heartbeat. Why was your body acting that way?!

Meanwhile, Dabi donned fresh, warm woolen clothes and flopped onto his bed with a smile that refused to leave his lips. As he lay there, he couldn't help but ponder the intriguing encounter he'd had with you. Your presence had stirred something within him, a fascination that was as unexpected as it was undeniable. Thoughts of you lingered in his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder what secrets and complexities lay behind those attentive eyes.

You and the elder woman, Hilda, whose name you had learned, found yourselves working together to prepare the evening supper and clean the Great Hall. There was little conversation between you, both recognizing the need to focus on your duties in a world where neither of you had many options.

As the evening descended, the Great Hall was transformed into a place of feasting and celebration. The long wooden table was laden with a lavish spread, featuring roasted meats, freshly baked bread, hearty stews, and a variety of fruits and vegetables. The earl, Endeavor, and his sons, along with the most honored warriors and shieldmaidens, gathered at the table.

Amidst the flickering torchlight, they feasted, drank, and discussed the latest raid and their plans for the coming months. The atmosphere in the Great Hall was one of camaraderie, where bonds were forged over stories of battles and victories, and where alliances were strengthened through shared experiences in a world where strength and strategy reigned supreme.

From your vantage point in the small chamber that you now shared with Hilda, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the raucous scene unfolding in the Great Hall. The feasting and celebration, in the wake of the brutal raid that had cost so many innocent lives, left a bitter taste in your mouth. "I hate them," you whispered through clenched teeth, the anger and sorrow in your voice evident. "They killed so many noble, innocent people, and they're celebrating!"

Hilda remained quiet for a moment, her eyes fixed on the revelry below. When she finally responded, her voice was heavy with the weight of the past and the harsh realities of their world. "It's a cruel world, my child. Sometimes, we must endure the unbearable in order to survive."

As Hilda instructed you to bring some wooden logs for the fireplace, you reluctantly nodded, asking to borrow one of her large furs to shield yourself from the biting cold of the night. She handed it to you, and you wrapped the warm fur tightly around your shivering form before stepping out of the small chamber and leaving the Great Hall. The night was unforgiving, but the task at hand beckoned, and you were determined to fulfill your duty.

Unbeknownst to you, Dabi's sharp gaze caught your departure, and he furrowed his brows as he observed your exit. He couldn't help but wonder about your sudden absence, but Natsuo, by his side, provided a distraction by refilling his mead and engaging him in another conversation.

Unbeknownst to Dabi, another pair of keen eyes observed your departure from the Great Hall that night.

The path to the stable proved unchallenging, as you followed Hilda's directions, taking two left turns and then one right. The wooden structure loomed ahead, its massive door firmly closed. The village appeared deserted, with most of the villagers having retired to their huts or gathered within the Great Hall, consumed by their own activities and discussions.

After a bit of struggle, you managed to open the stable door. As you stepped inside, the warmth and the distinct, earthy animal smell enveloped your senses, causing you to wince slightly, not being accustomed to visiting stables frequently. Inside, a row of horses stood, their large, powerful forms exuding a quiet strength.

Your eyes fell on one particular horse, a magnificent black stallion with a flowing white mane that contrasted sharply with his dark coat. There was a certain allure to the creature, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You approached him, and with a gentle hand, you reached out to touch his soft nose.

The horse, seemingly recognizing your gentle demeanor, nuzzled your hand, allowing you to pet him. The texture of his coat was smooth and warm beneath your touch, and his eyes, deep and expressive, held a sense of wisdom. With genuine admiration, you whispered, "You're a beautiful creature, aren't you?" You whispered, petting his cheeks and forhead.

As you admired the striking black stallion in the stable, your first thought couldn't help but connect the dots – the resemblance was striking. You couldn't help but wonder if this magnificent horse was, in fact, Dabi's steed.

With a sense of accomplishment for having befriended the horse, you looked around the dimly lit stable. The moonlight streamed through the opened door, casting elongated shadows across the interior. After a brief moment of humming to yourself, your eyes fell upon a pile of wooden logs tucked away in a corner. The silver glow of the moonlight illuminated them just enough to be visible. You carefully made your way to the corner and began to pick up a few logs, cradling them in your arms. The weight of the logs felt reassuring, and you knew they would be essential for the warmth of the Great Hall's fireplace. With your task complete, you made your way back toward the door, ready to return to your shared chamber and continue your duties alongside Hilda.

As you turned around to leave the stable, you heard a brief, low chuckle, and your eyes darted toward the source of the sound. In the doorway, a figure stood, his presence initially hidden in the shadows.

"Well, well, so you're our new thrall," a voice, deceptively sweet, called out from the figure, and he stepped into the moonlight.

Uncertain about who this person was, you bowed your head respectfully and replied, "I'm sorry, but I need to take these back to the Great Hall."

You attempted to pass by the man with the logs in your arms, but before you could do so, a strong hand latched onto your arm, pulling you closer with a sudden force that caused the logs to tumble from your grasp.

"Wait, wait, easy," the two-colored eyes of the young man bore into yours in the dim moonlight.

As you saw him more clearly, you couldn't help but notice the striking contrast in his appearance. His face was remarkably handsome, his eyes mismatched with one being a captivating turquoise and the other a deep gray. His hair followed suit, evenly split between white on one side and fiery crimson on the other.

"Please, sir, let me go. I don't need any trouble," you whispered, attempting to muster the courage to speak more fluently.

The young man, his confidence evident, allowed his gaze to wander over you in a way that was both bold and borderline cocky. His eyes took in your figure, assessing your presence with a mix of curiosity and amusement. There was a playful, mischievous glint in his mismatched eyes that seemed to suggest he enjoyed the effect his scrutiny had on you.

You couldn't help but feel a mixture of discomfort as Shoto's attention remained fixed on you.

With a brazen confidence that made your heart race, the man gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He slowly turned your head from left to right, examining your face closely. "Well, I think I know why my brother spared your pathetic life," he mused with a sly grin, "You're not so bad looking with your doe-like eyes."

Before you could react, he leaned forward and inhaled deeply, his breath brushing over your neck. He let the tip of his tongue trace along your skin, tasting you with a sensuousness that sent shivers down your spine. "Mmmm, delicious, truly," he murmured, his voice laced with a tantalizing allure that left you trembling. "Did you already warm my brother's bed?" The man chuckled darkly, his tone dripping with mockery. "I pity you if you did. He looks so gross, and he is just a ruthless dog," he continued, one of his hands slipping down to rest on your hip. "But if you'll be a good girl, I can help you out, little one."

His words were a disturbing blend of disdain and desire, leaving you in a disconcerting predicament, trapped between your vulnerability as a thrall and the unsettling advances of a man who seemed to delight in pushing boundaries. "Let me go," you pleaded once more, your voice laced with desperation as you tried to yank yourself from his grasp. A whimper escaped your lips when one of his hands slipped beneath your skirt, pulling it upward. His smooth hand glided up your leg and caressed your inner thigh.

"Mmmm, so soft. You Christians have the softest skin, I must say," he mused with a dark chuckle. "Oh, don't resist. I promise I'll take good care of you. What? You've never been possessed by anyone until now? That's even better," he continued, his words a disturbing blend of arrogance and desire, "I'll show you what a real man has in his pants."

Your heart raced, and a sense of fear and vulnerability washed over you as you found yourself trapped in this perilous encounter with the young man. Summoning a surge of courage, you swiftly raised your knee, delivering a well-aimed strike to the man's groin.

He groaned in pain and released his grip on you.

Seizing this opportunity, you made a break for it, rushing out of the stable and turning left, only to stumble and fall into the arms of a tall figure who had intercepted your path. Gasping, you looked up and realized it was Dabi.

"Are you okay?" he inquired, tilting his head with concern.

Still trembling from the encounter with the other man, you instinctively snuggled closer to Dabi, casting an anxious glance back to see the man leaving the stable as well.

"Oh, Touyaaa," the younger man mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with our dear father, celebrating your successful raid?"

The tension between the two brothers was palpable, and you found yourself caught in the middle of their complex dynamic, uncertain of what to expect next.

"I could pose the very same question, Shoto," Dabi retorted, his tone low and filled with irritation.

So it was Shoto Endeavorson, the youngest of the earl's sons, you realized.

"Missed the festivities, Dabi?" Shoto continued to taunt, his voice dripping with mockery. "Or did you get tired of drinking mead and listening to the warriors' war stories?"

Dabi, his expression unyielding, responded with a hint of sarcasm, "Unlike you, I had more important matters to attend to."

Shoto's grin widened as he continued his verbal assault, "Important matters? I'm sure you were busy with looking for your new thrall here." His eyes flicked toward you with a knowing smirk. "She's a delicate one, isn't she? I can see why you're so taken with her."

Dabi's grip around you tightened as if to shield you from Shoto's insinuations, and he retorted in a low, measured tone, "Jealousy doesn't suit you, brother."

Shoto's taunts only grew more sarcastic, bold, and dark. "Jealousy? Me?" he feigned innocence, his grin never wavering. "Why would I be jealous of your newfound… entertainment?" He cast an appraising glance in your direction that made your skin crawl. "I can have any girl I want. I can't say that about you. Ah, our dear Touya, always the less loved of us, has managed to find himself a woman who pities his tragic past and those unsightly scars. How delightful," Shoto sneered with biting sarcasm, not stopping himself from checking you out again. "She has nice legs and ass. I'm sure her pussy is sweet too."

Dabi's patience was wearing thin, and the tension in the air thickened. His voice was low and dangerous as he warned, "Watch your words, Shoto."

But Shoto seemed determined to push his brother's buttons, his tone now dripping with malice. "Oh, Touya, you've always been so protective. But perhaps it's not jealousy I'm feeling, but concern." He walked in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "After all, we wouldn't want another accident like the last time, would we?"

The insult hit its mark, and Dabi's temper flared. In an instant, Dabi gently pushed you aside and closed the gap between himself and Shoto. His hands shot out, gripping Shoto by the front of his shirt, nearly lifting him from the ground. "Apologize to the girl," he grunted, his voice laced with a protective edge.

Shoto, far from intimidated, mocked the situation. He sneered at Dabi, his voice filled with defiance, "Apologize? Why would I apologize to a mere thrall, Touya? She's nothing but our slave."

It happened in the blink of an eye - Dabi was the first to land a powerful blow on Shoto's face.

The confrontation between Dabi and Shoto escalated rapidly, the air filled with tension and the sound of fists connecting with flesh. The fight was fierce and unrelenting, each brother determined to gain the upper hand.

Dabi's anger fueled his strength as he delivered powerful blows, attempting to subdue his defiant younger brother. Shoto, however, was agile and determined, his own strikes landing with precision.

Amidst the chaos, you screamed for help, your voice echoing through the little paths, desperate for someone to intervene and separate the two men.

The battle raged on, a whirlwind of fists, grunts, and the sound of bodies colliding.

Dabi and Shoto ended up on the ground, a tangle of limbs and fierce determination. Shoto somehow managed to pin his older brother to a sandy path, raining blows down upon him.

Desperate to stop the violence, you rushed forward and grabbed Shoto's shirt, attempting to pull him away from Dabi. However, Shoto abruptly turned, and with a swift, brutal motion, aimed a blow at your face. The impact sent you sprawling to the ground, and you whimpered in pain, feeling warm blood trickle down from your injured nose.

"Touya! Shoto!" The deep, commanding voice reverberated through the air, halting the fight in its tracks. The imposing figure of the earl himself stood nearby, putting an end to the violent clash. "What are you doing?! Stop it right now!" Endeavor's voice commanded authority, and in that moment, Dabi seized the opportunity to push Shoto off himself, swiftly getting to his feet and bowing his head.

"Forgive me, father."

Shoto also stood up, dusting off his clothes, and gave you a cold, dismissive glance before looking up at his father. "Not my fault he started it. I just…"

"Enough!" Endeavor's growl cut through the tension. "Return to your chambers. I don't want to see any of you tonight." The earl's stern order left no room for argument.

Shoto quickly retreated from the scene with a scoff as he witnessed Dabi extending his hand to help you up from the ground.

Dabi asked if you were okay, his tone genuinely concerned, but you simply nodded and moved away from him. Being your captor, you weren't willing to stay too close to him for too long.

He offered to lead you back, but you declined, shaking your head and wiping the blood from your nose with the hem of your sleeve. Instead, you returned to the stable to retrieve the wooden locks you had left.

Later that night, after Hilda had treated your nose, you lay in your bed, shivering slightly from the cold. The unfamiliar surroundings and the tumultuous events of the day made it difficult for you to fall asleep. The night seemed to drag on, but eventually, exhaustion claimed you, and you slipped into an uneasy slumber.

In the days that followed, you hadn't seen either Shoto or Dabi. The routine of daily chores and duties kept you occupied, and it was during these tasks that you had some pleasant conversations with Natsuo, the middle brother. Despite your different backgrounds, you found him to be a kind and intelligent young man, and you developed a growing respect for him.

As you worked on preparing food, cleaning, doing laundry, milking cows, and collecting herbs, you found solace in the busy routine. It kept your mind occupied and helped you feel like a part of the settlement.

During the evenings, you always found a quiet moment to say a little prayer, clutching the small cross you wore as a charm on your necklace. It was your silent act of faith, a private connection to something beyond the Viking traditions and beliefs. So far, no one had noticed your small act of devotion.

One evening, Hilda asked you to bring food to Touya's chamber as the prince hadn't eaten anything for almost two days. Reluctantly, you agreed, taking a wooden tray and heading to his private room.

You knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. Deciding to step inside, you found Dabi sitting in front of a long mirror, focused on sewing something. "Good evening," you greeted him, holding the tray with a meal. "I brought you a meal."

Dabi's tone was unusually cold as he said, "Leave the tray and go."

Confused and concerned by his abrupt change in behavior, you couldn't help but frown. He had never been this harsh with you before. You mustered the courage to ask what was wrong, and when he turned to face you, your heart sank.

Dabi was sewing his cheek right by the corner of his lips, mending the area where the purple skin had cracked from the healthy one. The sight of his self-inflicted wounds left you in shock, and you gasped, unable to contain your horrified reaction, instinctively covering your mouth with your hands. Oh, God…"

"There's no God of yours arund," he replied. "Just leave."

However, you couldn't bear to see him in pain, and you shook your head, silently offering to help him. "Let me help you, my lord."

After a long moment of tense silence, he finally nodded in reluctant agreement.

You approached him carefully, not wanting to make the situation worse. "I can assist you with that," you offered, your voice soft and filled with concern.

The wound on Dabi's face was a gruesome sight. His cheek, near the corner of his lips, bore a jagged tear where the purple skin had cracked in several places. Blood oozed from the fissures, creating dark, crimson streaks down his pale skin of his fingers. In one hand, he held a needle, and in the other, a set of metal staples, tools he was using to attempt to mend the torn and damaged flesh. It was a painful and gruesome process, and you couldn't help but wince at the sight. "Are you in pain?"

Dabi, his voice strained and hollow, spoke, "I don't feel much anymore. My dark skin, it's been destroyed to the point that I can't feel much of anything." He went on to explain, "It happened after my fight with Shoto. He hit me in certain spots, several times, and it left me like this, with my skin tearing like a fucking paper." The indifference in his words contrasted with the evident pain he had endured.

You felt a pang of guilt, knowing that this had happened as a result of your fight with Shoto. You took the responsibility for their intense confrontation upon yourself. "I'm so sorry, Touya… I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Dabi's expression softened as he replied, "It's okay. I don't hold a grudge. Honestly, I'm just grateful that I was in the right place at the right time. I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn't been there for you that night. My youngest brother, he's unpredictable."

You carefully assisted him, holding the needle and thread as he began to mend the torn skin. Each stitch made you wince in sympathy, and you couldn't help but ask, "Am I hurting you?"

Dabi, with a playful smirk, teased, "No, not at all. I'm just mocking." His words were light, and he continued the process, bearing the pain as he let you help him, a strange connection forming between you in that moment.

Once the task was completed, you couldn't shake the curiosity about the full story behind Dabi's scars. "Could you tell me the whole story behind your scars?"

He glanced at you, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Are you sure you're strong enough to handle it?" he teased.

You looked back at him, determination in your gaze. "I want to know, Dabi. Please share it with me." Despite the teasing and his enigmatic persona, you wanted to understand the man behind the scars and the mask.

Dabi nodded, and he began to recount the harrowing tale of his scars. His voice carried the weight of years of pain and betrayal as he spoke. "I was just a child when it happened. My father, the earl, decided that he needed to 'toughen me up' for the battles to come. It was just him making an excuse. He invited one of his most loyal warriors, a man known as Hawks, to help with my 'training.' The so-called training involved boiling tar being poured over me. The pain was excruciating, and I could feel my skin blistering and burning. Hawks and my father just stood there, watching, as I screamed in agony. They hoped I'd die." His voice trembled slightly with the memories, and there was a profound sadness in his eyes. "I endured that torment, and it left me scarred, both physically and mentally, I won't lie. But I didn't succumb to my wounds," Dabi explained, his voice holding a note of grim determination. "No, I survived. I was reborn, but not in the way my father intended. I emerged from that torment stronger, more ruthless, and unwavering in my purpose. This is the person I've become, shaped by the brutality I endured." His eyes held a fierce resolve. "As for my father's hopes of having an great heir, well, he can rest assured. No woman would willingly share her bed with me, not after what I've been through. His precious Shoto is likely to inherit the title of earl when he passes, and then his kids. It's a fate I've accepted, but the sorrow within me is still strong as it was the day it happened."

As he shared this shocking and heart-wrenching story, you couldn't help but feel a deep sympathy for the man before you. His past was filled with unimaginable suffering, and it had shaped him into the person he was today. In a moment of empathy, you placed your hand on Dabi's scarred shoulder. "We come from two different worlds, yes," you began, "and I can't pretend to understand everything you've been through. But I don't pity you. Instead, I see how the cruel path you've walked has shaped you. It's made you strong, in your own way."

Your words seemed to take Dabi by surprise. He looked at you, his turquoise eyes locking onto yours, a hint of shock in his expression.

As you turned to leave his chamber, the impact of your words lingered in the air. Dabi couldn't help but think about what you had said. Despite the brutal circumstances that had brought you together, there was something about your meeting that had left a mark on him, like the tar all those years ago.

Two months had passed since you were brought to the Viking settlement, and the seasons had shifted from summer to full autumn. The days were marked by rain and cold, but you were slowly acclimating to the new climate and your life as a thrall.

During this time, you found yourself spending more moments with Dabi. He allowed you to assist him with various tasks, whether it was helping him with chores or lending a hand in the stables with his stallion. The surprising part was how friendly his horse had become with you. The stallion would allow you to feed him hay, carrots, and apples, forging a peculiar bond between you and the majestic creature.

These moments, in the midst of a harsh and unfamiliar world, were becoming a source of connection and comfort in your life as a thrall.

Shoto dismounted his horse, his boots hitting the rocky terrain as he arrived at a quaint little hut nestled in the mountains. The view from this vantage point was breathtaking. Below, the settlement sprawled out, framed by the bay's sparkling waters that lapped against the shoreline. It was a mesmerizing sight, a serene blend of natural beauty and human existence.

He tethered his horse and entered the hut, a touch of irritation in his voice as he spoke, "Finally. I was getting slightly worried you failed me."

The hut's interior was dimly lit, a fire crackling in the hearth, and an air of secrecy hung around them.

The tall man, with his golden eyes and a hint of mockery in his voice, replied as he sat near the fireplace, "Failed you, my lord? How could I fail you?"

He was Keigo, one of Shoto and Endeavor's most trusted subordinates. Hawks was a formidable Viking warrior known for his imposing presence. Tall and lean, his blonde hair framed a strong jawline, and his golden eyes had a piercing intensity that sent shivers down his enemies' spines. What truly set him apart, though, were the intricately detailed wings tattooed on his back, a symbol of his prowess and the source of his moniker, "Hawks." Among the many tales surrounding Hawks, one gruesome reputation stood out. He was known for performing a ritual called the "blood eagle" on his defeated enemies. This horrifying act involved the careful removal of the victim's ribcage, which, when spread out, resembled the wings of an eagle. It was a terrifying spectacle designed to send a message of dread and fear to anyone who dared to cross paths with him, solidifying his reputation as a ruthless and feared warrior.

Shoto folded his arms, still a touch irritated. "I need to know, Takamison, did you do as I instructed? Did you find the information we need?"

Hawks nodded to Shoto, his golden eyes filled with the excitement of discovery. "I did as you instructed, my lord, and I've learned some intriguing information. Earl Gizzor is indeed working for another, very powerful earl. He resides in the northern part of Sweden. What's even more interesting is that this earl used to work closely with your father, Endeavor, years ago. They were allies in many ventures, but it seems their partnership turned sour due to a significant conflict of interests and businesses."

His voice held a hint of anticipation, eager to see how Shoto would react to this newfound information that could have far-reaching consequences.

Shoto lounged casually in a chair near the fireplace, his legs crossed, and one arm draped lazily against the chair's back. "Alright," he said with a nonchalant air. "Tell me everything you've discovered."

Keigo, still standing, couldn't resist a hint of mocking amusement. "Well, my lord, before I share such valuable information, I believe it's only fair that I see my payment first, don't you think?" He grinned, clearly enjoying the moment of leverage.

Shoto's eyebrows narrowed as he reluctantly reached under his leather vest. He retrieved a small woolen money bag and tossed it casually at Hawks' feet. The bag jingled with the sound of golden coins.

Hawks picked it up, his glare quickly replaced by a sly smirk as he counted the coins inside. "You're surprisingly generous today," he commented. After a brief pause, he leaned in, his voice lowered. "The powerful earl your father used to work with is none other than Toshinori Yagison."

"All Might," Shoto grinned. "Well, well."

"So, what's my mission now?" Keigo inquired, polishing his sword.

Shoto couldn't help but grin widely. "You see, after Touya's successful raid, he's been gaining favor in our father's eyes. I can't allow that to happen; Touya can't regain a powerful position in our family again. I need him either dead or sent on a mission he'll never return from."

Hawks considered Shoto's words, and a dark, intriguing plan formed in his mind. "I've got an idea, a mission that might just solve your problem," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Hawks leaned in, outlining his devious plan to Shoto. "Here's what we'll do. We'll create a fabricated map, detailing a journey to a remote and dangerous territory, one that's rumored to be filled with riches. I'll make sure it falls into the right hands—specifically, someone who will share it with Dabi. And once Touya embarks on this perilous journey, we'll ensure he never returns. Whether it's the treacherous terrain, bandits, or an 'unfortunate accident,' he'll be out of the picture for good."

Shoto nodded in approval, his grin revealing the sinister pleasure he took in the plan. "Very well, Hawks. Let's set this plan into motion, and rid me of my brother's growing influence."

Hawks pulled aside his shirt, revealing a massive scar that marred his otherwise unblemished skin. The scar extended from the side of his neck all the way down to his lower abdomen, a gruesome reminder of the harrowing encounter he'd had in the North of Norway. "I ventured to a dark place up north," Hawks began, his voice heavy with the memory. "A desolate, forgotten land where it's easy to get lost, and danger lurks in the shadows. I was attacked by something… something I've never even seen. It left me with this."

Shoto couldn't help but flinch at the sight of the scar.

"The locals speak of a malevolent force, a powerful draugr said to inhabit that forsaken place. It's haunted, and some claim the spirit of a vengeful Viking warrior resides there. I barely escaped with my life, and I'd advise no one to venture into that cursed territory."

Shoto listened intently, and a wicked smile crossed his face. "Perfect. That's precisely the place we need to send my dear brother. If the draugr doesn't get him, the treacherous terrain will."

Shoto left Hawks' hut with a dark grin etched on his face. As he mounted his horse, his mind was abuzz with the sinister plan he was concocting. The idea of getting rid of Dabi, his older brother, appealed to him more with each passing moment. With Dabi out of the way, he would be next in line to claim the throne after their father's demise. The pieces of his twisted plan were falling into place, and he was ready to set it in motion. As he rode back towards the Skjaldvargr, a wicked glint danced in his eyes, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of power and anticipation. Shoto was determined to ensure that Endeavor's days as the earl would be far from long and happy. He was willing to do whatever it took to ascend to the position of power he believed he deserved, and nothing would stand in his way.

heathen wolves: @indignant-alpaca @misafiryanki @roast-toast @within-eyesight @crystalwolfblog @haseki-huricihan

238 notes · View notes

knowledgeabletrash · 8 months

Text

Homies I’m gonna be so real I think a lot of people really miss the point of hotd and got in general. The whole green vs blacks argument feels very akin to the team peeta/team gale phenomenon in the Hunger Games fandom- the very existence of these “teams” in any serious context is a manifestation of the very thing their media is criticizing.

You’re not supposed to be EITHER side in the Dance of Dragons. Spin it any way you want, but as a whole, the entire story is a critique on dynastic monarchy and blood/racial purity in politics. Both Rhaenyra and Aegon II are vying for power to a fundamentally corrupt system that, really, neither of them are entitled to or equipped to have. Dynastic Monarchy Bad, yaknow?

Neither one of them deserve the throne, just like every monarch who inherited their power from their family before them. The Targs in general have a whole lot of Mandate of Heaven/Manifest Destiny/Blood Purity thing going on that Martin is clearly criticizing in the series as a whole.

The point of the Dance of Dragons is that it is the result of two people who both believed that they were, through some law or divinity, The Chosen who deserved power. House Targaryen already had it all, but tore itself apart over their own ideas of prophecy and destiny, Who Deserved It More. There’s a reason neither Rhaenyra or Aegon II end up on the throne, there’s a reason that almost all of the Targs died in the war: it’s a cautionary tale. Through the Dance, Martin is able to criticize both the Valyrian Supremacy ideals of the Targs and the patriarchal governments within Westeros. Monarchy and patriarchy hurt everyone.

I think most fans with media comprehension understand that both sides of the war committed unforgivable atrocities, and both sides experienced unimaginable loss and grief. The irony is, it is almost all self-inflicted. By playing The Game, Rhae, Aegon, and House Targaryen lost everything, and the rest of Westeros was just collateral.

Anyway I don’t wanna see anymore misogynistic bullshit. You can critique the characters without saying the most sexist shit imaginable (this goes for greens and blacks, I’ve seen some truly heinous shit in the trenches). This show is fun and really enjoyable to watch, and I would love to see a fan community that isn’t constantly at each others throats over made up characters in a made up war.

#house of the dragon #alicent hightower #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #team green #team black #hotd analysis #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #aemond targaryen #daemon targaryen #dance of dragons #hotd discussion

208 notes · View notes

misted-dream · 3 months

Text

🦢 A WALTZ IN THE DARK ₊˚⊹ ˚ ༘ ⋆ ⟢ ballet dancer!doyoung & fem!ballerina!reader

content&warnings slow burn enemies to lovers smut fluff pinch of angst (mba)

. . . the first and last time you and doyoung danced together was 5 years ago. 5 years since the mishap that founded your mistrust of him, at least as a duet partner. with the annual swan lake showing rolling around, you think you finally stand a chance to audition for the leads: odette and odile. it's every ballerina's dream to play this role at least once in their career. little do you know, rumour has it that kim doyoung just so happens to be auditioning for the role of prince siegfried this year.

⋅˚₊ 🌫️ ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖˚ ⋅ the tale of swan lake . . . . . . a tragic love story between two unlikely lovers. prince siegfried falls hopelessly head over heels for odette, the swan princess, bound to a spell which only allows her to take human form in between midnight and daybreak. he swears his undying love and allegiance to her, only for him to break that very promise when seduced by odile, daughter of the dark magician, transformed to look exactly like odette. how will the destinies of these ill-fated lovers play out?

🎼 playlist . . . swan lake op. 20 by tchaikovsky

THE PROGRAMME ₊˚⊹ ˚ ༘ ⋆

note . . . content warnings & word count will be published within each chapter individually.

⟢ ACT I THE ROLE.

⟢ ACT II THE PAS DE DEUX.

⟢ INTERVAL.

⟢ ACT III THE CURTAINS FALL.

⟢ ACT IV THE CODA.

#📂 - nct #nct #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct 127 #doyoung #kim doyoung #nct x reader #doyoung fanfic #doyoung nct #doyoung x reader

122 notes · View notes

kitkatscabinet · 1 year

Text

Bejeweled

Aegon Targaryen II x f! reader

Summary: You hadn't married Aegon for love but you had thought time would at least endear you to each other. When years pass and he remains stuck in his drinking, whoring ways you decide to make him pay the best way you know how.

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: didn't know where i was going with this and ended up writing whiny sub Aegon: 18+ only, minors scram. never written smut before so if its cringe sorry. Spell check stopped working halfway through so probable errors.

Baby love, I think I've been a little too kind. Didn't notice you walking all over my peace of mind

As a highborn daughter of a lord you'd always known it was your destiny to marry well. To be sold like cattle to the highest bidder, you had long since accepted your lot in life.

So when you had been wed to the first son of the King you had done so without a hint of protest. Your parents hadn't been a love match but they had grown close enough and were on friendly terms. You had known this going in, just as you had heard the less than savoury rumours that surrounded the prince.

You had let it slide when he'd gotten outrageously drunk on your wedding night and the months after when he'd continued to drown in his cups and whores.

All the while you'd continued to play the role of the loyal, loving wife. Pulling his hair from his face, tucking him in when he'd passed out drunk, bending to his every whim in the hopes that maybe he’d finally see you.

It takes two years for you to completely give up, two years two long because after all Puttin' someone first only works when you're in their top five.

Aegon’s 20th name day was a resplendent affair. The Queen had taken it upon herself to ensure her eldest son and heir received the finest of days, even if he didn't deserve it. Deserved or not the festivities had given you the perfect opportunity for subtle retribution.

You had taken it upon yourself to be fashionably late to the banquet, mirroring his own lady mother's entrance to princess Rhaenyra's wedding. The magnificent gown that complimented every inch of your figure a stunning example of your house colours. Not a single inch of Hightower green or Targaryen imagery to be seen.

Hungry eyes of lords and ladies alike followed your figure, drawn to the beauty that had been heavily accentuated by the glittering jewellery that adorned your wrists and neck. Diamonds and pearls that had mostly been gifted to you by your already outrageously drunk husband. The husband that had been too busy eye fucking the poor serving girl to notice your entrance.

It isn't until you take your designated seat beside your husband does Aegon notice your form. Eyes widening comically as you grasp the newly filled cup from his hands and bring it to your own painted red lips.

A wicked sense of satisfaction fills your chest its tendrils curling around your heart as you notice how absolutely entranced the drunkard has become with you. Aegon's lips are parted with desire as his eyes greedily drink in what he believes to be his present. Your raise the glass once more to hide the vindictive smirk that has slithered its way onto your face as you think

Best believe I'm still bejeweled. When I walk in the room. I can still make the whole place shimmer. Aegon had taken so much from you, but your body, your beauty was still yours.

You don't stay seated for long as jaunty music fills the hall in a tune you had always been particularly fond of. Fingers lightly trailing over Aegon's shoulders as you make your way to the dancefloor. Your husband had never been one to entertain your desire to do so, and now you were determined to make him watch as another man placed his hands on what he thought was his.

As you made your way into the dancing crowd your husband was forced to watch as you laughed in delight, spinning between the various lords that had all but tripped over themselves to be by your side.

Aemond had regaled you with tales of what it felt like to ride the legendary Vhagar and whilst you had never experienced the rush of dragon riding yourself you could only assume it felt something akin to your current delight. The burning fire of your blood as you witnessed Aegon's scowl turning into something darker. The power that thrummed through your veins as you forced your husband to watch as his nephews clutched at your waist. Not even his brother had been spared from your devious clutches, half-lidded eye and head following your retreating form as you moved to your next plaything.

Alas, that seemed to be the final straw for Aegon as he swiftly made his way to your side with a jaw clenched so hard you wondered how his teeth didn't crack. The grip with which he grabbed you was bruising though you refused to allow your discomfort to show, chin raised high as you looked into furious violet eyes.

"What, do you think you're doing, wife" he hissed into your ear all vitriol and gnashing teeth. Feigning confusion, you furrow your brows before running a delicate hand over his face.

"Whatever do you mean husband? I simply wished to dance, you've never shown any interest before and I didn't want to bother you and your serving girls." The illusion you had tried to maintain instantly shattered as your own venom leaked through.

It is Aegon's turn to be slightly taken aback then, you'd never so much as hinted your displeasure for his proclivities before. He'd never witnessed anything other than your kind doting and blind eyes to his lecherous ways. The sheer surprise in his countenance has you scoffing and pushing back an ugly bubble of laughter.

"Don't look so surprised husband" you hiss, "familiarity breeds contempt." Your rage fades into something more melancholy as you realise it is indeed the familiarity you had allowed yourself with him that has you so angry.

You had only ever brought up your fury once before in a drunken haze when you had begged him not to put you in the basement when you wanted the penthouse of his heart.

To your eternal luck, the song ended before either of you had the opportunity to speak again and you were pulled away by a brave or suicidal lord for the next.

Forcing back the tears and pushing a smile onto your face you eagerly took the lord's hand. You spent the rest of the night avoiding Aegon's presence, surrounded by lords and ladies more than willing to keep you company. Diamonds in my eyes I polish up real, I polish up real nice.

Your sudden desire to entertain anyone other than your husband doesn't end with the celebrations. When Aegon confronts you once more, a week after you stop mothering him you simply say "baby boy, I think I've been too good of a girl." You run a thumb over his lips before turning to make your escape, I think it's time to teach some lessons.

By now the residents of King's Landing court were more than aware of your sudden cold treatment of the prince. None more so than the men and women that had found themselves on the recieving end of your attention. Light touches with your rind adorned hands and whispers into ears with lips lingering a little too closely to be proper. Helaena and Aemond were the most popular recipients of your affection, the starved pair eagerly basking in the glory of your love.

Aegon, who had attempted to appear nonchalant at your sudden interest in the lords and ladies of the courts had eventually become furious.

It came to a head when Aegon had stalked into your room, obviously drunk, to see you curled up in Helaena's lap as she read through the newly update encyclopedia of instects you had gifted her. The following acidic conversation had quickly devolved into a screaming match that had you ushering an overwhelmed Helaena to safety.

Every nasty thought you had been holding in finally erupted once the sweet girl was out of the crossfire and the doors to your chambers slammed shut.

"My brother wasn't enough for you, you're fucking my sister now?" he sneered, wine spilling over his hand and adding to the various stains adorning his once white shirt.

Tears of fury burn the corners of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, to give the bastard in front of you the satisfaction. Scoffing you stalked towards him, remaining out of striking distance but more than ready to rain your own hell down on him.

"What would it matter if I did?" you hissed defiantly, the ugly part of you still determined to make him hurt.

"You're my wife! You belong to me" he shrieked back, and that was your final straw. Feet swiftly closing the small gap between the two of you as your open palm connected with the skin of his cheek. The force left your hand stinging but you couldn't drag your eyes off the reddening skin of his pale skin. Pained shock covered his face as he clutched at the affected area.

"You're my husband, you're supposed to belong to me!" you retaliated trying desperately to ignore the gathering tears in his eyes. "I made you my world! I gave you all my pieces until I didn't even recognise myself anymore!"

The sapphire tears that you had so desperately been trying to keep at bay streaming down your own face. All at once your rage diminished and you were drowning once more in the sadness that had become your whole sky.

Unfortunately, your vitriolic rage was the only thing keeping your shaking body upright and your knees were quick to hit the floor. Deep heaving sobs shook your entire frame as you struggled to regain the breath you were losing.

Vaguely you are aware of Aegon clutching onto your form but you are too exhausted to push him away, desperate for some kind of comfort. His lips leave a burning trail along the skin of your neck and down to your chest. His deft fingers slowly unlace your nightgown whilst yours tangle in his silver hair, tugging at the roots to direct his movements.

Your mind is screaming at you to stop him, to not let him just crawl back to use and discard you once more. Gaining back some clarity you tug harshly at Aegon's hair, forcing his mouth to dislodge itself from your inner thigh. What you hadn't accounted for was the pathetic whine that your action had drawn from his throat.

You watched greedily as your husband's pupils dilated even further, lips pouting as he struggled against your hand to return to his prize. Your grip remained firm however as you sat up, using your free hand and legs to flip the unsuspecting man onto his back, before enclosing your grip around his neck instead. Once more his throat let out a pathetic whine that set your veins alight, fire burning in your chest down to your fingertips as you forced his writhing form to stay still.

Slowly you ground your hips down against his, eyes never leaving his as you lowered your mouth to bite down just over his heart. Your reward was a shaky gasp that sounded delicously close to a sob that had your hips faltering in astonishment.

The desperate upwards bucking of hips below you snaps you back into action. Fingers flexing in a warning around his throat as you lifted yourself onto his lower abdomen in order to stop any movement.

"No." With a single word the tides had changed, the usually prideful man had been reduced to a puddle of shaking, begging tears. Throat dry and nerves alight with ecstasy you slowly rid your bodies of any remaining cloth before sinking back down into his lap. You keep your movements deliberately slow as your rock your hips back and forth, mouth leaving punishing bruises along the milky expanse of his skin.

All the while your eyes never leave his face, scrunched up in pleasure and mouth stringing together the prettiest mix of moans and babbled words.

"please" he whimpers, eyes rolling into the back of his head and almost causing the last thread of your self control to snap from its already frayed state.

"Please what?" you smirked wickedly in response, attempting to maintain the last vestiges of your percieved control. Unintelligible whimpers are your only response and in a vindictive move you stop once more. "Use your words Aegon" you chided, leaning up to nip at the skin just below his ear.

"Please. Please, please fuck me" he shakily babbled out, breathy words finally pushing you over the edge. Your hips snapped into a punishing pace, hand grasping his throat so tightly you knew the skin underneath would soon bllom into a deep purple.

"Is this what you want? The reason you throw yourself so desperately at all those whores? You want someone to treat you like one?" you growl into his ear, your own pants of pleasure ane exhertion mixing with those from the writhing form beneath you.

The gasped moans increasing in pitch and furiously shuddering thighs indicated that in a typically selfish Aegon move, your husband wouldn't last much longer. A wave of annoyance ran through you as a snarl erupted from your throat. Lightening the harsh grip on his throat you offered only a brief reprieve before your fingers snaked their way into silver locks once more. Tugging forcefully you pulled until his chest was flush against yours, sweat mixing together as the two of your fought to pull the other impossibly closer.

"Touch me" you demanded, forcefully pulling his mouth down to bite at your hammering pulse and shoving one of his hands between your legs. Where Aegon ends and you begin is a mystery, the both of you desperately clawing at each other as if trying to pull the other into their very being.

It is with large hands splayed and grasping at your back and whimpered chants of your name just reaching your conscience through the debauched moans and slapping skin that you reach your high. Thighs clamping down against muscled thighs and a final harsh tug of sweat soaked silver locks is all it takes for Aegon to follow.

Your lungs greedily gulp in air tainted by the stench of sex as you force your shaking body to cooperate. Pulling yourself back you allow a brief persual of the masterpiece you had created still splayed bonelessly on your mattress. Burning leg muscles eventually allow you to move, collecting your discarded nightdress as you make yourself as presentable as possible.

"where're you goin?" Aegon slurs from your bed, glazed eyes hazily attempting to take in your movements.

"To bed, and seeing as mine is occupied it appears I'll have to find my rest elsewhere tonight. Good night Aegon." You are too swift for him to protest but as you reach the door you throw one last look at your painting of purples and reds before calling, "clean yourself up, you look like a whore." With those final words you close the door behind you once more, holding your head high as your assigned guards for the night throw uncomfortable glances at your post pleasure form. The sweat adorning your skin glinting slightly in the low lighting the various torches provided.

What's a girl gonna do? A diamond's gotta shine

Whispers flitted through the cut throat court of King's Landing. Whispers of a bejweled temptress and the pathetic Targaryen that attempted to hang off her arm like a broken bangle. Whispers that turned to scandalised gasps that followed when she walked in the room, a different Targaryen draped proudly across her arm. Long silver hair matching the refinery littering her fingers, wrists and neck as she made the whole place shimmer.

join my taglist!

#aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen ii x reader #x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #aegon targaryen ii fic

664 notes · View notes

y3nze1 · 1 month

Text

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | c.9

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: I / II / III / Navi.

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Hello darlings!~ it's yen, here you are chapter 9, i apologize for the slow moving plot! but me and chaz will fix it soon! happy readings!

"It's either now or never.." You stared into the mirror, contemplating your life, what had happened and what led you to this moment. you stared at your reflection, your hands fidgeting at the adrenaline, eagerly waiting to set your fingers on the dial. before you could even finish it. Loralie softly called out. "Y/n! Y/n.. Sugarplum!" her voice was filled with happiness and glee as she chanted your name, running over to you.

You are taken aback by Loralie's sudden appearance, but before you can say anything, she throws her arms around your neck and hugs you tightly.

Oh, Y/n, I have such great news!!" she exclaims excitedly. You can feel her heart racing with excitement, and the feeling is infectious. Suddenly, all the stress of your situation falls away, and you can't help but smile. she giggled, taking your hands. "what great news?" you smiled, raising a brow. "I know you're not open to dating.. But it was destiny! i felt it!, there's this nice gentleman that came over the shop today and we chatted, nothin much! but i wanted to hook you up with him! isn't that exciting!~"

you froze, the smile disappearing from your lips, speaking, "You did what?.." she nervously chuckled, her grip on your hand tightening slightly. "come on y/n! just give it a try, the guy's rich! he has a mansion! he works for tvs! isn't that interesting!" you rubbed your temple, groaning. "Oh Loralie. you should've told me first!" she chuckled another one. patting your back. "Come on, Y/n, one date wouldn't hurt. would it? just give it a try.. I'll help you through it, don't worry!"

You looked at Loralie for a moment, your looks softening yet, it was filled with hesitancy, you shook your head, accepting the challenge. she smiled, clapping her hands in excitement. "Oh bees knees!~ let's get you ready, I'll tell you the whole detail where you guys are meeting up!~" she dragged you through the corridor, leading you to her room.

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

You entered the park's garden, watching the swans in the pond, smiling as they come near you, bending over, your fingers ran through their heads, that's when you heard a man call out your name. You turned to see a tall man, rich black colored hair, his smile was quite charming, from the look of his outfit, you could tell he is quite the rich guy. His smile widened approaching you. he too your hand placing a small peck over it, looking over to you with pure awe.

"Look at you, gorgeous" he complimented, pulling you close one more. "i believe white goes better with pearls, no?" as he said that, he pulled out a crimson box, the design was quite exquisite with floral embroidery. he spun you for a second, stopping you by your back, putting on the pearl necklace around your neck, his breath hitched as he put it on.

"oh my.. this is.. absolutely beautiful, Mr. Vox" you spoke softly. looking down as your eyes observed the glazing pearls."I'm so glad you like it, Ms. Y/n," Vox says, his voice full of pride. "It took me a little while to find the right necklace for you, but I wanted to make sure it was something that perfectly matched your charm and elegance." He gives you a soft, charming smile, and his eyes glisten with joy. "you didn't have to do such thing, it's quite expensive" you turned around, looking up at him in which he cupped your cheek gently. "Sweetheart, it's priceless for me, on the other hand. 350,000 isn't that much" you gasped. putting a hand over your necklace. "oh no, I can't tale this, i just can't!" you said, his hands placing over yours. stopping you. "please, take it as a first meeting gift, it's my pleasure." The smile on his face appeared.

You're blown away by the sheer generosity of Vox's gift, and the fact that he's willing to part with such an expensive necklace for you, someone he barely knows. You can't help but feel grateful for the gesture, even if it makes you a bit uncomfortable. You're not used to receiving such lavish gifts, and the thought of holding onto something so valuable is a bit overwhelming. But you can't help but be impressed by the wealth and generosity of this man, and his clear interest in you.

"Now that we've had some time together, what do you say we have a proper dinner tonight? There's a restaurant not too far from here that I think you'll love." you nodded, he led you to an expensive restaurant. As you enter the restaurant, you're immediately taken aback by the opulence and elegance of the surroundings. From the crystal chandeliers to the gleaming silverware, everything seems designed to impress. The aroma of the food wafting through the air only adds to your sense of excitement and anticipation.

As you and Vox are escorted to your table, you notice that you're receiving a lot of attention from other patrons and staffs. Once you're seated, the server comes over to take your order. You look at the menu, and it's clear that you're in for a culinary adventure. Even Vox seems impressed by the selection, making it clear that this restaurant is a favorite of his.

As the main course arrives, you're impressed by the presentation and the flavors that explode on your tongue. From the spicy seasonings to the tender meat, every bite is a delight.

As you finish your meal and wait for the dessert menu, Vox takes your hand and looks you in the eyes. "I have to admit, Y/n, I'm quite taken with you. Your beauty, your wit, your intelligence...you truly are the complete package. And I can't help but think that our paths were meant to intersect." He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for you to respond. "I would love to see you again, if you would allow it. There's so much more I want to get to know about you."

As you finish your dessert, you feel a sense of contentment and satisfaction wash over you. You've had an incredible meal, and the time spent with Vox has been nothing short of amazing. You can't help but feel a sense of connection with this man, and his kind words have only further cemented that feeling.

As he holds out his hand, you take it willingly, feeling the warmth of his touch. "I'd say the same to you too, Mr. Vox, i suppose it wouldn't hurt to meet you again, no?.."

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin #1920s #alastor altruist #human!alastor #plmasrm cause why not. i hate tags.#vox x reader

53 notes · View notes

ay0nha · 9 months

Note

hello xx

Are you plannnig on doing a part two to ode to ruination? It is so good! you are fantastic

An Ode to Temptation | T.S.

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, talk of food/eating, Angst, smooches, guns being pointed, angst, drinking/being drunk, etc.

A/N: Hello!! I actually received A LOT of requests for this, which thank you all so much for the love!! I thought about it and Tried to write something, but I just wasn't feeling it AT ALL or as an ~ official ~ part II. BUT, I'll post the Rough Draft here.

Be kind; she's all over the place with rushed ideas/unedited/unfinished parts. Comments are always welcomed. Enjoy.

You were a master of speaking silently—you've spoken silently all your life, and you’ve had to live through entire tragedies because of it. However, once the yelling and failed attempts to leave wore out, it had become weeks of the same; the days held a repetitive blandness.

Your mornings were spent isolated, the overwhelming echo of the estate’s silence guiding you. The loneliness didn’t seep in until the afternoon when the rain forbade you from stepping past the door frame. However, the nights were unbearable. Even if you didn’t see or hear when Tommy came home, you could feel how the walls groaned at his presence.

You knew the maids whispered; you would, too, in their position. Nothing explained your sudden presence or what felt like your lack thereof. If anything, you were the ghost that haunted the house.

For your own good, you were told.

Tommy had fooled you that night. The party was performative, a distraction while he sent someone for your things. If Ada had known, you don’t doubt she would have tried to stop him. Or at least bought you some time. However, if she had realized your life was in danger, she would have already bought your ticket to skip town. Regardless, your destiny was determined.

You comforted yourself by the fire when your thoughts became overwhelming. It warmed your feet while the gin resting precariously on the chair’s arm soothed the pit in your chest. At some point, you stopped portioning yourself a glass. Holding the bottle by the neck, you lulled yourself further into the cushion with every slug.

“Not eating now, eh?” Tommy threw down his jacket in habit, marking his entrance. The sigh that followed conveyed his annoyance.

You looked up from the fire at the intrusion. You couldn’t decide if he was earlier than usual or if the grandfather clock was lying to you. Either way, you tipped your head against the side of the chair for solace.

“You want my attention, that it? Well, you ’ave it. ” The strike of his match was motivated by agitation. On the first exhale of his newly-lit cigarette, he said, “Don’t waste it.”

Tommy’s eyes bore into yours blankly. There were other things on his mind that even you thought were more pressing. You knew he found it easier to treat you like business than anything else. Tenderness was reserved for the nights the tunnels became too claustrophobic.

“Your cook’s shite.” You mocked drunkenly.

Hailed all the way from Italy, the chef you insulted was anything but. Nor was he at fault for your lack of appetite. It was childish behavior, but everything had become tit for tat. Tommy knew what you were doing, able to lure him in with such superficial words.

The call received was passed through his secretary only to be brushed off—another complaint of your behavior. They always reflected stubbornness, the same determination as the tales of the boy who cried wolf. And yet, Tommy struggled to ignore it as it frequented.

“Right…” Tommy ceded to himself. His frustrations were in vain, and he reminded himself he could be fair. “Let’s get something in you.”

“Offering to cook, hmm?” Your eyebrows raised in genuine amusement. He knew you well enough that you craved company. “Or is that below the Thomas Shelby?”

Something swirled in his chest, but Tommy brought the cigarette to his lips to suffocate it. Yet, with his free hand, he held it out to you.

When you were children, you barely knew Tommy. To you, he was just one of the Shelbys. You often confused him for his brothers, but he became definite when you finally spoke to him. Overlapped memories crowded the logistics of the conversation, but you could never forget your appreciation for someone like him.

The memory should have been bleak; the funeral brought lightening that highlighted every tear that streamed down your mother’s face. She was an unmoveable force, and for some reason seeing your mother break changed your own grief.

Neither of you nor Tommy had the capacity to understand death the way you knew it now, but Tommy guided that grief with knowledge beyond his years. You learned to grieve someone you didn’t know you could love.

The simplicity of the action entwined your lives, but it was lost after France. Everyone, including yourself, had changed. But for the moment, eyes closed, the memory made the thought fade.

You slid onto the kitchen counter, catching how Tommy rolled his sleeve until it met his forearm.

The actuality of the situation hadn’t hit you yet until you filled the humming silence. “I barely recognize you…”

Tommy seemed content entertaining you. It was the first time you’d offered him your undivided attention. “’m all heart tonight.”

“That it?” You mused, head cocking to take him in. Your tone was deceiving, posing genuine curiosity over your inner dissent.

Tommy was attentive, though, listening even as you trailed off into mumbling. However, he remained dexterous, concocting something simple. He knew the things you held dear, the comfort you found in your childhood food.

He had even memorized the particularities of their preparation; jam spread with a spoon from left to right; sandwiches cut diagonally, warmed to be able to feel its nourishment travel down; tea so hot that the heaping amount of sugar disappeared with one stir.

Tommy slid the plate to you, a mix of what he could find that hadn’t spoiled by the end of the day. He leaned back, arms tight across his chest as he waited for you to indulge. However, you slid it back to him first.

“Didn’t poison it…” He said, picking at the plate to prove his point. You rarely witnessed his appetite outside of cigarettes and booze.

You nudged him as you extended your dangling leg. There was no thought behind the action, but the attention pulled him closer to hear your words. “And I should trust your word?”

With a sigh of your name, the food was forgotten—Tommy took the bait.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You shook your head softly, the action dizzying. Without his jacket, the skeleton of Tommy’s gun holster highlighted his frame. It made it easy to place him between your legs.

He just wanted, needed, you safe. “It’s only until things settle in—

“London.” You finished the repeated lie. “Why is that, Tommy?”

You wanted to hear his confession. You knew why people were after you; you were leverage against such an unbreakable man. However, they seemed to understand Tommy’s feelings better than you. He never said it aloud. It had been years, decades, of a mutual lure that purposefully avoided the judgment you held for Tommy’s decisions or actions, ones you never compromised with.

For him, you were it.

“Tom?” You prompted again. You could see his struggle to form an admission even in your state.

Tommy broke.

He caved into you, your lips meeting his hesitantly but meeting with a longed-for firmness. Each time he pulled away, he only returned with more tenderness—the breaks between lessened, and so did the distance between your chests.

You almost got lost in something you spent years yearning for. However, you moved slowly in the way you knew would distract him. With the first layer of his guard down, the leather straps of his gun holster caught on your fingertips as you trailed along his shoulders. His body was yours; his shudder proved so.

Yet, once you hit metal, Tommy’s laugh mocked your insincerity.

You expected your hands to tremble. You hoped they would see if you had any trace of regret in the action. However, it felt freeing to rest Tommy's gun just below his chin. In your hands, it grew warm, a transferable heat of anticipation waiting for its purpose only you could provide.

Tommy's grip on you remained firm at the hips, lips still ghosting your own as he turned your threat into his own. “Go on, then. I taught you well."

#q #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x f!reader #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #personal #ask #anon #cillian murphy x reader

193 notes · View notes

stealeroflemons · 10 months

Text

EAH MUSICAL #25 (PART II) BECAUSE I WANT IT SO BAD

Briar gets a song called "Party On" which sounds like it's supposed to be super fun and upbeat and about her being a party girl, but I want a Thronecoming moment, I want a raw moment of Briar calling out Apple while getting their dresses fitted about how

"I can't bear to just move on, 'Cause I'm just meant to party on"

(But imagine I actually know how to write songs, vibes are all I'm good at)

I want a dramatic duet between The Evil Queen and Snow White called "Let The Games Begin" with some jazzy showy feuding lines, but an overwhelming, almost doomed undertone, kind of like "The Plagues" from The Prince of Egypt (if you went to religous ed or sunday school you most likely watched that movie and or veggie tales)

I also want a song where it's all the teachers singing in a flashback of when they were banishing the Evil Queen to her mirror prison and it's all of them singing about everyone that's on the line if they don't succeed called "Mirror Mirror"

Adding on to that, The Evil Queen gets a "Mirror Mirror (Reprise)" number about how much she's been reformed since she was cast away, this would take place during Dragon Games when she manipulated Apple into keeping her mouth shut about her being free

And of course we have to have a number where it's all the bookball boys talking about winning the big game for Thronecoming and halfway through Cerise steps in about wanting to be on the team and they laugh it off a reject her

Then we get a part two to the previous number "Making The Team (Again)" where it's the boys begging for Cerise to help them before they get stomped on

(This idea comes from @krussy-reblog-blog thank you for responding to the previous post <3) Cerise also gets a solo where she tells Raven about her big family secret (when Kitty was going to out her secret to everyone) and how she's afraid of people knowing called "All Ears"

I also just want a number called "Jumpy" about Hopper trying to flirt with Briar and turning into a frog every. single. time. Like he's sabotaging himself spectacularly and Faybelle is snickering in the background, laughing her ass off

And if you think I'm not going to push my bribelle agender during pride month? oh honey, you've got a big storm coming

So we all know how Briar falls asleep in random places all the time because of her curse right? right. Well I want a song set probably during or after the events of Epic Winter where Briar and Faybelle are talking about the dream they both shared after being exposed to the spindle dust. In the beginning of the song is when Briar is sharing her fears about her future and her destiny and then partway through it switches to Faybelle singing about how she doesn't want to curse Briar, but at the end she realizes Briar fell asleep on her shoulder BECAUSE IT'S CUTE AND I SAID SO. The song will be called "Thorns and Roses" and it will be beautiful

#eah #ever after high #briar beauty #faybelle thorn #apple white #bribelle #kitty cheshire #raven queen #cerise hood #the evil queen #snow white #hopper croakington ii

185 notes · View notes

hunny-beann · 5 months

Text

Desiderium II

Loki Laufeyson x f!Reader

<- Part I

Note: Thank you so much to everyone who left such kind feedback on the first part of this series! <3

Warnings: A little bit of angst, mentions of death/disappearances, a crazy amount of pining

Word Count: 6,170

It had all started well over one thousand years ago, when you and the now so well known god of mischief were but babes at the mercy of the wild world around you.

You, the daughter of a powerful and well sought after witch named Karliah and an experienced healer named Tal, born and raised for eight years within the woods of Asgard until destiny laid herself bare before you and stole you away.

A witchling by blood, and a strong one at that, your parents had brought you up with grace and dignity in mind, each passing day a new lesson, and each moment spent a gift, though one that sadly ended up being in low reserve.

Eight blessed years of life spent with two loving parents, before it was traded for a still well-loved, but slightly more lonely life with your aunt, whose adoration did not make up for your sorrows, but did keep you from going down the wrong path upon your loss.

'Abandoned' they had called you when your dear aunt moved you out of the woods and into the palace to live alongside her, 'Left behind', they'd said.

But deep down, nearly everyone knew the truth of the matter.

Karliah was no weak woman, and Tal no coward. If neither had come for their daughter within the first few days of their sudden absence, then surely something had come for them, something strong enough to harm the most powerful witch in the known realms outside of those found within the royal family.

Most shuddered at the thought of this, and stuck to the tall tales of your improper abandonment instead.

'Poor witchling, left to die, so lucky to have been brought in by the merciful hands of her aunt, the palace teacher, educator of the princes and all other royal manners of children, be them visitors or otherwise.'

Oh, and of course, you.

From eight onward, you had lived within the palace walls, wandering from corridor to corridor and exploring every available nook and cranny until you had all but mapped it out within your mind, branding this once so foreign place as your home with a childlike fondness.

And you had not done such a thing by your lonesome, had you?

No, of course not, for everyone knew of your friendship with the feeblest prince, little Loki Odinson, the magic bearer, the one who used his mother's feminine magic, the seidr, over that which had been deemed stronger by the many men of Asgard.

The boy cared not for his image after all, he was just a child, the second born son of a god, and thus not the one who would have to worry about succeeding the throne himself someday.

No, that duty fell to Thor, more brawn than brains, but oh so sweet, though he notably lacked the vast intelligence of his brother.

It was as if someone had cut the perfect child in twain and created some hilariously different duo to see what the Allfather might do.

And though he loved them both, it was clear that in Odin's eye, the brawn came before the brains nearly every single time.

So, while Thor had his expectations laid out before him upon his birth, Loki had spent his days wandering the halls with you, the little witchling and her trickster prince, bound together by adventure and some childlike wonder found only in the eyes of those who had yet to learn but craved so desperately to do so.

The two of you were as close as close could get, tugging each other along by the hand, whispering secrets into one another's ears, every day a new opportunity to amuse yourselves in spite of the boredom that seemed to surround the palace.

Though, notably, you seemed to be the most interesting character of all, and perhaps that had been what had drawn your trickster prince to you in the first place.

Your mother's daughter to be sure, just as she'd had prophetic visions, ones containing the future in bursts that she often controlled, you had something rather similar, though far less easily grasped.

You, Asgard's little witchling, had prophetic dreams randomly while deep within your slumber, something that you had learned shortly after taking up residence within the palace.

It made you miss your mother tremendously to have her powers, and you resented the lack of control that you had over them, but even so, as each passing dream came true, you found suddenly that you were far more useful to those around you.

You were able to say which one of two dinner options might be best for upcoming guests based upon visions you would see weeks prior to their arrival, and on more than one occasion, you had avoided being caught by straying away from the wrong hallways while on your adventures with your dear friend after having had a particularly useful dream a night or two beforehand

Loki, of course, so heavily fixated on his intense study of magic, was entranced by this naturally inherited power of yours, and would gladly spend hours hearing you talk about your visions, no matter how mundane.

Except after one dark evening, he found that you no longer wished to.

You had woken up pale, a sure sign of a vision the night before, one that the god of mischief, thirteen years old at the time, knew all too well.

He had greeted you enthusiastically, something that was not so uncharacteristic of him at that time, only to find that you did not wish to talk about what you had seen.

Something bad, he'd realized with a start, having never considered before the downside to a power such as yours.

Sure, your mother had been able to control hers in some ways, but yours could appear almost as nightmares to you, uncontrollable and painful, because in the end, waking up offered little relief.

It could still come true after all, more than likely would too.

Not a very fair situation for such a young witch to endure on her own.

So, he decided, you would not have to.

And thus, a promise had been made.

Under the blooming flowers of one of many beautiful trees in the queen's garden, you and the god of mischief locked your pinkies together in fealty.

You would no longer hide your visions, no matter how frightening, from your prince, and in turn, he would never lie to you, at least not on purpose.

It was a childish way to appease one another, but in the end, that promise was what ended up driving you onward far into the future.

In fact, that promise was why you had ended up in the Avenger's Tower in the first place, lying on the floor with an audience of heroes watching as the man who had once been your closest friend rushed toward you, falling to his knees close enough that he could touch you if only he reached out.

You had missed his touch more than that of anyone else throughout your many years of solitude, a fact which gnawed at you slightly when you thought about your aunt and the wonderful hugs she had once given, until the final one, which had oh so sadly been in farewell.

Still, even she could not top the feeling of being held by Loki Laufeyson, though back when he had still done so, he had been Loki Odinson to you, and to everyone that knew him.

It had been Loki Odinson who had danced with you at nearly every social event, Loki Odinson who had mastered the art of sneaking into your room each night, Loki Odinson who had held your hand sweetly since childhood as you'd wandered through paths yet untraveled by your feet, and Loki Odinson who had kissed you beneath that same tree which the two of you had made that binding promise under.

You could only hope, as you looked up at the man before you, that Loki Laufeyson was not so terribly different.

You were unsure if you could take another loss, after all, not after having been alone for so very long, yearning to see the face of the one you once loved, silently praying that he might find you somehow, back in that old cabin where the two of you had carved your names in your youth.

Over your one hundred or so years there, you had all but traced that carving raw, remembering what it had been like to have the god of mischief at your side.

There was no longing like that which you felt for Loki, and of that you were certain.

Even as he stared at you with such a wild expression that you almost wondered if he had gone mad at the sight of you after so many years, perhaps having long since thought you gone from him.

It would not be so strange, after all, that you would have died in the time that passed. As far as your dear Loki knew, you were but a witchling, your immortality fragile and preserved almost entirely by the safe life that you once had led in the palace alongside him until your "disappearance".

You almost shuddered to think about explaining all of that to him now, and wondered briefly in the back of your mind if any part of him blamed you for your sudden absence.

Had his father told him of all that had transpired? Had Thor? Or had your dear prince of Asgard been left to wonder what had become of you, assuming himself abandoned at your hand?

As you gazed up at his still so perfect features, taking in their persistent familiarity, you found that you could not tell.

That is, until he spoke up, voice husky and thick with what almost sounded like grief, or the impending weight of tears.

"Starlight?"

He repeated as if in disbelief, the familiar name causing you to freeze up instantly.

You stared, unable to move nor speak.

The entire room fell silent as everyone watched on in shock at the scene unfolding before them.

There, on the floor, having just fallen out of some magical hole in the wall, was a woman. The very same woman, in fact, that this small group of avengers had just seen smiling within Loki's hellishly realistic dream as the duo lovingly lived out their life together.

A life that had never existed.

A life that, according to the adopted son of Odin himself, never would.

Except he'd never anticipated this, had he?

No, they could see his surprise in the way he stared down at you, his hands hovering just inches away as if he were afraid you would turn to dust before his very eyes if he even dared touch you.

And maybe you would, it was hard to tell when one did not know, after all.

Hard to tell, indeed.

The silence persisted for several long moments, before finally, you spoke up.

"I-I found you,"

You began, a soft smile gracing your lips, though it notably did not erase the obvious exhaustion from your eyes,

"It worked."

Loki frowned at that, his eyebrows knitting with confusion as he remained on his knees before you, the god of mischief, so besotted and enamored by your presence that he would live upon his knees once more, for however long you so required.

A surprising sight, to be sure, at least for all who bore witness to it from the outskirts.

Though notably, you did not seem to pay it any mind, as if his almost pleading body language was a normal part of speaking with him that you had come to know so well.

Loki reached forward hesitantly, his fingers outstretched as if he were about to place his hand upon glass, and with another tired smile, you did the same, placing your smaller fingertips against his with a sense of ease that had the entire room outside of yourselves wondering what could possibly be going on in front of them.

Who were you? What were you doing here? How had you gotten here? And why was the god of mischief himself looking at you as if he'd seen a ghost?

Whatever answers they were seeking though, they did not find quite yet, not in the still pervasive quiet of that room you all inhabited.

Still, all watched on with immense interest as Loki's eyes widened at your touch, and he withdrew as if stung, expression morphing into one of confusion, pain, and longing all at once, all of these being emotions that few in this room had ever seen him experience before.

"What are you doing here?"

Loki asked cautiously as he lowered his hand back down to his side, watching with sharp eyes as you did the very same with a casualness that nearly made him shiver.

If this was not truly you, then it was a damn good copy, one that rivaled any of his own creation in the history of time itself.

You let out a shaky sigh, your smile somehow growing more exhausted each time that you wore it upon your face.

"I needed to find you. I know that it's been a long time, and that you probably won't have any idea what I'm talking about when I say this, but I made a promise, and I am bound not only by my word, or the title I was given, but also by my care for you to ensure that I keep it, no matter what."

You looked down toward the floor, clearly expecting Loki to overwhelm you with questions, having long since anticipated his reaction to a moment such as this one, especially since it had been so very long since your promise had been made...

But to your surprise, he only had one question to ask, one that had the entire room buzzing with quiet conversation and confusion, and your eyes alight with utter shock.

"You've had a vision?"

He asked gently, tone low and concerned, eyes seeking yours and clearly finding the answer he was looking for there within in instant.

You nodded anyway.

Loki turned immediately to the small crowd standing behind him, though he was most notably looking for Tony, his expression pleading for the very first time since he had been imprisoned within this realm.

"I apologize for the suddenness of my request, Stark, but might you have some available space for her to stay?"

He asked quietly, as if trying to keep their discussion private in spite of the crowd watching on curiously.

"I believe this conversation may take us some time..."

He trailed off, thankfully having his question answered before he had to elaborate any further.

"Uh yeah sure, there's an empty room two doors down from yours, have at it..."

Tony trailed off himself after a few moments, before finally he continued,

"Just uh, keep me updated, okay? I try to make it a habit to actually know the people who are staying on my property."

Loki offered the man a rather firm nod in response to his request, moving into a kneeling position and offering his hand to you, his fingers outstretched and his palm upturned,

"Can you stand, starlight?"

He murmured, and immediately you nodded, grasping onto the god's hand and pulling yourself to your feet just as he did the same, allowing the audience to truly see you for the very first time, though it was your clothing far more than your physical form that garnered their attention.

The cloak around your shoulders was a deep and stunning green adorned with familiar gold accents, though on the inside, it was dark and lined with what somehow looked to be a billion little gold stars lighting up a night sky. It was almost as if they twinkled even as you stood still, wrapping the fabric tighter around your neck as everyone seemed to stare.

"Follow me." Loki said quietly, letting go of your hand after a brief moment of hesitance, and though you nodded, taking a few short steps forward just as the god began to make his way toward the door, you did not make it nearly as far as he, instead having your eyes roll back suddenly before you pitched forward without warning, the sensation of a single strong arm wrapping around your waist from behind as voices sounded from all around you being the last sensation you felt before darkness closed in.

The next thing that you knew, you were waking up in an entirely unfamiliar room, in an equally unfamiliar bed with a soft groan of confusion and pain, your head throbbing and your bones aching in spite of your still relatively young age (as far as Asgardians went, that is).

Immediately, your eyes landed upon the god sitting in a chair beside you, his gaze unwavering yet somehow almost casual as he took in the sight of you once more.

How long had it been since he had seen you last? Over one hundred years at least, that was to be sure.

You gazed back at him, a pained groan leaving you just before you spoke,

"What happened?"

You asked, hearing the god of mischief hum from where he sat before he pushed a glass of water in your direction.

You took it eagerly, beginning to drink it in small and controlled sips.

"You over exerted yourself."

Loki said simply,

"Whatever it is that you did to get here nearly took every ounce of energy that you had."

His tone was disapproving as he spoke, but you chose to ignore it in favor of focusing a little bit too hard on your water in an effort to avoid him.

This was harder to do than you'd thought it would be, seeing him after all this time.

It didn't make it hurt any less, not even in spite of all the years that had passed, and you struggled not to stare at the way his hair still fell the same, and his clothing still looked so similar.

It did not appear as though either of you had changed in the slightest, and yet you knew for a fact that such a thing was not true.

"We both know that you were taught better than to risk your health for something foolish."

Loki said, his tone stern but his voice soft, as if he hadn't yet decided how he was supposed to address you.

You sighed in response, looking away at the subtle reminder of who exactly it had been that had worked so tirelessly to teach you better.

You did not dare allow yourself the opportunity to wonder what had become of her.

"We do."

You replied casually, though your tone betrayed your nerves, as did your fidgety body language.

"But this is far from foolish, I'm afraid."

You all but murmured, watching as your old friend leaned closer, urging you silently to continue,

So, you did.

"I-..."

You trailed off, briefly giving up before finally starting over again.

It was so hard to explain, all of this, all that had happened, but Loki deserved to know the truth, and if no one else would tell him, and you had made a promise, then who were you to deny him the knowledge that was so rightfully his?

"Lo..."

You trailed off a second time as you watched the god of mischief flinch at the once familiar nickname, immediately causing you to clear your throat and try again.

"Loki, there is something that I have to tell you, and I want you to know that it was never my decision to keep it from you for this long. When I found out, I searched and searched all over for you, but Odin found me first, and there was nothing that I could do but flee..."

Loki looked down at you, confusion etched into each of his features,

"I do not understand."

He spoke,

"What does Odin have to do with the promise you once made to me? In what manner has he worked his way into this?"

You frowned, unable to meet the gaze of the being who had once been your best friend, and then almost so much more, as you finally spoke.

"Loki, Odin has everything to do with this, because it was he who banished me and made it impossible for me to find you for so long. He saw me as I was searching the palace for you, and could tell from my complexion alone that I'd had a vision..."

You trailed off for a moment, but Loki motioned for you to continue, his body language reminding you of the way that he had once so eagerly listened to the tales of your visions, his eyes always wide and his body always leaned in toward yours, as if he feared that he might miss something if he could not make out every little syllable and each individual pause.

Oh, how you missed those times with him.

Yet even so, instead of lingering upon those thoughts as you so wished to, you carried on.

"He could tell that I'd had a vision, yet when I would not tell him of what, and I insisted that I speak to you instead, he seemed to know immediately what I had witnessed, in spite of how hard I had tried to hide it."

Loki raised a questioning brow at you, his gaze still unwavering,

"So he knew what you saw and did not approve of you telling me?"

You nodded, but it seemed that Loki was not yet finished,

"Alright, that's easy enough to understand, but what does any of that have to do with this promise we made to one another? How did his knowing of your vision stop you from telling me of it for so long? And what could have possibly consumed you to waste so much energy on finding me just to keep your childhood promise after all of these years?"

You flinched slightly at the barrage of questions, but did your best to respond,

"I know this is complicated, but you have to understand, Loki, Odin never wished for you to know, and he was willing to do whatever he needed to in order to ensure that you didn't."

Loki sighed, dropping his head into his hand,

"And what exactly was it that you saw then, starlight? Do you intend upon enlightening me anytime soon?"

He was growing cross with you now, in that very same way he once had with his teachers when they did not give him the answers to his questions as directly as he wished.

He was still so hungry for knowledge, and you could not help but wonder what trouble that had gotten him into throughout your many years apart.

You placed your hand upon his, palm grazing the back of his hand more out of habit than anything else, though you did not move it even when he tensed, desperately wanting to believe that he still found something soothing within your presence, and that you had not lost him entirely, not when he still owned so very much of your heart and soul.

"I am going to tell you, Loki, why would I come here just to break my promise?"

You reasoned gently, watching as your dear god of mischief simply scoffed lightly before looking toward the ground, never one to admit it when he had overreacted.

"What I saw in my vision was no small revelation, and I want you to know that keeping it from you for so very long was never my intention."

You began, eyes growing desperate as you took both of the god's hands into your own, causing him to look up toward you once more,

"I was banished, Loki, never would I have chosen to betray you so otherwise, and I pray that you know that."

The god sitting before you pulled his hands away from yours at that, eyes growing weary, as if he was no longer certain that he could trust you.

It nearly shattered your heart to feel his touch be ripped away from yours after so very long of being alone, of missing him each and every day, but even still you did not reach back out for him again in that moment.

"Betray me?"

He whispered, his tone gaining a slight edge to it as he spoke,

"What do you speak of, witchling?"

He hissed, and you were quick to respond,

"My prince, you do not understand, what I am saying is that I never would have chosen to betray you by waiting as long as I have to tell you what I am about to. You have always been dear to me, and I have felt guilt eat away at me for all of these years that I have allowed this lie to endure in spite of my knowledge, even if I could not risk helping it until now."

Loki sighed, motioning for you to continue,

"Just get on with it then, I desire not to be kept in such suspense regarding my own life, starlight."

You took a deep breath, nodding as you began, trying your best to maintain eye contact even when it got hard.

"Loki, over one hundred years ago, I had a vision of some event far in the future, wherein you sought out your father's treasures, and learned a most difficult truth."

You watched as the being sitting in front of you stiffened slightly, his gaze widening as he slowly shook his head back and forth.

"No."

He whispered, and you watched on in confusion as he continued,

"No, no, it cannot be. You cannot possibly know. My sole comfort throughout all of these years was that you had no way of knowing..."

He carried on, and hesitantly, you reached forward to take his hand once more, and this time, he simply stared down at where you were touching him, as if not entirely believing your touch to be real anymore.

You offered him a look of deep compassion and sympathy, before finally you continued,

"You are not Odin's true son, Loki, but a-"

"Monster."

He cut you off, voice still quiet and body all too still as he stared down at your enjoined hands.

You shook your head,

"No Lo, not a monster, that is not what I-"

"My knowledge of your vision has come far too late, my dear."

Loki said gravely, a deep and humorless chuckle leaving him as he finally looked you in the eyes again, allowing you to see the tears that had built up there in spite of how hard he had tried to hold them at bay.

To the untrained eye perhaps, they may not have been so obvious, but even after all of these years, you knew his eyes far too well to not notice that they were growing wet.

Your brow creased in confusion and concern as you took his other hand in yours once more, squeezing both the way you always had before when he had experienced some great emotional suffering.

"Whatever do you mean, my prince?"

You asked gently, watching as Loki's expression morphed into one of so many emotions that you could scarcely name them all in the brief moment that they flashed upon his face.

Grief, sorrow, anger, longing, disgust, guilt. So many things to feel, and none of them good.

He continued,

"I'm afraid that what you have revealed is a truth long known to me, sweet starlight."

He said quietly, and instantly you understood, your expression falling as sadness overcame you, not only over you being too late to help him avoid further suffering, but over the way that he so clearly felt about himself.

He thought what he was to be a monster, something to be feared and hated as if it meant a thing.

You squeezed his hands again, urging him to look into your eyes, and drawn in by a habit he had once believed to be long since forgotten, he did, seeking out something within you that you were unsure of, but desperately wished to give.

"Loki, I am so very sorry that I was too late to tell you the truth. I studied so long to find some way to get to you, but I could not risk trying anything until I felt more certain of what might work for fear of Odin finding me."

The god before you regarded your words with utter shock, but you simply smiled in response,

"I will explain all when the time comes, sweet prince, but for now, please just know that you are no less Loki to me now than you ever were, nor were you any less Loki when I learned the truth. You are Loki Laufeyson, or even Loki Odinson if you so choose, and you are a crowned prince of Asgard and the god of mischief. No lineage could ever change that or take it away from you. You are no different now than you were back when you did not know."

Loki regarded you with brief confusion, as if he had never anticipated for you to feel such a way, or maybe for anyone to for that matter, and then suddenly, his eyes were squinted, his mind obviously deep in thought.

You had no doubt that this was partially in effort to change the subject to one he was far more readily prepared to discuss, but you did not tell him that you knew this.

He would talk when he was ready, if he ever truly was.

"Hold on a moment,"

He began,

"I understand that you did not explain all, but there is one thing that I cannot ever see making any sense."

He continued, eyes searching yours for the answer to a question that was yet unasked.

You shrugged,

"Lay it on me, Lo, I'm an open book."

Loki bristled a bit at the nickname, but said nothing, likely all too aware of how much of a habit it was for you, even after all of these years.

To hear it fall from your lips so easily though...

He distracted himself with his question immediately to stop that thought where it began.

"I know that you wished to keep your promise to me, that much is clear, but you spoke earlier of you having done so not for your word, and not for your title, but for care."

You nodded, cheeks reddening slightly at the memory, though the god sitting before you was clearly far too deep in thought to consider the connotation of your words as heavily as he otherwise may have.

"Your care is easy to understand, and your word is another worthy mention when it comes to reasons you may have worked so tirelessly to find me, but I do not understand what you mean by your title. What title is a witchling so bound by that would keep her from breaking her fealty to me? Why would you say such a thing at all?"

You looked away, unable to meet your old friend's gaze even as his eyes bore into you,

"Well..."

You murmured, eyes meeting his once more before you quickly looked away again, hoping somehow, that even after all of these years apart that the silence might speak for you the way that it always had with him.

He had been all but capable of reading your mind once, and who was to say that such a thing ever truly went away?

You watched as Loki's eyes widened by a millimeter, a slight inhale alerting you to some subtle realization that had just entered through the back of his mind, one that he had not been at all prepared to consider, but that made far too much sense for his liking, particularly as he considered all that had happened to you further.

His hand found the underside of your jaw, and without warning, he tilted your head upward, forcing you to look him in the eyes, allowing you to see all of the emotions building within his green irises.

Confusion, anger, frustration, but most of all, disbelief, though you could tell that the latter of the four was quickly fading.

"Starlight, did you tell Odin what you saw within your vision that day?"

He asked sternly, and, swallowing thickly, you shook your head, watching as the god of mischief's eyes widened even further.

"No."

He said matter of factly, repeating your answer as if it might make it easier for him to process what he was slowly coming to realize,

"You- You never told him what you saw."

His tone was incredulous as he spoke, his expression incredibly hard to read as he stood, using the grip you still had on his hands to tug you up alongside him.

His eyes found yours once more now that you were standing together, his head shaking back and forth almost as if he were in utter disbelief of what you were saying.

"And you know what he did, don't you? What you've become?"

He asked gently, and slowly, hesitantly, you nodded, watching as the prince of Asgard chuckled from above you,

"What a surprise you've been at every step of the way, starlight."

He muttered, leaning his head down against yours like he used to for the briefest of moments before he pulled away, clearing his throat slightly as he did.

"Well, now that we have some of those things clarified, what do you say we give the others a real introduction, hmm?"

You nodded after a moment of contemplation, moving to wrap your cloak around your shoulders once more, just barely missing the way that Loki's eyes shone at the familiar sight of it, his hands briefly reaching out toward you before he stopped himself and walked across the room to open the door for you.

From there, he guided you out into a long hallway, maneuvering the two of you about until finally, you reached a rather large common area, where you suddenly realized with a start that everyone from before was waiting.

Thor smiled at you from where he sat on the couch, the apologetic edge to it very nearly causing your heart to weep.

There were few who deserved to feel guilty over what had happened to you less so than Thor, who had only been doing what he was told.

You would have to speak with him privately soon, to thank him for having caught you when you fell forward earlier on in the day, if nothing else.

Though, you suspected that the two of you would have plenty to talk about beyond that.

The room was silent as you and the god at your side entered quietly, all eyes on the two of you as Loki cleared his throat slightly before finally speaking.

"So, as many of you have likely surmised, this is the witchling that was present in the portion of my dream that I showed earlier."

At that, you shot a glance toward the asgardian beside you, briefly wondering what on earth he could have possibly been referencing, when he brought the topic back to the discussion at hand, successfully distracting you for the time being.

"That said, she is no illusion or dream, nor is she some spirit come back to haunt me."

You watched as the man who had granted you permission to utilize a room earlier groaned at that, slapping a wad of green paper into the hand of a blonde woman who sat next to him, who simply grinned subtly.

Still, Loki paid this no mind, and continued after a brief pause,

"She is very real, and though both of us are rather confused, we are working together to figure out what exactly is going on here."

At that, a multitude of hands shot up, causing Loki to glare at those who had raised them until they begrudgingly lowered them once more.

"We will happily inform you of all that we know in just a few moments,"

He said pointedly, causing a few of the people who had been so eager to ask questions before to roll their eyes at his dramatics, though they appeared to be fairly used to them by now based upon their reactions.

"But before we get to that, I would like to introduce you properly."

Loki sighed deeply, casting you a sidelong glance of what almost appeared to be sympathy before he finally continued,

"Starlight, meet my... coworkers of sorts, the avengers."

He began, and you gave a small wave to the people in the room, smiling the tiniest bit when a few friendly looking faces waved back, some even eagerly.

Still, that almost peaceful atmosphere was clearly not meant to last forever, because after Loki's next sentence, well...

"Avengers, meet starlight, the Aesir goddess of compassion, mercy, and fidelity."

All hell broke loose.

Desiderium Tag List: @princess-ofthe-pages

Loki Tag List: @mischief2sarawr

#loki x reader #loki x yn #loki x female reader #loki x fem reader #loki marvel #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x you #loki odinson #loki fanfiction #loki series #loki laufeyson #loki x reader angst #loki angst #fic: desiderium #desiderium

108 notes · View notes

deep-dive · 4 months

Text

2023

albums/eps: a.s.o. - a.s.o. Amaarae - Fountain Baby Amnesia Scanner & Freeka Tet - STROBE.RIP André 3000 - New Blue Sun ANOHNI and the Johnsons - My Back Was a Bridge for You to Cross Anthony Naples - Orbs bar italia - Tracey Denim Beach Fossils - Bunny Ben Vida, Yarn/Wire & Nina Dante - The Beat My Head Hit Beverly Glenn-Copeland - The Ones Ahead Biosphere - N-Plants Blonde Redhead - Sit Down for Dinner Bored Lord - Name It Call Super - Eulo Cramps Carly Rae Jepsen - The Loveliest Time Caroline Polachek - Desire, I Want to Turn Into You Chuquimamani-Condori - DJ E Cole Police - If I Don’t See You in the Future, I’ll See You in the Pasture Dean Blunt - Give me a moment DJ Lostboi - Music for Landings DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ - Destiny Double Virgo - hardrive heat seeking Eartheater - Powders The Embassy - E-Numbers Everything But the Girl - Fuse Fever Ray - Radical Romantics Freak Heat Waves - Mondo Tempo Headache - The Head Hurts but the Heart Knows the Truth Hiroyuki Onogawa - August in the Water: Music for Film 1995-2005 Jam City - Jam City Presents EFM James Ivy - Everything Perfect Jessy Lanza - Love Hallucination Jim Legxacy - homeless n****a pop music Joanne Robertson - Blue Car Jonnine - Maritz Kelela - Raven Khotin - Release Spirit Kota Hoshino, Shoi Miyazawa - Armored Core VI OST Laurel Halo - Atlas Loraine James - Gentle Confrontation Maria BC - Spike Field mark william lewis - Living Matmos - Return to Archive MIZU - Distant Intervals ML Buch - Suntub Noriko Tujiko - Crépuscule I & II Nourished by Time - Erotic Probiotic 2 Oneohtrix Point Never - Again Osmotic & Fennesz - Senzatetto Pierre Rousseau - Mémoire De Forme Purelink - Signs Ryuichi Sakamoto - 12 Sofia Courtesies - Madres ssaliva - sector6park/counterfeit Sufjan Stevens - Javelin Tim Hecker - No Highs Tirzah - trip9love…??? Wild Nothing - Hold Yves Tumor - Praise a Lord Who Chews but Which Does Not Consume; (Or Simply, Hot Between Worlds) µ-Ziq - 1977 7038634357 - Neo Seven

songs: a.s.o. - Love in the Darkness Addison Rae - I got it bad Alex Kassian - Leave Your Life (Lonely Hearts Mix) Amaarae - Reckless & Sweet Amnesia Scanner & Freeka Tet - Clown André - Ants To You, Gods To Who ? ANOHNI and the Johnsons - Can’t ANOHNI and the Johnsons - It Must Change Anthony Naples - Silas Armin van Buuren & Punctual - On & On (ft. Alina) bambinodj - High as Ever Still Passin' Through (Remix) bar italia - Nocd Baths - Do I Make the World Worse Beach Fossils - Don’t Fade Away Beverly Glenn-Copeland - People of the Loon Bibio & Óskar Guðjónsson - Sunbursting Björk & Rosalía - Oral Blawan - Toast Bored Lord - Wait Wait Wait bvdub - Days on Heaven and Earth Call Super - Coppertone Elegy Carly Rae Jensen - Psychedelic Switch Caroline Polachek - Bunny Is a Rider (Doss Remix) Caroline Polachek - Crude Drawing of an Angel Chuquimamani-Condori - Eat My Cum Chuquimamani-Condori - Know Dean Blunt - Rinsed (ft. TYSON) Dj Lostboi - PUF 2 LAX DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ - For Now and Forever Double Virgo - gainfully deployed EASYFUN - Long Long Time The Embassy - Amnesia ESP - North Fever Ray - Kandy Freak Heat Waves & Cindy Lee - In a Moment Divine Fwea-Go Hit - Back Wildin Headache - That Thing with the Rabbit Headache - Truism 4 Dummies Hemlocke Springs - sever the blight Hudson Mohawke & Nikki Nair - Demuro Ike - Rose Quartz Jam City - Magnetic James K & hoodie - Ether Jessy Lanza - Don’t Cry On My Pillow Jim Legxacy - amnesia111 Jim Legxacy - candy reign (!) Jonnine - Tea For Two (Boo) Kelela - Divorce Khotin - Computer Break (Late Mix) Kylie Minogue - Hold on to Now Laurel Halo, Bendik Giske, Lucy Railton & James Underwood - Earthbound Loraine James - Tired of Me Lorenzi - Lonely Cowboy Tales (Crayon Moon Remix) LSDXOXO - Devil’s Chariot Maria BC - Still Maria BC - Watcher mark william lewis - Living Mc LcKaiique, MC Celo BK & DJ Jeeh FDC - Quem Tá de Motão, Vou Sarrar Puta Na Marcone (ft. DJ Biel Divulga) ML Buch - High speed calm air tonight Nation & Ecco2k - Ça Va Nicole Dollanganger - Gold Satin Dreamer Nourished by Time - Rain Water Promise Oliver Coates - One Without Oneohtrix Point Never - Krumville Purelink - We Should Keep Going Shoi Miyazawa - Rough and Decent Slayyyter - Miss Belladonna Sufjan Stevens - Shit talk Tim Hecker - Total Garbage Tirzah - u all the time Troye Sivan - Got Me Started Wild Nothing - Suburban Solutions Yves Tumor - Echolalia Yves Tumor - Fear Evil Like Fire µ-Ziq - 4am

mixes: CFCF - CFCF for TERMINAL 27 Chuquimamani-Condori - Fact Mix 937 PC Music - 10 Physical Therapy - car culture remissions vol. 4 plush - LIVE AT SKSKSKSK S-candalo - Fact Mix 897 WHY BE - OdyXxey Radio Mix

movies: Afire (Christian Petzold) All the Beauty and the Bloodshed (Laura Poitras) E6-D7 (Eno Swinnen) Evil Dead Rise (Lee Cronin) Grown in Darkness (Devin Shears) How Do You Live? (Hayao Miyazaki) The Killer (David Fincher) Killers of the Flower Moon (Martin Scorsese) Knock at the Cabin (M. Night Shyamalan) Last Summer (Catherine Breillat) May December (Todd Haynes) Oppenheimer (Christopher Nolan) The Outwaters (Robbie Banfitch) Rotting in the Sun (Sebastián Silva) Showing Up (Kelly Reichardt) The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer)

games: Alan Wake II Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon Baldur’s Gate III Blasphemous II Diablo IV Humanity Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Lies of P Metroid Prime Remastered Octopath Traveler II Pikmin 4 Star Ocean: The Second Story R Super Mario Bros. Wonder Theatrhythm Final Bar Line Wo Long: Fallen Dynasty

52 notes · View notes

margowritesthings · 10 months

Text

Fate: A Word Meaning Destiny

PART I

PART II BY @cowboydisaster COMING SOON

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!readersummary: you're a ranch-hand, when your home is attacked by bandits. a mysterious stranger comes to save your life, but who is he? word count: 11.9k words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, murder, attempted sexual assault, sexual relations, fingering (r receiving), penetration, loss of virginity, mentions of virginity, talk of trauma a/n: here it is!! finally!! this is the longest piece I've ever written, and I'm so fuckin proud of it!! It is a collaboration with the incredible @cowboydisaster, who will be releasing part 2 when it's ready!! I worked so hard on this, so I hope you love it!! <3

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire@punctillous @missvanderlinde @twola @pine4pple-b0i @alice-vanderlinde @photo1030

The day started and progressed like any other, with absolutely no indication that your life would be changed forever until it did. Free time slipped through the cracks in your packed schedule of chores while the sun rose and fell again, casting brilliant orange and pink hues across the sky you now sit in awe of on the porch of your lodgings. Your muscles ache from a full day's work, but it’s a satisfying sensation, one begat from happy horses, milked cows, and a fence fixed by your own hand. Sure, your work earned a mere grumble from Mr. Varner, but throughout the 6 months you’ve worked on the ranch, he has never once had a conversation not directed at your breasts, so you’re not too upset to not have received praise tonight.

Honestly, you’re just glad to be able to relax. The ranch hands rarely speak to one another outside of work, and there isn’t a damn thing to do around here, but it’s better than shovelling shit in the sweltering heat. You’ve even got a glass of fresh apple juice, a rare delicacy to celebrate the end of the week.

Every so often, when the breeze dies down and each animal agrees to quiet, there is an almost absolute silence surrounding you, and you close your eyes to bask in it. This moment would be the perfect time for a feeling or an intuition that everything is about to change, but it doesn’t come. You feel nothing but peace. Years from now, when you look back to this night, you’ll be grateful that the sense of foreboding didn’t hit you until it was too late, knowing these are the very last moments of the life you once knew.

The first sense that something is wrong doesn’t come until the gunshots dart through the darkening coral sky and scatter the birds out into it. Your brows pull together, eyes squinting to search for the origin of the disruption to your peace. They’re distant, for now, but the silhouette against the horizon is unmistakably coming closer to the ranch, rifles and pistols pointed to the heavens by a group of men whooping and cheering as they ride straight towards you.

Everything seems to slow but your racing heart, and it feels like hours between your drink leaving your grasp and the glass shattering all over the porch. Shards disperse over the wood, along with the golden liquid pooled at your feet. In the mere seconds you spend glancing at the floor, the group has advanced and the time you have to figure out what the hell you’re going to do has quickly declined. You’ve heard of gangs hitting up ranches for supplies, heard stories of outlaws on benders pillaging and hunting people simply because they can, but it never crossed your mind to be worried about it. Whenever your momma told you all about the criminals hiding just past the horizon, you’d roll your eyes, chalking it up to a cautionary tale to get you to stay close to the house. Now, your heart hammers against your chest as you realise that if you don’t act now, you’ll become one of those stories, passed down to worry children into obedience. I knew a girl once, shot by bandits for taking too long to hide…

Not today.

The fear of becoming folklore finally overtakes the fear that has paralysed you for what feels like hours and hours, letting you stand and rush into your cabin, shutting the door behind you. Shaking hands reach for the wooden chair by the tiny kitchen, sliding it across the floorboards and hooking it underneath the handle to barricade the door. It won’t keep anybody out for long, but will at least warn you if someone is trying to get in.

Your cabin is small, made up of only one room, and while you’ve always thought it was cozy, right now it feels claustrophobic. The gunshots and laughter are getting louder and you’re scared. Your Momma spent so long teaching you how to stay away from outlaws, but she never told you what to do when they found you. You have nothing but a kitchen knife, which you clutch close to your chest as your eyes frantically dart around your room, searching for anything else you can use to protect yourself. There is nothing, thanks to a minimalism forced upon you by a barely livable wage. You can afford to feed yourself, just about, but life saving luxuries like weaponry or a heavy bookshelf are out of the question, so here you are, back against the log wall, a measly blade normally used for bread gripped close to your body.

Hooves pound against the dirt outside and you swear the ground shakes beneath you. You can hear everything so clearly: spurs clicking against stirrups, heavy boots on the earth, sneering men reloading their guns and thankfully walking towards the main house instead of the smaller cabins you and the other ranch hands reside in. Back pressed against the wall, you wait until the voices dwindle, before you peer out of the little window to get a better view. Some of the fences are already smashed in, including the one you’d just fixed, and somebody has opened all the gates, letting cows and chickens and horses run free amongst the chaos. They’ve reached Mr. Varner’s door, kicking it down with a thud that echoes around the whole ranch. Two of the outlaws go inside, emerging after only a few seconds with Varner’s collar firmly in their grasp. They throw him to the floor and he falls to his knees, and even though you’re at the other side of the ranch, you can see the absolute terror in his eyes. He’s vibrating with fear and you’re not much better, especially when the supposed leader of the group begins to reload his pistol.

You can’t hear his pleas, and even the people who can hear them aren’t listening. The leader lifts his arm, finger resting on the trigger. You’ve heard gunshots before, but none that shake the Earth quite so much as this one.

You don’t hear Mr Varner’s last words, and the aftermath of his murder couldn’t possibly outmatch the ringing in your ears as your chest heaves with pure panic. They killed him. They killed him, and there is absolutely nothing stopping them from coming for you next.

“No… no no no no- fuck!” you whisper to yourself, to any deity out there who might be listening, hoping that they don’t mind the colourful language. You have to get out of here, lest this ranch become your grave. Tears prick at your eyes while your brain works ten thousand miles a second. You’ve retreated back to the floor, not wanting to be spotted by wandering eyes while the outlaws start to ransack Varner’s house.

Your eyes wander desperately around the room, finding only the small window above your bed. It leads out back, so they wouldn’t be able to see you escape, and if you’re stealthy enough you might just be able to make it to the barn. If you’re not, they will find you and surely kill you, but at least the choice of where you’ll die would be in your hands. A small dignity, but a dignity nonetheless that you grasp to with all your might. Most of the horses have fled after the shock of the gunshot that killed your employer, but if you’ve counted correctly there should still be a couple in the barn that you could escape on.

It takes exactly six deep breaths to quell the shaking of your joints enough to stand, stash your knife in your boot and make your way over to your former bed. From the corner of the room, you take a second to look upon your home, knowing it’ll be the last time you see it whether you live or die here. There really isn’t much, but a sad fondness lingers. Everything looks rosier through the lens of somebody being forced out of their home for fear of death.

The window sticks to its frame like it’s covered in treacle, and for one awful second you fear that it won’t budge open, but a desperate push manages to force it just enough to fit you through. Your boots hit the ground with a soft thud and you peer around the corner to find the gang still pulling any valuables they can find from the main house. It’s enough distraction for you to run as swiftly and quietly as you can, tunnel vision stopping anything but your destination from infiltrating your thoughts. With the way the ranch is laid out, you can’t get in through the door without being seen, but you can get to the back of the wooden structure and in through another window, where you will hopefully have more options for getting out of this alive.

When you reach your destination, you don’t even think twice about using your elbow to smash the window in on itself when you realise there’s no hinge. The crack of glass is loud, but nowhere near loud enough to beat the hollering and whooping of the gang. Shards slice through your shirt and skin, crimson quickly pouring from fresh cuts but you hardly notice. It’s pure adrenaline that drags you through the freshly made entrance, and you land on a pile of hay that is quickly decorated with splatters of your own blood.

You’re in.

And you’re alone.

It feels like your fate becomes sealed, shut up with a lock and key you can no longer reach. There are no horses here. There’s no way in hell you can outrun a bullet, nor any man with a horse of their own, so you’re faced with the only option left: hoping they don’t notice you. There’s a chance they’ll go for the cabins over the barn, going after the other ranch hands and their measly belongings instead of piles upon piles of hay. It’s not a chance you’d like to bet your life on, but you no longer seem to have the luxury choice. Your frame fits into a gap in the hay, hidden by a ladder and some crates. For the first time in your life, you’re grateful for your messy colleagues not cleaning up properly. You curl into as small a ball as you can, wrapping your limbs around each other as if it will protect you. You won’t let yourself cry, even after more gunshots start to shatter the air around you. It sounds like they’re getting louder, and you can almost picture a great big flashing percentage chance you’ll survive this decline by the second right above your head.

Your chest tightens to the point that breath can no longer move around in it when the large barn doors creak open, the streak of light cast on the dusty floor almost bright red in hue now. The skies are on fire, your equilibrium in flames as two of the bandits saunter into your makeshift sanctuary.

“See, I told you. Just a buncha’ hay, ain’t even no horses.”

“Just shut up and search over there, bastard could’a kept his stash anywhere.”

You’d snort if you weren’t so debilitatingly terrified, if it wouldn’t be the very act that had you murdered. Varner could barely scrape enough money together to pay you on time and still have his nightly whiskey, there was no way in hell he’d leave a stash of cash lying around in here. But they weren’t to know that, how could they? Who knows what he told them to try and save his own skin.

Spurs scrape across the floor, creating a noise that makes your skin crawl, getting louder and louder as one of the men approaches. You hold your breath until your vision blurs in the corner and you can feel your struggling pulse in your temple, but it is futile. You see his boots first, and somehow force yourself to drag your eyes up his body, finding poorly patched up jeans, an empty holster hanging by his hip, a deep green waistcoat clasped close with a silver chain, long, greasy, graying hair, and an expression you’re sure will burned into your darkest nightmares for the rest of your life. His grin feels as though somebody is pouring acid over your back. Neither shivers nor chills truly justify whatever happens to your skin when the stranger lifts his ivory pistol to you.

Because you refuse to let the tears pooled in your eyes fall, they tremble in droplets along your waterline, your sight flicking between straight down the barrel and back to its wielder.

“Ain’t no stash, but I sure caught me a pretty treasure…”

Logically, it could only have been a second of silence, but time hasn’t worked right for you since you were on that porch, far away from danger. To you, there’s hours. Hours of watching a monster reach for you in slow motion, claws digging into the flesh of your arm with a bruising force. It feels like he tears your skin apart, and if you didn’t know your wounds had come from the shattered window you’d believe the deep gashes were his doing. You scream loudly, half from the sheer panic, half in agony as your blood coats his hands and he drags you across the floor by your injured arm. It doesn’t phase him, at least it doesn’t seem to. Your scream is a droplet in an ocean of pain and terror inflicted by him, it simply joins the chorus of victims you hope haunts him when he’s alone at night.

You kick and claw, but it serves little but to amuse the bastard, who chuckles lowly at your writhing, waving his equally greasy companion over with his pistol.

“Hey, Timmy! Look here what I got!”

It doesn’t take Timmy long to walk over, sneering at you while you try your hardest to do nothing but glare. Your knife feels all too present tucked in your boot, but you know if you tried to grab it now they’d shoot you dead.

“Ain’t she a purty thing, Ace?”

“W-What do you want from me?” You ask, swallowing the rock forming in your throat down, “I ain’t got no money- I-I ain’t got nothin’, just let me go.”

“Oh, you’ve got somethin’, pretty little thing you are…”

No…

The smirk Timmy and Ace share tells you everything you need to know. It feels like your chest is about to crack open from the way your heart pounds against it, longing for release from your body just as much as you are right now. There is nobody to scream for help, no way out, and even if you did escape the barn there’s at least ten more outlaws waiting outside with just as much intention on you as the ones looking at you like a meal in here.

You will never forget your own scream when Ace lunges for you. The taste of cigarette ash and gunpowder on your lips when he clamps his hand over your mouth will be ingrained in your senses forever. The tears finally fall down your cheeks, mixing in with your own blood from your arm as you try and claw at Ace’s arm. It’s fruitless, as even if you could match his strength, Timmy is right there behind him to grasp your arm and pull it painfully behind your head.

“Who’s goin’ first then? I reckon she’s a wriggler, one of us’ll have to hold her.”

“Quit squealin’, I can’t hear myself think!” Ace demands, landing a swift punch to your gut that really doesn’t help the nausea. You can barely feel the pain of anything, so consumed in your panic that you could probably have been shot and wouldn’t notice. Hell, you’d prefer getting shot to having these men’s hands on your body for a second longer. His hand isn’t enough of a barrier to stop the ear splitting noises completely, only dull them a little, but they still don’t deter either man.

“You don’t ever think, what’s the difference?” “Shut up, dumbass, and hold her down proper!”

Their teasing would have floored you, if you weren’t already pinned there. They speak as if mocking each other in the saloon, as if it’s another day, while they hold your life in their hands. If you live to see the end of today, you’ll never forget it. This trauma is one to be carried until the end of your days, and they act like it is merely just another Thursday.

Vehement screams intensify when one set of hands, you don’t know which, begin to pull at your shirt, exposing your shoulders more with each seam that rips. Your eyes are screwed shut, wanting to close off as many senses as you can as the tears freely fall down your cheeks. Their touch feels like acid, bubbling and burning on your skin. You try to bite down, but Ace’s grip is too tight. You try to kick at him, but from his vantage point it is easy to swerve. It seems your fate is sealed, and your heart breaks in a way that can never be truly fixed, a way that changes the course of the remainder of your life. You’ll think back, eventually, and wonder if it would have been different had he arrived just minutes earlier, but he didn’t. He doesn’t. He arrives now, emerging from the fiery sunset like an angel disguised as a demon.

You don’t spot him until Ace falls to the floor, clubbed over the head with the handle of the peacemaker held by the mysterious stranger. You don’t know what to do, who to be scared of and who to be grateful for, he could well just want you all to himself. But when he spots you, covered in blood, sweat and tears, that petrified look in your eyes, the surprise is evident in his features. There’s only a split second for the two of you to exchange confused glances, before Timmy lets go of your arms to grab his own pistol and point it at your saviour. You’re not the only one this man’s intense presence is affecting, it seems, with the way Timmy’s sweaty hands start to shake.

“H-Hey! She’s ours, mister. Get your own!”

That seems to piss him off, a low growl emitting from deep in his chest.

“She ain’t nobody’s. Let her go. Can’t get your own ladies without forcin’ yourself on one, huh? Makes sense I guess, lookin’ at you two…”

There isn’t anything holding you down anymore, but you’re frozen to the spot, pinned down to the floor by the sheer energy of this stranger with the chiselled jaw and the most striking ocean coloured eyes you’ve ever seen in your life peering out from under his gambler’s hat. His face is cast in shadows from the brim, but you can tell he’s handsome, right down to the rugged scar on his chin. You have no idea who he is, but something tells you to trust him.

You’re so lost in him that you don’t notice Ace waking up from his brief stint of unconsciousness, grasping at a handful of your hair to pull your body flush against his on the floor, craning your neck to fit his pistol under your chin. All you can do is claw at his wrist, leaving rosy scratches on his skin that don’t appear to bother him in the least. There’s a sharp pain shooting from your neck down your spine thanks to the strain he is forcing on your vertebrae, which forces a whimper from you. You’re truly stuck in the crossfires, with Timmy’s gun pointing at the stranger, who is pointing his barrel at Ace, who has his pistol right up against your chin, leaving indents of the metalwork in your skin from the pressure of it.

“You drop that gun, or I’ll blow her pretty little head off, ya hear? Drop it!” Ace demands, shoving the weapon even further into your flesh to prove his point. You can’t help the tear that escapes when he does so, this awful reminder of your mortality prodding oh so painfully into your jaw. The stranger only thinks about it for a fraction of a second, holding one hand out in a surrender, while the other leans down to place his peacemaker on the floor slowly.

“Alright, easy.” His tone is much calmer than before, his eyes never leaving yours despite everything going on around the two of you. You’re terrified, and he knows it, but even though you’ve never met before this moment, the way he looks at you soothes you, almost like you’re conversing with no words spoken at all, “We can all put our weapons down and talk, huh?”

Ace seems to relax at the sight of the stranger disarming himself, which you can tell by the way his grip on your hair slackens a little. It’s still mighty uncomfortable, and having his clammy hands all over you makes you want to cut your skin off with a-

Kitchen knife.

The metal of the weapon you’re just remembering burns into the skin of your ankle, glowing like the bright white light to freedom. If you play this right, it could be. There’s always the chance you could mess up and get blown to pieces, but if the choice is that or more of having to breathe the same air as these scum bandits, you’re willing to take your chances.

The good lord seems to smile down on you for the first time today when He wills both Ace and Timmy to reach for the discarded peacemaker at the same time, leaving them distracted enough for you to throw your weight into elbowing Ace in the gut and grab the knife from its makeshift holster.

Time slows again, the next few seconds playing out like confusing hours, the four of you a mess of limbs as everyone attempts their separate feats. Timmy goes for the gun, while Ace recovers his breath enough to try and wrestle the blade out of your hand. The mystery man boots Timmy in the face, knocking him out cold and out of the way, and he manages to kick the peacemaker out of anybody's reach too. You don’t see what happens next, as Ace pins you to the ground, slapping you hard across the face. The shock causes you to drop the knife, which he swiftly recovers, raising it high above your head with a maniac, unhinged grin on his face. For a moment, you’re almost glad of the fate you see sealing before you, as you’re sure that image would have haunted you for the rest of your days anyway.

They say that life is supposed to flash before your eyes in your final moments, a speedrun of your best and worst moments laid out before you while you take your final breaths, but it isn’t your past you see when you realise that this is how your story is going to end, your own damn kitchen knife about to be plunged into your chest. No, you don’t see what has happened, you see everything that could no longer be. You see the ranch you’ll never own for yourself one day, the children you’ll never get the chance to bear, the wedding you’ll never attend… You let your dreams go in that moment, watching them fly further than you ever will again.

You shut your eyes tight, determined to block out the horrendous last view you think you’ll ever have, so you don’t actually see your knight in dusty leather throw his body into your attacker. His weight is no match for scrawny Ace, who hits the floor with a thud. The stranger grapples at Ace’s throat while he splutters helplessly. When you see him lift the knife, after managing to sit yourself up and slide out of the way, you shout out, but it is too late. Ace impales the man in the shoulder and he cries out, though it comes out as more of a growl. You wince at the sight of it as the stranger pulls together all the adrenaline from being stabbed to punch Ace in the nose. The crack seems to echo in the chaos, followed by a quiet just not possible when the two bandits were conscious.

The fire in your lungs burns hot, your chest struggling to contain the breaths you’d resigned yourself to never take again as your mind starts to attempt to catch up. It is just you and this man now, both wounded and covered in blood, neither knowing what exactly to say next. You pray your intuition to trust this man is right, though with the way he looks at you, you’re sure he couldn’t mean harm to you even at gunpoint.

You look like a deer caught by a rifle, wide eyed and unable to move save for the frantic shaking you can’t seem to stop. The man winces as he removes the knife from out of his shoulder, but you’re so desensitised to everything right now that the sight of blood running down his arm and pooling through his shirt doesn’t bother you.

“It’s alright now, Miss. They won’t wake up for a while yet, you’re safe.” He speaks while reaching for his gun, worried, tired eyes never leaving you, “They hurt you?”

The shock has paralysed your tongue and slammed your jaw shut, your molars grinding together near painfully, but you manage to shake your head. They did manage to get a few hits in, but besides a slightly winded feeling in your gut and a slinging where you were slapped, the wounds they left are far more intangible. Spiritual.

He watches the trauma immobilize you, and you see his heart break for you, right in the crease between his eyebrows and the way his features soften, “Hey, sweetheart, it’s alright. It’s gonna be alright, I promise.” He approaches you, slowly, holding his empty hands out in an act of surrender to you. When you don’t flinch or move away after his first step towards you, he continues his journey to you, good arm gently wrapping around your frame, careful not to bleed on you or harm your own wounds, “Shh, you’re safe. I’ve got you’.”

The comedown comes hard, the sobs erupting from your lips nearly the second you feel his touch on you. It all becomes real, hitting you, body and soul, like a freight train, crushing your bones and spirit like they’re nothing.

“They-they-” “I know, I know… it’s okay. I’ll get you outta here, I promise. You got someplace else to go?”

You shake your head, sniffling to attempt to gain control over the sobs wracking your body. Using the circles this man is rubbing into your back and his soothing words as a compass, you find your way back to him.

“It’s alright, miss. I’ll get us outta here. You okay to ride on my horse for a while?”

You nod, starting to feel the true sting that smashing a window with your bare hand should incite without adrenaline numbing your senses. The tears wet your cheeks, mixing in with god knows whose blood splattered across your features like crimson freckles. You feel a warm, calloused thumb pad rub a tear track away, before the stranger stands and extends his hand out to you. Both of you have injured your left side, so interlink your right hand fingers so he can help you to your feet. Standing is hard when it feels like your bones igniting and shattering through your flesh, but you manage with the help of this man’s strength.

“I took care of those guys outside, but the law could be here any minute. Boadicea’s just outside- don’t let her size fool you, she’s friendly enough. We’ll get you somewhere safe, alright? Figure out what to do next…” He guides you outside with an arm around your shoulder, whistling a stunning chestnut Hungarian half-bred over to you. He mounts the mare, patting her on the neck and murmuring “Good girl,” into her ear.

On a better day, you’re more than capable enough to mount a horse by yourself, but you just can’t bring yourself to deny the man when holds an arm out to you. You fit perfectly behind him, your chest moulding against his hard back, wrapping one arm around his waist. Despite the whirring in your mind of everything that just transpired, you manage to pick out that he smells like a wonderful mix of whiskey and tobacco. Normally, you can’t stand either of them, far too strong and smoky for your tastes, but somehow it suits this man. You cling to him while he kicks Boadicea into a gallop, inhaling in his scent and letting it soothe you. The wind whips your skin and you shiver, glancing back only once at your former life, watching the flames lick at Varner’s house as it crumbles to the ground. It’s spreading fast, and you can’t imagine Timmy and Ace will wake in time to escape before the barn is taken. Ironic, that their demise will come from their own destruction.

It’s a near silent ride, where all your energies have to be put into not breaking down all over again. You know that if you start to cry, you just won’t stop. Everyone you know is dead, you’ve lost your job, your home, and almost had a part of yourself stolen that you’ve never freely given to anybody before. It’s too much, but you force yourself to focus on anything but. You think about the feel of this man’s shirt on your cheek, the way the muscles of his back ripple beneath your supple chest each time he moves to ride Boadicea. You hear the occasional wince, especially until he senses you’re far enough away from the ranch to slow down a little. He’s hurt, clearly an outlaw in his own right, and you struggle to understand why exactly he’s helping you instead of protecting his own back and leaving you there in the flames. But you’re too tired to be skeptical, running completely on empty.

Boadicea carries the two of you into the woods. It’s getting dark, and you’re surprised at how well she navigates the trees and branches, following the winding path until you reach a clearing.

“Here alright?” Your saviour asks, glancing over his good shoulder at you. You nod wordlessly, still clutching right onto his waist despite the fact you’re now stationary.

He dismounts first, holding both arms out to you despite the clear pain written across his face. You dismount Boadicea, the front of your body sliding down the mystery man’s thanks to how close he’s standing. Your legs still feel like jelly, but you somehow manage to stay standing.

“I’ll set up a tent. You know how to make a fire, sweetheart?” He asks, starting to rifle through a satchel he wears across his body. You nod again and take the flint and steel he’s offering out to you. Your hands brush, sending a shiver down your arm.

While he uses just one hand to hammer some tall branches into the ground to hang the canvas from, you set up the fire, finding enough dry wood around to not have to wander far at all. It isn’t long before you’re both sitting beside the fire, a makeshift roof over your head while the stranger plucks some items from his satchel.

Your wounds appear to have stopped bleeding, leaving dark pools of a near maroon hue seeping through your shirt around gashes that wind around your flesh like ivy. You didn’t get the chance to properly look before, too engulfed in panic to notice how deep they are.

In the glow of the firelight, the lines etched into your saviour's face seem harsher, telling the tales of the pain he’s in and betraying the heroic facade he’s so clearly trying to put on for you. You know it all too well right now as your arm throbs, a stinging, aching mess of sensation that scrunches your nose up as you try to flex your fingers.

“You’re hurt.” He states, watching you intently as your hand shakes from the strain,

“I’m okay.” You manage, the very first words you’ve spoken since being back at the ranch, “I had to smash a window in to get to the barn. Figured there’d be something in there to help me, but…” you trail off as he nods knowingly.

“Can I help you with your arm? I ain’t no doctor, but I’ve had enough scrapes through the years to know what to do.” He offers and you nod, trusting him more than you have the sense to. You don’t even know his name.

The man moves slowly over to sit beside you, the heat of the flames and the closeness between you setting your cheeks alight. You don’t really understand it, you just got assaulted by bandits, and yet all you want to do is shuffle closer and bury yourself into this one, letting everything melt away while he tells you it’s gonna be alright.

His hands are upturned to the stars, awaiting your arm which you give him without question. There’s a tugging need to trust him deep down in your gut that allows you to do whatever he asks of you.

When he looks over the torn, stained fabric of your shirt, his brows pull together. The mud and paint from the ranch is barely noticeable for all the blood, but neither of you can really see the cuts to your skin.

“Shall I take it off?” you offer, not particularly eager to undress but smart enough to know he can’t help you without.

“‘Fraid you might have to, miss. You can trust me, I ain’t nothin’ like them men, I promise.”

“I trust you.”

Your words are spoken so quickly, barely audible, but they still echo around the tiny space the pair of you occupy. You start at the bottom button, knowing that it will start to hurt when you reach the halfway mark because you need to bend your arm. He notices your discomfort, probably in the way your bottom lip slips between your teeth and your jaw flutters when you grind your teeth together to have another sensation to focus on.

“Let me.” he mumbles, a hint of a growl catching his low voice. You let your hand drop back to a comfortable position to do as he says. It feels as though your breath gets stuck in your chest when the hardened skin of his hand brushes over your belly and the contact burns through your chemise. The tension in the air is palpable, both suffocating you and keeping you breathing just so you can experience whatever is to come.

You’re both silent as he works the buttons through their tiny holes, looking like a giant manoeuvring something so delicate. You can easily get the shirt off one shoulder, but he has to help with the other, his hand sliding down your arm with the pooling fabric before he can carefully peel the shirt away from you and discard it to the floor.

The air chills your skin, leaving goose pimples scattered all over you. You feel exposed, but somehow not uncomfortable. Your chemise is a simple one, with a bodice that clings to each curve unseen by another. And yet here you sit, in front of a nameless man who swallows thickly as he tries to keep his eyes trained on your injuries.

“You got a name, mister?” You manage, watching him rip up a bandana he found in his satchel and dousing it in water from a flask. He seems to hesitate, before eventually answering without meeting your eye.

“Call me Callahan, for now.”

For now?

“That a first name or a last name?”

It looks as though he hesitates for a moment, before he starts to clean your wounds and the blood begins to flake off your skin.

“S’just a name.”

Strange answer. Evasive answer, but if he truly is an outlaw going round town rescuing strangers from bandits, it makes sense to not go around advertising who you are.

You wince at a particularly deep cut and Callahan apologises, renewing his efforts to clean your arm as if restoring an antique painting that could tear apart at any moment. It stings, but you handle it. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve already experienced today.

“How ‘bout you, miss?”

You pause, for the first time in your life not quite knowing how to answer such a simple question. Of course you have a name, but it feels wrong to twist your tongue to say it. It no longer fits you, like a jacket worn long before you truly grew into yourself. Your name belongs to a woman who lives on a ranch and loves nothing more than a fresh painted fence and a glass of ice cold apple juice… but she doesn’t exist anymore. She died in the barn, along with that fierce naïveté you’ve held so close to your chest for your whole life, the one that believes in the world and the kindness in it, the one that thinks you work hard in life to earn your place and that goodness will be rewarded. It’s all gone, replaced with the images of Varner’s skull shattered across his own land, his life's work up in flames at the hands of men who refuse to follow the right path.

In the end, you give him your name, knowing deep down that it will be the last time you ever use it. Every single person who knew it, your family, employer, friends… they’re all dead anyway. And now so are you. To the world, the young girl they knew perished in the barn fire.

“S’a pretty name.” he mumbles, seemingly pulled into the focus needed to not hurt you again. He’s good, really good at patching up wounds, you notice, despite his calloused hands being so huge. With the concentration etched across his face, and him sitting so close to you, you can finally get a proper look at him. Those ocean eyes you noticed back in the barn are just as stunning without being the last thing you think you’ll ever see, framed with little crows feet at the corners of his lids. His face is tanned, scattered with light freckles you don’t think you would have noticed if not for the privilege of being so close to him. He has sandy hair and stubble that covers his whole jawline, save for that little scar on his chin. He is without doubt the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, body and soul, and you feel your heart fluttering against your ribcage and your skin tingling at his contact.

He expertly ties strips of the bandanna around your arm, and while the pressure stings, it also feels a lot less like your flesh is being pulled apart.

“I think you’re gonna be alright, miss. Might scar, they’re mighty deep, but they’ll heal well enough with time.”

“T-Thank you.” You stutter, holding your arm out to survey his handiwork.

“Don’t mention it.” He dismisses, though you notice he doesn’t move any further away from you. You’re glad for it.

“No, not just this… everything. Thank you. I didn’t get the chance to say it back there, but… I think you saved my life. And saved me from a far worse fate than death, I… I’ll never be able to thank you enough.” You mean every word spilling from your lips, and suddenly, with your hand still placed in his, fitting more perfectly than anything personally made for you ever could, you watch your fate seal. You know what you want, and after the most prominent life lesson you’ll ever receive that life can be cut short at any moment, you know you have to get it.

“It’s what any man would do, sweetheart… I ain’t a good man, believe me… but I couldn’t stand by while those bastards took advantage of ya’.”

The reminder (not that you needed it, with Ace’s unhinged grin permanently burnt into your eyelids) pulls your brows together as sadness etches across your face. Callahan notices, giving your hand the gentlest of squeezes you might have missed if your body weren’t in hyperdrive around him, every slight brush setting you alight. Your fingers entangle together, and you don’t quite know who initiated it, but it feels right. Comforting. Everything.

When your gaze roams from your entwined hands to his face, you stop at his shoulder, suddenly feeling foolish for letting him patch you up while he has an open stab wound.

“I can help with your shoulder, if you like.” You nod towards his injury, trying not to think about what it was like watching the blade be plunged into his flesh. He doesn’t hesitate to nod, managing to undo his buttons and take off his shirt without aid. At first, your eyes fly to the stars, before realising there’s no escaping looking when you’ll have to clean him up.

When you look back, it takes everything to not audibly gasp. What is clearly a lifetime's worth of hard and manual labour has sculpted him into something beautiful, with thick arms, wide shoulders, and a defined chest adorned with a trail of hair leading right down to…

You clear your throat to drag yourself out of that train of thought, a somewhat strangled sound that leaves a flush of pink on your cheeks. You can hardly be to blame: for the first time seeing a semi-naked man, you pretty much hit the jackpot.

The glow of the fire is just enough for you to see what you need to, though you shuffle just that bit closer to Callahan until your knees brush against his and it feels like embers scatter over your skin. Years of being the careful one means you’re no stranger to cleaning up injuries, but they pale in comparison to being stabbed with a kitchen knife. Luckily, it doesn’t look too deep, but you’ll still need to clean it and it’ll hurt.

You use a fresh piece of fabric to wash off the blood. Callahan sucks in a pained breath, but the curses you expect to fly from him don’t come. From the way his cheek hollows, it looks as though he’s biting into it to keep restrained.

“Sorry. This might hurt a little.” You admit, feeling his muscles twitch and flex under your touch.

“S’alright, I’ve survived worse.”

Another elusive answer, one that has you fighting a strange urge to ask him all about all the times he’s been hurt, all the adventures he’s been on. Up close, you can see hints of a life well lived, from each scar to the battered black hat he’s wearing that looks older than you. Everything about him seems to tell a different tale, each more intriguing than the last.

A comfortable silence settles around you, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional pained hiss from Callahan. The wound doesn’t seem as bad without the copious amounts of blood framing it, but it still looks rather painful.

Attempting to clean a particularly deep section of the cut has you leaning up close, so much so you’re all but sitting on Callahan’s lap. You’re so engrossed in trying to help him that you almost miss the way his heart pounds when your breath tickles his skin, how he tenses at your touch, feeling a fire of his very own burning through him.

With the angle you’re leaning into Callahan’s body, it is all too easy for a stray piece of hair to escape from behind your ear, the end of it brushing against his chest. You go to push it back, but he beats you to it, hand remaining by your cheek firmly as your gazes lock into each other's. The air changes. You don’t understand it, but it does. It gets thicker and thinner all at once, the world melting away around the two of you. The cogs in your mind begin to whir frantically.

You’ve never lain with anyone before. Not for some religious reason or personal rule, you just never found anyone who felt special enough to share the intimacy with. Honestly, it felt like too big of a moment to share with any of the boys you knew back home or on the ranch. But in those moments in the barn, with Ace and Timmy’s hands all over your body, you regretted it. You wanted to make the choice of who and when, not some low lives with just about enough IQ points to reload a gun. You felt powerless in that moment, when you thought they’d take whatever they wanted from you, and the second survival became a possibility you swore to yourself you’d take that power back for yourself. You grasp it, hold it close to your chest. You’re never going to relinquish it again.

Callahan watches you intently, watches you process everything with his hand on your cheek, his skin on yours, and you suddenly know exactly what you want to do with your power of choice.

“Will you kiss me?”

The words fall out of you before you can even really consider them. You’re tired of considering, tired of being the good little girl who spent her life hiding from danger only for it to find her anyway. What is this fight for safety and survival, if you’re not going to live anyway?

Callahan’s surprise is evident in the creases in his forehead and the way his crows' feet disappear as his eyes widen. His lips part, stutters spilling from them. Your heart falls for what feels like forever when he takes his hand from your cheek to take off his hat and run a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

“Christ, sweetheart, I-I… I dunno if that’s the best idea.”

A heat unrelated to the fire before you bursts across your face as the rejection stabs you hard in the chest. You thought you’d figured it out. The way his eyes lingered on your every move, the way his hand stayed on your hip just that second too long when he helped you dismount Boadicea, the spark… you couldn’t be the only one who felt it. It was unspoken, ethereal, but just as real as the cuts on your skin or the boots on his feet. You were sure of it, even if there was nothing else in your history to compare it to.

“You don’t want to?” You don’t mean for it to sound desperate, or desperately sad, but it might just have come out that way. He notices the way your fingers anxiously pick at one another and grasps your hand again, electricity shooting out from the point of contact all over your body.

“No, no it ain’t that- I-I do. Very much so, but… you just went through somethin’ real traumatic, darlin’. I don’t wanna take advantage of you.”

You understand, thinking about how pathetic you must look right now. He rescued you, patched you up while all you could do was try not to cry. In the exceptionally short time he’s known you, he’s done nothing but save you. How could he see you as anything but the damsel in distress you so feel like right now?

“You wouldn’t be. You couldn’t- I…” You take a breath, knowing just how crazy you must sound to this man, this stranger, “I ain’t ever slept with anyone before. And when those men came… I thought my first time was going to be stolen from me. It terrified me, Callahan. I never want to feel that way again, that powerless... I want to choose. I want to choose you. And I ain’t gonna go all crazy on you and cling to you and make ya’ marry me, this doesn’t have to mean anything, I swear it. I just… I want my power back. I don’t want that choice ever made for me, any choice ever made for me again. I want to do this.”

Your words process across the cowboy’s features, your heart quickening with each inch he leans in towards you. His hand feels cool against your burning cheek when he cups your face, the ocean from his eyes washing over you as he studies each and every minuscule detail of your beautiful face.

“Are ya’ sure, sweetheart? Cause if I kiss you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself…”

“I’m sure. I’ve never been so damn sure. This is what I want. Please.” You plead, shuffling forwards so your legs are tangled together by the fireside.

“Well, who am I to deny a lady so beautiful as you?”

When you were young, before caution sunk his possessive claws into your mind and made you too sensible for your own good, you got stuck in a rope swing, suspended over a pond by your ankle. You only spent a few minutes in the air, mere inches from being plunged into the cool water on that sticky, hot summer's day, but it felt like hours until the twine snapped and you fell in. Those few seconds come right back to you in those moments between Callahan moving towards you and the pair of you falling into the cool water together. His lips connect with yours, and the relief of no longer hanging on the precipice of the unknown washes over you, with it the euphoria of your choices.

Your lips fit together like long lost puzzle pieces, drawn together by a thread weaved in fate itself. It tugs you closer, until your chests are flush against each other and your uninjured arm is reaching to tangle your digits in Callahan’s hair. You feel his muscles stiffen for a moment, thanks to the stab wound in his shoulder, but he still manages to wind his hand around your waist, resting on the small of your back. When your lips part, his tongue delves into your mouth, eliciting a soft moan from you. He tastes like everything you’ve always been too sensible to do, just how you imagined when his smoke and whiskey infiltrated your senses back when you were riding with him.

Of course you’ve been kissed before, but never like this, and you’re surprised at how quickly you pick it up from him, teasing your own tongue into his mouth. He growls, God help you, a hint of a not-so-honourable outlaw hiding under the caring cowboy shell he’s treated you with since you met. You feel something coiling tighter deep in your core that hints at what is to come, a seed of desperation fed and watered with each movement, sound or touch Callahan makes.

When his lips retreat, the loss is so prominent you have to hold back a whimper.

“Christ, darlin’… I-“

But you don’t let him finish, grasping onto his neck with both hands and dragging him back into you. A hunger burns in you, shown in the way you nip at Callahan’s bottom lip with your teeth, pulling out another growl from him. It’s a silent plea to not treat you like you’re breakable, one that he responds to by pressing his lips more firmly against yours until you have no choice but to lean into his hold and let him carry some of your weight. He wraps both arms around you, his skin so warm against yours it fans the flames of whatever is burning inside you. He feels so safe, despite every piece of common sense telling you he’s a stranger, who really shouldn't feel safe.

You don’t speak, neither one of you wanting to stop kissing the other for even a second, but you can follow his wordless instruction as he pulls you onto his lap. You straddle him, winding your legs around his waist. An ineffable wave of something you’ve never experienced before ripples through you, starting between your legs, where you feel Callahan’s hard bulge prodding against your core. You can’t help but arch your back, dragging your hips over Callahan in the process. The pleasure shoots through you and you can’t stop the gasp that parts your lips from his, your eyes flying open.

The sight you look upon is one you’ll never forget. Callahan’s eyes are tight shut, his features twisted in a look of bliss. His jaw is so tense you see the muscle fluttering. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away. His finger’s clutch onto the flesh just above your hips, and you can feel the tension of the restraint he’s forced to employ to not hurt you or push you too fast. This huge, muscular man, who saved your life tonight, is falling apart beneath you.

You can’t help but reach to his mouth, running your thumb so faintly over his bottom lip, still wet from your kisses. He looks to you, eyes locking onto yours as you drown in his seas.

He speaks so softly, “If you wanna stop, or we’re goin’ too fast, you just say the word and we’ll-”

“I don’t want to stop. I want you, please.”

He growls again, and you squeak as he scoops you up with him when he stands. Your legs are wrapped around his waist tight, your core brushing his member every time he makes a step towards the makeshift tent he put up earlier. He carries you with such an ease, kneeling down to lay you on the bedroll laid out on the floor. Even with his injury, he puts all his weight into his arms so as to not crush you, pressing more kisses to your lips as you writhe beneath him.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” He whispers, his kisses reaching the corner of your lip and travelling down to your neck, “From the second I saw you, I thought you were so beautiful…”

Your heart aches with his words, and you’re sure at this moment it beats only for him, your saviour, your knight in shining denim. The hours you’ve known him stretch into a lifetime, tears welling in your eyes from the purest of emotions.

You mean to reply, but when his lips latch onto the pulse point in the crook of your neck, you melt into the earth. It feels nothing short of heavenly, and you can’t imagine what is to come if this man makes you feel these things from simple kisses. You’re purring for him, the heat pooling between your legs becoming near torturous, coiling every one of your nerves into a messy bundle inside you.

There’s a moment where Callahan looks to you, a silent question of permission as his hand hovers over the strap to your chemise. You nod, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth so hard you’re scared it might break skin. The tingles from Callahan’s touch ripple from your shoulder as he pushes the fabric down, exposing both breasts to the cool night air. He wastes no time in taking one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling oh so lightly and pulling a moan from your lips. He laps you up, your back arching against the wool of the bedroll to give as much of yourself to him as you can. His hands work your pants, impressively considering his attention is elsewhere on your body, unbuttoning them with ease and sliding them down your legs as far as he can reach without leaving your contact. You manage to kick your boots off and slide the jeans off completely, leaving just a layer of cotton covering you.

Your fingers entangle in Callahan’s locks, scratching at his scalp as he licks and nips at you.

“God, please,” you moan, feeling that coil inside you tightening to impossible levels,

He’s quick to look up, a lust burning in those irises, “What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“Everything.”

Your patience is hanging on by a thread, your need for him growing and your heart pounding faster with every passing second. When he takes his hands to the fastenings on your undergarments, you could sob from the relief. With one slow pull at a ribbon, the chemise falls from your body, and Callahan opens it up like a present at Christmas. His eyes roam over you, and while you always thought you’d feel exposed when you were first bare to a man, nothing could feel more natural than being naked underneath him, to have his skin on yours as he rubs his thumbs over your nipples, before dragging a hand gently over your stomach, hovering just above your weeping cunt.

“Can I touch you, darlin’?” His voice is gruff, threatening to crack from the restraint he’s deploying by not taking you with the urgency tearing him apart right now.

“Yes. Yes, please, I… I feel so…”

“I know, I know… Let me take care of you, alright beautiful?”

Your back flies off the bedroll when you feel two fingers plunge into your cunt, curling upwards slightly. It feels incredible, in spite of a strange stretching sensation that quickly ebbs away. He starts slow, sliding his fingers out and back in, dragging against your walls deliciously. You cry out, eyes shut tight and face contorted in pleasure. You don’t see how he watches you, smile tugging on his features as he remarks to himself how beautiful you look like this, but know that it happens.

Sweet moans fall from your lips in time to the thrusts of Callahan’s fingers, your body singing for him. You’re climbing, higher and higher to a destination you don’t even truly understand. It is then that Callahan presses a thumb to your sensitive bundle of nerves and a gasp is ripped from deep inside you, your eyes flying open.

“Oh, God, I-”

“I know, baby, easy… I got you, let go, angel.”

And you do.

Without even knowing where exactly he’s leading you, you follow, falling over an uncharted precipice into ecstasy. It ripples throughout your entire being, doubling your vision. Callahan leans back down to you, heat and want radiating from his bare skin like a burning flame.

“That’s it, sweetheart, good girl.”

He closes the gap between you, catching wanton moans in his mouth and swallowing them gratefully, needily. It feels like forever lasts in just that moment, waves upon waves of a pleasure unlike anything you’ve experienced crashing over your body and curling your toes.

The waves turn to ripples, which dissipate into a pleasant tingle that buzzes more intensely wherever Callahan’s skin is on yours. Your legs are entwined together, and you’re not sure when he removed his pants, but you can feel his warm skin against yours everywhere. It’s dizzying, the heat of him and the size of him stretching over your body. Your eyelashes flutter up at him and you reach to run a hand over his cheek.

“Wow…” You breathe, “That was…”

“Was? Oh, I’m not done with you yet, darlin’...”

Your cheeks flush, a melodic giggle escaping you. This whole experience is so much more comfortable than you could have ever imagined your first time would be, with laughter and looks of such adoration you forget you’ve only known this man a few hours.

“I wanna show you more…” He whispers into your skin, pressing soft kisses wherever he can,

“There’s more?” You joke, knowing full well what happens next but wanting so badly to make him chuckle again. You’re addicted to the sound, and he supplies it, shaking his head ever so slightly,

“Are you ready, beautiful?” “Please, I need you, Callahan. Take me.”

He doesn’t make you wait long. Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. Nerves take over, but only for a second, numbed quickly by more kisses pressed on your forehead and nose. You haven’t actually seen his member, almost too shy to look, but God can you feel it when he slowly slides in. It’s a stretch, and you hold your breath until the pinching feeling falters. Callahan waits there, deep inside you, until you nod your head to wordlessly reassure him you’re okay.

“Good girl…” another kiss, “you beautiful,” and another, “good girl.”

His praises wash over you, relaxing your muscles to the point where there is no pain, only the intense pleasure of you gripping and rippling around his cock.

“O-Oh… Feels… So good.” You manage, scratching your nails into his back and pushing at him to move. Ever the gentleman, he obliges, slowly retreating and pushing back into you. Your eyes roll back into your head as you get filled so wonderfully it’s hard to breathe.

Callahan’s arms shake around you and you watch him grasp on his composure. It’s taking him everything he has in him to not slam into you and fuck you senseless, but he clearly wants to make sure you feel safe. It swells your heart and piques your curiosity all at once, wondering what would happen if he let go in a way you know he won’t right now.

“Y-Yeah? You feel alright, sweetheart?” He stutters, hips spluttering slowly as he thrusts gently in and out. You’re already coiling, reaching that blissful state, but you want him to feel the same. He’s growling and groaning and it’s music to your ears, but you want more, you need all of him, every last unrestrained molecule of this man.

“I feel wonderful… Please don’t hold back. I’m not breakable, I need you, please.”

How could he refuse? Hearing such sweet pleas and begs, he’s putty in your hands.

“Baby girl, a-are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you, and you feel so damn good, I-I don’t know if I can hold back…”

“Please, Callahan.”

It doesn’t escape your notice, how he winces whenever you say his name, but you can’t think straight about it right now, not when you feel his cock reaching every last inch of you and prodding that sweet spot he seems to have a map to. You’re delirious with pleasure, even when he’s holding back.

When he lets go, you scream, tears of pure intensity forming in the corners of your eyes. Callahan pulls back, completely out of you, before diving back in. The tears fall down quick tracks on your skin, and he kisses them away, growling deep in his chest. His pace picks up, and now you’re used to it it doesn’t hurt a bit. It’s heavenly, it’s ecstasy.

“F-Fuck, angel, what am I gonna do with you?” he asks, his lips pressed against your collarbone to muffle the words. His teeth scrape against your skin, leaving white hot trails that will be burned into you forever, you’re sure.

“T-Touch me, p-please- oh!” Your pleas are interrupted by a particularly wonderful movement and Callahan grins at you, loving watching you fall apart like this for him.

He can’t say no to you, would never want to when you ask him oh so nicely. He snakes a hand down between your two bodies, tickling your clit with the pad of one finger in slow, delirious circles. In response, you involuntarily squeeze around his shaft and he moans loudly in your ear. It might have just become your favourite sound in the whole world.

“Christ, darlin’, I-I’m so fuckin’ close I can’t last much longer, baby.”

You respond with a kiss, a passionate, almost loving kiss, where your tongue licks up the roof of Callahan’s mouth to chase his taste. You catch his desperate groans, feeling how the rhythm of his hips falters the closer to losing it he gets. His fingers get sloppy, rubbing in an indescribable pattern and bringing you right where he is, whimpering and writing beneath his body.

You cum together, your cunt constricting around Callahan’s cock, feeling every vein pump and twitch as he too comes apart. He parts his lips from yours, only to breathlessly moan your name into your ear, his hot breath tickling your lobe and scattering an inexpressible feeling over your skin. He’s pounding into you and it hurts a little, but you feel far too good right now to care. Your pulse hammers for him, over every inch of you, blood rushing around your body carrying something magical with it. Callahan groans loudly, almost fully retreating his length before thrusting a final time, deep inside you. His lips connect with yours again, the tear tracks on your cheeks wetting his own skin from how close you are. You feel his cock pulsing as he releases the last of his spend into you, with no care in your mind for the consequences.

When you open your eyes, still coming back to earth, he’s there for you, looking down with an expression you could only describe as blissful.

“You are… somethin’ else…” He whispers, reaching to push a stray piece of hair from your face.

═══════☆═══════

In all your years, there has never been such a comfortable silence as the one you and Callahan are existing in now, disturbed only by the gentle thrumming of his heart against your ear. There’s no awkwardness, wasn’t when he slid out of you and helped you get cleaned up either. The moment is peace, especially when you feel your own heart beating to the exact same rhythm. If it weren’t for this man, it might not have been, and now you’re synchronised to him.

A clean shirt from his saddle bag is wrapped around your shoulders, while Callahan’s fingers gently run over your hair. You want to thank him again, but the silence hanging around you both seems too precious for you to break.

Your anxious mind is kind to you, allowing you a few more minutes of complete peace in this heavenly sanctuary, before everything comes crashing back down to Earth, dragging you with it.

“... God, what am I gonna do now?”

Callahan doesn’t hesitate.

“You could stay with me.”

You freeze, leaning up on your good arm to look him in the eye, hair cascading over your face once more. As always, he pushes it back, though there’s something in his expression that tells you he’s surprised those words left his mouth so freely.

“Stay with you? Where?”

“Well… I run with some others, folk like you who have nowhere to go. We keep a camp together, keep eachother safe and fed. I… I’m sure they’d welcome you.”

“You’re outlaws, right?”

The great unspoken question. It lingers between you for a moment, and Callahan swallows hard.

“Yeah, outlaws. But we ain’t as bad as those others, we… we try n’ help people, where we can. I could talk to Dutch, get you somewhere to sleep ‘till you get back up on your feet.”

Your mind races, setting itself off faster than a spooked horse spotting a snake. Outlaws killed Varner, outlaws tried to rape you, and would have surely killed you had they had the chance… Outlaws were bad news, everything you’ve ever been warned about in your life…

And you slept with one, and now had a standing invitation to join them??

He must sense the turmoil twisting your previously calm features, and quickly goes back to that soothing motion across your hair.

“Hey, just think on it, alright? You’ve had a pretty damn rough day, ain’t no use doin’ anything but restin’ now. We can stay here tonight, talk about it in the morning.” “A-Alright…”

For now, you let his words wash over you, his gruff voice trying to pull you back to that tranquil state. It works, and you rest your head back on his chest, careful to avoid the makeshift bandages you tied around his shoulder.

You shut your eyes, intertwined with your saviour while the moon watches over you both.

“Thank you, Callahan…” you mumble, sleep already grasping you with its tempting claws.

You’re the first to drift, while Callahan stays awake as long as he can to make sure you’re alright. He watches you sleep, watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your lashes flutter every so often.

“It’s Arthur, by the way…”

═══════☆═══════

You’re pulled out of the realms of sleep when an owl hoots nearby. For a second, you panic, expecting all the comforts of your own bed and finding the open air. It comes crashing back all too soon, the bandits, Varner, Callahan…

He’s right where you left him, arm wrapped around your frame to keep you safe from the elements and otherwise. His handsome features are illuminated by a moon glowing high in the sky, fast asleep, and you know it’s now or never.

You’re not sure when you make your decision, whether it was when he first asked you, or some wider wisdom from a dream you can’t remember influenced you. You’ll regret it a hundred times over and thensome, but you know that even when you’re doing it.

You allow yourself a kiss, just one soft kiss on his sleeping lips, before somehow managing to slide out of his embrace without disturbing him. He stirs, and you freeze, but a tiny snore later and he returns to complete slumber.

There are tears welling in your eyes when you approach Boadicea. She looks at you solemnly, as if she knows exactly what you’re doing, but she lets you do it anyway. Every movement pains you in a way you’ve never experienced before, your heart aching more violently than any mortal flesh wound ever could.

Boadicea stays still while you look through her saddle bag, picking out a couple of tins of food and one of the opened tonics, though you leave most of the provisions. It feels wrong, stealing from him, but you know you have to to survive. You’re on your own now.

Just when you’re about to wrap everything up to go, you spot a book in the back pocket of the bag, a stick of charcoal poking through the pages. Glancing at Callahan’s sleeping body, even for the fraction of a second you do so, hurts so much you can barely breathe.

You pick the book out, flicking over stunning sketches of landscapes, animals, and a few portraits. You’re careful not to read the words, fearful that knowing any more of his soul could change your mind in an instant. The charcoal scratches at the paper as you write, more grateful than ever that you learnt how to in your free time on the ranch.

I can’t. I’m sorry.

Each step out of the woods pulls at that tether, the one you noticed before when you first kissed him that resides deep in your heart, the one that feels like fate. But you’ve met her before, and she scares you. Fate means destiny, yes, but she also brings doom. And that is no longer a risk you can afford to take.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan red dead #arthur morgan x f!reader #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 x reader

135 notes · View notes