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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

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Run Away To Me (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, intentional harm (in the recent past), blood, angst, protective Johnny, hurt/comfort, pining, speedy relationship, etc.

A/N: Johnny sweaty and working the forge...that is all.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You groggily awoke to the steady sound of a hammer meeting metal and the scent of eggs. Warm bread makes your mouth water. Eyelids peeling back, your lashes flutter in even intervals as you groan in the back of your throat, content and unbothered in this soft bed of fur and cotton. For a moment you had forgotten everything that had transpired—the run and the rain slamming into your scalp.

Had it all been some dark dream? A trick?

“Ow!” You hiss, hand darting out from the plush covers as a sharp pain darts through it. Your eyes blink on the bloody bandages, white now completely bled through with fresh crimson.

Everything comes rushing back in a lightning-strike moment of realization.

Quickly sitting up, your face moves all over the sun-lit room, rays of light leaking in through the opened shutters; past the glass of the windows, the nearly violent green of the near forest line meets your wide gaze. A small sound exits your throat, fingers sliding through the bear fur that had been once pulled up to your ears as you gather your senses.

Johnny. The blacksmith.

Your eyes lock onto the small table across the room.

As the hammering outside continues to ring in your eardrums, you tilt your head at the items sitting atop—slipping off the bed you go to tidy the fur but pause in your curiosity. A patch of blood from your wound stains the sheets and you slow at the sight, the air leaving your lungs.

“Oh,” you swallow down your slight nervousness, heart jumping for a moment as you bite your lip.

You would have to tell Mr. MacTavsish—your brows furrow.

Not Mr. MacTavish, he asked me to call him Johnny. A strange thing, now that you thought about it as you slowly back away and go to the table, gut rumbling at the sight of fresh eggs on bread. There was also a parcel covered in cloth sitting on the chair.

Carefully tiptoeing, you grab the plate with a delicate hand, picking it up as you lick your lips. Had the man…made you breakfast?

“What reality have I slipped into?” Your lips whisper, Johnny’s clothes hanging off of you heavily. Not only food but milk had been poured into a carved cup as well, and utensils placed on the table with care. Fork and knife on the right, spoon on the left; all forged and tempered.

It was sweet, perhaps. Kind.

You eat standing, bare feet taking you around the homestead as you listen to the blacksmith work outside. Your hands take up carved knick-knacks of animals, twirling them in a hand as you lick your lips before placing them back with all the care of a priceless possession. Chuckling at the poorly wooden face of a deer, you bring the last bits of food to your lips as you pass the window.

Sucking in a swift breath, your body freezes.

Perhaps it was the sudden freedom of your situation or even the want of true, honest, companionship, but you had suddenly never seen someone look as good as kind Johnny MacTavish as he worked his forge.

The earth was still layered in dew and mist, the distance between the main home and the small hut that was holding anvil, tongs, the flame of the furnace itself, and a great number of hammers. One of which was being wielded with firm efficiency by the sweat-stained hands of Johnny—being brought down again and again to the molten form of what would be a fine sword.

Clothed in a rolled-back white tunic, like the one from yesterday, and brown breaches, there was a leather apron tied ‘round his waist cinched tight. Lips parting, you watch with a guilty conscious for the frailness of your resolve; gaping at the sight.

Johnny works like the dead might rise, not faltering or slowing in the abuse of the metal—twisting the rough shape of the blade and flipping it with one hand while the other hammers. How he doesn’t overheat you’d never know; letting out a slow breath as the sweat slips down his strong jaw and drips from his chin, mouth open with a far-off pant of air.

Electricity of the same breed as last night sizzles down your spine like a finger caressing the knobs of bone, hairs standing on end as you quickly clear your throat against the burn of your face. You shift your body away, fearfully aware of the scent of Johnny’s clothes and the very bed you had slept in last night.

“My parents will never allow me back into their home,” you utter, picking at your bandages. “I shall never even be seen in the very air near them.”

But the true question was whether or not that was a good thing. While this freedom of yours was what you wanted, you were a woman of relative standing—having no family, no husband, and no money to your name was not ideal. In fact, it could very well be the death of you.

You stand and lightly lick your fingers of crumbs. “At the very least,” the wood under your feet is warm from an only recently dead hearth, “this Blacksmith is quite good with meals. Such a peculiar man, hm?”

Smiling to yourself, you chuckle and push back the heat in your blood; this odd attraction to a working man. So different from Lord Wilkin.

Not wanting to sink back into that hole quite yet, you remember Johnny’s hands slipping over yours as you take a final glance back out the window before heading back over to the table. Cobalt eyes meet yours in an instant of wide shyness through the glass.

Staring at each other, the Blacksmith's legs shift from where they dig into the packed ground, large biceps tight as they hold the hammer and the dulling metal.

Blinking quickly, you feel your heart skip beats at the soft contact.

Smiling awkwardly, you raise the empty plate in display, chuckling as a wide, pleased, grin builds on Johnny’s face. He mocks a small bow, hammer going across his abdomen as his dirty cheeks peel back at his glee—you see his chest move with a deep laugh. Like the scent of lavender in your nose, you can call the sound of it to your ears as if he was in the house all this time.

Quickly skittering away, you feel giddy, placing down your plate and taking a sip of milk before looking at the parcel. While your mind may be mingling with the blacksmith and the sweat of his body, curiosity was getting to you. And, mayhaps, a shyness at being caught.

It was covered in dark cloth, and when you touch it, the fabric immediately reminds you of a cloak—an expensive and finely spun wool dyed green. Lips parting, your hands pick it up and place it on the table; turning it over as you pull at the twine tie.

Your heart seems to grow like a flower, the pedals opening and the stem becoming strong with a rush of admiration.

“When did you do this, Blacksmith?” Your voice hits off the walls in a breathy gasp as the hammering picks back up outside.

Smiling delicately, you pick up the fine linen of a chemise and the paired kirtle dyed deep blue. It wasn’t the most extravagant thing you’d worn by a long shot but as you step back and size it to your body, you decide that it was the most meaningful.

When had he gotten up to ride into town and buy this for you? How much did it cost?

How could this blacksmith be as chivalrous as a Knight? Not wanting you to be forced to wear his own clothes in a way unflattering to your status even if you didn’t truly care about all of that.

You had no answer, body vibrating with warmth as you slipped out of Johnny’s sleep clothes and slid the gifted items over your skin. They were slightly oversized for ease of the man’s mind, not knowing your measurements. With a small bronze clip, you situate the cloak before the boots at the door add to the already bursting emotions in your veins.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, putting your fingers to your lips to hide the shaky inhale. All of this care after such horror was nearly unthinkable; by a complete stranger no less.

Your own family had never been so generous.

Taking up your now empty cup, you look to the water basin and let your ears twitch to the sound of physical labor; thinking, wanting to give even just a sliver of thanks back for this debt. As you lace your new boots, leather, you keep the memory of his calloused hands in the front of your skull with honied sanctity.

You fill the cup and that’s that.

Cheeks heating, you bring the water with you as you exit the home, breathing down the scent of rain and pulling your cloak tighter to your neck at the slight chill. Closing the door, you make your way to Johnny who continues to work away, now a small distance from the anvil and setting the iron back into the fire to heat.

His large back flexes and rolls with the movement.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the cup stays steady in your two hands as you see Johnny’s muscles momentarily tense, blue eyes turning to look over his shoulders. There’s a moment where something swirls in his eyes as he stares down at your new clothes, standing up to his full height quickly. You blink. “...I’m sorry, but besides an offer of fresh water I’m unable to repay you for the gifts.”

“Ah,” Johnny clears his throat, looking back to his forge before turning back to you with a bashful look. “Please, none of that. I needed to go off and grab more grain for my horse, see.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad they fit, Dearie, was a bit worried I’d asked the wrong size.”

“They’re perfect,” you shake your head. “It was…far more than I deserve.”

Brows furrow. For such a presence, he slips the cup out of your hands with more care than your husband-to-be had ever thought to handle you, nodding a deep thank you.

“Now why would you say something like that?” Your head tilts, lips thinning. You suppose it was right to make good on the deal you’d struck last night.

Johnny takes a sip from the cup, waiting for your answer as one hand hangs from the neck of his apron, fast lungs steadily slowing. As you frown and gather your thoughts, you don’t notice his eyes narrowing, concerned.

“Well, anyways,” he clears his throat, itching at his stubble to change the subject as you startle back to reality before you can form a sentence. “I suppose I’d better take a look at that cut of yours, then, eh? Wouldn’t want it to get infected, do we?”

“That’s not…” He has already darted to a small chest in the corner of the open hut, cup placed on the anvil top before he opens the thing with a scratch of rusty hinges. “...necessary.”

The blacksmith laughs, taking out fresh badges.

“I don’t think gettin’ bedridden is in your plans, now is it? C’mon…I’ll be gentle.” Johnny winks with a smirk and your pulse flares; stuttering as he grasps your elbow—leading you out of the forge and to a small break in the trees.

A stump and a dead firepit take form, and you’re plopped down to the wood with a small huff, a stiff look sent to the man who only smiles and raises an eyebrow.

“Is my kindness wearin’ ya down, Little Lady?”

“You’ll make me lose my head and I’ve only known you for, at most,” you emphasize as he kneels down and takes your bloody hand, “half a day.”

“Being generous,” Johnny hums, unwrapping your hand and once again looking you over. Bloody, but still alright. His fingers move to pick up dew from the grass and wipe away some of the crimson pigment as if an artist. “When one goes and nearly makes a man’s house crumble from the force of ‘er fists, it’s only customary for him to respect her.” Blue eyes gaze up to you and twinkle. “I’m just savin’ my own hide.”

“How honorable,” you shake your head and turn to hide the full-face grin, moments later laughs slip your tongue. “They weren’t that loud,” your vise insists, “...were they?”

“Thought the world was ending,” Johnny says it was a fake expression of seriousness, re-wrapping your hand in clean cloth. “Damn near got to my knees and prayed.”

You find great amusement in that, placing a hand over your mouth as your spine shakes with loud laughs. The scene is similar to the one from last night—the blacksmith offering jokes and merriment to get you to laugh. It's as if every time he succeeds he smiles just a smidge wider. Realizing this, you feel your lips twitch and you look away, embarrassed.

“...I promised you answers, did I not?” You decide to ask, deciding that getting this over soon was the best course of action; also the more courteous one. After so much giving, you had to share at least the reason for all of this. “I’m sorry.” Johnny frowns at you, tying another loose knot atop your palm before sitting back on the ground.

On his bent knee, he rests his arm, hanging off loosely, while the other hand rests behind his back as a way to keep him upward. With all of this, with him, you'd entirely forgotten to mention the stained sheets.

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Dearie, I won’t do anythin’. I promised you,” he smiles, “remember?” You blink softly at his strong face, those eyes studying you as your hands rest in your lap; curled over each other.

“There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.”

Johnny huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. “Take your time, eh? I won’t be needin’ to travel back into town again until late evening.” Your hands curl slightly tighter, touched.

The blacksmith watches you as you gather your thoughts, your face going stiff and new boots shuffling over the grass. Blue slides to your hand and his lips turn down.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d been up most of the night and working before the sun had risen—mind occupied by the woman that had been in his bed and the little information he had. Obviously, Lord Wilkin was looking for you; adamantly.

Relentlessly.

When he’d been in town there had been guards everywhere, checking every shop and house like beasts of metal and sharp words. You were the Lord’s bride, of course. As the tailor had asked him, a bit dejected, if he’d taken a wife as he’d bought you your chemise and kirtle, the woman had mentioned the wedding.

“Little thing darted off during the Handfasting ceremony, I ‘erd. The Lord had only just put the knife to her palm before she yelled and fled. Oh, ya should have seen it, Mr. MacTavish. Like a bat from Hell, Lord help me. He’ll not stop till he’s found ‘er.”

Johnny’s stomach rolls, abdomen tightening as he shifts to release tension. Along the ground, his hand momentarily clenches. You hum under your breath, whispering out an easy, “Are we sure we should be outside for this?”

The man blinks in confusion.

“Well, would…you prefer being inside?” You look nervous, fingers flinching over themselves and Johnny sits up straighter, letting his large hand carefully grasp your knee. Your innocently wide eyes lock with his own. He offers a comforting look. “It’s no difference to me—you decide. Whichever’s easier, eh?”

“It’s just,” you begin, the skin below your kirtle burning you in the best possible way. What was happening to you? “Well…My family rarely let me out.” Johnny’s body stills to a near stone carving. “Said I was to stay inside. I suppose I’m not overly used to it, you see.”

It’s not impossible to understand the role that was placed on you. Arranged marriage, sold off to be a housewife for a large dowry paid up by the Lord. You’d been brought up to be tossed away at a moment's notice. The blacksmith’s jaw tightens, bone sharp through the flesh.

“...Well,” his voice is a bit ragged—scratchy. You listen with nervousness in your chest, a slow infection of unease. “I’m not your family, am I? It’ll be good to get some sun, I think—let’s stay here for a little longer and then we can go back in when you’re ready. There’s no rush to things.”

Letting you calm down, his thumb rubs a small circle before he pulls it away, perhaps realizing what he was doing before clearing his throat, cheeks alight.

A small breeze pushes through the pines, a wind filled with the scent of fire and earth—dirt and dew. It was peaceful here, among the old spirits and the hidden trails. So different in the light than it was in the pouring rain.

“I imagine you knew about the wedding?” You sigh, staring at your lap. “Lord Wilkin?”

“Aye,” Johnny nods, speaking quietly. He doesn’t want to force you. “I did.”

“I was placed into the marriage two months ago by my parents, an agreement of land and money was traded for my hand.” Watching, the man’s eyes go sad, lids tilting. He stops the grunt in the back of his throat as you continue. “I had resigned myself to it, truly. Being of enough standing all I was needed for was marriage—”

“That’s utter shite.” Johnny growls, angry at the sentence. “They would just toss you away like that? To a bastard ten times your age?”

You stare, brows tight. “I…I’m a daughter, am I not?”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack, eyes sharp with horror as his gaze looks deeply into your vision, biceps tense with cooling sweat and dirt. Such a sight it was, two beings as different as a mountain and a valley; so near but starkly contrasted in the harsh strength of rock and the gentle sway of grassy low-land. Bears and deer, barn swallows that sit on rafters and golden eagles that soar tempests.

The dark-haired man could never imagine raising a girl for nothing else than to be a man’s property—to sell as if a good and nothing more. Johnny turns his head away before he snaps at nothing, a low sound trapped in his chest. You never had a single choice.

Confused by his approach to this, you watch the side of his face as the man’s expression of anger slowly shifts back to a hidden seriousness. Eyes dark and his hand tightened into a fist.

“I’m sorry, Dearie. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Johnny blinks, shaking his head. “Hope I didn’t scare ya.”

“No,” you motion a hand. “No, not at all.”

“Good.” He sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “Ah, please, keep going. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise.” You smile tinily.

“At the wedding, when it was near the end, they brought out the cloth and the knife for the Handfasting ceremony,” Johnny leans forward, and you look down at him on the ground. He lent a sort of silent vigor, you think to yourself. A comfort. “He dragged it along my skin and then he gripped my hand and forced the base of my palm harder into it.”

Your words get smaller and hushed, flexing your damaged hand. “...I think…that he wanted it to leave a scar. I bolted off before they could tie the cloth.”

Johnny stands and brings you into a hug, a hand coming to the back of your head and pressing your skull gently to his chest.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He breathes, and you slowly wind your own hands around his waist; melting into him without even knowing it. Johnny’s scent encompasses you like a blanket, and your very bones seem to sprout flowers from the marrow as your eyes get watery, held in such a way that most people only dream about.

When the first silent tears fall he doesn’t make a big deal out of it—only holds you more firm and sighs into your scalp.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, honest and truthful. Could you run? Go to another fiefdom? How far would you even be able to make it? No food, no horse, no supplies.

You’d be found out in no time.

Johnny moves back, tilting his head down to you and grasping your face with a single hand. “We’ll figure it out, Little Lady. By my word, I’ll do what I can to make sure you’ll never go back to that bastard of a Lord again.” A hard thumb pushes back your tears and blue eyes soften on you. “Can you trust me?”

Can and not do.

Even the simple alleviation of pressure from a word makes you care for this man even more than you should. The simmering attraction to not only his appearance but his steadfast heart; indomitable morals.

“You, Johnny?” You sniffle, a grin twitching your lips up as the blacksmith’s face goes hot. “Yes, I can trust you.” Actions enough from last night had proven that.

Johnny huffs and lets the blush on his face spread along his neck, suddenly unable to look you in the eyes for too long before he has to clear his throat and gaze to the side. Not knowing what overtakes you, you lightly press your lips to his cheek—feeling the heat and the slight gasp that escapes his lips.

You giggle as he grunts a thanks, awkwardly shuffling on his feet as you both continue to hold one another. His grip travels down to your back as he raises a brow, trying to push past his beginning stutter as he speaks. “I’d tell ya that if you do that again, I might just have a fainting spell, Miss.”

“A fainting spell,” you tease, “from a kiss, Blacksmith?”

“Aye—especially if it’s from such a Bonnie woman like you, see.” You both laugh, faces burning up, as serious topics and tears fade into the past.

As you had said, where any other man would have been different, Johnny Mactavish had proven himself to be right and true. Even if you’d been impossibly tired last night, the small sliver of fear had still remained that something might happen to you here; in the presence of one man in the middle of the woods. No such fear remains.

Like a great Lord of old, Johnny had offered sanctuary from a man of cruel and horrible intentions. But perhaps he’d offered far more than that, with how he’s staring at you.

Your laughs steadily die down to a pulsing silence, hands around one another and faces only a few inches away. It’s bizarre how fast this had happened—these feelings brimming in the cup of your heart. A bowl overflowing with care and affection; of something else that cannot be named for fear it’s only a simple infatuation. A twin flame of red-hot fire that could rival Johnny’s forge.

“I…don’t want to overstep,” the man says, and your eyes are drawn to his lips as they move—a small scar you’d yet to notice living on his chin, a stain of lighter flesh. You swallow stiffly and dart your gaze back to his as you feel his heart pounding in his ribcage. It wasn’t a mystery to wonder if your own is doing the same. “Y’should tell me to stop, Dearie.”

“To stop what,” you pull the words from the depths of your throat. “What are you planning on doing, Johnny?” He shivers as you say his name as if put under a spell.

“Are you sure you’re not a witch, now?” You stifle a confused laugh, furrowing your brows with amusement.

“What?”

“One half-day is all it took for you to chain me to your will,” he grasps the bottom of your chin and angles your head up; you go willingly. His eyes search yours for any hesitation or flighty emotions. All he finds is wide awe. “Most would call that witchery, Little Lady.”

“Then it seems your will is easily broken, Blacksmith.”

“Perhaps it is,” Johnny smirks, his breath puffing out along your parted lips. Your body vibrates with anticipation of what was to come, hearing his voice lower to a deep rasp. “Haven’t ya heard…? Blacksmiths have a weakness for runaway brides.”

“Is that so? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Suppose I’ll just have to show you.” His lips are firm and his body runs hot.

Eyes fluttering shut, you sigh into him as his hands dig into your gifted cloak, meeting him with every pass. Low purrs of satisfaction echo from his chest and make you shiver, nose pressing into his lower cheek. Playfully, his teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp; eyes pulling back to stare half-lidded as blue sparks with mischief.

You should stop this—but you were starved for honest affection. Companionship, even. Johnny by far wasn’t the worst to throw your lott in with and he might just be the best possible to fill that role. Life in this era is fast and harsh; it’s unfair. You had to make quick decisions without thinking of the possible consequences.

So as you blink up at the man who watches you closely, you place your fingers on the side of his face and tilt his lips back to yours with a small smile. His hand at the curve of your spine twitches, sliding along the cloak in minute increments as Johnny’s heart hammers like his tools.

It’s as if the forge was still around the two of you—air hot and the feeling sticking to your skin like a brand of sin and forbidden magnetism. He shouldn’t have kissed you, but the hypnosis of the hammer was in his head; its rhythm and striking slam. You drew him in as the anvil does the iron.

In this moment of contentment, there is a fast sound of something in the air, something that rattles the two of you out of your tender embrace to gaze with contorted faces through the thin line of trees. Panting and open.

Through the foliage back to the homestead is the rapid movement of hooves and the baying of hounds.

It strikes you like a knife, eyelids moving far back as Johnny’s head snaps to the noise with something growing in the back of his expression. Calls; shouts. You know who it is, who’s found you out. You’d never heard it until it was too late.

“Johnny,” your voice says, fearful with wild eyes.

“Stay behind me,” he says, monotone with red lips. Shadows of horses and guards are near the house. You stare up at him in shock. A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Nothin’ll happen to you.” His eyes dig past layers.

There was no running from this.

“Okay,” you whisper.

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sprout-fics · 9 months

Text

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 6

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 4.2k Rating: MDNI, Explicit Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Literal sleeping together, Bed sharing, Angst/Comfort, Fluff, Soft smut, Love confessions, Bonding bites Warnings: None

You're running.

Through the woods, under the full yellow moon. It hangs heavy in the sky, obscured by ink-black clouds that roll past the distant glimmering stars. The chill of the Hunter's moon crawls deep into your veins, escapes from your chest with every gasping, fogging breath of air. Your legs pump under you, boots colliding with the soft earth as you desperately hurl yourself further into the forest. Thorns snag at your crimson cape, and you yank it free, the scarlet fabric torn to ribbons as you flee.

A lachrymose howl cuts through the sky, shudders the trees around you. You pause just long enough to listen, to try and discern the impossible direction of the sound. It echoes all around you, engulfing you, unable to be stifled with the roaring hunger that craves for your flesh.

A scream then, but not yours. It curdles in your veins, shrieks high against the heavens, and you know the sound of the voice before your own call cries out desperately through the mist.

"KÖNIG!"

A scream again, and this time of pain. You throw yourself towards it, duck and weave through the trees and call once again for your friend, chest cracking with terror. Yet Konig's voice merely echoes out to you in a desperate attempt to ward you away.

"Rotty!! Rotty RUN!!"

Heedless of his warning, you skid to a stop in a small clearing just as the clouds reveal the full, haunting light of the golden moon.

König is splayed on his back, his mask torn, arms crossed in a vain bid to shield himself. Atop him towers a creature made of shadows, a massive form that summons every inch of fear in your form to a blaring instinct.

Run. Run. Run.

"ROTTY!" König calls, and his hand reaches for you- a plea, a warning, you aren't sure. You want to reach for it, haul him to safety, but the monster before you merely lifts its blood streak muzzle towards the sky, stands on its hind legs so it towers taller than the trees. The howl seems to crack apart the sky, fragment the tender edges of your soul in primordial horror.

You can't move.

König reaches for you again, and the warning he calls out to you is muffled by the thunder of your heartbeat. You catch his eyes, his gaze bright with fear. Gone are the soft green irises that speak to you with warm familiarity, replaced down with an eerie, glowing, gleaming gold that mirrors the light of the moon above.

The werewolf crouches low over his form, opens its gleaming fangs to slowly seize against König's throat. A killing bite, not yet pressing down. König watches you helplessly, an arm still stretched out as if to graze against the tattered remains of your crimson cape.

"Rotty."

Yet the sound comes not from his mouth, but from the jaws of the creature who holds him. You turn your horrified gaze to it, meeting moss green eyes eclipsed by drowning black pupils that suck you down.

"Rotty."

The wolf's jaws snap shut.

-------

You awake with a gasp, body bowing off the bed and trying to summon you upright. Your limbs seize in a violent twist, instinctively running from the horrific crunch of teeth that chases you into wakefulness. Yet a heavy weight is settled across your middle, preventing your struggle. You pull at it blindly, try desperately to free yourself from the iron grip that encircles you.

When it tightens you only squirm harder, chest heaving with quick little gasps of air. A voice, a befuddled murmur does nothing to soothe you, until at last you are released with a concerned, confused mumble of your name.

"Rotty?"

Your arms curl around your frigid form, trembling as you try to shake the remainder of the nightmare. The warmth of a familiar voice gently chases away the shadows, and after a long and heavy pause you feel the body behind you shift, drape something thick and soft across your shoulders. You blink at it, finger the worn edges of the scarlet cape you'd worn the night prior, when you'd curled in his arms and let tears fall from your eyes until he'd hushed you to sleep.

"König." You whisper, and the man at your back shifts closer to you, hesitantly letting a hand lay upon the one clutching your cape.

"It's just a dream, Rotty." He whispers, soft and worried, as if somehow you'll tremble under his touch. "You're safe."

You look over your shoulder then, glazed eyes seeing him for the first time, taking in the crease of his brow partially hidden under his hood. The same one torn in your dreams to reveal the open despair of his expression as he reached for you.

"I saw you." You whisper, scarcely audible. "I saw you die."

It's the wrong thing to say, and you don't realize it until it's too late, because König's worried eyes turn into bright fear. They catch the misty light of dawn that spills through the window, and you swear for a moment they gleam gold.

Yet König says nothing, and you know no words are enough to fill the emptiness of your premonition. The weight of it hangs between you both, an omen that beats closer to the midnight of tomorrow with every pulse of your heartbeats.

You turn to him then, shifting so your hands press flat against his chest, through the thin shirt you sewed for him, still too large for his massive frame. The cape slides from your shoulders, pools around your hips as if you arise from a sea of red. Your fingers splay across the laces, feel rigid muscle underneath. His heartbeat flutters against the pads of your thumbs.

"Hold me." You tell him, muscles still shivering in the aftermath of terror.

König obeys as if your words are a sacrament handed down by the divine, arms reaching for you, hauling you against him with such fragile care, as if you'll shatter under his broad hands. A thing made of glass, something that reflects the misty light of dawn with a dove-gray sigh. You fall into him as he falls onto his side, an arm pillowing your head, the other pressing you to his chest.

"You're safe, Rotty." He tells you gently, and you nod into the thick bicep of his arm, listening to the coo of larks resting atop the eves of your cottage. Slowly, the terror of your dream is released in slow, steady breaths, form relaxing into the sanctuary of his embrace. König seems more than comfortable to keep you there, his own chest rising with slow, even inhales. It feels almost as if he's drinking in the scent of you, trying to memorize the shape, sensation, and smell of you in his arms.

"I should light the hearth." You murmur faintly, and it doesn't budge him from where he lays, back to the rest of the cottage so he crowds you against the wall protectively. Tangled in the blankets, your cape, the layers of your skirt you'd never shed, it feels much like a warm, comfortable den, one you are hesitant to leave.

"Stay." He tells you in a hushed whisper, voice low, deep like the hollow of a tree. "Just a little longer."

You can't find it in yourself to complain, comforted by the weight of his arm slung across you, the warm press of him across your front. You surrender, nuzzle deeper into him with a languid sigh, allow a hand to gently entwine with the shoulder of his shirt.

There's words you should say, you think. A confession to be made. Here, in the soft light of morning, you feel affection blossom in your chest with springtime flowers, unfurling in the damp ethereal break of dawn. You wonder if you speak them like an April headwind they'll somehow carry him away from you, forcing him to draw back as he always does, with secrets hidden behind the moss green of his gaze.

One more day, your mind whispers once more. A prayer, a warning, a plea. One more day before your world is eclipsed by the full moon, before a howl splits the sky, before the thing from your nightmares prowls beyond the lantern light of your beloved home.

You vainly try to ignore it, try to instead imbue yourself in the way König sighs and props his chin on the crown of your head, on the pine-laden scent of him, of musk and cedar the faint smell of smoke that hails destruction. The worries of the world whisper in the air around you, frosting against your senses with chilled fingertips. The warmth of him alleviates it, cradles you in blissful comfort. You, like him, memorize the sensation of this moment, wind it like ivy into your veins as if somehow it will shield you from the things to come.

"This could be our last day together." He says then, thoughts an echo of your own, and you pull back to gaze up at him in grief, expression tight with a desperate worry.

"Don't say that." You whisper, your voice strained as you say it once more. "Konig...don't say that."

His eyes meet yours, and there's a distant sort of grief there, as if somehow he's already accepted his fate. It makes something inside you flare with alarm, and you find yourself gripping him with a sudden ferocity that startles you both as you shift to straddle him, stare down into his eyes.

"We're going to be fine." You tell him in a trembling voice, as you try to convince him as much as yourself. "Price and the others- they'll catch the wolf and kill it. They'll make sure it never touches us, a-and-"

You swallow, unsure of your words, watching the way the grief deepens in Konig's eyes, as if he doesn't believe you. It threatens to catch in your chest with a distant cry.

"We'll be safe." You tell him in a whisper, trying to force prophecy into your words. "and you'll stay. I'll protect you."

König's eyes widen for just a moment, and you watch a flash of realization pass across them. it softens the fear there, the grief and acceptance into something achingly tender. The warmth of it flutters across your chest like the quick pulse of robin wings, startles you so you suck in a breathy gasp from where you sit atop him.

"My brave Rotty." König purrs, and his hands raise to gently rest on your thighs, hidden by the folds of your skirt. "Sweet, gentle Rotty."

You shiver at that, feeling warmth rush across your exposed flesh despite the chill of dawn. You want to chase it down into him, let him warm your form, let the heat of his body alight the cold, lonely corners of your heart. If he does, if he burns a way inside you, you know you won't be able to bear it if he leaves you.

It's a thought that's haunted you this entire time, that König has stolen your heart he will run away with it, that you'll awake the morning after the full moon to find him gone, your bed empty. The hearth cold. There's a prophecy that whispers a warning in your thoughts that despite your tenderness for him, the man before you is made of mist, of a softness that will slip through your fingers and dissipate in the light of dawn following destruction.

It only makes you cling to him harder, hands splayed against his chest, bunching his loose shirt between your fingers. He must see the despair on your face, because König lifts a massive, worn hand to your cheek, knuckles grazing across soft skin.

"Liebling." He murmurs sweetly, and his eyes are aching with adoration from where they look up at you under his hood. "If only you knew what I'll do to protect you."

Show me. You think. Show me everything, the lengths you'll go to, the secrets you keep. Show me how much I mean to you, show me that you won't disappear.

Instead you nuzzle into his palm with an unsteady sigh, cupping it to your face and looking down at him once more.

"I wish..." You whisper despite yourself, thoughts spilling outwards before you can stop them. "That I could kiss you."

It's a selfish thought, and you know it. König refuses to show his face, even after all this time. He's desperately protective of the hood that shields him from you, refuses to show you even a glimpse when you eat together, your back turned to allow him privacy. Yet here you are, once more wishing for the things you're not sure you can have, wanting desperately to vanquish the barriers that stand between you both.

König's eyes widen under the hood, and your face falls, knowing you've made a mistake. Yet then he blinks, and shifts under you, gently scooting you off his form. You think it's a refusal at first, especially when Konig slides from the bed away from you. There's an apology ready on your lips- one that hesitates as the man before you kneels at your feet tossed askew over the bed.

König is surprisingly delicate as he cups your foot, still hidden in its warm stocking, and for a moment you're reminded of the tale of the girl with the pumpkin and glass slippers. Like the prince, König lifts your foot onto his thigh. Yet instead of offering you a crystalline glass token, he instead reaches a hand under the hem of your skirt to drag the top of your stocking slowly down the length of your calf.

You suck in a breath, heart thumping as you feel the fabric slide down your skin, curious as to his intentions. When he finally divests you on the garment, he raises himself up, scooting between your legs and peering up into your face bent towards him.

"Do you trust me, Rotty?" He asks, and there's something different to his voice now, a distant rumbling purr that sounds not unlike a growl.

"Yes." You whisper back, and your hands itch with the urge to raise to his shoulders, somehow bring him closer.

Closer he comes, because König takes the stocking in hand and lifts it to your eyes, tying it swiftly around the back of your head. Blinding you.

There's a stab of disappointment that is quickly erased by daring hope as you hear the rustle of him removing his hood. You press forward eagerly and hear the soft rumble of a chuckle when König takes note of your enthusiasm. He lifts himself with a breathy sigh, lips brushing against yours in a chaste, delicate kiss.

It's just as you imagined in your dreams, tracing your lips in the darkness when he slept above you, wondering if he was gentle with you there too.

You chase after him eagerly, wanting to memorize the sensation of him against you, and König takes only a moment before he too cedes to the desire. Hesitant though he is at first, he eventually allows a sigh to escape his parted lips, mouth moving eagerly against yours as his arms come to wrap around your waist.

"Rotty..." He groans, and you feel his desire bleed into you, crimson and bright, tantalizing against the passion of your thoughts. "Schön Rotty..."

He lifts you then, into the bed, brackets himself above you and dwarfs you with his massive form. You can't see him, senses entrenched in darkness, but the blindness only makes your remaining senses blossom scarlet with sensation, drinking in his scent, his touch, the murmured endearments his whispers onto your lips when he kisses you.

You hook an arm around the back of his neck, pressing him down into you, wanting the warmth of him to be your own. You want the edges of him to bleed into you, to be unable to discern where you stop and where he begins.

"I want this." You whisper to him blindly, fingers reaching up to graze through his surprisingly long strands. He shudders almost violently at the contact. "I want to keep you."

"Rotty." He growls then, and you shiver at the need, the possessiveness that flares abruptly in his words when he answers you. It feels like the distant snap of some forbidden tether, the shatter of some restraint that holds back a beautiful, dangerous creature. You feel almost akin to prey, with his fixated gaze that seems to watch you like a doe in the glade. Respectful, entranced, but hungry.

You wonder if this was his secret, the depths of his desire for you, untamed but gentled for your domesticity, gleaming eyes reflecting the warmth of your hearth even as he hungers for the moonlight. Perhaps he's something different than what you imagined, an animal that eats willingly from your palm, but will swallow you whole if only to slake his yawning desire for your flesh.

You want him to devour you.

Your bare calf peeks from the ruffle of your skirt, hooks over his hip so you spread open for him- willing, eager, wanting. It summons a growl from his lips, a rumbling groan that sounds like the bend of aged aspen against the wind. You long after it, want to carve it into your thoughts just like the touch of him against your skin.

You feel it when he divests himself of his shirt impatiently, and you try to imagine the planes of his body you can't see. Instead your hands try and map out his skin, tracing the indents and silvery tissue of scars you find littering his chest. You want to ask him about them, about why they feel like the claw marks of something wild. Yet König silences your queries with a kiss, hands tugging at the laces of your bodice to reveal you to him.

"I want to see you." He huffs, warm breath curling against the planes of your face. "I want to see all of you, Rotty."

I'll let you see anything you want, just as long as you stay.

"König..." You mewl instead, raising your fingers to comb through his surprisingly long hair. He shudders hard for a moment at the contact, an unsteady breath loosening from his chest before he returns to kiss you with a sudden ferocity that steals the air from your lungs.

"What sharp teeth you have." You murmur curiously, and he stiffens for all of a moment before returning:

"The better to bite you with."

Bite you he does. Gently, with his whole mouth, Konig clamps down on the arch of your neck where your throat meets your shoulder. An indent, not hard enough to bring blood, only to lay a lasting mark you wish to keep there always as a reminder of him.

It feels somehow like a claim.

More. You think, senses growing hazy with lust. Show me. Show me how much you want me, how much you want this, what you'll do to keep me.

You moan as his hand grazes up the inside of your thigh, rucks your skirt up to your hips to reveal the tender flesh to his touch. You arch into him greedily, beckoning him further against you, offering yourself like a lamb to slaughter if only it means it will quench your desire.

"Rotty." He growls again, voice deeper, somehow feral. "My Rotty."

He kisses you like he means it, and you surrender willingly to his rolling, roaming touches, to the impatient tugs of his hands as he sheds you both of your clothes, to his husking groans that drag in his chest at your pliant mewls. His hands grope at your chest, your hips, drinking down your desperate little keens when you plead for him to touch you properly.

His broad fingers fill you like nothing else, and you let your head flop into the pillows helplessly when he croons at your arousal pooling over his palm. It's clumsy, a little stilted, but it's good, his enthusiasm clear in the way he drags insistently at your silky walls, coaxing wanting murmurs to him.

"J-just like that, oh God. König..."

The pleasure multiples, draws higher inside you, stretches for the sun in the shade of the forest, seeking a higher warmth. It remains just out of reach, a tantalizing reward that you cry out for with no reprieve.

"Shh, gently, Liebling." He murmurs with restrained tenderness as he arranges you carefully on your side in his arms, lifts a leg with his broad arm and begins to push inside. You whimper at the stretch, feel your walls eventually ease and allow him entry. The drag of him forces the air from your lungs, and you go limp just so you can take it, take all of him, everything he has to offer and more.

He splits you open, drags his teeth along your jaw like he's searching for a vein, hauls you to him like he's afraid you will escape. You're forced into docile willingness, submitting with wanton little moans as he rolls his hips against yours, forces you higher into bliss.

"Scheiße-" He grunts, hugging you close so he can thrust into you, hand flexing as he holds your leg aloft, parting you for him. "So good for me, Rotty. Want to stay here, just like this, in your bed, listening to you. Just like this."

It doesn't take long for you to crest towards the peak of your arousal, the angle of him inside you grazing against the clutch of your heat and making the spool of desire tighten across your thighs. It unfurls in low, rolling waves, spreading through your limbs, your veins, the marrow of you that's picked clean by his teeth.

König takes you in the way of wild animals, snapping jaws held back only by your delicate touch, offering apologetic little whines when he forces you into overstimulation. He growls and huffs into your shoulder, teeth nipping with scarcely contained ferocity at your bare shoulder. It makes you wonder if he's holding back far more than he lets on, that there's a danger to him that might drown you should you release it.

He hauls you flush to him after several wild thrusts that make your voice ring out in the quiet solitude of your cottage, forever echoing inside the stone walls of this moment where he's claimed you. It's with a snarl, a curse that he spills inside you, warmth curling your insides as his hips jerk, and his voice descends into something akin to a whimper.

You lay in a sweaty heap in his arms, and König hauls the blankets atop you both, nestles you into his embrace, peppers fluttering kisses across your face, your blindfold.

"Dearest Rotty." He murmurs with tender affection. "Beloved Rotty."

There's an affection that floods your chest, sharp, almost painful at the clear adoration in his words. He pets at your back, hums a low, satisfied purr into your ear that speaks of contentment. It's in this moment that you wish you could stay, that you wish you could keep him.

"I love you." You confess at last, unable to see him but feeling his heartbeat flutter in his chest where you lay your cheek. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

I don't need to see you. If you just tell me, if you just stay, I'll go blind for the rest of my life just to keep you here with me.

König pauses for a moment, and at last he sighs. It feels like the final breath of winter giving way to soft spring, a surrender to you as much as himself, no longer able to deny his feelings for you.

"I love you too, Rotty." He tells you, voice full of emotion. "Since the day we met, I think I have loved you."

You think of that, of the day all that time ago when you found him in the forest, on the misty morning in the aftermath of the monster that chased you through your dreams. He appeared there, hurt and broken in the ways you were, and were not all the same. Lonely, needing, hoping to be found. You, you found him, not knowing then that he had found you too.

You should tell him, you think. You should convince him to retreat to the safety of Laswell's with you, to appease Price and the others even if they remain suspicious of him. You know if he denies you that you'll stay, and you'll face the darkness of the luminescent, heavy moon together.

In this moment, in the dawning darkness of what lies ahead, you instead kiss him, and pray it won't be the last time.

"Promise me you'll stay." You whisper against him blindly.

"I promise." He tells you, and once more that prophecy lingers with taunting whispers at the back of your thoughts. A festering doubt not abated by his touch.

You kiss him, and you hope it's not a lie you taste upon his lips.

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#konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x f! reader #my fic #fic: rotes madchen

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crucifiedfaerie · 7 months

Text

Gods & Monsters ༉₊˚✧

GodOfDeath!Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader AU

(THIS IS A DARK!FIC PLEASE READ ALL WARNINGS AND THE AUTHORS NOTE BEFORE PROCEEDING !!!)

➴ Summary: Death has followed you like a shadow your entire life. After losing everything, you call out to him in a moment of desperation. Maybe that was his plan all along.

➴ Word Count: 2.2k

➴ Warnings: 18+ MDNI under any circumstances, DARK!FIC, fem!reader, dom!kylo, a lot of angst, BLOOD, major and minor character death, reader is suicidal, kylo is the god of death, kylo is obsessive, selfish, and manipulative, stalker!kylo, reader is naïve, a little soft!kylo bc he loves her but again he's selfish so should i really call it that ??, soul selling, SMUT (manipulation therefore DUB-CON, very rough sex, unprotected PiV sex, sadist!kylo for a second ??, naked sub/fully clothed dom, dacryphilia kind of, light bruising, blasphemy and sacrilege), typos probably

➴ Taglist: ( @enviedear @capitanostella @teapartydreams )

A/N: guys did i just lowkey write a snuff fic? maybe. (yes) its left up to you to decide if this has a happy ending or not. kylo is selfish and manipulative, yeah, but hes also sexy and in love so idek how to feel myself. @enviedear and i have been playing around with the idea of godofdeath!kylo in our dms so special thanks to liv my beloved <3 i hope you guys enjoy and i also completely understand if some of you aren't chill with the themes of this fic.

It appeared that death followed you wherever you went, trailing behind you like an invisible shadow you couldn't escape. It started when you were younger with any pet you would get mysteriously dying, you don't know when but at some point you had given up on trying to keep them. Friends and family followed suit over the years, all of them as tragic as the last one. It was as if Death was puppeteering your life, tugging on the strings that held your heart together... and you didn't quite understand why.

You couldn't seem to remember what it was you'd been thinking about on your walk home. Maybe it was what your mother had decided to make for dinner. You stared at the pot still boiling in the eerily quiet kitchen. Or perhaps it was how you had promised your sister you'd play with her when you came home. Your eyes darted to the toys that had been carelessly scattered over the floor of your family's shared bungalow, noticing how a light mist of crimson coated them.

You tried to remember, but one singular word kept interrupting your thoughts. Blood. All you could smell... was blood.

You tried to scream but it was as if the air had been stolen from your lungs. All you could see was red. Red. Red everywhere. On the floors. On the walls. When you saw them, the shriek that escaped your heaving chest pierced the silence of your home, bouncing off the walls and ringing in your ears.

Your family was dead. Slaughtered and discarded on the floor as if they were simply livestock.

As you backed away, you nearly slipped in the puddle you realized you were standing in. The sticky, wet sound your shoes made as you moved was revolting and you felt acid burning at your throat. You stumbled into the living room, just barely making it to the soft carpet before falling to your knees. You heaved, but nothing happened, your empty stomach having nothing for your body to forcibly expel.

You collapsed to the floor, body wracked with sobs. You screamed and screamed until you thought your vocal cords might tear.

Gone. They're all gone.

You don't know how long it had been. Maybe hours, maybe days. You laid there, your screams subsided to sobs and you wanted nothing more than to be with them... No, you wanted to be them.

Why couldn't it have been me? Why my mother? Why my sister? Please, I just want to die. Please Please.

For what felt like an eternity, you silently begged for death. How ironic, you thought, that you begged for the thing that had taken everything from you. You had already dealt with plenty of loss to last you several lifetimes, and now you had lost the last two people you loved. There was no physical pain on this planet that would ever compare to what you felt now. You only wanted it to be over.

You saw something out of the corner of your eye. A tall, dark figure, lurking in the shadowy corner of the room. You looked up, attempting to blink the tears from your raw eyes, unable to make out any distinct features of the being that stood before you.

"You- Did you do this?!" You sobbed. "Did you k-kill my..." You couldn't even say it. If you said it out loud, that meant it was real.

The figure stepped forward, allowing light from the window to cast down upon him. Your teary eyes widened as you realized who this man... this being, was. The aquiline nose, dark locks, and scar that trailed down his cheek you'd recognize anywhere. Kylo Ren, the God of Death, stood before you. You had only heard of him in legends, but he was even more marvelous looking in person.

"I do not take. I only collect." Ren said firmly, yet a hint of compassion laced his words, making you feel... safe? In any other situation, you would have laughed at the idea of feeling safe around the literal personification of death itself, but you were in no mood for laughing. He continued. "I hear souls call out to me, and I answer."

"My family... who did this? Why wasn't I-" You choked out, weakly pointing to the adjacent room behind you. You began to sob again, feeling hot tears run down your face.

"Raiders..." Ren knelt on the floor in front of you, getting down to your level before continuing. "Sweet, mourning lamb, there's nothing you could have done. They went quickly, I made sure of that." He reached out a large hand to gingerly wipe the tears from your face, and you melted into the divine warmth of his fingers.

"Did you come b-back for me too? Please, I don't want to be here anymore- I can't do it without them, please! I'm nothing!" You begged him through sobs.

"Not to me." Ren sighed calmly, a sympathetic smile resting on his expression. "I do not answer the calls of souls whose time are not up... but you're different, special..." He trailed off, his voice still firm but sounding like he was was pondering something.

"I don't understand..." Your voice was just above a whisper.

Ren paused for a moment, the two of you sitting in silence as his dark eyes scanned yours. He held out his hand to you and finally spoke. "I want you to join me. Let it all die, let everything go, and I will give you what you so wish for."

Your eyes widened at his request, staring into his intense gaze. "Join you?" You croaked.

He nodded slightly. "Rule by my side, little lamb. I feel so drawn to you, I always have... And I know you've felt it too." His tone was soft, but there was a small shred of desperation there.

"And everyone I love? My family and friends?... Will I see them again?" You began to turn your head to look at the door to the kitchen, but a strong hand grabbed your chin at light speed, turning your head to look at him again.

"No- You're still... Holding on! Let go!" Ren raised his voice, startling you. He was inches from your face and his eyes were filled with pure panic, as if he were afraid you were changing your mind.

Memories of your family and friends played like a movie reel in your head. So many moments that you'd never get back. They were gone, and you'd never see them again. What's done is done and you had nothing now.

But as you stared into Ren's wild, dark eyes, you saw an offer being handed to you that you couldn't refuse. An option to never be alone again. To forget every detail of your life as it stands. To not feel the pain that laid so heavily on your heart and soul.

I understand.

You inhaled sharply before placing your shaking and much smaller hand in his. "I'll join you." You said it so quietly, you weren't sure if he had even heard it.

Ren certainly did, however, and within seconds he pounced, closing the gap between you. It was as if your words were an invitation he had been eagerly waiting for and his warm lips crashed into your cold, trembling ones. You felt every emotion at once coursing through your body, and you thought you might spontaneously combust at any moment.

The kiss of death.

He did not pull away though, he only continued to kiss you with more urgency. He pushed you backwards until your back was pressed against the plush carpet. When you touched him, he felt like he was made of marble. As if you needed any more emphasis on the fact that this was no human man that loomed over you.

Ren's large hands began to explore your body, his fingers running along your sides, causing a warm bolt of electricity to shoot through your core. You instinctually moaned against his mouth, and you felt him smirk.

He trailed his mouth down your neck, leaving red and purple marks, before pulling away to admire his work. "You already look so divine in this life... I can't begin to imagine what you'll look like in the next." Ren's voice was low, smooth, and his words dripped with honey. It elicited another moan from you, causing him to let out a dark chuckle.

At near light speed, he practically ripped your clothes off, pulling your shirt over your head first before making quick work of your pants and underwear. You were left naked and writhing on the floor as you watched him work at his belt, kneeling over you.

You couldn't help but think of how morally wrong this all was. This was no simple kiss of death... No, this was blasphemous. Sacrilegious in every sense of the word and you... loved it. You loved how your body betrayed you every chance it got, ignoring every single alarm bell that rang in the part of your brain that clutched onto what little was left of your sanity. It was exhilarating.

With quick fingers, Ren freed his cock from the confines of his pants, causing it to spring upwards. You marveled at him, wondering if maybe this was his weapon of choice. Maybe he would impale you on his dick and literally fuck you to death. You saw him smirk as if he had heard your thought. He most certainly did.

You watched, your body trembling, as he lined himself up with your entrance. Ren did not give you a moment to think before slamming himself into you, bottoming out within seconds. Your view of him was clouded by white-hot stars and he watched as your face contorted from the pain and pleasure of being split in two by him.

Ren's thrusts were erratic, unrelenting as he plowed into your cunt. His fingers dug into your hips, surely leaving bruises... not that it would matter tomorrow. You were completely cock drunk, under some divine spell he had surely cast over you. "Feels... s-s-so.... g-" You trailed off, lost in the violent pleasure he inflicted on your small frame.

He chuckled at your futile attempt to form a sentence. "Look at you, little lamb. Already coming undone at my hand. You want release so badly don't you?" His voice was full of compassion but his words were laced with darkness.

You knew it wasn't only your impending climax that he was referring to. You whined, your eyes welling with tears as you nodded frantically. "Please." You let out in a choked sob.

Ren let out a moan and angled his hips to thrust into you deeper, hitting your g-spot again and again with each erratic snap of his hips. He leaned down slowly, his hair tickling your cheek. "Then let go, sweet thing. Let everything go." He whispered in your ear.

You became putty in Ren's hands as you came, clenching around his cock as he continued to violently plow into you. His lips found yours and he kissed you with wild desperation. After a few more thrusts, he followed suit, bottoming out one last time and letting out a groan as he came deep inside of your cunt.

As you came down from your high, you watched hazily as he fumbled with something on the side of his belt. Ren looked down at you with adoration, and with a swift movement of his hand, you felt ice-cold metal pressed against your naked chest.

When you looked down, it took you a moment to process what had happened. Ren had impaled you through the chest with his lightsaber... yet you felt no pain. Only an intense warmth that radiated through every cell of your body.

Your eyes darted up to his face, illuminated in the crimson glow of his weapon. His expression was soft, attentive. You tried to speak but only a choked whine came out, the air having been stolen from your lungs by the fiery plasma that crackled inside of you.

Ren quickly brought his hand up to hold the side of your face, wiping stray tears and gently stroking your jaw with his thumb. You didn't even realize you had started crying again and you began to taste copper. "Shhh, don't be frightened my mourning lamb. It will all be over soon, just let go... Let go, and you will be mine forever..." His voice was deep but it had a sickeningly sweet quality to it.

You couldn't fully decipher what he was saying, so you focused on how nice he sounded instead. How merciful, you thought, for this voice to be the last one you'd ever hear on this mortal plane.

Your vision began to tunnel in on Ren's face. You thought you heard him call you his mourning lamb. What was it you were mourning again? You couldn't seem to remember what originally got you into this situation. You couldn't seem to remember anything. Anything besides Kylo Ren, that is.

"Finally... At last, you are mine."

The last thing you saw was the smile on his face. There was something... dark about it. His eyes were intense and he looked excited, as if he were finally getting something he'd been waiting ages for. Before you could dwell on it for too long though, everything went black.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfic #star wars #starwars fanfic #star wars x reader #star wars sequel trilogy #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #saint writes !#crucifiedfaerie #dark!fic #kylo ren dark!fic #god!kylo au #kylo ren au

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nerdraging4point0 · 23 days

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Mad Hearts and Temptations // Chapter Four // Wonderland AU

Tropes and Tags: Wonderland romance, instalove, too much sex, destiny, fated lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only minors DNI. dark themes, gore themes, gothic themes, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), voyeurism, exhibitionism, angst.

A.N.- Although Characters may have face claim to the Bad Omens band as well as Poppy, I have changed their names for the sake of the story. Despite this change I hope everyone still enjoys the story as a whole!

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people's faces but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @poisongirl616 @ladyveronikawrites @shilohrosechicken @th0ughts-pr4yers @meliferafaerie @itsafullmoon @viofcrows @letmeadoreyoux @latenightmusiclover @transparentwitchnightmare @darling-millicent-aubrey @badomensls @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @mysticdoodlez @srorgana1 @in-another-life @broken0mens @somewhere-diamond @celestineveil @littlefoxkota @silentglassbreak @hayleylatour @sundamariis @lma1986 @thatchickwiththecamera @lilhobgobbler @missduffsblog @asilentsiren @catharsis-in-darkness @dsireland86 @skulliecadaver-blog @laurpartyprogram @faceless-mirror @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @thisbicc @embracethereaper42 @crimson-calligraphyx @cind6547

He had appeared out of nowhere.

Seems that was normal around here.

Dressed in all black, his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing intricate designs inked into the skin of his arms that made me yearn to move closer and examine the exquisite artwork. The top three buttons of his shirt were left tantalizingly undone, offering a glimpse of smooth olive skin from neck to sternum. Equally dark hair was pulled back neatly and tucked into a tie to keep the silken strands off his neck, with soft flyaway pieces framing his face as they tumbled rebelliously to the edge of his rugged, scruffy chin. He stood there so casually, feet crossed at the ankles so the toe of his boot rested on the bare earth. He fiddled absently with something in his hands as the black cat ears on his head swiveled back and forth, twitching harshly when his expression would darken. Glancing up from whatever held his attention, his smoky grey eyes met mine, and in their swirling depths I glimpsed a haunting fog - his pupil a harsh slit bisecting that mesmerizing color. His mouth turned up into a wide grin, the sharp points of his teeth glinting in the fading moonlight.

"You must be looking for hatter." His voice is very matter of fact. I pause in confusion, unsure of how to respond. Was I? I wanted a way home, that's what I was looking for, a way to wake up from this insane dream i’m having. My mouth opens as I attempt to form a reply, but no words come out. I stand there mutely, feeling foolish.

"What's the matter, nips?" he purrs again, his voice smooth as silk. I blink and he vanishes, dissipating into the mist that surrounds us. I glance around, wondering if I had only imagined him, when he suddenly materializes right next to me. I jump, startled by his sudden closeness. His slitted eyes gaze down at me intensely and I catch the scent of his breath, warm and sweet.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asks playfully, his lips curled in a teasing smile that reveals a hint of sharp teeth behind them. Again he starts to twirl something through his fingers, and as I look at his hands watching them, I can see a string being woven through his fingers around his palms then unwoven and rewoven again in a hypnotizing, intricate pattern. The thin cord glistens slightly in the dappled sunlight that filters down through the canopy of twisted branches and leaves above us.

"Where's Miss Melina?" he purrs, his voice smooth like honey but with an edge to it. "Usually she doesn't leave sweet prey to fend for itself in the tulgey wood." His words send a chill through me, and I glance nervously around at the shadowy, overgrown forest surrounding us. I can hear strange sounds - rustles, croaks, and whispers - coming from the dense underbrush and towering, mossy trees on all sides.

"She told me to stay on the path but I feel like i've lost it among all this, shrub," I say, frustration seeping into my voice as I kick at some of the sticks and stones littering the forest floor in front of me. They're scattered and buried in the dark, moist soil beneath the knotted roots and carpet of decaying leaves. I'm completely turned around, with no idea how to find the path again that will lead me out of this eerie place.

"Well," he circles behind me, walking on air as he begins to float next to me long tail curling around the air helping guide him as he swims with the fog. “How else do you expect to be found if you are not lost first?” His words hang in the misty air, spoken in a lilting, singsong voice that seems to echo endlessly.

“This is insane. I am going insane. It's all a dream." I had spent hours in these woods and it had never dawned on me before until now. My childhood memories were flooding back to me, a memory locked away somewhere deep of Alice returning from our failed game of Hide and Seek, her dress tattered and a mess. When I ran to my parents because she was frightening me she kept complaining about talking rabbits and cats, fortune telling men, and two queens who hated her. I pulled at the hair on the crown of my head trying to wake myself up in any way possible. I looked to the cat man in front of me as he arched a perfectly sculpted brow at my rant. "I am not crazy, I know crazy, and I. am. Not. Crazy!" I shouted defiantly, though I was no longer fully convinced. This world I had stumbled upon had unlocked memories and fears I thought were long buried.

"Well perhaps the Mad Hatter can right your wrongs." he smiled that wide and almost amused and treacherous smile. I felt a chill run down my spine as his grin stretched unnaturally across his face, revealing a hint of madness glinting in his eyes.

"Mad? Why would someone who is mad be able to help me?" I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest and lifting my chin. Yet as I held the man's eerie gaze, I glimpsed a cunning intellect lurking beneath the surface. Perhaps he knew something I did not. Still, the thought of turning to madness to solve my troubles felt unnerving. I staunchly maintained my pride. "I don't need the help of someone who is insane!" I declared hotly.

“Madness is not insanity.” His long tail stiffened, the tip swishing back and forth as he continued on. “It is creativity without the confines of expectations and demands. It is made without fear of judgment or hatred.” The sense of powerlessness washed over me as I stood there, unable to form a coherent thought let alone sentence to rebut him. He had a point, but the lack of agency in this hazy dreamscape left me reeling and grasping for some way to assert myself. As the fog swirled around us, obscuring everything beyond a few feet, I struggled to orient myself or gain any kind of foothold. He turned disappearing into the fog and I felt a pang of regret that I may have offended him. My petulant silence likely came across as childish when he was just trying to help steer us through this confusing labyrinth of a dream.

Several feet away he reappears twirling that string between his fingers. “Coming?” he asks. His tone was light, no indication of the annoyance I likely deserved. I sighed, the fight draining out of me. As adrift as I felt in the ephemeral world around us, he remained unperturbed, focused on moving forward. I nodded, falling into step behind him once more as he led the way, string in hand.

I followed as closely as I could, once close enough I could reach out and touch him. He would evaporate again several feet ahead and i’d once again have to follow. I shivered in the chill of the wind wrapping my cardigan around my waist and holding myself tight. In the breeze between the branches I could almost hear Alice’s voice again.

“It’s not fair, I get nothing.”

That day is seared into my memory. My cousin Alice's shrill whining still rings in my ears as she tries to claw her way out of my mother's protective grasp, dirty fingernails scraping at the tender skin of my throat. "It's not fair, I get nothing!" she wailed.

Even at a young age, Alice had a flair for the dramatic, throwing a tantrum over something as silly as losing her princess status in our imaginary games. My mother tried to soothe her, speaking gently, but Alice would have none of it. "She can't be queen. I deserve to be queen, I found it first!" Alice insisted, as if the laws of make-believe were as binding as those of a real kingdom. I was confused, not understanding the intensity of her reaction over something so trivial.

“Ember sweetie, did you take Alice’s crown during your tea party again?” I shook my head no. Arguing that we weren’t playing tea party. I hated tea party. Alice was always the radiant princess while I played the part of lowly Cinderella. Never did I challenge her self-appointed role as the fairest in all the land. But to Alice, these games were serious business and any threat to her princess status was an unforgivable offense. After that day, I lost my taste for playing royal. If that was how a princess behaved, I wanted no part of it.

As we stepped out of the dense forest, we were met with an unexpected sight. The grass was lush and vibrant, swaying gently in the soft breeze. Looking up, I could see the bright full moon and twinkling stars clearly for the first time since entering the woods earlier that day. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their delicate pink petals fluttering down around us like confetti. Their sweet scent mingled with the other wildflowers dotting the meadow - bluebells, daisies, violets, and luscious white roses - to create an intoxicating floral perfume.The enchanting meadow was a verdant oasis that took my breath away, but my gaze was irresistibly drawn to the mysterious cottage nestled at its heart. The charming two-story cottage commanded the clearing, its somber form a striking contrast against the vivid emerald grasses and rainbow of wildflowers surrounding it. Hexagonal in shape, the cottage's ebon walls and garnet-shingled roof seemed to absorb the moonlight rather than reflect it, giving the structure an otherworldly aura. Circling the upper floor, arched windows framed in creamy white hinted at what secrets lay within, though their glass panes disclosed nothing of the cottage's dark interior. Meanwhile, a procession of stately French doors lined the lower level, their glass also opaque and concealing, its inscrutable presence beckoning me closer despite the unease creeping down my spine. I felt compelled to cross the verdant meadow and discover what lurked behind those shadowy walls and darkened windows.

The steps were old and weathered, with cracks running through the wood like spiderwebs. As both my boots stepped onto the wooden porch the obsidian wood creaked under my feet, the ancient planks groaning in protest at this intrusion. Suddenly and without warning, he appeared next to me with a sly smile on his face. I jumped back, startled by his stealthy and abrupt arrival. The french doors slid open and I was instantly blinded by light from inside the cottage, the brightness almost painful compared to the dim exterior. As I shielded my eyes and they slowly adjusted to the light, I opened them to see a tall silhouette standing in the doorway, features obscured by the backlighting.

As he emerged from the dimly lit interior of the old Victorian cottage, the tall figure had to duck under the door frame to avoid knocking the oversized black top hat from his head. Though slender and lean, his height made it a tight squeeze through the low doorway. The moonlight spilled across the creaky front porch, illuminating his features in a soft glow. Adorned in a tailored wine-colored tailcoat and partially unbuttoned black shirt, his eccentric style gave him an air of mystique. Tattoos of intricate designs peeked out from his open collar, complementing his unconventional attire. Unkempt brown hair spilled out in wavy layers from beneath the battered hat, framing his face in a windswept mane that reached haphazardly to his neck and shoulders. Despite the obstacle of the door frame, he moved with a graceful, casual fluidity.

As he stood before us, the man's visage told a story of hardship and struggle. Deep furrows lined his brow, etched from years of worry and stress. His drooping eyelids could barely conceal the purplish crescents beneath that spoke of many sleepless nights. Though still youthful, his pale complexion seemed almost gray and pallid in the dim light, highlighting a gauntness in his cheeks. His mouth was fixed in a thin, grim line, stern and unsmiling at first as his gaze flitted over the group. But then his eyes met mine, and astonishingly, his dour expression transformed in an instant. The corners of his lips turned up into a warm, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. The years seemed to melt away from him as his eyes crinkled with sudden mirth. It was like witnessing the sun emerge from behind dark clouds, bathing everything in its hopeful rays.

“Welcome to the cottage in the clear, Ember, my dear.”

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noahsebastian fanfic #wonderland!au #alice in wonderland retelling #bad omens smut #bad omens au #wonderland!omens #madhatter!noah #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction

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greyskyflowers · 3 months

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You know how there's the soulmate AUs where people leave spots of color where they touch you? Like that but with blood.

I like idea of the people you love who bleed on you leaving marks. Not necessarily romantic soulmates but soulmates in the sense of I think we come from the same stardust.

Maybe it just lasts until that person heals, then it fades away.

Wounds that scar leave colors that never truely disappear but instead just water down to pale colors so both people are permanently marked.

All the hands stained from pressing on wounds.

All the shoulders and backs dyed from carrying someone.

All the knuckles covered, fights forgiven and forgotten but the skin remembers.

All the arms painted from relieved hugs.

The reminder of a kiss that left a mark like lipstick.

The lingering of a handprint so perfect it looks intentional.

All the fades spots on you that mark the places your loved ones have scars.

The stories you could tell, the memories that would linger.

Luffy: Crimson, burning sunsets and glowing embers fading into dusty rose

Zoro: forest, fresh ivy and week old bruises dimming into grey sage

Nami: Citrine, orange peels and fall leaves sliding into muted april

Usopp: Dandelion, flower pollen and honey combs settling into neutral cornsilk

Sanji: Cobalt, fish scales and sea glass washing away to pale celestial

Chopper: Rouge, spring flowers and winter sunrises easing into sweet blush

Robin: Wine, fresh blackberries and humming bird feathers drifting off into dusted heather

Franky: Cyan, open ocean and clear skies cooling into arctic blue

Brook: Obsidian, night skies and storm clouds weakening to sea mist

Also consider:

What if it was the people who love you that leave color? The surprise of color on your skin from someone you didn't realize loved you.

What happens if the love fades? Could you be covered in color from someone you love who now hates you?

What happens if it was never there at all? Do the marks show if you're trying to fool yourself into loving someone?

Could you bleed on someone you supposedly love and both of you are stunned into silence when nothing happens?

#one piece #luffy #zoro #nami #sanji #usopp #nico robin #tony tony chopper #franky one piece #brook one piece #mugiwara crew #strawhats #straw hat pirates #guys i looked at so many color pallets trying to find ones that matched the ones I was picturing #so hard #and im not 100% pleased with the ones I justed but it's close enough #color names are a mess - type in scarlet and you get 50 different colors with the same name #setting sail with greyskyflowers

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kitmoas · 2 years

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Darkest Little Paradise

Summary: Wanda will always reward you for good behavior

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Genre: Fluffy Smut

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mommy Kink, Lactation Kink, Cum-Filled Strap-On Use (Wanda receiving), Slight Breeding Kink, Somnophilia, Magic Use, Dark Fic (alludes to kidnapping, dark power use, etc) *Let me know if I missed anything*

***MINORS DNI*** ***18+***

A/N: hiiiiiiiiiii SO this first chapter is for @maximotts birthday ☺️ for alll the feral smutty Wanda thoughts we share, heres a nice little thought. **also, ignore any mistakes this was edited way too late at night and too early this morning**

This is a dark fic, and the first chapter of a new Dark Mommy!Scarlet Witch AU.

Wretched Dreamscapes AU

The sounds of laughter and pans banging wake you, the soft sun rays peeking through the curtains warm your face as you stretch. The pout that forms on your face is subconscious, knowing you missed out on sleepy morning cuddles. Rubbing at your eyes you try your hardest to wake up as quickly as possible.

Rolling slowly out of bed takes a lot of effort but when you hear the tell-tale sign of little footsteps sprinting up the stairs, and puppy nails tapping against the wood, you can’t help but smile as you wait for them to run into your room.

The heavy wooden door is pushed open and a whirlwind of chaos enters your room, excited screaming and speed running messes up the everything within seconds. Sighing, you roll your eyes teasingly as you teleport out of the room, your tail the last thing seen by the energetic kids as it waves goodbye to them. You land on the counter next to Wanda, who just glares at you for once again landing too close to the stove top.

Shrugging you just settle to watch her magic take over finishing breakfast as she comes to stand between your legs. “Good morning, my love” The witch cups your face gently, smoky tipped fingers wiggling slowly near your temple as faint ruby mist seeps into your mind. She’s leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose when she sees no trace of doubt in the family, gleeful that you are finally coming to terms with your new home even if it’s still being aided by her magic.

You lean in to Wanda, letting your face find its home in her neck. Wiggling as close as possible to her, knowing what comes next makes you pout some. “Morning Mommy.” The sound of the twins running back downstairs is approaching you quickly. “Can you do the thing before they get here?” You feel the crimson mist consume your precious tail, swallowing it whole until it no longer seemingly exists. You know without even looking in a mirror that your skin is no longer tinted blue. Pulling away from the witch the frown that forms on your face is pathetic as you can feel the ghost tail, flicking in agitation.

The dripping ink color disappears from her fingers as the boys come running in, stopping directly in front of you. Holding their ipads and listening to you rattle off the rules once more as Wanda watches with a fond smile. No power usage unless permitted by you, hold hands with each other at all times, buddy system, and no trying to get near any of the animals.

With the boys excitedly dragging you off of the counter, their mom barely has time to wave their breakfast into their bags. After she checks the car for the backpack you packed last night, filled with snacks and emergency items, the four of you are off to the zoo. The puppy finally settles in his bed in the house, sleeping in the rare silence that fills the house.

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Wanda looks worried as she grips your hand tightly, eyes stuck on the boys as they run towards the otter enclosure. She had put them in bright clothing, and told them again they had to hold hands the entire day if they wanted a treat from the gift store. The two of you were trailing behind, carrying all the snacks and drinks in the backpack securely settled on your shoulders. “They are okay Wiggly Woo, I promise. We’ve been practicing all week for this, the boys know how to act.”

You watch as she exhales slowly, trying to cut her anxiety as she watches the twins lean against the glass to stare at the otters swimming. The moment she’s in arms reach of them you can see her relax, settling her hand in Tommy’s hair. Combing through the longer strands she leans down to look through the glass, giggling some as she listens to the excitable boy make up a story about the family.

Billy is tugging at your arm, pointing out one of the baby otters that just slipped out of the water. “Did you know that the fur on those buddies is completely waterproof?” You let the boy drag you around and you answer all the questions he has, giving him any fun facts you can about each and every animal. Looking over to where Tommy and Wanda were standing just a few feet over, you watch with fond eyes as he uses his hands to explain whatever story he has made up about the life of each animal.

It’s almost two in the afternoon when the twins start asking for lunch so you start the trek towards the food court. Tommy is running circles around you, hyping everyone up about all the random things you can eat when there’s just so many options. You had handed the backpack to Wanda when Billy dramatically stated that he was so hungry that he couldn’t walk anymore, so he was happily on your back pointing out things now that he was taller.

The mini telepath yelps loudly but it’s just a little too late as he watches his twin run directly into an older man. You watch as Wanda’s eyes flash red, subtle black steam falling from her fingers as she loses control momentarily. She’s tugging Tommy into her side, an arm outstretched in front of him. Making sure Billy is secure on your back, you step in front of the other two looking the angry man directly in the eyes. Every time he tries to look around you, you move into his eyesight. “Sir, he’s just a kid. It’s the zoo, you should be aware of tiny humans running around.” Something in you yells at you to be ready, a gut feeling. Sliding the boy off your back you stand directly in front of the three Maximoffs, hands stiff and at your side as you glare at the man.”Don’t do anything stupid.”

Before you can even finish the sentence the guy is thrusting an orange glowing dagger at you, but you just smile letting him try to stab you as you absorb the psionic energy. The orange glow travels through your body causing your eyes to flash a bright purple momentarily before you quirk an eyebrow at him. “Now, you can try that again and I’ll have to embarrass you in front of everyone at this lovely zoo. That sounds fun to me but I also don’t want to have to ruin some kids’ days so how about you turn around and get over the fact that a little kid ran into you. Learn to control your powers and your anger, you’re an adult.” Your tone is mocking as you reprimand this stranger for being so immature, and it’s as simple as that as he suddenly turns and stomps away.

Wanda and the boys are attaching themselves to you immediately, making sure you’re okay and thanking you but you just smile and urge them to continue the walk to the food court. After getting trays of food the boys are immersed in some television show as they eat giving their mother a moment to lean closer to you. “You did amazing and you really showed the boys control.” Your smile is radiating as you wiggle some in your seat, the praise warming your body.

The rest of the day Wanda doesn’t let the boys out of arms length, holding both of their hands as you walk just a step behind them. You know they had an amazing time, spoiling them by buying them whatever they want from the gift store. The ginger offers to drive home and the boys plead for you to sit in the back with them. It’s only twenty minutes into the drive home when the witch looks back, even with the television blaring the three of you are passed out.

She chuckles but her mind drifts back to the man that attacked you. Her perfect world and someone has already tried to hurt them, and with powers nonetheless. Gnawing at her lip she allows her astral form to manifest in the passenger seat, the Scarlet Witch searching the Darkhold as she finishes the drive home. Wanda would find a way to get rid of all threats, even those that didn’t know who her family was.

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Half asleep laying out on the bed is where Wanda finds you after putting the boys to sleep, a gentle smile spreads across her face as she crawls over to you. You’re wearing nothing but an oversized tank top. She settles herself on top of you, rubbing your stomach slowly, as she watches you struggle to open your eyes. “Come on my pet, it’s time to wake up for your reward.”

Blinking against the bright light coming from the few lamps scattered around the room, the weight of the ginger on top of you drags your attention towards her. She’s wearing a thin light gray button up shirt, her breasts are prominently on display with only one button done. She chuckles as your mouth already starts moving, subsciously as your eyes glaze over. Your hands are moving without you realizing, gripping her hips as you try to sit up underneath her.

Her eyes glowing a subtle red as she just smiles mockingly down at you, eyebrows creasing as she shakes her head. “Oh, my dumb little baby thought she would be in charge tonight? Just cause I said reward? That’s so cute, your stupid brain wouldn’t even know where to begin without Mommy showing you the way. You don’t have to act all big and bad around me, little one.” Your hands are forced down onto the bed, entirely too gentle magic trapping them there.

The room flashes bright red, as a hex travels quickly throughout the house, her black tipped fingers and your tail finally being freed after a long day of being suppressed. Your blue hued skin reappearing slowly causing a loving smile to form on her face. The entire house is covered in an ominous scarlet haze but it just makes you feel safe, and she’s mumbling that she doesn’t want any interruptions.

Forcing two of her raven tinted digits into your mouth, past your teeth and slightly down your throat, Wanda sneers down at you. A low chuckle falls from her lips when you immediately start sucking, jaw working to take as much of her fingers as possible. Her free hand cups your face, tapping slowly against your temple as small wisps of magic leaks into your mind. “That’s my good girl, no need to fight anymore. I got you, Mommy’s got you.” She watches with a delighted smile as your eyes start to glaze over.

She lets her favorite strap magically appear around your hips, biting her lip in anticipation. You don’t even flinch, too hyper focused on the task at hand. “My brainless little princess , do you want to make Mommy happy? Make her feel super good?”

You’re nodding quickly, almost too aggressively that you make her fingers slip out of your mouth. Whining you try to follow her hand as Wanda wipes the trail of drool on your chest, your tail whips out trying to grab onto her wrist but with a lazy wave of her fingers it’s pushed into the comforter. “Nuh uh, that pretty little tail will be used later.”

Watching you lean up on your elbows as the Scarlet witch starts sinking down on the strap. The magic holding you down makes you whine, knowing that if you try to move without permission it’ll end your reward before it can truly start. The breathy moan that tumbles from her lips makes your hips jerk, causing the ginger to sink the rest of the way down the strap. She’s tugging you up the rest of the way, gasping as you move around so you’re stable beneath her. You let your hands wrap around her waist, pulling her closer.

The way her body moved on top of you was mesmerizing, her breasts threatening to fall out of her flimsy shirt at any moment. You tried your best to keep up with her, snapping your hips up as much as possible and trying to guide her hips. Try as you might your efforts were futile and only made the witch laugh at you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your shoulder tightly. “Is my dumb little fucktoy too stupid to fuck her Mommy properly? Can’t think about anything when her cock is inside me?” The more she moves the louder the sounds of her wet pussy gets, filling the room and your senses. A whine tears through your teeth as your brain struggles to keep up.

Wanda unbuttons the solo button keeping her shirt together, and smiles as your jaw goes slack. Slowing her hips so that she’s just grinding down on you, she guides your head to her breast. Your mouth is already moving, licking lightly at the already hardened nipple. The witch flinches slightly when your sharp teeth scratch at the sensitive skin there. Threading her fingers in your messy hair the ginger grips lightly as she feels you start sucking, biting her lip when she feels the beginning of the warm tingly sensation that she’s come to love. When she first started the quest to find a universe where she could have her boys she wanted as much time as possible with them, so she thought she would need to be able to nurse them ergo the spell she now uses to calm you even on your most petulant days.

Your whole body is moving now, trying to stay attached as Wanda starts moving on top of you again. Getting to please your Mommy was amazing and it set a low blaze of arousal through your system but it’s the feeling of her sweet milk filling your stomach that makes you drip onto the sheets. The more she moves the more milk flows into your mouth and it sadly starts dripping down your chin, a pathetic whimper muffles against her breast.

She lets go of your hair, letting her fingers fall to her own clit as she rubs tight circles on the hardened bud. Slowing back down as she rolls her eyes at you, “Such a messy little slut, wasting all of my milk like an ungrateful brat.” Your tail slides up your body, wrapping around her thigh before pushing her own hand away from herself. The triangular tip practically vibrating on her clit makes her moan appreciatively as she urges you to the other breast.

The coil in Wanda’s stomach is tightening but she can tell you’re starting to get sleepy, your mouth struggling to keep up with the flow from her breast. She cups your jaw, and your sleepy unfocused eyes look up at her through your lashes and it’s the fog that fills your usually clear bright gaze that just almost pushes her over the edge. Hips bucking wildly on top of you makes you lose connection to her breast and a desperate whine as you desperately try to get it back, but she slams you back onto your back. The witch selfishly rides your cock as she chases her orgasm. “Lay still and let Mommy use you.” Her usual belittling is less scary, even as her eyes flash crimson, when her voice trails off in broken moans and grunts.

In her haste to reach her own high Wanda forgets about your tail. It struggles out from under you before it wraps around the witch, using it to force her to bounce harder on your strap.

“Do you want to cum in Mommy? Fill her cunt like you own it?” Her voice is strained as she holds off her orgasm as long as possible.The moment your hips are bucking under hers, sloppy and uncontrollable, she stumbles over the edge. The chants of please falling from your lips like a prayer as your strap shoots cum into Wanda, your arousal peaking realizing that your witch used your cum-no matter how fake- to get off. As she rides out her high the magic holding you down lightens until you can shakily sit back up.

You can tell your close, even though she hasn’t touched you once, the damp spot beneath you is a clear giveaway. Her hands are shaky as she reaches out to your face, thumb smoothing over the frustrated pout she finds there. Leading you back to her breasts, now littered with dribbles of white, she lets you lap them up before urging you to take her leaking bud back into your mouth. Letting the gentle tugging pull a relaxed sigh from her lips, Wanda lets herself bask in the gradual pleasure build as crimson tendrils leak down your body.

Her magic fills you easily, stretching you immediately and dragging a whine from your throat. She knows you’re close, the feeling of your thighs shaking below her is encouraging. The red fog filling you can feel how tight you are, vibrating against your neglected clit as it spills out of you.

Wanda starts moving slowly on top of you again, the sleepy suckling causing the heat in her stomach to be too much. She can feel you start slipping from your breast so she wraps her arm around your shoulders, pressing you back to the bud. “Come on little one, Mommy knows you want to be a good girl and drink all her milk.” A sleepy mumble leaves your lips, vibrating around her sensitive nipple, as you blink heavily up at her. “I know detka, but you have to cum for me at least once. You were so good today, keeping us all safe and protected. You can give Mommy just one to me before you fall asleep.” Her sweet tone sends a shiver down your spine and makes you clench around the growing magic instead of you, pushing you to dangle over the edge.

Your tail is flicking erratically, whistling as it cuts through the air. Muffled moans send tremors of arousal through the ginger’s body as you struggle to keep your eyes open as you're being dragged over the edge. “That’s right Malyshka, Mommy’s got you.” The taut coil in your stomach cracks, shattering and breaking almost gently as Wanda’s magic spreads through your body. Her eyes are glowing a soft ruby, watching as her magic streams from your pores and your sleepy body struggles to manipulate it. A smirk spreads across her face as she watches your tail spasms, the only true indication of you riding out your high in your sleepy state.

She lets you slowly lay back down, aided by her magic, as she grinds down with more purpose. The surge of power she holds over you pushes her towards her second orgasm. Your mumbling out thank yous, and your adoration of Wanda, as you let the darkness of sleep take you. The spark of pride and arrogance only makes the witch gush around the strap still attached to your hips.

Watching your chest rise and fall slowly as the remainder of her magic flowing out of you, unused, strokes Wanda’s ego just right. Her movements above you are getting more aggressive as she loses herself in her selfish race towards her orgasm, the leftover magic in you keeping you asleep as her moans get louder. Your eyebrows crease, eyes fluttering about as you dream, and the complete trust you put in her even as her chaos poisons you makes the witch fall over the edge.

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aceofknaves89 · 4 months

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#superbat #batman x superman #bruce wayne x clark kent #vampires #vampire #vampire au #dc vs vampires #earth 63 #Batman & Dracula: Red Rain Bloodstorm and Crimson Mist #earth 43 #halloween #spotify

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smolvenger · 7 months

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A Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter Nine (Loki x fem! Reader Series, A Court of Thorns and Roses Hiddlesverse AU)

Series Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters- Especially the events in the second book: A Court of Mist and Fury. England. 1885. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him.

Chapter Summary: The Weaver strikes. And a signal is given from Jonathan...as Stella enters the world of Asgard with you. Then, finally, the circle moves to Vanaheim to begin to locate the spellbook.

Chapter Word Count: 7K

Chapter Warnings: Discussions of kidnapping and attempted sexual assault and harassment, but no actual attack, and the victim gets saved. Violence and some blood. Thirst, but no smut. Jealousy. And we get some cameos from of course Crimson Peak and the characters of the Loki show!

Series Masterlist

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69

You could have pissed yourself from the way her nose tilted towards you and smiled before she ran at you again. Like a hungry cat finding an injured mouse beneath a trap. She reached her hands forward, her nails seeming like claws. Screaming at last you dodged the attack again. You ran over to another place in the room. She was quick, listening to your every move. Her white nightgown making her look all the more ghostly. Beautiful and Terrible.

The Weaver charged at you. Her eyes, free of pupils, yet at you. Her smile was already so wide, teeth bared, ready to bite into you. You narrowly dodged her yet she landed on her feet. Perhaps you could use your fire magic? No! Not in a wooden cottage! You would burn this cottage down! Blast it!

“Delicious-delicious morsel,” she grinned at you. She turned around and in a heartbeat she grabbed your wrist and arm, twisting it.

“Thomas! Thomas help!” you cried. Not caring if she could hear you.

Thomas took a step forward as if to charge, to move. The Weaver’s ears perked. She sensed him and turned his way. Where his feet fell. Her voice became softer, but her grip was tighter on you.

“Thomas…Thomas…” the Weaver pleaded. Her face pitiful. She was an excellent actress.

The baronet kept blinking rapidly. He was shaking like a leaf. The Weaver raised a dark eyebrow of hers, her voice ringing and clear. Though she could not look at Thomas, there was no doubt she was speaking to him in her gently yet mocking tone. She grinned again, baring her teeth.

“Ah…never getting your soft hands dirty, Thomas…you had…such trouble standing up to her. What a pity...Not for me.”

You had no choice. You willed a little of your fire out of your hand onto hers. She let out a scream as you ran out, away. Free from her grasp. You turned towards the door. You were going to leave immediately and-

But wait! Where was the box?!! You couldn’t leave without it! You would have failed! But if you stayed here- you were dead! And Thomas was just standing there like a statue doing nothing! What on earth was going on with him? Did it have to be entirely you?

You went around to a corner, willing yourself still. Muscles tight. A hand over your mouth to keep from making a peep. So she couldn’t hear you as she searched around. Slowly-her long black hair fell over her face as her head turned around to look.

Yes… She was blind! You could use that to your advantage! What else could you do?

You looked over at the bookshelf right next to her. She passed by it. Hands out. Ready to grab. Devour.

“Fall over,” you asked it silently.

The Bookshelf beside her fell down. It crashed down with a thud as beams came apart and books tumbled to the floor. Dust came in a puff and you could have sworn a spider scurried from there to holes beneath The Weaver jumped. You made items fall around- she followed the sound. You had to create the illusion you were moving, fleeing. Leading her away from you. but you remained still- so she would hear the commotion at the other end of the room. Then she paused calmly.

Her hand reached out. Feeling the top of a certain box under a white blanket. In a second - so quick- she reached beneath it with a free hand. To your horror, she got a knife by its handle. It was raised up, the blade ready to carve you like a roast.

“This will be perfect…now another woman is going to die under these pretty hands…and Thomas again will do nothing to stop it,” she boasted.

She hurried forward with her knife. Picking up her pace, sensing. Her nostrils flaring quietly- to smell you.

You looked over and began to scramble on the floor. You got on all fours, looking around, Trying to be quiet. Where was the box, where was it?

You willed your magic, your senses to help you.

Your senses reached out. Finding, crawling everywhere and feeling the barely open door and Thomas shutting his eyes. a square shape. Glittering- like you could already see it! The same place by the fire! Keeping an eye on her as she searched, sensing for you. You crouched over. Your feet were wide as you crawled slowly. You saw it had indeed tumbled before the crackling fireplace. You reached your arms wide-grabbing it. The texture of its sparkle grazing your palm. You set a hand down to the floor. Ready to get up. Ready to run like hell.

Then the Weaver’s foot came down and crashed on your arm. You let out a scream in pain, Your fingers loosened and released the box.

The Weaver grabbed you by your shoulders. You tried to struggle. You then tried to crawl away on the floor-to the far corner. Test be damned. But she grabbed you by your feet, twisting you- turning you. Looking up, you saw her face. Serene, calm. But with that small smile of triumph-her pupilless blue eyes wide. She held you down.

Though her hand was red with burn marks, she could still use it. raising her knife. The blade right over where your heart was. You squirmed and kicked- but she was so strong, she held you down.

You grabbed her nightgown- willing your fire to go, to move. She only smiled, the flames going over her dress as if they were merely decorations. Her face showed no pain at all.

Dear lord, this was it! This was how you died! Your mind was scrambling. Replaying memories. Thinking of impossible ways out.

You awaited then for the blade to strike, for the pain, and oblivion, for death-when-

SHLICK!

A sword went through her stomach. She gasped her mouth wide in a breathy scream. The air already leaving her mouth, her lungs. The blade over your face. The fire stopped from your hands in surprise.

You saw Thomas behind, the sword he was given thrust forward. His knuckles popped out as he held the handle. Despite the tears in his eyes, he gritted his teeth in determination. He then retreated the sword back through. A giant stain of blood in her middle. Like a puddle. It dripped down, a few drops landing on your face.

You looked at the knife in her trembling hand. Threatening to drop with its blade still forward towards you. You willed it to move, It floated in the air and then you made it toss and skitter away. You freed yourself from the grip of the Weaver and scrambled away. She then leaned over, falling into a ball of pain. Tears in her eyes.

“Thomas…Thomas please…” she pleaded.

You saw the Baronet swallow. He was in pain, but he was going to focus now. His eyes were down and away from her as he leaned down and picked up the golden box, putting it in his pocket.

Thomas helped you up as you held onto the box with your other hand

“Hurry- let’s hurry now!” he pleaded.

As the Weaver went around searching for her knife, you kept sending the junk of the cottage around to barricade her. She got up, stumbling and weak. Wheezing, trying to regain her breath. Jars broke open- the pickled limbs littering everywhere and breaking glass into shards across the floor. She got up, struggling to stand. She stepped over one and screamed so high you jumped.

You and Thomas ran for the door.

The light there was so bright, so blaring, you welcomed it. In three seconds you were both out. You slammed the door shut. Would she escape? You didn’t want to find out. You both went out of the front porch and back into the forest, letting your hands go to increase your pace.

But out from the trees hurried Loki, a dagger wielded in one hand.

“Y/N! Thomas! What’s going on? There were screams!” he cried.

You both went up to meet him. Thomas retrieved the box from his pocket and showed it to him.

“We got lucky- we did it,” Thomas replied.

“Well then! I think our job here is done!” Loki said. There was another rattling scream from the cottage. You winced, but Loki only tightened his lips.

“Can she leave?” you asked.

“Let us not discover if she yet,” Loki said before wielding a flash of golden light and transporting all of you back to Asgard.

All of you landed safely in the heart of a hallway with tall columns everywhere. You had to catch your breath, your heart still racing. Still on the high. Processing that you were alive. Safe. Successful, even. Loki gestured for the golden box, which Thomas placed in his hand.

“All right, now let’s have a look,” you said.

Loki opened it up easily. The inside was lined with silk the color of cream. Like a jewelry box. Fitting, as one of the items tucked inside had a glittering green gem. The other one was grey and dull-made of steel. They were tucked into the silken insides like any piece of jewelry.

Loki got out the duller one- a gear. It shone in its steel as if new. Fresh from a factory. He handed it to Thomas.

“The Cottage must have known you are our clever inventor,” he said. “So the other one must be for our lady.”

The other was a ring. It was carved of gold for the finger. The gem on it was an emerald that shone so bright and beautiful it would make diamonds pale in comparison. You let out a soft gasp. Loki gave it to you. You took the ring and slipped it on your finger, it fit perfectly.

“They’re pretty…but I wonder why those items? Is there a purpose to them?” you said.

Loki shrugged.

“Well, who knows? But, yes, the ring is quite pretty. What about your gear?” he turned to Thomas.

The Baronet smoothed his thumb over it.

“I think I could use it,” he answered. Though his face was still pale and his voice had a quieter tone.

“Alright- now, my curiosity was peaked. What form did the Weaver take?” Loki asked.

“A woman. A woman with long, dark hair and pale skin,” you answered.

“Oh, Sif already!?” Loki asked.

“No, I didn’t know who,” you answered. Then you gestured to Thomas.

“He got her- he saved my life, Loki. She had me and was about to get me- he stabbed her. Probably killed her. And retrieved the box! He was a hero!”

“My! We will make a warrior out of our baronet yet!” Loki replied.

Thomas stepped forward, his shoulders raising up, clutching his gear like a child clutching a toy. Then he turned up, observing Thomas’s face. His eyes softened.

“I think…I might have a guess whose form she took…it was…” Loki wondered.

“Yes. Her.” Thomas answered.

The god put a hand on his shoulder. Thomas looked so shaken- hardly the picture of a triumphant hero. So the woman’s form was someone Thomas knew. And all those things the Weaver said to him…she knew something about Thomas and this lady, whoever she was. What happened with her and Thomas to make him react like that? But his lips were quivering. Thomas was not in a state to discuss what happened.

Suddenly, there was a sound like little chimes. Loki reached into the pockets of his pants. From the opening, there was a green light that glowed so bright it lit up his face. His eyebrows shot up and from his pocket, he retrieved a pocket watch, glowing green.

“Well then!” he said with a grin.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Jonathan gave us a signal-”

“For aid or success?” you pressed.

“I will find out. Get the others in case they are needed- I will be back, don’t miss me too much,” he said as he vanished in golden light.

Word spread around the others to the circle. Jonathan gave the signal, Jonathan gave the signal! All of you hurried to the meeting room. Thomas was moving, though he still looked pale as a ghost. Robert hurried out into the main meeting room, adjusting his grey suit jacket. Hal went out to see as well, groaning as he kept a cold towel pressed to his head.

“What if..what if we all need to fight? What if they outnumber us and we all die!?” you fretted out loud.

Robert looked around, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Then Loki will appear and no doubt take us all, I hope you have your weapons read-”

The Doctor never finished the sentence.

Loki’s magic fluttered in a golden light before you all. A portal opened up. Out hurried Loki. And right after him was Jonathan, and in Jonathan’s arms- Stella. A bundle in her blue dress. Her hands were bound together with rope as they positioned around Jonathan. Her bound feet dangling over the Night Manager's arms. She had stains of tears all over her face, and her dress had dirt stains, but she was fine. And alive.

You let out a cry and ran over to them first. Jonathan held her as easily as you once held your favorite doll in your arms when you were a child. He let Stella gently go to her feet. Loki raised his hand towards the rope bindings.

“Allow me, my dear,” he offered.

With a flick of his hand, the ropes that bound her hands and feet vanished, leaving red marks across her ankles and wrists. One hand went to clutch the blue beads she wore around her neck- charms for protection, for luck. It seemed maybe they worked this time.

“Oh gods, Stella!” you cried as you grabbed her shoulders, pulling her into a hug.

“YN! YN where-where am I?” she asked, letting go to look into your face. Her face seemed a little gaunt, drained, shrunk into herself.

“You’re in Asgard!” you explained. “The very place Loki lives in!”

Her eyes brimmed again with tears.

“YN I…I…” she babbled out.

She burst into crying.

“I was so scared!” Stella sobbed.

You hugged her again, both of you sobbing it out. Feeling her finally wash out her terror, her experience, trembling hard as she wrung out the crying. She clutched onto you. You let her. Once you felt your own tears ebb down, you began to smooth her hair and rub small circles on her back.

“It’s going to be fine- you’re safe now. You’re far away from Grendel. You’re here. Shhh-”

She looked up. Her face was red and twisted from crying. She wiped it off with her hands.

“You got the…the note?” she asked.

“We did. I got it. And we figured out it was a trap made for me. It was Jonathan and Loki who volunteered to help bring you to safety,” you explained.

She let go. She then turned to Jonathan. Then back to you.

"Yes…he was going to use me. Had me out by a tree. They tied me there. Put a gag in my mouth- and kept it in all the time. Waiting for you to arrive…so he could capture or kill you there and then. It was always changing which one it was, YN! And if not…if you never arrived…Grendel was going to…keep me there. He was going to have me be his…his…prize when he got back. Then he’d let his soldiers...take turns with me if they won battles for him…after he broke me in…” she explained, more hot tears falling down her face.

A cold, sudden dread hit your core at your words. You could have murdered them all, you could have. But that was only for later- now what mattered was her story, her pain, her experience needing a listening ear.

“Grendel left to meet with some others. They left me in that tent. Kept taunting me. Teasing how much I’d like his bed, their bed…talked about what they were going to do to me when Grendel was done….and then…he appeared- Mr. Pine appeared. He dressed like the other soldiers. He found my tent. Said he was here to help me. Then he just took me in his arms and ran out to the woods. They were chasing us but…but Loki appeared and…and then we were here…” she finished.

Jonathan nodded his head, still tight.

“Yes. Everything she said is true,” he confirmed.

Loki placed his hands on his hips, tilting his head.

“Why, you’re bleeding, Jon!” he cried.

There were a couple of cuts through the sleeve of his shirt. Fresh, bright blood spilled out. Stella went over and gestured to one, reaching a hand. Jonathan did not flinch away from the ghost of her touch.

“Will you be…alright, Mr. Pine?” she went to her skirt to tear up a bit for a bandage but he put a hand up to stop her.

“You don’t have to do that. It didn’t get anything vital, Miss Harris. There are healers here with plenty of bandages. Right now…you need to get some food and water and some rest after all that.” Jonathan told her.

She went up to Jonathan and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” Stella said.

The Night Manager turned bright pink and smiled at her in response. She went to Loki.

“Thank you too…I always sensed there was just a little bit of good in you…” she said.

The god smiled and made a theatrical bow like an actor.

“Please, the pleasure was mine,” he said.

Servants appeared towards your friend. A guest room was provided for Stella. It was quite dull and plain compared to the other grand rooms- white, grey walls and base furniture. But that didn’t matter now. Loki told the servants to find her a place to sit and to get her something to drink or a small plate of food. Stella was brought to sit on a chair and you knelt next to her, squeezing her hand. She was also cold as ice, Loki added that she needed a blanket. Perhaps a hot bath too to wash out the grime and dirt and the disgusting feeling of being in a disgusting place with such disgusting men.

When a healer arrived to check on Stella, she said other than the burns from the ropes and a few minor scrapes, she was fine. The healer brought out a pot of ointment that she put over Stella’s rope scars. A blanket and a platter of food were brought before her upon a tray set on the table. One maid began a fire for more warmth. Once he made sure everything was met, what wisdom Loki had made him leave. Giving you privacy to be with your friend.

“Did…did they…try to…to…you know. Did they actually…attack you?” you asked.

“It didn’t happen but…they said they were going to…I thought, feared that they would get impatient and- and-” Stella said, her voice breaking off.

Her eyes welled with tears.

“It’s alright. You are safe now- you can cry as much as you need to. Grendel won’t get here- won’t get you.”

Stella gulped down her water and devoured her food. You had never seen her so unladylike when she ate- they must have starved and dehydrated her to weaken her. Weake her resolve and lure you further, the bastards.

“I swear to you, it will never happen again! It won’t! But right now…this is why I’ve been staying here. I am learning how to fight. I just passed a test- I’m going to be considered a warrior. I told you about the training and magic- remember? It’s getting better every day, Stella! I’m becoming a warrior so I can help fight Grendel. Stop his invasion of all the realms. Bring him to justice.”

Stella wrapped the blanket further around her. Her plate and cup were empty. She stared into the fire. Then she spoke with a fierceness, a tone, an anger you had never heard from her since the start of your friendship.

“I hope he and his army burn in hell.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next day, you checked on Stella once she woke up. She was still shaken. Still bursting into tears. Jumping at shadows. She heard a loud noise down the hall (perhaps Thor ambling down to practice his hammer) and she curled into a ball and cried. You had to assure her it wasn’t Grendel or his army. Making sure she ate her food. Reminding her Grendel wasn't here, not here to get her. As you walked Stella around Asgard, you showed her the library. She didn’t want to look at the books, saying she wasn’t in the mood to read. She only wanted to stare out the window onto the city. You brought your embroidery to work on as she sat and merely looked outside. To pass time in comfortable silence. To see her soothed in whatever way she needed.

There was a soft knock on the door, and you both turned. Loki appeared there. Stella said her hellos, then returned to staring out the window. Sad, blank. You could see in her face- she was safe now. But still shaken by what happened. By what almost happened.

“YN, I was thinking…we should return her home,” he suggested quietly.

“Return her? To get kidnapped again?! Didn’t you hear what they were going to do to her?” you hissed.

“Well, I did, but…”

He folded his arms, letting in a deep sigh at her.

“I don’t think she should be made prisoner. Trading one cage for another. She should decide for herself…” he offered.

He leaned against the wall, folding his arms as he watched the scene. You went over to the window and touched her arm. It broke her out of staring as she looked at you.

“Stella…what do you think? Would you like to stay here a little longer…or would you like to go back home?” you asked.

She looked at you.

“I…I’m not sure what I want…I just…I only want…I want not to be scared,” she confessed.

You placed a hand over hers. Loki walked forward, his voice vibrant, almost presentational.

“You are welcome as a guest here as long as you want. If not, Say the word, and I shall be glad to return you back to your home. We will at least need to tell your dear mother and father you are safe here,” he said.

“Could I see…more of the palace?” she asked.

“Oh yes- why don’t you both take a little turn about!” he offered with a smile.

He held the door gallantly open as you both walked out. Then Loki and you exchanged a look. He then smiled at you before he headed into the library.

Stella turned to you.

“Why do they all look and sound like…like…you know…him?” she asked.

“They’re all variants,” you answered. You then briefly explained the concept of variants and that these men were gathered from different timelines to help Loki stop Grendel. Stella asked no questions but only listened. Walking slowly beside you.

There was one hallway where the sunlight draped across from the wide, open windows. She looked up at the tall pillars, chin tilting. Your footsteps made echoes across the hallway. You saw she relaxed her shoulders more. She didn’t seem as jumpy or as teary. Servants came and went. Some eyeing the new mortal woman curiously. In no doubt, Thor would be barging in to meet her like an excited, overgrown puppy any minute.

“Y/N- what about you? Your parents have been so worried about you. They keep fretting about what is happening. I worry about you sometimes,” she asked.

“ I’ve cried my tears over my heartbreak- sometimes still do. I’ll be fine in time! Don’t worry about me!” you assured.

“I’ve noticed. You seem happy here. Happier here than you were at your own wedding,” she commented.

You gave her a smile.

“I…I’m growing more content. And not everything is easy…but…I have a purpose. All of my life, Stella, has been around my family, the people here, and then Will….”

You paused your steps, looking into her eyes.

“When…when I found out what he did, I wondered who I was without him. Then when I was brought here, I wondered who I was without my family. Without my friends. Or anyone back home. And here…I’m finding out exactly that. Finding out what I can do with no one to hold my hand. Finding out how far I can go and what I am capable of- and how it can potentially help so many others,” you said.

“I’m still not sure if I…want to stay here or not…” Stella mused softly.

As you walked out, you heard grunting from outside. Looking out the window, it was a sunny, cloudless, warm day in the courtyard. Both of you turned to look out to spy the source of the grunting from below.

Jonathan and Robert were sparring in the courtyard. Shirtless.

Muscles gleaming from the sweat. The only thing on their upper bodies were the fingerless gloves wrapped around their hands to guard them. You heard Stella’s breath hitch in her throat as she turned to look too.

How many abdominal muscles did they have between them? And their pectorals were so…so wide! And their biceps you were sure could crush steel easily. They let off grunts as they exchanged jabs and crosses. Robert kept a little smirk on his face, a bit of his hair coming undone. Jonathan’s eyes were still forward, determined. Not that you were staring too long at their faces, anyway. And was that…a little bit of hair on their chests? You couldn’t decide which one was better or more beautiful. Something inside you twinged, itched, ached. If they were variants…then did that mean that’s what…they all would look like beneath their clothes? Thomas? Hal? And… And that means…beneath his leathers that hid so much of his body…that’s what…what Loki would look like? You felt saliva gather in your mouth. That forbidden shiver running through you.

You both stared at them as they fought. Then as Robert beat Jonathan, he let out a small laugh. But Jonathan merely smiled. They shook hands and dried off with towels before heading to the shadows.

You and Stella looked back at each other.

“So yes, I’m staying here,” you said.

“I think I’d like to stay a little longer, too,” Stella said, her face bright red.

.─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you trained with Robert the next day, he had his shirt on. Unfortunately and fortunately. The intense exercise stifled your brief moment of lust yesterday. You kept focused on him and your movements.

“Now- think quick! Yes! Now Hook!” he had ordered.

You had been reminiscing over the recent events. It all bubbled up. The sting of Will’s betrayal-it’s memory. You thought it was done but…the visit brought it back. Your parents flat out saying you still should have married Will. To look over his wandering with a smile and say it was better he was happy. Then Stella’s abduction. What they would have done to her had Jonathan not interfered in time. That they were going to trap and kill you- or have you be kept to be a prize alongside your friend.

“Now- jab! Cross! Hook!” Robert instructed.

In the corner- you saw Loki again. He wore lighter training clothes. A bit damp with sweat. But he looked at you and smiled. It felt like a sting- a sweet sting and something inside you kept buzzing when he did that.

And Loki there- his smile. His bright eyes. And who knows what he looked like under those leathers, and if he looked like Robert and Jonathan did- Damn that look on his face! That stupid smirk! You hated yourself. Hated your attraction to him. Hated that you were so drawn to him even when you were dying in that sickbed! Damn Loki, so full of himself and effortlessly charming and beautiful and-

You gave a huge, solid hook to Robert into his right hand. It landed with such force, that it got his hand. He let out a cry of pain and jumped back. You froze.

“Are you alright!?” you asked.

“Oh! I am! Well, then- That was quite a punch!” he laughed.

You looked up at him.

“Sorry I…I got distracted and…and carried away…” you confessed.

“It’s funny…your anger made you punch a little harder, fight harder…I don’t see why you shouldn’t be carried away sometimes.” Robert grinned at you, clearly alright.

Loki applauded as he walked up from his corner.

“We could need you getting carried away, YN! Oh! Spread the word to the others! Meeting in an hour! So let’s review your hooks next and use a new combination…you’re going to use it,” the god announced before he waltzed out the door.

You nodded. Then punched away again. Any minute of training might make a difference. Make you better. And make you more ready for your first real task. Not test. Task.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

In an hour, everyone gathered in the meeting room. Loki was waiting, in his usual fine dark, green, and golden leathers. His arms crossed behind his back as if he was pacing all around. He turned and smiled.

“Well now! My dear little circle! Today we embark to retrieve the book. The spellbook is in Vanaheim as you all know. I paid the Prophet another little visit yesterday and he said that the book is in two parts and where they are kept. One is in the smaller Kved palace. And the other is located in the larger Nott palace.”

“So, we should split up. Find the halves. And return.” Jonathan suggested.

“Well, yes, but…”

Loki then looked at all of you.

“I’ve never been to the Kved Palace, but the Nott one I have visited several times. I must tell you…there are more variants of me that stay there,” he announced.

“Zounds, more?” Hal gasped, tilting his head.

The god let out a little laugh.

“Yes! And they all call themselves Lokis! Kved seems to be lighter. Fewer people in there- still guarded. I don’t know who. But…in the Nott palace, they’re guarded especially by two certain variants. A handsome face that looks much like yours truly who they call The President, and a woman variant- the only one.”

He gestured for all of you to gather around. His eyes were determined.

“Here is the plan. Hal, Jonathan, and Robert shall go to Kved to sleep the night. The rest of us shall go to Nott. We are all just visiting. Cause no trouble or suspicion. Figure out where the book halves are and who guards them. We must be ready- but not let them suspect anything. And there is one tactic I find especially effective- flirtation. Especially with our beautiful lady among us...”

He gestured to you. You lowered your jaw, placing a hand over your heart. Loki continued.

“Y/N, you must flirt with this variant of mine. They call him The President. He is rather…high on himself. And feeding his ego will only distract him more, especially with that pretty face. So charm him, seduce him if you must to disarm him.”

“I’ve never seduced anyone! I’m a decent woman!” you cried in objection.

“Well- then only as a last resort! To break his guard! Only if nothing else works! Just…mere flirtation! And the female variant who guards. I will flirt with her. They do not call me Silvertongue for nothing.”

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Now…any final questions between all of you? None! Well then- how ready are we!? Very!” he announced.

Everyone agreed. Loki conjured weapons to be discreetly hidden. Thomas, Jonathan, and Robert beneath their jackets. You had a white cotton day dress. To seem innocuous, sweet, even charming. But one dagger was hidden to be in the bustle of your skirt. Steel kept just inside the softness.

“Remember-violence is a last resort. And we do not know what obstacles await us to find the book,” Loki reminded all of you.

He conjured a portal and in there all of you walked- ready to search for the book halves and the first key for Grendel's defeat.

You weren’t sure what it would look like, but Vanaheim was mainly made of forests. Beautiful, peaceful forests. Nicer than the Weavers forests.

As all of you walked along the path, the air was cool and fresh. It cleared out revealing a lake as clear as a mirror. So long and wide it went down. Turning your head, it was led to a kingdom. It looked like the ones from storybooks.

The high walls easily let you inside from the smiling, armed guards who merely shrugged as they let you in. The kingdom was a rustic, medieval town compared to the more Romanesque Asgard. Hal looked like he fit right in as he practically strutted down with a smile on his handsome face.

The two palaces were far too tall to miss. A larger one in the center with a flag of the moon. A smaller one to the east waving a flag with a sun on it. Both were made of a cream-colored stone that made them shine like seashells. The Kved palace was almost tall and thin, like a tower. But the Nott palace was like a large rectangle with high, rectangle windows and what seemed to be statues of other Norse deities. None you could name.

“All right, we shall meet up here by this time, tomorrow,” Loki announced. “Though- if one needs more help…send one to the castle to announce it.

It was set and each of you split up into groups. Jonathan, Hal, and Robert headed for the Kved palace. Thomas, Loki, and you took strides toward the large Nott palace. You headed up the steps to the large, dark wooden doors with golden knockers. Thomas lifted one and had it knocked against it.

Who opened the door but an old man in a silly-looking costume. Like a replica of Loki’s- only bright and garish complete with yellow horns on his head and green pants.

“Ah! Dear Loki Good to see you!” he wished, wrapping the God of Mischief you knew into a hug.

“Oh-Classic Loki! I’ve missed you as well!” he wished with a smile.

And they were all called Loki as well! Oh, dear heavens- this was going to be dizzying! At least the variants you knew had different names! You were going to get very confused!

“Do come in! It’s been nothing but parties here lately with all of the variants!” the old man explained.

“What is the purpose of a Loki than to cause Mischief!” your familiar Loki replied.

They laughed and patted each other on the back. You all walked inside the entryway. The palace inside was downright ethereal. Ivory walls and laughter echoed. You swore you heard a harp playing.

“Here- they call me Classic Loki.” The old man introduced himself.

Thomas smiled and shook the old man’s hand.

“Sir Thomas Sharpe, esquire.” he introduced himself.

Loki swirled over to pat Thomas’s back

“He is another variant- isn’t he handsome? No doubt, because of his similarity to me, hm? Sir Thomas Sharpe is a Baronet, Inventor, and a natural dancer to name a mere few. And this here…”

He swept over to you.

“This is another companion of mine. A mortal lady from Midgard, but as warm and lovely as this Vanaheim itself- this is Miss Y/N,” he said.

Butterflies emerged in your stomach from his words. In a way, they never had before with his flowery statements. You swallowed it back. You made a curtsy, giving a smile to greet Classic Loki.

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” you greeted. Classic Loki ebbed his head and acknowledged you.

“All of you-join us! You are in time for the vintage wine!” Classic Loki invited, waving all of you in.

Inside the palace were long wooden halls. Lamps that glowed golden. Art, vases full of flowers, and statues passed by- it felt almost like a nice museum.

He then turned and there was a ballroom. Tall windows, chandeliers, and light, bright walls that almost made your eyes water.

Though as nice as the palace was, so many of the Lokis in the large dining hall ranged from clean to dinghy. There was a scruffy little boy with long, brown hair stealing small cakes to stuff into his face. As you walked out there was a garden full of hydrangeas with a little fountain in the center. The fountains pool, much to your surprise, had a small alligator with little golden Loki horns on his head as a helmet floated about. It got out, passing by your feet-docile as a dog, friendly and harmless. It reached up at you, pawing lightly at your skirt.

“Please don’t bite me,” you whispered.

You leaned down to pet it, and it only smiled. Well, as nice as a crocodile could smile.

But ah, yes. The mission! You turned around, trying to find it. Thomas was already being poured a little glass of wine as he talked to a Loki who wore furs. The Loki was telling a story with a large, dramatic voice, and Thomas smiled at him and sipped. You walked back inside the ballroom. The laughter and the sound of an off-key piano from the corner. The chaotic conversations…that of course only a room full of Lokis could provide. There were tables full of refreshments of round, thick breads and creamy pies.

Thomas seemed focused. But where was…was…

Then you found your Loki…and the woman variant. For, of course, she stood out as the only woman here besides you. Short blonde hair and slender. The woman variant- one of two guards of the book.

There was a back corner where there was a large, clumsy, giant target set up on the wall. The woman had a little table with several knives.

He was leaning against the bar of the table. Close. He was smiling in a way that…that…that you didn’t like. She tested the weight of one and then turned to him. He kept smiling. You felt so stupid. You knew this would happen. Yet why...did you not like it?

She folded her arms. Guarding herself. Tilting her chin. Frowning. But he kept the dreamy look he would give. You could not make out what words he was saying but you knew Loki well enough to know that he was probably oozing with charm, compliments, and smooth words. Complete with that velvet, baritone voice in that tone he always liked to use with flattery and flirtation.

The lady was focused on a target. She kept throwing the daggers. It hit the target- or close to it. There were already at least five other small daggers near the center- never missing. She gave him a glare with one in her hand. Perhaps considering if her next target should be his face. Then kept throwing and hitting her marks perfectly as he waxed poetic to her.

There was a woman back home…

You felt something in your stomach drop and twist.

Another woman who had blonde hair.

A heavy lump gathered in your throat, your eyes feeling hot.

And who wore a grey coat…and when she went about she didn't wear her corset...

The nasty cruel voice in your head was running rampant.

A woman who had a smile on her face. Hid her past bruises with her scarves and collars...

A perfect woman. Another one. Never falling. So any man who ever showed interest in you would no longer as soon as she stepped into a room.

This variant was like…like…

Hot tears threatened to form in your eyes. The self-destructive impulses and thoughts and bitter memories spiraling.

“It’s always some woman, stronger, smarter, better than every other woman…and that’s who you will always lose to. There is always a Cora. Every time you even consider that…that…someone, a gentleman might like you…she will come along again, that bitch. Like a Gorgon growing another head when you think you’ve chopped it off. Y/N, Think of what happened moments before your own marriage…your almost marriage…it will always happen…you will never win, never be wanted, because there will always be someone better. What were you doing letting yourself melt a little to Loki’s charms?! He’s a trickster god! That’s what he does! Plays tricks!”

You forced your eyes away, trying to deepen your breathing. Forcing your eyes on the floor. The off-key music and laughter in your ears.

You then lifted your chin and began to walk away to the crowd. Scanning for this other variant.

Why should that matter? Loki was the kind to flirt to get what he wanted! This was a part of the mission! You hated the feeling of pettiness and jealousy in your stomach. You hated that you grew to like his compliments, his flirtation, for lack of a better word. They flattered you. And yes he was attractive…but nothing more. Yes, nothing more. It didn’t matter. You have plenty of new friends now. That was enough. Men became monsters when it came to matters of romance, and that included gods. And Loki was such a scoundrel and arrogant. Let him be in his environment.

He can flirt with whoever he pleases and I do not care one bit, you thought to yourself, holding your head high.

You continued on your merry way. Then you saw him- The President.

It was obvious- he was wearing a dark, slightly torn suit with buttons that read “PRESIDENT” in large letters. The bright eyes and dark curls and handsome smile.

Loki was doing his part, and now it was time to do yours.

You came up with a smile, as he noticed you. He looked and sounded exactly like Loki. Which was a curious thing- so many different Lokis who all looked different. But this one could be his twin. Even in his voice.

“Ah-now, who are you?” he asked.

“Take a guess,” you said.

He smiled, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Hmmm…perhaps…a beautiful lady who is a little bit bored with her home and has come here for a bit of danger…a bit of excitement…” he smiled.

“I don’t want to be in any danger,” you replied coyly.

He walked up to you. A smirk formed on his lips as he drank you in.

“Then why are you here?” he asked.

“I only wish to…enjoy myself,” you answered. Feigning bashfullness. A slight push to keep him wanting more.

“Then….no doubt I can provide that to you…excuse me, gentleman,” he said, dismissing the other Lokis behind him to see you. His smile having a hunger to it.

Good- now he was in the palm of your hand.

“You did forget the part about my name, good sir,” you said greeted with a little curtsy.

“Then-mystery woman. Relieve my curiosity. Tell me your name.” the president replied.

You gave him your name. He then took your hand and gave it a deep kiss on your knuckles- eyes never leaving. The happy, excited flutters went through your stomach

“It’s a pity you shouldn’t refresh yourself while you’re here- would you like some wine?” he asked.

“My! Quite gallant! Is that how you won so many votes?” you asked with a smile.

“Through some persuasion, campaigning, gaining trust…and a few hearts as well.”

He gave you a wink.

“Why, you’d have my vote!” you responded.

You burst into some giggles. He put you on his arm as he led you forward to the table where drinks were being poured and food served. Glowing in the attention that the President Variant was showering on you.

It seems like this is working. We should have it in no time, you thought.

As you glanced over, you saw Loki beside the woman concentrating on her dagger throwing. Loki looked at you with this copy of him in a tattered suit.

You glanced back into his eyes. This was the plan. Flirt with the variants. It was working extremely well on your end. This should lower the guard of the President at least to discover the location of the half of the spell book.

Yet Loki was not smiling.

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drakiandh · 5 months

Text

Shifting Jewels - Chapter One, Corrupted Clash

YOOOOOO!!! @cosmicrain-draws @otherxagnela, I did it! Here's the first chapter of my Steven Universe/Fusion AU. Hope it fits the cash lol. It's on AO3 under the same name btw.

The unrelenting rain pounded relentlessly, transforming the ground beneath him into a clinging mud that sought to impede his every step. Refusing to yield, he pressed forward, maintaining a determined pace in pursuit of the corrupted gem weaving through the rain-soaked forest. The falling water blurred his vision, but the swish of the gem’s tail remained discernible. As he ventured deeper, marked trees hinted at the proximity of the impending trap. A subtle grin played on his lips, excitement building with each step toward the climax of the hunt.

With a purposeful thrust, he extended his spear, just enough to graze the gem’s leg. It responded with a primal roar, a visceral testament to its degraded state. Despite his inherent superiority, he failed to suppress the brief and shameful hiss that escaped him.

Skidding to a stop in the muddy terrain, satisfaction etched across his face as the meticulously set trap snapped shut with a resounding crack. The gem convulsed within the bear trap, its protests merging with the drumming rain. Its final display of resistance ended with the corrupted gem bursting into mist, leaving the gem to clatter to the rain-soaked ground. Navigating the backup traps, he carefully approached the fallen gem.

In the feeble light, the gem lay before him—a once-proud warrior now marred by animalistic corruption, its once-vibrant azure hue now tainted with ugly shades of green. Hopefully, the Diamonds would be able to reverse the corruption once he found a way to get back to Homeworld. The uncertainty struck a chord in his chest as he picked up the gem and encapsulated it within a crimson bubble. He pushed on its top lightly, sending the bubble away to his temple.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his eyes slipping shut as he stood amidst the relentless downpour. The gentle sensation of the droplets that slid over him momentarily shielded him from the weight of his thoughts. After allowing a few stolen moments to catch a breath he didn’t truly need, he reopened his eyes and took a deliberate step forward. A sharp pang reverberated through him at the motion, causing him to double over as his form glitched and shivered. Fleeting yet intense, the pain subsided, leaving a lingering discomfort.

A soft curse slipped from his lips as his hand instinctively sought for the gem on his back. A wince accompanied the touch, yet he persisted, gently tracing the extensive cracks marbling the red rock. Time weighed on him; he had to hurry, for if the looming threat of the corruption didn’t get to him first, then the impending risk of his shattering will.

A soft chirp escaped him, a dissonant sound that marred the quiet symphony of the rain. A deep frown grew on his face, he despised those seemingly inconsequential noises. Such utterances belonged to creatures of the wild, to insects, not to him—not for a gem designed to command in the crucible of war. He staunchly affirmed his identity, declaring that he wasn’t bound by the constant specter of death, that his body should not bleed, and he shouldn’t be susceptible to pain. However, a quick glance at his arms and legs shattered the illusion.

In some grotesque sense, he admitted, he bore the semblances of an animal. The corruption’s insidious touch reached him, even in the depths where he sought refuge within the planet’s crust. The result? It had morphed him into a grotesque hybrid creature, bestowing upon him a natural armor, unbidden and unbroken by the need for constant concentration. His once-graceful hands morphed into sharp claws, while spikes adorned his arms and legs. He might have welcomed it, had it not been marred by sporadic bouts of animalistic hazes that incapacitated him for days and turned him into something less than the calculated warrior he was meant to be.

A surge of pain jolted through him, an unwelcome intrusion that fractured his thoughts, compelling a pained hiss to escape through clenched teeth. As the wave of discomfort receded, he redirected his gaze upward, fixing a glare upon the sky, more precisely, at the rain that aggravated his gem. The persistent irritation urged him to hasten his steps; he needed to escape before the pain resurfaced. His movements, though quick and precise, bore the subtle aftermath of the recent hunt—a measured trot, simple yet effective, propelling him toward his destination.

The warp pad beyond the forest materialized before him, a sight that prompted a weary sigh to escape him. Stepping onto the platform, he initiated the activation sequence, his form engulfed by the enveloping white beam as he embarked on the tranquil journey through the warp. The low hum of the warp enveloped him, a soothing melody that accompanied him on his brief interdimensional travels. Shaking off the lingering droplets that clung to him like persistent memories, he materialized at his temple within moments.

Stepping off the warp pad, he navigated through the cavernous expanse that served as his dwelling. It was a far cry from what one might envision as a temple—a vast network of interconnected caves, carved naturally by the Earth’s ancient forces. Discovered during his early solitary years, he had claimed it as his own, designating the largest and deepest chamber as a holding room for the corrupted gems he collected. Fortune favored him when he stumbled upon the remnants of an old gem warp pad within the cavern, an artifact from a time when others might have considered the space for storage or as a base. Now, it belonged to him.

The chamber embraced him with warmth, a comforting cloak that gently eased the persistent ache in his back as he stepped inside. A small, appreciative smile tugged at his lips, a fleeting expression of solace before his gaze fell upon the captivating sight that unfolded before him—a sea of well over a thousand bubbled gems.

Among them lay soldiers he had once commanded, their forms encapsulated in the protective bubbles. A few were gems he had personally trained, their potential honed under his meticulous guidance. Others belonged to the rebellion, the audaciously named Crystal Gems—misguided rebels whom he intended to return to service on Homeworld, whether through voluntary submission or the unforgiving embrace of a Rejuvenator.

Yet, amidst the multitude of captured gems, one conspicuous absence resonated. A special sapphire, elusive and untamed, continued to roam the earth unchecked. This particular gem held a unique significance, a presence he desired to see once more, even amidst the looming threat that the encounter might result in his own shattering. Curiosity gripped him as he pondered the potential manifestation of the sapphire’s corrupted form. Would it mirror the colossal and monstrous demeanor of the sapphire’s combat prowess, a formidable force both beside him and against him? Or, perhaps, would it bear a softer, diminutive semblance, a reflection of the gem’s original personality before the taint of corruption took hold?

He found himself immersed in contemplation, a forbidden luxury for a gem of his rank. The act of wondering was a privilege reserved for the Diamonds, the omnipotent rulers unbound by the constraints of laws. It was a privilege bestowed upon the architects who conceived the intricate designs of gems, envisioning the vast potential inherent in the amalgamation of dirt and minerals to give rise to life. It was a privilege granted to those who forged the indelible legacy of Homeworld, allowing them to dream of towering spires and establish bases on desolate moons.

He, on the other hand, was a humble soldier—a commander, yes, but a soldier nonetheless. In the hierarchy of gem society, he existed to execute orders, not to indulge in idle contemplation. Wondering was not his domain, a realm he shouldn’t even be able to access. Yet, as one of his claws gently traced the surface of a bubble, he found himself succumbing to the forbidden allure of curiosity, allowing his mind to venture into the forbidden territory of speculative thoughts.

Those thoughts, once crisp and defined, now morphed into indistinct muddles, a hazy fog settling over his consciousness. The widening of his eyes marked the realization of an impending descent into the tumult of corruption, a curse escaping his lips as the disorienting wave washed over him. Swiftly, he pivoted on his heels, abandoning the room in a frantic retreat.

His hurried footsteps reverberated through the labyrinthine halls, their rhythm growing increasingly erratic as the encroaching corruption tightened its grip. Panic, a disconcerting sensation that had once been foreign to him, now clung to him like an old companion, urging him to greater speeds. His mad dash led him to the warp room, a sanctuary where the promise of escape beckoned.

Time dwindled rapidly, and the urgency mounted. Barely managing to step onto the warp pad, he initiated the sequence, opting for a random destination in a desperate bid for salvation. However, the corruption’s relentless advance proved insurmountable. In the final throes of consciousness, he succumbed to the encroaching darkness, his vision fading into an abyss of black.

He stirred into consciousness after what he knew was a long time, the dull throb of a headache persisting within his thoughts. A low groan escaped his lips, his eyes clamped shut against the pulsating ache in his skull. Nestled in the shadows, he remained motionless, seeking to replenish some of the energy devoured by the encroaching corruption. As the minutes ticked by and the headache receded into a more manageable ache, he cautiously focused on his surroundings.

Without unveiling his eyes, he initiated a deliberate ascent, settling onto his knees. Flinching at the sparks of pain, a deep breath offered a modicum of relief to his frazzled nerves. The air, tinged with an unexpected saltiness, felt damp and cool, a welcome antidote to the lingering burn of exhaustion. Gradually, he tuned into the subtle sounds—the wind weaving through the trees, the distant lapping of waves, and the earthy texture beneath his hands as they pressed into the soil. Wait…

Opening his eyes, he glanced downward, confirming that his hands were indeed embedded in the ground. The notion that the ground possessed an audible quality struck him as intriguing. Lifting his eyes to the night sky, he surveyed the tranquil surroundings. It was a peaceful night, with the moon gracefully descending toward the horizon, heralding the imminent arrival of dawn.

The world unfolded around him with an unsettling clarity, a starkness that surpassed his comfort. His brow furrowed into a frown as he raised a hand to rub at his face. Something felt amiss. Was he facing the throes of mortality? Could he even succumb to such a fate? Sighing, he ran his hand roughly through his hair. A near-painful sensation bit at his head, forcing his hand back. A soft hiss escaped him as he inspected his hand, finding the limb unharmed. Whatever had bitten him seemed to reside on his head. Could it be a small animal? No, the sensation didn’t seem disconnected from him.

Slowly, he lifted his hand again, delicately sifting through his hair in search of…

There. He gently curled a finger around an odd stem protruding from his head, a subtle unease coiling in his chest. The reason for his discomfort eluded him as he touched the peculiar stick-like growth. A swift survey of his surroundings confirmed his suspicions. Sticks, remnants of his corrupted haze, had entangled themselves in his hair. Another sigh escaped him before he wrapped his hand around the intruding stick and tugged.

A guttural scream tore through the air as a surge of pain seared through his head. He recoiled, burying his forehead into the cool earth, his hands scrambling to dig through his hair and cradle his aching skull. Shivers wracked his frame, the lingering pain refused to dissipate as swiftly as the sharp, immediate agony accompanying his initial crack. This was different—reminiscent of the persistent torment he endured during the onset of his crack or the insidious grip of corruption’s first embrace.

Gradually, the pain began to ebb, a slow retreat from its initial ferocity. After agonizing minutes, he tentatively attempted to sit up once more. One hand remained entwined in his hair, anchoring him in the present, while the other planted firmly into the soil for stability. A twinge of discomfort coursed through the thing on his head as he moved, prompting a soft hiss. Extricating his hand from his hair, he inadvertently caught another appendage. A cursory search revealed only two entangled in his hair before he rested his hands in his lap, glowering at the empty space before him. Another gift corruption-induced addition, a bothersome intrusion into his being.

One of the appendages twitched in response to his annoyance, catching his attention. Its length was such that it intruded into his peripheral vision.

A low growl, a shameful animalistic sound, escaped him as he rose to his feet. Gingerly, he touched the newly acquired appendages, relieved when the one he had tugged didn’t trigger a surge of pain. Now, the challenge lay in figuring out if he could exert control over these strange extensions. Concealing them would be ideal—perhaps tucked away in his hair if they reached far enough back.

With careful precision, he brushed the appendages backward, experiencing relief as they obediently nestled into his hair. Experimenting with different movements, he searched for a specific new nerve that would grant him control. After several minutes of focused practice, he succeeded in maneuvering them to some extent, allowing him to keep them discreetly concealed within his hair. Though still present, they became barely noticeable, at least from the front. A quick touch confirmed their length, indicating they were long enough to protrude from his hair in the back—a less-than-ideal outcome. Nevertheless, they were now out of his line of sight, and should he encounter a human and find himself too fatigued to dispel the creature, he mused that he could pass it off as an intentional aesthetic choice. After all, humans in this era were consumed by their appearances.

He embarked on the journey to retrace his steps, guided by the rising sun illuminating his path. Proficient in the art of tracking, be it trailing corrupted gems or retracing his own corrupted footsteps, he navigated the terrain with practiced ease. Hours passed before he encountered something familiar, the sun nearing its zenith. His clawed hand gently traced ancient carvings, grappling with the embarrassment of taking an unusually long time to recall the language in which the words were etched.

“Star was here,” he mumbled to himself, his voice low and rough from disuse. Peeling back some moss, he revealed cartoonish depictions of what appeared to be Pink Diamond and several other gems. Similar carvings adorned the planet, ranging from simple declarations like ‘Star was here!’ to intricate sculptures of gems and the Diamonds. Over the years, he had found solace in discovering these marks, a reminder that he hadn’t always been alone.

This particular carving, one he had encountered many times, served as a natural marker signaling his proximity to his temple. A few miles north, he would be able to retreat to the comforting warmth of the lowest chamber, earning a well-deserved break. A hiss escaped him as his hand started glitching, swiftly reforming into a foot. Frowning, he shook the limb until it reverted to its original state.

Rumors circulated about the Crystal Gem’s leader possessing the ability to heal any gem—an ability that enraged Homeworld, as healing powers were reserved for the elite, namely the Diamonds. How the rebellion’s leader acquired such powers remained a mystery, but he had made it his mission to uncover the secret of the healing fountain the rebels so proudly boasted about. The sooner he found that fountain, the sooner he could mend his crack and devise a method to stave off the encroaching corruption.

His antennae (a term he adopted after observing their uncanny resemblance to a local beetle’s) involuntarily perked up, alerting him to the distant murmur of voices. Though too far away to discern the words, one of the voices struck an oddly familiar chord. His eyes narrowed in thought. Could it be one of the humans he had conversed with in the past? Unlikely, as too much time had passed for any human to remember him. When was the last time he had engaged in conversation with one? Their lifespans were short, and he reckoned it had been well over 50 years since his last encounter. The voices drew nearer, sparking a curious itch born from some corrupted instinct within him. Deciding to dismiss it, he turned and resumed his journey to the temple.

“Aw, come on!” The voice echoed with a familiarity that tugged at the edges of his memories. Against his better judgment, he pivoted on his heel and hastened toward the source. Surprisingly, his antennae proved more sensitive than he initially realized, taking nearly ten minutes to pinpoint the location. As he slowed and crouched down, he could hear the humans’ laughter.

“Yeah, I recognize this spot.” The voice, the one that triggered a peculiar urge within him, stirred an unspoken desire for conflict. Creeping closer, he observed the two figures in a small clearing. In its center, a seemingly ordinary rock assumed a significant role—a base pillar, its original purpose obscured by time, now a favored spot for humans to lean on.

The human leaning against the pillar appeared peculiar yet strangely familiar. Their skin bore a rich brown hue with subtle blue undertones, their hair so dark blue it verged on black in the absence of direct sunlight. Dressed in vibrant colors of pink and yellow, they crossed their arms over their chest, grinning at the other human.

“Why do you want to come here anyway?” The other, a plainly dressed villager in comparison, inquired. The colorful individual patted the pillar beside them.

“I’m hunting,” declared the colorful human. “I’ve been here before, and I heard rumors that there’s some massive beast nearby.” Unbeknownst to the human, the beast they sought was likely the corrupted gem he had recently subdued.

“Well, that beast hasn’t been seen for a while. Some folks back in town mentioned hearing it scream before a loud bang echoed out. Sorry, but I think someone else got to it first.” The plain human responded nonchalantly. The colorful one leaned forward, their once casual expression replaced by a more serious demeanor.

“What did the bang sound like? Did it have an odd echo?” They inquired, keenly attentive. The plain human, oblivious to the shift in mood, hummed and shrugged.

“It didn’t sound like a gunshot, that’s for sure. Can’t recall much; it happened on the other side of the city.”

“That’s alright,” the colorful human said, relaxing against the rock. Despite their seemingly nonchalant posture, an experienced observer might discern an undercurrent of tension, as if they anticipated a confrontation. “You’ve given me enough, don’t worry. I’ll make sure that bigger beast doesn’t come close.”

“Wait—there’s a bigger one?” The plain human’s expression shifted to one of fear. A breathy chuckle escaped his hidden form at the sight. They shrugged.

“Yeah, reckon it’s still close-” Their words were abruptly cut off as the human hastily fled, running down the path they had arrived on, leaving the colorful human alone. Sighing, they closed their eyes, appearing relaxed despite the lurking danger just beyond the bushes. The silence lingered, causing some of his corrupted instincts to subside. This human wasn’t the one he knew—

“I know you’re there,” the human’s unexpected declaration caught him off guard. One of their eyes slipped open. “You’re one smart corrupted, I must admit.” A threatening hiss escaped him at the title that belonged to him. The human stepped forward off the pillar and removed their jacket, revealing a beautiful blue gem on their chest. A gem! A gem that wasn’t corrupted! His joy at encountering another gem was tainted when he recognized the familiar face.

“Star,” he spat the name with a hiss, rage coursing through him. The gem, the Star Sapphire, flinched back.

“Oh shit, you’re not corrupted—? Wait—Painite?!” The Sapphire exclaimed in shock. Was that his name? His name was Painite. How could he have forgotten?

Emerging from the shadows, Painite, yes, that sounded right, revealed his full form, causing the Sapphire to inhale sharply in shock. “You are corrupted…” the Sapphire remarked, a sad expression overtaking his face.

“Do not pity me, Sapphire,” Painite hissed, flexing his claws, a burning desire to tear through something coursing through him. “I am corrupted, so what?”

“Wait, hang on, Pie-”

“Do NOT call me that!” Painite snapped, reaching a hand back to his gem. Summoning his weapon caused him pain, but he was determined to finish what he had started all those years ago. The Sapphire cringed at the sight, briefly eliciting a sense of joy within Painite. Yet, it was swiftly crushed by the resurgence of the familiar feelings of rage and betrayal.

“Wait, wait, wait! We’re not in the war anymore!” The Sapphire protested hastily, raising his arms as if to shield himself from Painite’s imminent attack. Painite, however, knew better than anyone that the Sapphire held tricks up his sleeves, and he must have only honed his skills over the years. “We don’t have to fight!”

But rage clouded Painite’s judgment, fueled by the corruption. “TRAITOR!” he screeched, lunging forward to swing his spear. The Sapphire yelped and agilely leaped backward, narrowly evading the attack. Painite swung again, prompting the other gem to raise his hands in defense. The spear’s tip effortlessly sliced through the body of light, eliciting a scream of pain from the Sapphire.

“Oh! Fine! If you want a fight, I’ll give it to you!” the Sapphire declared, tapping the blue gem in his chest. His hands transformed back into their original rich blue hue. Despite the haze of corruption, Painite managed a grin. Finally, they were on equal ground. When Painite swung again, Star caught the weapon with one hand and shattered its tip with the other.

This time, it was Star who initiated the attack. He thrust his hand in Painite’s direction, a seemingly futile gesture to anyone else. However, Painite had trained Star, honing his attacks and shaping him into the warrior he had become. Now, it was time to see if the skills he imparted on Star had endured the years on Earth. Painite leaped back, narrowly avoiding the spikes of hands that shot up from the ground. They wriggled in the air momentarily before retreating to the ground, reemerging beneath Painite’s feet.

Dancing around the hands, long-forgotten muscle memory asserted its place in Painite’s chest and legs. With ease and precision, he maneuvered around the hands, slashing at any that approached too closely with his newly reformed axe. Closing the distance to Star, Painite swung his axe with a flourish, aiming for the Sapphire’s defeat.

The weapon was caught by Star’s hands, catching Painite off guard just long enough for the Sapphire to freeze his hands around him. Painite thrashed as he was restrained, kicking at the hands holding him as he was lifted into the air.

“C-Calm down, Pain,” Star panted, and Painite could only hiss in response, baring his sharp teeth in a threat. The corruption’s haze clouded his mind, causing him to act on a mix of pure hatred and corrupted instinct. “Painite! Calm down! Damn it!” Star yelled, panic etching his features.

Painite hissed again, mixing a few clicks of his teeth snapping together. Star’s grip tightened, prompting a low whine to escape his throat. “Painite, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to poof you,” Star said, a pained expression crossing his face. The tightening grip momentarily jolted Painite from his haze, and a strained laugh escaped him at the Sapphire’s words.

“It would be better to-” His words were cut off by a wince as the grip tightened to dangerous levels. He felt his form begin to ripple, his cracked gem taking too much strain. He chuckled and stared down Star. “To shatter me.”

And the world went white as he poofed.

#prohibitedwish #prismo #prismo the wishmaster #prohibited wish #human prismo #kinda #adventure time prismo #scarab design #scarab fionna and cake #human scarab #they're really not human #the scarab #prohibitedwish fanfic #prismo fionna and cake #prismo x scarab #scarab x prismo #prohibitedwish au #Shifting Jewels #Shifting Jewels AU

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shintin · 1 year

Text

Gunpowder Dreams

Chapter 1 (Saudade)

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

They didn't know a wounded man would show no mercy when they took the best thing he ever had away from him. What did they say? Don't poke the dragon if you can't take the heat; if you do, expect the flames.

Genre: explicit smut, toxic relation, romance, angst (Mafia au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, Alternative Universe/Modern Setting, no spoilers from manga and anime, dominate Vash the Stampede, sexual situations, dub-con, graphic violence, gore, angst, toxicity, gun-play, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, too many smut scenes, emotional trauma, and etc.

Song Recommendation: Jay-Jay Johanson - Smoke

Chapter Index - Next Chapter

The crimson sun was hiding behind the horizon, the orange sky was clear of clouds, and a light mist filled the cool, crisp afternoon air. The ground was covered with a blanket of colors, the barbecue-red leaves hanging silently on the trees surrounding the old mansion. The muffled winds deadened all sound in the forest, slowing the bellow bells of nocturnal animals like forgotten laughters slobbering beneath elderberries. There was still some fire in the oak leaves, but only barely. Noosed by coils of dragon breath, fog-tinted fairy trees stood alone in fields.

Weak pitter-patters could be heard, but they weren't for the rain. Someone was walking up the stairs. All alone on the rooftop was a man with eyes as gloomy as the sky, filled with damnation and saudade. The cataclysm was coming, he knew.

The breeze tousled his blonde hair, coercing his body forward as if urging him to jump, to take the leap and plunge to his death.

You won't regret it.

The intrusive thought lingered on the tip of his fuming cigarette as he tapped the ashes down.

He didn't know what was happening to him. There was something—a feeling—simmering inside of him. Something he didn't dare to approach, something he didn't want to acknowledge. Banging on the doors of his heart, begging to be let out, it clawed at the cage he had trapped it in.

Every day.

Every fucking day felt like reliving the same nightmare. Falling apart, he would open his mouth to shout, fight, and swing his fists, but his vocal cords were cut, and his shoulders were heavy and weighed down by his sins. He was caught, and it was killing him.

Maybe there was no hope for him anymore.

He was tired. He was tired. He was tired. He was tired. He was tired. He was tired. He was tired. So tired and angry.

Staring at his feet, hands, and this thin rooftop ledge, he wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to fall to his knees. He wanted to curse the world for cursing him, torturing him, and taking away the only good thing he ever had.

For quite some time now, he'd accepted that the only way out of this sleepless nightmare was to take a step forward. It would only take one more step for all problems to be solved. That was all. Yet somehow, he felt like crashing into rough stone pavement would not leave a pleasant sight, to say the least. Also, what if he didn't die right away? What if he miraculously survived the fall and was forced to lie there, bloodied and broken, waiting for his body to give out finally? Or what if his body refused to give out, and he had to live the rest of his life as a plant?

All regrettable.

Staring far away, he stroked the glowing stick with his thumb. The warmth in the air during the last month had either evaporated into the sky or leached into the earth. Well. It wasn't just the weather. There had been a lot of change since last month. He had lost a lot. A few pairs of clothes, a bottle of Bride wine, and some blue pockets of Skulls cigarettes were all he had now—his beloved's heritage.

His hands trembled slightly, followed by lips pressing together. Closed his eyes, he breathed in the scent of soil and dew, hoping to swallow down the vicious lump forming in his throat.

Stop thinking about him, Vash.

But the smoke of this cigar was all he needed to get transported back to when Nico was still breathing and smiling with a stupid strawberry lollipop stuck in his mouth. Huh! If Nic saw him smoking, what would he say? Especially since he was a pain in the black-haired man's ass to quit smoking.

So eager to die, Needle Noggin? Y'know there are faster ways. C'mon, take a step and meet me in hell. Easy peasy. Don't you miss me?

With a hint of a smile that didn't reach his eyes, a blank stare seeped into his face like a vat of acid. Raising his hand, he slipped the cigarette between his soft lips, longing for the lost bittersweet kisses.

His whiskey brown eyes, peeking at him with the sunrise. His blessed smiles, gifting him butterflies. His smooth skin, touching his body like a sin. His cinnamon smell, filling his nostrils well. His big feet, touching him under the sheet. His warm hands, conquering his body's lands. His pounding heart, feeling like a fine art. His endless desire, burning him like a wildfire. His tender touch, feeling like a fine Scotch. His cocky smirk, making him the biggest jerk. His rigid muscles, giving him rough hustles. His soft hair, becoming his fingers' lair. His overwhelmed sweats, pounding him for sets. His shy groans, getting lost in his loud moans. His spit on his hole, kisses around his mole. His throbbing length, taking away his strength. His whispers in his ear, shooing away his fear. His peace in his arms, pushing away all of the harms. His never-ending need, revealing his hidden deed. His endless meekness, turning into his greatest weakness. His prayer as a song, driving away every wrong. His peaceful dreams, hiding his painful screams. His contagious laughter, calling down every disaster. His goofy attitude, giving him latitude. His eye-blinding light, forcing his soul to ignite.

The tip of the cig was glowing, smoke getting in his eyes, but he couldn't care less. Having Nic's scent faded from his clothes, this coffin nail was all left to feel him around.

Fuck!

He swallowed down what he knew would kill him, but wasn't this a part of the torture of being left on earth when another was gone?

In this steady thrum that accompanied quiet, his mind was unkind to him. He thought too much. He felt, perhaps, far more than he should. To push these memories away, he clenched his fists until he felt pain. There was no point in remembering. He didn't want to think about those things anymore. He wanted to outrun his mind, his memories.

It was like his face was pressed up against a glass, watching a scene from far off, wishing and wanting to be a part of something he knew he'd never be able to experience again. He forgot sometimes, that there were people out there who still managed to smile every day, despite everything. Who knows, maybe they hadn't lost their anchor yet.

Sucking in a rush of air, he brought his hand to the base of his throat. It wasn't gloom at all in his expression. It was despair. It was the agony.

This must be what they meant by misery. He thought he was familiar with it. He thought he knew, with perfect clarity, what it felt like to be in pain, but now he finally understood.

Everything that happened before was child's play.

But this. This was suffering. This was pure, unadulterated torture. It felt like a truck had run over him, breaking every bone in his chest, and now he was stuck here, the weight of losing Nicholas crushing his lungs. Luckily, he knew who was to blame, which thrilled him to have a target to direct his anger.

He took a step back. It wasn't the right time to act all crazy. Not now. Not until he avenged his Nick's murder.

Taking a long drag, he gambled with the hope of getting numb as his shining gloomy eyes watched the fumes slowly drifting away, leaving a cloud of gray.

He was snapped out of his musings when he heard a throat clear.

"Boss?"

Ah! This voice. Vash didn't need to turn his head to recognize the man whose mere existence was enough to drain every last ounce of will to live from him. The brown nose of his brother, Legato Blusummers. He and his light blue, thinning hair matted on his forehead from sweat with a silver-colored shirt too loose on him.

Legato's eyes bounced between Vash and the edge of the rooftop he was standing on, emanating nervous energy yet with a disgusting type of delight. As far as this sewer rat was concerned, only one thing was standing between him and earning some value in the eyes of his master: this blond man, the little brother of Knives.

How pitiful.

Vash let out a sigh, not bothering to move, and let Legato be joyous with the thought of his brain splashing on the ground as he fell. After all, even this pathetic creature deserved a little pleasure in his miserable existence, didn't he?

The smoke burning its way out from his throat to his nostrils forced him to reconsider his choices.

As a kid, Rem forbade him from going near the ledge. It was, however, his favorite spot in the manor. The view was breathtaking, especially when the sun was about to set, and crows flew by the clouds. Soon, he recalled how he and Nic would sit here and drink whiskey on starry nights. Funny how motherfucker used to light a cigarette with another as if his life depended on it, only to make the sheets smell like ashtrays.

Well. Not anymore.

Dark shadows were casting over this lonely piece of land. He was standing one foot away from danger, life, and death, separated by a cemented ledge. Soon, it would disappear in the darkness of the night, and if he weren't careful, he would too.

Vash glanced over his shoulder at the man before the roof entrance. Seeing his expression through the smoke was hard, but Legato notched the disgust. "My household is off-limits to you," he seethed his teeth. "Scram, runt! Or I'm gonna knock you off the edge," he spoke in a cold, indifferent tone, even though he knew this would probably be a favor to this varmint.

Legato cowered a step back. His experience around the twins had taught him that they would never make empty promises, but he was ordered here to fulfill a purpose. He was a messenger. "Are you okay, Vash-sama?" Legato blurted out the words almost quietly. "You're still wearing black."

The last rays of the sun were setting in Vash's small golden earring, only to be absorbed by the tattoos adorning his neck. The corners of his mouth curled in distaste as he blew a puff of smoke out of his nose. A predatory gleam glinted in his eyes, a wicked smirk on his lips.

"No way!" he scorned. "You've got eyes like an eagle."

Irked by how this lowly human was taking his time, he patiently folded up his sleeves, cracking his neck in the meantime. "What is it? Need something from me?" he grumbled, growing increasingly annoyed. "Spit it out."

"I've got good news for you," Legato responded shortly, so sure and full of himself.

An expression of confusion washed over Vash's face for a moment, then a look of apathy replaced it. "If this is some foolish attempt at getting my attention, then I'd suggest you cut it out right now, boy," he said, releasing a tired sigh. "And don't get it twisted. I'm in no way interested in your news."

The breeze blew hard, swirling around them and stirring up their hair. Ashes flew with the wind, his seafoam eyes watching their successful escape. How lucky. A few locks of his hair fell over his eyes, and he flicked them away, taking a final inhale from his cigarette before crushing it with the sole of his boot.

Why was this dimwit still here? He needed to learn his place, and soon. Because the longer this went on, the more likely it was for Vash to have to "teach" him a lesson with the back of his hand.

The thoughts of finger-cutting and nail-pulling were almost causing his fists to ball up, but he took a deep breath and held it, counting to ten to clear his mind. He was so damn tired to deal with Legato right now. He could swear that if the man had a brain, it'd have left through the moron's ear by now. Ugh.

Seeing Legato trying to speak again, he put a hand up to silence him. "And now you're starting to bore—"

"The cargo is here," Legato said. "The one you told your men to bring."

Vash's heart stopped for five seconds before kicking into high gear and climbing up his throat. A flock of pigeons nearby were sent flying when he turned and unsheathed his signature .45 Long Colt so fast. The gun was aimed at Bluesummers, his forefinger on the trigger.

Looking around, it took Legato a moment to process the scene before him, and when he did, his golden-brown eyes widened into saucers. Seeing the intensity in Vash's eyes, he immediately halted and put up his hands, hoping to show his surrender and prevent him from making impulsive decisions. What else did he expect when he revealed something he shouldn't have known? "S-Sir," he muttered, his body trembling, his fingers digging into his palms.

With his gun still pointed at the scared man's head, Vash walked closer to him until he was just a few inches away. He grabbed him by the collar and raised the jacket right next to his throat, sneering down at him. "HOW DID YOU FIND OUT ABOUT THIS? WHO TOLD YOU?" he demanded, his voice dripping with anger as he took another step toward Legato and got right up in his face. "Who do you think you're spying on me?" He gritted his teeth.

Legato looked at him, his heart lodging in his throat when he saw Vash cocked the hammer on his gun, a clear indication that he meant serious business right now. At this moment, all he felt was terror. "N-n-no," he hardly mumbled. "Master Knives…He ordered me to inform you."

"WHAT?" Vash's pulse raced, and he breathed heavily, almost as if he were about to burst.

The poor man's shoulders were shaking. "Master took the cargo in before your men since he cared for your wellbeing. He said he would gift wrap it to surprise—" He didn't dare to look the Don in the eye. His face was white with fear, his hands trembling visibly, attempting to cover his face with them. It was clear that he was utterly terrified of Vash. And with good reason, too. It was well-known what this spiky-haired man could do when he was mad.

"I don't give a damn what my brother said!" Vash snapped, each word filled with rage and venom. He placed the tip of the gun against Legato's chin. "How this happened?" His muscles tensed, and he cracked his knuckles, his blood boiling. Money-hungry mercenaries. Indeed his brother had filled their pockets as their scales had leaned toward the heavier side.

This didn't come as a surprise. A million reasons made him hate Kni, but the cherry on top was when Nicholas D. Wolfwood was murdered. It had been more than four weeks since they found out about it. Both knew the culprit. Gasback's men killed Nick for crossing some lines he wasn't supposed to, and not only did they not return his body to be buried, but they kept all of his belongings, even his glasses and fucking lighter.

He wasn't allowed to lay a finger on Gasback since the war between the two Mafia families would weaken both of them against their rivals. And certainly, Kni wasn't willing to take such a risk just because someone had taken away his little brother's favorite doll. Fucker!

He probably would have spilled his twin's blood if they weren't brothers, but when you're stuck in the mud, family, and blood relatives are all you have.

Of course, Vash had no intention of stepping back. Despite unwritten rules prohibiting him from skinning Gasback alive and playing with his bones until he begged to die, no button man had ever followed them. That dirty thief would pay for what he'd taken away from him, so he definitely needed this cargo safe and untouched.

What a pain! This whole situation appeared to require his own ways. Crossing him had to be punished, but this was a problem for another to solve. Seeing Legato's lips move, his eyes narrowed.

"Bitch was walking toward her car in the parking—"

Legato's sentence was interrupted by a fist landing on his mouth, causing him to stumble a few steps back. "Call my cargo that again and you won't live long enough to take another breath!" He fought back the urge to pull the trigger and rip this man to shreds right here and now. "You would do well to watch your tongue in my presence," he growled at him. Somehow scaring the shit out of this man was bringing some kind of peace to him.

Because here, in the dark corners of his mind, he felt a strange relief. He was always welcome here, in his loneliness, in his sadness. In this abyss, there was a rhythm he remembered. This is what anguish does to some people. When others suffer too, they don't feel alone - Vash's new philosophy.

He guessed he had been this way all along, because you can't just grow up with Kni and not find pleasure in tormenting others. Good thing they were living in separate wings of the mansion now and only met each other to finish dirty work. Better this way. However, it shouldn't be misunderstood. There was no good or bad between the Saverem twins. They were like solar and lunar eclipses. Neither brought light, only darkness.

Legato watched as Vash closed the gap between them, his nose bleeding on his pale lips. The gunman's grip was tightened on the pistol, a snarl on his face, his eyes stabbing daggers.

Vash stood too close to him, breathing down into his ear. He placed a hand on the bleeding man's shoulder, the other pressing the nuzzle of his colt on the spot his little dick must be hiding. "Where is the girl?" he hissed in a low voice. "Tell. Me. Now." He shoved Legato to the ground, making this waste of space kneel before him.

"Master keeps her in the dungeon," Legato responded, gasping as if someone had strangled his throat.

Vash paused momentarily, but those words set him off like a bomb. Having been in that dungeon before, he knew what it meant. Growling in rage, he kicked Legato in the face with his knee. Then he lowered his face to his greasy hair, a sinister smirk appearing on his lips. "You're lucky it's not a bullet going inside that hollow head of yours, runt!" His back straightened as he landed another kick in the crotch.

White, hot rage.

It was all he knew now. From where he stood, the world seemed so black and white, so easy to demolish and destroy. This new anger. It was so raw, so potent, actually calming as if that wild feeling had finally found its place. Having stopped ripping out his gut, the monster in him sat comfortably in his bones, a powerful desire that he thought might consume him.

He was a monster.

He could do anything.

Anything.

And first things first, he was going to accept his dear brother's invitation. It would be rude not to attend the party, wouldn't it? He had to visit Kni personally and express his gratitude. It may be the time for Kni to learn the lesson he failed to grasp the first time.

Do. Not. Touch. My. Stuff.

This girl was his. She belonged to him. Skin to the bone, his revenge leverage, and no one else would get their hands on his toy. No one. This time, Kni and his goons made a grave mistake.

Turning back the gun in its holster, Vash approached the door, making his way to the dungeon—the playroom.

p.s: I hope you liked the first chapter. If you want to be on the tag list, please leave a comment.

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mirandyficlists · 8 months

Text

Vampire Mirandy Fics

A Little Help by Punky96https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236278

An Eternity to Spare by Poisonedprada https://archiveofourown.org/works/42593406/chapters/106989240

Andy the Vampire Slayer by la fono journal restricted

Blood by Mirandameryl https://mirandameryl.livejournal.com/18326.html

Coming Back by Spelledink https://archiveofourown.org/works/24794860

Crimson Dusk by MSeren https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761940/chapters/54390133

Crimson Mist by Teenybirdy https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401262/chapters/35744199

Destined by Barnaby317

Destined Too by Barnaby 317

Deleted LJ account I have the fic if you want it.

Devil’s Night by Chilly Flamehttps://archiveofourown.org/works/2673128

Enough Sunrises and Sunsets by Bearblue https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670815/chapters/39091651

Family Resemblances: Devils in New York by Anglocat https://archiveofourown.org/works/43417521/chapters/109147308

Feast by Ubiquitousmixiehttp://ubiquitousmuse.livejournal.com/16153.html#cutid1

For All Eternity by Literary_Assassin https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7274179/1/For-All-Eternity

For All Eternity – Healing by Literary_Assassin https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8147577/1/For-All-Eternity-Healing

Eternity Unending by Literary_Assassin https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9516845/1/Eternity-Unending

Family Resemblances by Anglocat https://archiveofourown.org/works/43417521/chapters/109147308

Forever Entwined by Barnaby317 (au Andy/Cassidy) Deleted but I have the fic.

Gift or Curse by blackgri71 http://ralst.com/GiftOrCurse.HTM?fbclid=IwAR0-be_36Qld_e6I0wY3CCqzEGuUFPARO-1zNsUljCqJELZbTEm_Lni59w4

Happy Bloody New Year by larry200 https://dvlwears-prada.livejournal.com/tag/user%3A%20larry200

Illusion by Chilly Flame https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675362

Illumination (Illusion pt2) by Chilly Flame https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675440

In the Night by RLkite https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594853/chapters/59408587

Intended by Steren_Heart https://archiveofourown.org/works/40117956

It’s Always Darkest Before the Dawn by catherinewestwood https://catherinewestwood.wordpress.com/ff-its-always-darkest-right-before-the-dawn-teaser/

Magnificent (unfin) by Slv1987 https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515037/chapters/36014934

Masquerade Dreams by azarove-angara http://dvlwears-prada.livejournal.com/206545.html

Mistaken Identity by Icequeen1955 https://icequeen1955.livejournal.com/1736.html

Night and Blood by Obsidiana https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8163827/1/Night-an-Blood

Night of the Living Dead by Pure_Ecstasy6 https://archiveofourown.org/works/18019361

One True Thing by elf-jet http://ralst.com/OneTrueThingDWP.HTM

Presentable by Pin_Drop Deleted but I have it.

Shadow of the Night by Scarlettscribblehttp://www.fanfiction.net/s/4628264/1/Simple Pleasures by Giantessmess https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126527/chapters/50275082

Tainted Crossing by Melanacious Deleted but I have it.

Teeth by Surena13 http://archiveofourown.org/works/320341

The Narcotic Night by Politic X http://politic_x.tripod.com/narcotic.html

The Devil’s Girl (au BTVS) by acs http://archiveofourown.org/works/128205/chapters/181724

The Unusual Nanny by RDana https://archiveofourown.org/works/15136505/chapters/35098805

Trick or Treat by ll_alleycathttp://ll-alleycat.livejournal.com/5264.html#cutid1

Worthy Thy Benediction by Winter156 https://archiveofourown.org/works/12297927

#mirandy fic lists #mirandy fanfiction #mirandy fic #mirandy

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thehistoriangirl · 4 months

Text

The Tides Have Veiled [Thirteen]

Viktor x Fem!Reader---/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea---2.9K---SFW**

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: There are secrets everywhere: under the sea, in the cliffside, even in your husband's eyes. Perhaps it's time to start unraveling them.

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip

Thirteen: Waterlogged Past

The waves crashed against the rock, amplified inside to make it sound like a furious beast. An alien, purplish glow bleed from the strange carvings along the humid cave’s walls, morphing your skin into an almost grey-like hue.

Your presence echoed with more reverb with each step you took forward, mind torn between staying away from the strange room in front of you and the pinch of curiosity nagging you to lean closer, to decipher whatever the rock and the sea tried to tell you.

There was no other breathing than yours, no other shadows outlined by the violet beacons dimming and shining in a rhythm similar to the waves that were lapping lazily against the pool carved in the middle of the chamber, whose small, round entrance made seem the water much deeper than it probably was.

Careful not to slip—you didn’t wish to discover the bottom of said aquatic maw—your hands touched the walls as you maneuvered against the circular bridge guiding you toward the end of the chamber, the rock vibrating under your fingertips, smooth and cold. Pulsating as a heart would, almost.

It hummed for you. And part of your foggy mind filled to the brim with grief, shock, and fatigue, considered, if only for a fleeting moment, that you recognized the tune; a melody faded just as the rock had surrendered against the merciless force of time.

You sighed once your feet touched the solid rock bottom of the cave, far away from the pool, the mist escaping from your lips ascending toward the cupule meters above.

It wasn't until then that your mind uttered a dark thought, pushing restlessly all the wonder and curiosity as the words chilled your bones: what if this chamber had been created for witchcraft practices?

What if all those songs were cursed, that the sigils themselves were a forbidden language that you just had willingly walked through? With the threshold broken, would another ghoul start chasing you here, too?

Hugging yourself, you quickly settled against a wall, looking around the circular space only to find it empty, still vibrating and singing, but devoid of life.

Nearby your newly discovered hiding place, the edge of your humid coat brushed another surface, and then you saw it. A group of amorph shadows formed a small mountain range against the bright cave walls.

Piles of books and papers over a rusty metal desk that looked almost crimson once you got close enough. Upon it were messy, blurry newspapers scattered all over the surface, half-rotten, with the pages crusty from the constant humidity of the place, all of them with the same printed font.

Piltover’s Bulletin.

It was a miracle they could survive at the touch of your fingers once you started separating them. Fragments of dates from two centuries ago, pictures of the once blooming town this coastal town was all molded and torn.

Still, some of the past remained in the sentences in which the ink hadn’t run too much.

Sudden hurricane destroys town. […] survivors moved […] ruins between the mud. […] lonely tower standing. […] bankrupt […] Stell family […] survivors. Tropical storm hits Piltover—the end of the mythical town? […] curse? Bad luck? […] displeasing by the offerings […] punishment […] New city called in honor to wipe out town.

Your eyes turned teary, head pounding as the trail of words started to mix one another, too enthralled to look away as the history was unraveling in front of you, despite how incomplete it would be.

Rebuilt of destroyed fishing town: Mayor of Piltover announces […] touristic as it once was […] Mermaid’s Museum […] repair the lighthouse's broken beacon and […] marvels at the gigantic waves […]

Mossy books of yellow pages covered some of the newspapers there, the golden lettering of the covers barely readable. You knew the words would fade under your touch if you ever dared to open them and scan their pages.

So you kept reading the newspapers, taking the books, and putting them aside.

Five Haunted Places You Shouldn’t Visit […] weeping cliff […] grey and rainy […] haunted manor […] the new owner […] dead […] What was Piltover, the ghost town? […] fishing […] Stell’s Canned Company investors […] quickly developing […] and now […] […] “magic” […] mermaids […] wishes […] […] turmoil awoken […] hunting […] mammals […] the museum’s biggest controversy […]

You knew which controversy they were talking about, your mind recalling the tag of the disappeared Mermaid hung on Viktor’s underground office. A century ago, at most, when biologists and other experts were trying to discover if the mermaid specimen was fake.

Many of them had traveled to Piltover the Old to do their own research, only to give up when all they got were an empty sea and rude locals.

But then were the ones who stayed, sending the specimen to the lab, only to find that the body had not been created by snitching different body parts. It wasn’t a made-up chimera. Then, what was it?

The runes on the wall chimed, you know very well what we are.

Only legends. You’ve heard your grandmother telling you the story a thousand times, words spilling from her tired lips and droopy eyes, yet compliant to sate the curiosity of a little child gently tucked in an old, creaky cot.

All started with a greedy fisherman, and all would end with one, too.

You took a step backward, wanting to forget every word you’ve engraved in your mind. All about monsters lurking beneath, every sarcastic, cruel remark outlined with poison from your aunt, the reminder of the ghost at the coast.

You can’t escape from your blood.

You can’t escape from this town. Married to a lie or not, it will disappear like a dream once the sun comes to bleed on the horizon.

The lights inside the cavern pulsated like a heart, from a faint pink to a bright purple passing through white. Salt and humidity seeped into the air, and it was as if you were inside the sea's heart.

“I need to get out of here,” you muttered, biting your lips at the possibility of the ghost advancing further down the coast to get you, hovering at the entrance of the cave.

Stay. Stay inside my heart. My sanctuary.

Behind you, the gentle swaying of the waves broke by a splash.

“Hello?” you said, like an idiot. It was a flicking shadow that created goosebumps up your arms.

A flicking, ghostly, white silhouette of a dorsal spine.

You felt droplets of sweat prickling your forehead, feeling like a cornered animal about to meet the slaughter.

Your steps backtracked until your back touched the wall, feeling a jolt of tingling electricity running down your body. “Ah!” You gasped, jumping away from the walls as the pool down rippled.

You couldn’t know what was worse, the unknown of this creature, or the known monstrosity of the ghost outside. Perhaps both were aiming for the same purpose.

To kill you.

And there was nothing to use as a weapon inside the cave. Without taking your gaze off the water, you looked around for anything that could be useful, but there were only books and papers and pens; the foot of the table was too strong still to try detaching it and use it as a pole.

Tears started falling, hands were all red from the rust.

From pulling, you fell against the ground, making the table collapse atop you.

“Please… please…” you muttered, voice broken and laced with exhaustion. “Please let me alone…”

Part of you wished to give up; what was the point of living like this? Tormented every night and every other day? Living a farse, chasing an impossible dream? You knew you could never fit in the city, it was too bustling and colorful for someone so drained of life, all blue and grey and black now that your soul had absorbed the essence of this sea, this damned sea.

Your prison. Your home. Your everything.

One of the legs of the table gave up with a squeak, the contents on the surface spilling everywhere, with some books sliding toward the descending pool.

From the rippling water, a white tail with purple hues splashed into the surface, pulling the books away.

Your scream left a copper aftertaste in your mouth.

Now I understand my mother, you thought, your frantic breathing becoming sobs that ripped out your heart. Why did she choose this way of ending her life—because there was no other way.

It felt suffocating, the salty air and the thick humidity, the dizzying light and the soft texture of the moss, the rippling of the water and the roaring of the sea outside, the lament of the cliff and the screams of your aunt, the horrifying apparitions.

You swung the table leg, making the thick air whistle with the movement. From all the legends, mermaids were as alluring as they were mortal, created so delicately like coral barriers, and just as ancient.

Perhaps it was its lair, perhaps it was a trap you’ve fallen into. Anyway, you were not going to give up so easily.

Getting near the edge of the rock, you gazed down at the pool of inky black water, where you felt something gazing back.

Your tears ran down your cheeks, dripping in solitary drops down the ocean water, all salty as if they had belonged to it since the beginning.

Stay. Stay inside my heart. My sanctuary. The runes sang.

A siren’s melody.

Was this the so-called melody? Conveying everything you wished to have.

Rolling to lay on your back, you looked at the ceiling as if it were a starry sky, a maniac smile splitting your face once the laughter started bubbling up your throat.

A whispery voice flowed inside the cavern like a lullaby.

“Get out and face me!” you screamed, sight blurred by tears, eyes getting close once your body has given up for today. “Take me now if that’s what you’re going to do! I’m done! I’m… I’m so scared. And so, so tired… Please…”

Stay. Stay inside my heart. My sanctuary.

The song filled you in and out; warming the void you had for heart. It felt familiar, like the way a blanket would cover you once the rain came, the company of another body reassuring you that everything would be alright, no matter what.

My sanctuary. My sanctuary. My sanctuary. My sanctuary. Our sanctuary.

Our sanctuary. Don’t you remember?

A dream built in silver grey and pale blue; the storm covering the trails of sunshine midwinter. Here, the water wasn’t bottomless black, but instead a murky green, algae swept in gentle sways.

Yet, you kept on wading. Swimming. But the coast was nowhere to be found, water conquering the horizon where the silver of the sky dipped in green. A loop carved in agony, the cold gnawing at your limbs until the ache was but a numb ghost breathing in the shell of your ear.

A familiar, feminine voice carried by the wind, coming from somewhere on the horizon.

“Please don’t do this! Please!”

Frowning, your arms cut through the water, the sound growing with each wade, the wish to give up at the sight of your fingertips turning blue.

Your lungs burned, hot pants rising and quickly lost against the pale sky and the tide that grew restless, furious. From murky green to unmistakable brown.

“You don’t have to obey him! Please, have mercy!”

It was the sudden brush of something against your leg, hollow and smooth—no, not hollow, bloated.

Bodies. Bilis raised in your throat, eyes tearing as you made your wave toward the coast.

Between the muddy water, you started to see fragments of rubble floating aimlessly. Wood and branches scratching your body with the crescent waves, torn cloth starting to submerge to be lost forever in the abyss.

Over the horizon, the grey got interrupted by the irregular edge of a cliff; black with mud coming from the nearby forest, white and pink where the rock had given up against the water.

Not any cliff—it was the cliff, with the steps newly carved into the stone, the hill much shorter now that the beach was covered in water, half the steps drowned, covered in death and decay. But the lighthouse remained, brightly painted with red and white. Though you were sure the multiple clutter of marks scratched on the rock wasn't.

You advanced toward the cliff wishing to reach your resting destination, your eyes caught a glimpse of the emptiness in front of the lighthouse.

There where the house once stood was only a hole in the ground.

A grave.

As on cue, the cries of the cliff started, much closer and solid like a heartbreak, a reminiscence of those screamed by your aunt at the funeral of your uncle. Cries death had planted behind its reaping.

Once you reached the rock, your nails scratched the mud off the slippery surface, trying to find a purchase to leap out of the freezing water.

Someone was atop the cliff.

“Vik…tor?” you said, voice hoarse.

It wasn't him, the sound of the wet dress was all too familiar, too dreaded.

“Look what have you done, stupid girl,” the ghostly woman said, leaning forward to settle her face right in front of you, taking in the rotten pale flesh covered with barnacles and algae, eyes replaced by holes, a smile too wide there where her lips had disappeared once devoured by fish. "It'll be better once all this ends with you.”

She lifted her hunting knife, guilt, and horror knotted in your stomach like an anchor that kept you in place.

“Pl-please…” you tried to utter.

The woman sneered. “There is no mercy for monsters like you.”

The metal sang on its descent toward your throat, yet the burning sensation of your blood dripping out never came.

Wet tendrils of the monster conjured by your aunt tugged at your ankles still covered in water. They scratched you against the rock and the surface of the sand when started getting down toward the depths.

The woman shrieked; her knife covered with a streak of crimson. Had she hurt you?

From under the water, a pair of eyes shone.

Once and again and again, calling your name.

“Miss! Miss! Please wake up!”

Your eyes opened, and a flash of blinding sunlight hit your face. Groaning, your hands covered your eyes, the smell of salt and humidity overwhelming. Pulling away, you noticed the red tips of your now uneven fingernails.

Horrified, you felt your hair tangled with the motions of the waves, the soft sand curving under to mold your body.

“Miss! Miss! Oh, thanks the heavens!” Viktor pressed your shoulders, his golden eyes two additional suns shining upon you. His thick eyebrows furrowed, gaze softening in relief once you looked back at him. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need something? I should've brought you some water—"

“Viktor?” you muttered, dirty hands reaching to cup his face, feeling the outline of his cheekbones. “Is this real?”

He smiled, the corner of his lips brushing your fingers.

“Yes. I assure you.” His warm digits intertwined with yours, pulling them away to draw soothing circles over your knuckles. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

With one hand, he helped you sit, brushing the soaked hair off your forehead.

“What happened?” you said, holding onto his arms. “Where… where is the cave?”

“The cave?” He asked, eyes wide open.

You pointed your finger toward the side of the cliff. “There! There’s a hole there that conducts to a cavern.” Tugging at his shirt all wet and wrinkly, you tried to get on your wobbly feet. “I’ll show you. Let’s go!”

“You should rest,” Viktor muttered. “I believe you hit your head with a rock when you were walking along the beach.”

“No, no, n-no… I saw it! I promise I saw it! There was a woman…” You gasped, trembling from both your soaked clothes and the terror running down your spine. “A woman… my mom?” Thick saliva was painful to swallow. “My mother tried to kill me.”

Viktor looked horrified and confused, his naturally pale skin even more drained of color. “What?” His hands palmed down the length of your arms, looking for any signs of injury besides your broken nails. “Let me get you to the hospital.”

You stopped, brushing his hands away. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, it’s not that…” Viktor started, his voice fading while the words he tried to say escaped his mind. Finally, he sighed. “I… I think we committed a mistake.”

“What?” Your heartbeat picked up, almost at the edge of falling. “What do you mean?”

Viktor looked away, to where his luggage lay over the sand.

“I… I think I shouldn’t have gotten you inside this whole…ruse.” I shouldn’t have married you, hung in the silence between you.

You felt cold, seeking his gaze and finding only the sun starting to be born again.

What to say? When it was all but real, you weren’t even sure if you had the right to seek an explanation, much less of complaining.

“Do you regret it, then?” you whispered, trying to conceal the hurt in your tone.

With a knot in your throat, you took in the scenery of the beach around you, so similar and at the same time so strange from the one of the dream. Part of you couldn't stop thinking if those ruins and bodies still lay somewhere in the marine soil and if their souls were the ones lamenting at night.

“I do.”

What to believe when everything had become a nightmare?

“I regret it, too,” you said, seeking only to deliver an ounce of your pity revenge.

Armed by the overwhelming feelings about to tip over the edge of your control, you seized your hands in fists and stood up; ignoring the burning sensation of your feet with each step you took.

Viktor called your name as you started climbing toward the lighthouse, no ‘Miss’, detached for any overthought, distancing politeness.

But you keep on climbing because you know you will rectify your lie as soon as you look back.

Perhaps you’ve caught the dark hue in his golden eyes then.

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