#he looks like he uses his air of nobility to lure in women that really want the bag and a free dinner and then hes like

[obutsuwrites]

a single feather (tengu!hawks x f!reader)

tumblr request:  Hi! I just read your new story on ao3 and it was amazing!!! Your writing style is really fantastic and I saw your requests were open. Could I request Yandere Hawks x fem Reader? Bonus points if it’s also NSFW but it doesn’t have to be, I just really enjoyed your take on yandere Katsuki and was curious to see how you’d approach a yandere hawks. Thanks so much for your time!

summary: “G-g-get out!” Her words sounded strangled and afraid. The princess sat up and frantically scooted away from the strange man. ‘She’s so cute, scared like this.’

She wondered how long the man had been watching her. Was he the source of the crimson feather? Was this not a man, but an oni? A pit formed in her chest, heavy with dread and fright.

“Don’t be like that, little bird. I’m a kami, shouldn’t you be falling at my feet?” Keigo asked, his tone casual. His lack of concern or formality was alarming. No one had spoken to the princess in such a way. Under normal circumstances, she would have welcomed his nonchalant nature, but now -- in her darkened room -- it was a threat. xxx basically a really self-indulgent, kinda researched feudal!au with tengu!hawks bc he rlly do got me feelin sum typa way 😳

word count:  6,209

warnings: yandere elements, dubcon, stalking, loss of virginity, choking, possessive behavior 

my ao3 for more shitposts

my ko-fi~!

my ask box is still open 4 requests~!

glossary:

Tokin - a traditional or fictional small black box worn on the foreheads of Yamabushi – practitioners of Shugendō – or Tengu, dangerous yet protective spirits of the mountains and forests from the Japanese mythology

Yuigesa - pompom stash worn by Yamabushi

Yamabushi - Japanese mountain ascetic hermits

Shoji - door, window or room divider used in traditional Japanese architecture, consisting of translucent (or transparent) sheets on a lattice frame

Kami - are the spirits, phenomena or "holy powers" that are venerated in the religion of Shinto

Fundoshi - traditional Japanese undergarment for adult males, made from a length of cotton

lil special author's note: from what i've been able to read, kami/tengu are really similar?? but here obviously they're two different things v.v so hawks bein a lil misleading lmao

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It was midnight and the princess had retired to her chambers. Her plush mattress and soft covers were simply too inviting. She had collapsed into bed and dove into a deep slumber. Quiet snores echoed through the obnoxiously large bedroom. It hadn’t been her choice to have such a spacious room… but it was never her choice. The princess of the kingdom was merely a figurehead. A token of the nobility. Seen in public, but never heard. Her voice was reserved for servants and other royalty behind closed doors.

‘As a lady should,’ her mother would say. ‘Your breath isn’t worth the common folk.’

The princess argued, ‘But mom, the servants… they are common folk. It’s no different!’

Her mother’s face scrunched into a sour expression, as if she ate a lemon. Under other circumstances, her expression would have been humorous, but the empress was a severe woman. A serious woman of royal blood and polite nature.

‘A woman of noble birth only attracts scoundrels and yokai.’

That had ended their discussion. Yokai -- as the princess knew -- were spirits and demons that inhabited the untamed land beyond their kingdom. They preferred the eternal darkness of dense forest. A perfect habitat for such apparitions. She had never seen one, of course, but the princess learned of their many forms from maids. Fantastical tales of wild beast men with protruding horns and unkempt hair; fox-like spirits that brought good fortune, but possessed a mischievous side, and cat yokai that roamed the mountains, often transforming into humans. However, there was one yokai that caught the princess’ attention.

The tengu; a dangerous spirit of the forest. A yokai that possessed the talons and wings of a bird, but the celestial beauty of man. Tengu wandered mountains and forests as the land’s protector. Their wings were said to expand as wide as the sun. They donned the traditional dress of a yamabushi, adorned with a tokin and yuigesa. Tengu were accompanied by strong gusts of wind generated by a magical feather fan. Sometimes, as the princess learned, tengu instead carried a pewter staff. Their approach could be told by the jingle of their pewter staff and currents of wind that almost magically appeared. Some servants even told of handsome tengu. Tengu that charmed and bewitched with their allure. Mischievous and curious.

In truth, the princess yearned to escape the frigid confines of the castle, and explore the forest. She wanted -- wished -- to stumble upon a tengu. She wanted to feel their fabled soft feathers under her fingertips, to taste the crisp air they produced. The princess had no qualms with finding a hideous tengu with a beak, as the maids told her, tengu with beaks were more common. They were also more monstrous. Portrayed as wild birds of prey that lured young women into their nests for unspeakable acts. Eventually, the young women would return… but they were different. Blind. Insane. Soiled.

These stories did not deter her. The princess knew better. She knew such stories were only regurgitated as a means to frighten her. Tales meant for cheap scares of common folk. She was no common folk; she was nobility.

The woman began to drool into her dreamless sleep, too blissfully unaware of the winged beast hovering outside her window. A curious, crimson feathered tengu that was drawn by the scent of royal blood. He inhaled deeply; the princess’ scent mixed with the humid summer air in harmony. Known as Keigo, the yokai’s expansive wings flapped violently, and left shivers of feathers that fell gently like petals. Keigo wondered what she looked like; was she clothed in a thin nightgown or nothing at all? Keigo preferred the latter and nodded his head in solitary agreement. It wouldn’t hurt to take a peek, would it? ‘Her snores could wake the dead… ’ He chuckled at the thought; a woman of her nobility never spoke out of turn -- seen but not heard -- and yet this woman could produce a symphony of noise in her sleep.

“What other noises do you make, little bird?”

Slowly, Keigo unlatched the princess’ window and crept into her quarters. The room wasn’t remarkable, but her scent was etched into every corner. A patchwork of divinity itself. He wanted to bury himself within the fragrance, bury himself within… her. Curious golden eyes searched the darkened room for the princess’ sleeping form, finally resting upon a human-shaped mound. She looked so innocent. So unaware of the tengu’s presence. He could snatch her right now and be within the forest by daybreak, but he restrained himself. He wasn’t like the beastly oni. ‘No,’ Keigo decided, ‘I’ll simply watch over her.’ Keigo watched as the princess shifted in her sleep and caught a glimpse of her chest. Ample and supple. Absolutely begging to be touched and conquered. He ran a cold hand down the woman’s exposed flesh and thought, ‘I should at least take a trophy. ’ A means to memorialize her existence.

The tengu detached himself from the woman and began his search. He wanted a garment, something personal -- something private to her. Keigo remembered that mortals kept such clothing hidden away in drawers. Like treasure. As quietly as he could manage, Keigo rummaged through exquisite textiles and cloth, until he palmed satin material. Curious, Keigo grabbed the garment and examined it. A pair of panties. He brought the undergarment to his nose and inhaled. Fresh linen, welcoming and clean. The tengu would have preferred a pair with the maiden’s carnal scent, but even possessing something that was so close to her body was a gift. It was meant for him, Keigo decided. Stuffing the panties into his robe, Keigo allowed himself a final look at the woman before quietly flying off.

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She awoke, drowsy and exhausted, as if sleep had evaded her. The princess stretched and exhaled a soft yawn. Morning light streamed through the woman’s only open window. Wait. Open window? The princess had no memory of opening her window before bed. In fact, she had been too exhausted the night before to even take off her slippers. She had collapsed into bed in a weary state and fell promptly to sleep.

‘This is odd. So very odd,’ the woman thought and closed the window. She had been awfully weary, perhaps she opened it and had forgotten? It was possible, but the princess still felt perturbed and began a rudimentary inspection around her chambers. Nothing seemed out of place, until she happened upon a single crimson feather that appeared within her dresser. It was long, far too long to be a bird. The feather was unlike anything the woman had seen in her garden.

Tucking the feather away, the princess slowly started to get dressed. She savored this time in the morning. It was her simple slice of heaven. Her escape from prying eyes… and her mother. This was the princess’ only ritual that wasn’t tainted by maids and royal duties. It was a situation she had insisted upon and insisted upon until her mother eventually relented. She was an adult -- the sole heir -- and had no need for maids to dress her anymore. It had been convenient and almost fun as a child, but now as a young maiden, the task seemed almost inappropriate for hired help. The woman reasoned that their time could be spent elsewhere. This was her mother’s weak spot; the empress detested a lack of work ethic. She reasoned it was an absence of pride in one’s work. The maiden believed this to be the very reason for the garden.

The garden was quaint. A private sanctuary away from inquisitive eyes and lurking mothers. A place to call her own. This was a space not yet invaded by her controlling mother or by intrusive maids. Serenity in every meaning of the word. Plants flourished there; the modest terrace was alive with flowers and greenery. She was permitted this piece of serenity if she toiled in the earth. Hands smeared with dirt and sweat trickling down her brow. Such hard work earned her seeds and decorations for the princess’ little terrace. Fairy lights, statues, and decorative pebbles. The princess cherished every addition.

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She sat in the lively terrace, hands tired and dirty. The peculiar feather plagued her mind throughout the day, until finally, the woman decided she would rid herself of such compulsive thought. Toiling in the earth allowed her mind to wander beyond it. Idle hands were the devil’s work, as her mother would say.

The afternoon sun was high in the sky and beat down upon her back. The silk fabric of her summer kimono stuck to the maiden’s back like tree sap. Impossibly thick. The princess felt exhausted and unbearably hot, but busy work kept her thoughts at ease, and away from the stark reality of a midnight visitor. She had wrestled with the thought. How could an animal -- a beast -- flutter into her room, only to escape and leave behind a single feather? What bird could manipulate a latch? Originally, the woman settled on the possibility of a trained eagle being her intruder… but the idea was preposterous. Insane. Unlikely. The empress had no mortal enemies. Not a living soul was capable of such a feat, no commoner had reason. Her mother’s public demeanor was a farce. Kind. Generous. Loving. Traits she lacked in private, behind pristine castle doors.

Unbeknownst to her, on a nearby towering tree, sat a red-tailed hawk. Golden, predatory eyes were trained on the princess; unmoving and calculating.

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Throughout the day, the princess couldn’t escape the feeling of being watched. Like a lab rat. The thought was preposterous. The castle walls were far too great for peering eyes. No pervert could spy on her, and yet, she felt like this. This tightness in her chest that had appeared once she began to toil within the garden. It was so suffocating -- so frightening -- the princess decided to abandon any cultivation for the day. Instead, the princess focused on her studies. Academic topics specially suited for a “maiden of her stature,” as her mother would say. Subjects included etiquette, housewifely duties, mathematics, language, and archery. Archery, of course, was the maiden’s suggestion. A term the empress begrudgingly obliged. If a woman couldn’t protect herself, what sort of woman was she?

The bow fit neatly in her callused hands. Rough palms were earned from hard work and determination. Hands “unbecoming of a noble,” the empress would chide. As if it mattered. The princess was of age, but still had no suitors. No man of nobility had even considered her as a wife. She was never seen in public enough for such courtship. The castle was her home and her prison.

An arrow flew through the air, hitting its target. Archery was simply another means of keeping idle hands busy. Nothing more, nothing less. The woman felt safer within the confines of the castle. She didn’t feel the carnivorous eyes that burned into her body like hot coals. Perhaps this was all caused by the feather. It’s discovery caused her mind to wander with possibilities until her thoughts landed on something irrational: a tengu.

The thought had crept into the back of her skull and taken up residency like a canker sore. Unrelenting and impossible to ignore. It only grew in size as the day continued, until the idea was all she could muster. A large part of the princess was excited by such a discovery, but a smaller, weaker aspect dreaded the possibility. Her room wasn’t a forest and the maiden didn’t require protection, which left only a simple reality; the tengu was attracted to her. The empress’ previous words now echoed, ‘A woman of noble birth only attracts scoundrels and yokai.’ Was this true? If it was, no maid gossiped about it. It was unlikely shrill midwives could keep such a juicy secret to themselves, the princess reasoned. She prayed it was true a crimson feathered tengu had visited her. She didn’t mind if the tengu wasn’t handsome and instead had the face of a bird. She merely wanted the feather to have significance. It should, at least.

However, the maiden did wonder if the prying eyes were that of a tengu. They could shape-shift -- she only knew from castle gossip -- but they preferred a more mortal form. Imposing wings and a yamabushi’s robe, sometimes, tengu would wear a red mask with a long nose. This was less common now. Instead, such a mask existed for festivals and revelry. An accessory taken by man. Maybe the tengu had taken the shape of a bird. They were, after all, protective yokai of the forest. A bird’s eye view of the land seemed the most logical… but if it was a tengu, why did she feel so uneasy? Why did her skin prickle and become so sensitive?

She was familiar with stories of tengu that were renegades. Yokai -- like oni -- that preferred mortal desires. The mortal sin of flesh. It was a topic that was taboo to the princess. Courtship wasn’t a necessary knowledge. It was more useful of her time to learn household responsibilities. How to hold a babe. How to preserve fruits. What linens were best for summer months. Nothing truly of value beyond mathematics and archery. The prospect of a tengu that wanted her for carnal reasons left a horrid taste in her mouth and her knees weak. It was both thrilling and frightening.

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Days melted into one another, but the princess couldn’t purge the feeling of being watched. Her garden was no longer a sanctuary. It was crypt; suffocating and miserable. Because of this, she opted to stay inside and attend to her studies. Busy work that kept prying eyes at bay. The castle walls now provided protection from the rotten anxiety decaying her gut. Caring for plants used to be a welcome chore; an activity that broke up the monotony of royal life. Instead, the fresh air and bright sun only brought a sense of dread the princess couldn’t escape. It sat in her gut like a stone. Heavy with burden.

She experimented with venturing out during different times of day. Neither the cool morning nor the starless evening cure her. Everyday was the same, except for her lack of gardening. Servants took note and tried to coax the princess into the terrace, but she held fast in her fear. It was becoming all consuming. A black hole even the empress noticed.

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“You insisted on this ridiculous hobby, and yet, you won’t be appreciative?” Cold, hard eyes observed the woman, waiting for a response. Her mother’s eyes never quite held any warmth of familiar love. It was an aspect the princess was accustomed to.

The princess, playing with the hem of her kimono responded, “I… Of course I appreciate it, Your Majesty.”

“Well then, why don’t you tend to it, little bug?”

She winced at the epithet. It was an embarrassing and old name that was born of the maiden’s interest in plants. Nothing more than an insult veiled as a loving moniker. The name brought forth memories of childhood. Memories of learning cruelty.

“It’s been too hot lately, Your Majesty. My kimono sticks to my back and it’s very unbecoming.” Picking her words carefully would be the key here. She knew the vicious nature her mother carried. A stick to beat others down into submission; into the dirt.

Satisfied, or perhaps finally disinterested, the empress curtly nodded and continued her stroll around the castle grounds. The lack of her mother’s love didn’t bother her anymore. She was the empress. Nobility that commanded -- demanded -- respect.

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The day had transformed into night. Humid summer air that melted into a brisk evening. Typically, twilight was the perfect time for tending to her garden, but the princess hadn’t set foot within her sanctuary. She sat directly in front of the shoji that led to the terrace, timid hands fumbling with the hem of her kimono. It was a nervous habit that followed from childhood.

‘Should I try again? ’ Thick saliva began to pool within the maiden’s mouth. A bundle of anxiety coiled within the pit of her stomach; like a hot brand. Truth be told, she wanted to run and hide further within the castle. The princess’ bed was her sanctuary now.

‘...but it’s only a feeling. Mother wouldn’t want me to be such a child. ’ Swallowing the saliva, the woman stood up and meekly slid open the door.

Sticky, heavy air stuck to her lungs. Her chest rapidly rose and fell; the princess desperate to not suffocate. It was a starless night. An inky blackness that threatened to swallow the princess whole. The evening was darker than usual, which allowed dread to further creep into her body. Instinctual goosebumps decorated her arms as she slinked towards a bed of flowers. The floral scent was almost nauseating. Too overpowering and fragrant.

Shaky knees knelt into the earth and trembling hands began to pull at weeds. Her lack of care supported an invasion within her garden. It was no longer a garden of love. Now, the terrace sat abandoned and overrun. Stubborn weeds were plucked and tossed aside. The princess’ hands ached and were caked in dirt. Not becoming a of woman. Of a princess. But the woman lacked care. She didn’t want to live in fear of her only outlet. Her only safe haven from her mother and from the castle servants.

Tears gathered at the corner of the maiden’s eyes as she worked. Her disdain and anxiety had become tangible. She brought a dirt crusted finger to her eye and wiped away the salty liquid. Crying was a sign of weakness. It was a saying the empress had drilled into the princess since birth. Crying wasn’t allowed for nobility. The woman needed to be strong and feminine; not a blubbering child. Gradually, the feeling of being watched dissipated and was instead replaced by a feeling of inadequacy and misery.

Atop a neighboring tree within the terrace sat a red-tailed hawk. Beautiful and majestic. The bird watched the woman below. It cocked it’s head in interest. Despite his watchful gaze, the tengu known as Keigo hadn’t seen the princess cry before. The action seemed almost foreign to her, as if she had never cried before. Her chest didn’t heave and no sound emitted from her. Instead, the maiden sat on her knees and silently toiled. This lack of passion angered Keigo in a way. He wanted to see the woman in all her entirety. He wanted to witness her anger. Her sadness. Her wailing. A part of him would envision her beneath him, begging him with tears in her eyes. It was a sick pleasure, really. Keigo wanted to be disgusted by this desire, but it was a thought that dug its heels in, refusing to leave. He was left with the only option; to embrace it.

Keigo continued to watch the quiet sobbing until he grew bored. Until an idea surfaced. He should try to comfort her, shouldn’t he?

‘I want to touch her. I want to feel her warmth. I want to feel her writhe underneath me,’ the tengu thought as he gently fluttered to the ground. Keigo didn’t want to approach her as a man. He knew mortals weren’t stupid; she would question why a strange man with golden eyes suddenly appeared within her castle. ‘I want you to love me. ’

Softly, the tengu made his way towards the princess. Keigo’s footfalls were ignored by the maiden until he rubbed a wing against her. Startled, she released a quiet yelp and looked at the creature. The bird was small for a hawk and looked to be the runt. An unfortunate bird that had been given the same lot in life as herself. The princess regained her composure and reached out, touching the little bird.

“You scared me! Are you lonely, little birdie?” She asked, trying to stifle a giggle. Being frightened by such a small thing was comedic in a way. Deep inside, the bird and it’s tiny, insignificant body reminded the woman of herself. Perhaps this creature had been the prying eyes? ‘It was so silly of me to worry,’ the princess thought as she petted the bird.

The hawk released a low growl, as if the sound came from the very back of their throat. It reminded the princess of a cat’s purr. A sound only produced from trust and contentment. Soft lips curled into an insignificant smile. Her lips felt tense and unfamiliar with the action; smiling wasn’t common within the castle. The empress saw it as fictitious and unnecessary.

‘You can express pleasantries through your words. A noble woman doesn’t need to stoop down to a commoner.’

She reasoned the bird couldn’t be more than a young babe; the runt of a litter. ‘Are its wings hurt? Is the mother looking for..? ’ Before the princess could finish her thought, the bird gently pecked at her palm. Almost like a warning. The feeling of being watched had subsided; the princess was confident that her intruder was a lonely baby hawk. She hadn’t seen such a bird before. Hawks weren’t common in her kingdom and the woman was unsure the creature could fly. If the bird couldn’t fly, surely she should nurse it to health and then release it. The woman had never raised a dog before, much less a hawk, but it’s kindness proved too powerful.

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The princess managed to smuggle the hawk into her room. The operation had required bribing maids, but ‘business deals are important and are to be honored,’ as her mother would say. It wasn’t bribing; she was merely asking for a service and in turn, the maids were paid. ‘A simple transaction,’ she told herself.

Currently, the hawk was cuddled against the woman. She had made several attempts to leave, but the creature would loudly squawk like a threat. The princess knew her mother would at best be displeased -- and at worst -- demand the bird be confiscated. No animal was worthy of a princess. No creature was bred with the same noble blood. The empress deemed animals unworthy of her daughter’s company. ‘To rule, you must have conviction and a barn animal would only dirty you.’ Remembering her words only caused the woman to flinch. Even the ghost of her words carried severity and coldness.

Keigo was growing annoyed. Yes, it was blissful to be smothered by this woman, but he desired more. His heart grew black with a carnal want that only oni experienced. He wanted to defile her in the worst way. He wanted to feel the princess squirm underneath him, begging him in ecstasy. Naturally, the mind of a tengu is always several steps ahead of a mortal. A plan began to form; once she retired to bed, Keigo would reveal himself, explain he was a kami and had selected her for his divine touch. The tengu knew that even among nobility, the visit of a kami was prized. It was an offer the princess couldn’t -- wouldn’t refuse. Keigo ruffled his feathers in anticipation.

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The night was still and silent, except for a slight breeze that blew through an open window. The princess had retired to sleep, but decided to keep her window open for the little bird. Keigo sat atop the windowsill and watched her sleeping form. He noted how small she was; an impossibly tiny body dwarfed by a mattress decorated in ornate blankets and pillows. This form allowed for the tengu to watch the princess undress. Her body was delicate and without blemish. A part of Keigo felt excited by this; a perfect body he could ruin. He would claim her and defile her.

With a quick pop, and a patch of black smoke, the bird was no more. In place sat a young man with ash blonde hair and golden eyes. His features were sharp and almost avian like, but his expression was laid-back and carefree. He wore the traditional garb of a yamabushi, complete with a tokin. He was a handsome man, but carried the dark intentions of a predator. Yellow orbs that burned with want.

Keigo slowly drifted towards the princess, leaving red feathers in his wake. He watched with interest as she tossed in bed. So blissful. So blissfully unaware of him. Unable to resist any further, the tengu placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. She was soft -- malleable -- and smelled of perfume. Like a garden.

The princess awoke suddenly from the action and came face-to-face with the tengu. By the moonlight, she couldn’t make out his features, but knew the shape was that of a man. Shock ignited in her eyes and the princess instinctively opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She felt suffocated by the intruder. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she noticed how bizarre the man’s silhouette was. He stood of average height, but it looked as if the man had hidden an object behind his back. An object that resembled the wings of a bird.

Finally, a whimper escaped the woman. A small and pathetic sound that aroused the tengu. Before the princess could helpless babble, Keigo spoke, “Sorry if I scared you! Wasn’t my intention, but I’m Keigo.” A lop-sided grin found its way onto his thin lips. The smile did little to quell the fear in the woman’s gut.

“G-g-get out!” Her words sounded strangled and afraid. The princess sat up and frantically scooted away from the strange man. ‘She’s so cute, scared like this.’

She wondered how long the man had been watching her. Was he the source of the crimson feather? Was this not a man, but an oni? A pit formed in her chest, heavy with dread and fright.

“Don’t be like that, little bird. I’m a kami, shouldn’t you be falling at my feet?” Keigo asked, his tone casual.  His lack of concern or formality was alarming. No one had spoken to the princess in such a way. Under normal circumstances, she would have welcomed his nonchalant nature, but now -- in her darkened room -- it was a threat.

The princess’ heart hammered in her chest like a drum. Too loud and too thunderous to ignore.

“A k-kami..? I -- you visited me several nights ago, didn’t you?” She desperately wanted to believe the man. Any other possibility was horrific. She squinted in the dark and noticed the sharp features he possessed; blonde hair illustrated in the moonlight and yellow eyes that seemed to glow.

The tengu laughed. It was soft and gentle, the pure opposite of the roaring cackle she was accustomed to.

“I wanted you to have somethin’ to remember me by, little birdie. It’s flattering how close you keep it.” It excited Keigo that the young maiden had kept the feather. Especially because she kept the feather so close, buried underneath her kimono, right atop her breast. He hoped her breasts were as soft as her cheek.

Plump cheeks flushed with pink. She hated being teased. It was one of the few social interactions her mother was capable of, but it always left a sour taste in the woman’s mouth.

“How… how do I know you’re a kami? You could simply be a convincing oni, a pretender.”

His smile faltered. “You don’t trust me? That’s okay, little birdie. I’ll take my leave,” Keigo replied. Leaving wasn’t a part of his plan, it was merely a distraction from the bewitching magic he cast. A glamour that would enlighten the princess to desires held deep within her heart.

The princess didn’t want him to leave; it was improper to turn away a guest. Compelled, a delicate hand grabbed Keigo’s robe. It was tightly woven material, similar to the great textiles within the castle.

“Stay,” she begged, “please stay. I didn’t mean…”

Keigo placed a large hand atop the crown of her head and stroked. The maiden leaned into the touch, it was unlike any sensation she had experienced within the castle. It wasn’t the uncaring, technical touch of a wet nurse, but the tender touch of a lover. Warmth began to bloom in the pit of her stomach. A feeling that was foreign, but welcomed. She wanted nothing more than to melt into the tengu’s touch.

The woman patted the empty spot next to her. She hoped the winged man would slide into bed and perhaps hold her. Simply hold her and their body heat mixed together in the summer air. A small, childish part of the princess desired to touch the man’s wings. If they were as soft as the feather, they must feel like heaven. ‘He’s divinity in every sense of the word.’

Silently, Keigo slid into bed beside the princess, his wings ruffling against her soft skin. He shivered from the sensation. Tingly and electric. Keigo draped an arm around her and pulled the princess closer. He needed to hear her heartbeat and feel the blood coursing under her skin. The maiden’s floral scent was overpowering now; the smell fresh and heavenly. The woman buried herself into the tengu’s robe. His body was warm, almost hot. A summer heat draped in a man. He smelled of the earth and pine. It was a scent that the woman found comforting.

“Eager little bird,” Keigo joked, his hand now drifting down her form. He was desperate to memorize the soft landscape of her body. She was a treat to be savored. “Gonna touch you and make you feel good, okay little birdie?”Keigo grabbed the princess through her nightgown, her breast fitting perfectly within his palm, as if she was made for him. Only one thought came to Keigo’s mind: ‘This is mine. She is mine.’ It was uncommon for the tengu to feel so territorial -- so protective, but she was giving herself to him, afterall.

He palmed the woman through her nightgown, eliciting a quiet moan. Keigo had to strain to hear it; she tried to stifle the sound. It was unnatural and embarrassing. She had never been touched like this before, much less by a kami.

“Don’t be so shy.” Keigo continued to caress and massage her breast, his other hand wandering down his lover’s nightgown. His hand stopped at the hem of her gown, sliding up the material until it was bunched around her waist. The princess shivered from the cool air, and from a foreign feeling of shame. A part of her wanted to push the winged man away and lock herself in a neighboring bathroom until guards arrived, but another insatiable piece wanted the kami to take her maidenhood right now. Her body burned with an undeniable passion that only Keigo could extinguish.

Mewls of want penetrated the night air as the tengu circled a finger around her sensitive lips, the warmth of his touch separated only by satin panties. The cloth -- saturated with her juices -- would be Keigo’s prize. Another memento of the woman, of his lover. Her squirming underneath him only cemented that fact.

Greedy, trembling hands reached for Keigo; needy for his body to be pressed against hers. She slid a hand underneath his robe, and traveled down his body, stopping at his waist. Pleasing a man was never a topic of discussion in the princess’ studies. The maiden’s hands glided under Keigo’s fundoshi. His member stood proud and leaking pre-cum, unsure and nervous, she began to rub his leaking head. A groan rumbled from deep within Keigo’s chest, like a thunderstorm.

“Don’t stop, little bird,” Keigo murmured, the tengu too enamored from the woman’s touch. He had dreamed of this for several nights, but finally, her soft hands were working his manhood. She stroked down his length, clumsy and inexperienced. The tengu was growling now; noises guttural and rough. Like a wild beast set free.

Encouraged by her touch, he tore her undergarment, allowing for proper access to her nether region. Roughly, Keigo parted the woman’s lips apart and a calloused thumb began to rub her now swollen clit. Under normal circumstances, the princess would have recoiled from such brazen action; she was taught a man should never tear a royal’s garment. It was an act perpetrated by oni and men of lesser nobility, but this man wasn’t of lesser nobility. He was a kami. A god.

Golden, hungry eyes looked down at her; like a wolf appraising meat. Predatory and insatiable. An idea formed within his mind and the tengu detached himself from the princess. She released a whine, her features twisted in a pout. A little brat denied subsistence.

“Touch me,” she requested. Her tone was demanding. It was more of a command than a request. Her hands felt empty and useless, the maiden convinced her only purpose now was to please the kami.

Keigo positioned himself at her entrance and commanded, “Lay down, let me pleasure you.” His words were like velvet, his voice like nirvana. Sickeningly sweet and light. With hesitation, the woman laid down, her cunt in full view of the tengu. She felt another pang of embarrassment. Even wet nurses hadn’t seen her exposed like this. Her instincts screamed to cover up and to run away, but the allure of Keigo proved too much.

A single finger was harshly jammed into her slick core as Keigo’s mouth engulfed her mound. His hot tongue swirled around in her cunt, learning every sensitive spot. His wide finger sent a shock of pain up the maiden’s body, but the sensation was soon replaced by warmth that spread between her thighs. He pumped into her, scissoring and stretching her. Preparing her for him. His teeth grazed against her delicate clit, evoking a wanton moan. Her legs trembled as Keigo shoved another finger into her wetness. She felt full -- whole -- with the tengu’s fingers inside. A thumb prodded her clit again, gently rubbing the nub. The red-hot coil within her center made the maiden feel as if she would burst, the sensation of an orgasm building. Sounds of squelching and a river of moans flowed from her.

The tengu brought his face up to her, fingers wet with her arousal.

“Little birdie all ready for my cock, huh?” Keigo stood up and quickly disrobed. His lean frame vibrating from excitement. In the moonlight, the princess could make out the sculpted body Keigo possessed. The body befitting of a kami. He crawled over her body and positioned his cock up against her lips. Slowly, savoring the moment, Keigo pushed into the woman. His cock stretched her, far more than his fingers. Sensitive, wet walls clasped around him. Her body was desperate to swallow his member whole. The tengu crammed his soaked fingers into his lover’s mouth, muffling her moans. “Don’t want you too loud, little birdie.”

She wondered if this was a normal part of lovemaking, but obliged the tengu and sucked on his fingers. Lewd sounds erupted from Keigo, along with a string of swears. The princess hadn’t heard such depravity before, but Keigo’s thick cock was too distracting. He sped up, provoked by the sucking of his fingers. His balls slapped against her ass at a feverish pace. Keigo’s strokes were no longer slow and delicate, but harsh and starving. A man -- a beast -- possessed. The force of his strokes almost hurt and his fingers were jammed to almost the back of her throat.

“Pl-please stop,” the maiden slurred, spit trailing down her chin. Keigo had to strain to hear her, but decided to partially accommodate. He removed the saliva coated fingers, leaving her to gup down chestfuls of air. Instead, strong hands clasped around her delicate neck. A neck that had only known the pleasures of cotton or satin. His touch around her neck was the opposite of the tenderness she had known before; his touch now felt possessive and dark. An aura of blackness that threatened to consume her. Keigo’s grip tightened, along with his feverish pace. The princess’ hips now began to ache underneath him.

The coil in her stomach reached its peak; a feeling of relief washed over her. The maiden felt grounded, more aware, less hazy. She finally noticed the dangerous shine in the tengu’s yellow eyes, which sent a deathly chill down her body, leaving goosebumps. She no longer wanted this. She no longer wanted him. The woman began to squirm underneath the tengu, defaulting to her original fear. Realizing the turn of her nature, Keigo released a final pump into her soaking cunt. A deep growl sounded from his chest, this time the sound no longer velvet and soft. The sound of a predator. As he climaxed, Keigo’s grip around her worsened. The maiden feeling out of breath. Asphyxiated. She beat against his chest, her vision becoming a blurry mess of black spots and dots.

Keigo’s large hands fell from her neck and the princess swallowed greedy gulps of air. ‘She looks so beautiful like this,’ the tengu thought, ‘sweaty and broken beneath me.’ His seed began to leak out of her, staining her plush thighs. The sensation made her feel dirty, wrong, used.

“L-l-leave.”

Yellow eyes bore into her features, memorizing every inch. A carefree grin plastered on the tengu’s handsome face.

“...but you’re mine now, little birdie.”

#hawks x reader #yandere hawks #yandere bnha #keigo x reader #smut

[yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy]

Silk, Spices and Lies Part 2

At the end of this part, just imagine Hvitserk doing that^ That is THE CUTEST. omg. Tagging @waiting4inspiration​ and @inforapound​ who wanted to be tagged. 

Silk, Spices and Lies Part 2

It took a couple of days to get set up and settled in. In that time, King Harald made no less than seven stops to see if you needed anything and was your group’s first customer. Because your interpreters went out to ascertain the latest news and reports, they confirmed that he did indeed lose his wife, who had been pregnant with his child, and had died on the battlefield. And so you gifted him incense to soothe his spirit so that he could grieve her properly in your opinion and you used your interpreters to explain how to burn it and the next day, it seemed to work, because his spirit seemed much more at ease and he smelled of the incense and he confirmed that he was able to sleep very soundly the night before after burning it in his home and had nothing but good dreams, although he seemed a bit reluctant to share what they were about. 

“So now...do you look for a new queen?” You asked as you insisted on helping get him measured for another tunic, this one, you would make special, giving it a lining of silk and an outer shell of cashmere, a garment fit for any king as you got his measurements of his back while he had taken his shirt off so that you could get the proper measurements to fit him while in the back of your mind, your brain tormented you with thoughts of what else you’d like to be doing to his body as you marveled at all his tattoos and his battle hardened body. You could practically feel your essense drip down your thighs, this was ridiculous. 

Contrary to custom, you had laid with many men, usually to lure them to their deaths, but the thought of doing that to him did not sit well with you and it bothered you and you were so grateful you had not been sent here to do that, you’d be damned if something bad happened to him, especially while you were here. Your instincts screamed at you to take care of him. Even though you knew it was not your place to do so. But you did so in subtle ways anyway. Like giving him a deep discount on the very garment you were making him. You were giving him the fabric at what it cost the group to buy it from the textile place it came from and you were gifting your time in sewing it together. Usually there would be haggling involved but he did not haggle with you. He simply accepted the price you gave him. You were also going to add pockets and a belt for free because you could and you wanted to. 

“I do, I don’t suppose you’re available?” He returned and your jaw dropped as did your measuring line which made Kezia snicker a laugh at your reaction from behind him as she was writing down your measurements that you were making and watching the scene unfold with great interest. She had watched you shut down every other man’s attempts to flirt with you so to see one finally get somewhere was exciting and to see you react to him like he was the first man to flirt with you was incredibly entertaining. Usually you were really good at demanding the best prices for these fabrics so to see you give discounts and offer things you had not offered anyone, not even yourself when you looked through these fabrics for your own clothing, was telling. She could see that you liked him as easy as one sees the moon in the clear night sky. Being a lady of the Sultana meant that if you were released from her- you could potentially get any man you wanted but the fact that you were falling for a king, even a foreign one made sense. Even she was impressed that Harald was the kind of man he was and she respected that you would be drawn to him. By the accounts, he treated his queen well and she knew norse women had freedoms even she could only dream of. It would be a good match but she also knew that voicing such things would only make you withdraw from him and so she kept her mouth shut. For right now anyway. No sense in saying anything that would embarrass you in front of him at least. , 

“You are a King, you should marry a noble lady, one with a dowry fit for the kingdom you rule. All around the world, it is so. Royalty only marry nobility. I will probably die as common as I was born because my family is poor and I have no dowry.” You stated matter of factly as your face became downcast even though your heart leaped at the thought. Even though you were far from home and you seemed to be in a constant state of culture shock, the romantic notion of marrying a king from a far off land who would not hold you to the strict code of conduct you were raised with, seemed too good to be true. While it was not unheard of for your people to get married to norseman, it wasn’t terribly common either. And he was a warrior king, who knew how long he would live? Could you really sacrifice what you already had...for him? Especially not knowing if you’d be making such a sacrifice only for him to die shortly after and you’d be stuck and stranded in this cold, wet land. You didn’t know. Not yet anyway. 

“I am King, I can make whoever I choose whatever I want, I could grant you nobility and there is no need for a dowry, my kingdom is as rich as it needs to be.” He offered and you were struck by how generous he was being. You didn’t know if he was simply being flirtatious or if he was being serious, but still, that was one hell of a smooth line. For now though, you should be cautious. 

Should. 

“Although your offer is wonderful, I have a family back home who depend on me to serve the Sultan and Sultana the way I do. My family…” You tried to explain but couldn’t find the right words and the interpreters were thankfully far away because right now they’d be arguing with him over such a thing, themselves being eaten alive with jealousy. 

“Do they hold your family hostage until you get back?” He asked, his usually rough voice was surprisingly soft and...very soothing and comforting just now but you could sense just how sincere he was. He was genuinely worried about your family! Oh Allah! You were in so much trouble. 

“No, not that. My parents are poor people, with many daughters, no sons, being a lady to the Sultana, I earn enough to take care of them, since women usually are fobidden to work outside the home. But since I am one of the Sultana’s ladies in waiting- my life...surrounds her and I live to serve her, I have made a vow to her for life, only she can set me free from it. It was she who sent me here and it is she who will call me back and I will have to answer her. Everything I am and have is thanks to her. I owe her everything, my family owes her everything too. It is because she heard about the Great Heathen Army that she sent me here to see it with my own eyes since she is...stuck..or maybe... can not leave.. her palace. As her lady though, I’m allowed to leave, and I am her eyes and ears here, she lives through me while I am away from her and it is her that has paid for them to take care of me while on this tour of the north, otherwise I never could have dreamed of even traveling far enough to see the arabian sea on my own.  She will be happy to know that such a kind king is willing to offer so much to a woman he barely knows, simply because he wants to. You will be blessed for this, my heart tells me so.” You explained as Kezia’s eyebrows nearly went into her hairline, even to her, you concealed your heart, so to hear you say that to him was huge. there was enough sexual tension in this room between you and him that she feared the cloth would set on fire as you came around to his front to measure his arms that were currently outstretched at his sides and offered him an appreciative smile through your rather sheer veil you were wearing today. He could actually almost make out most of your face from this proximity and the gods were torturing him ever so sweetly because you were a goddess, your beauty was unparalleled, while it was true that you were not fair as his culture would consider a fair beauty, you were universally beautiful.  

“So how do you feel about being in such a strange place?” He asked, undeterred. Oh he was going to free you from whatever vow or whatever was keeping you from him. If he had to sail to the Ottoman Empire to see this Sultana himself, he would. He would find a way to claim you for himself. Come the fires of hell or the high waters of flood and if he had to pay your parents for you, he would. He’d try to offer your weight in furs or whatever they wanted. 

“The same way a fish feels when it’s pulled from the water. Where I come from, deserts surround us and any green, we have to work very hard to make it green. Here, there is green everywhere I look, it’s in all the trees, grass covers every step on the ground. There is so much water here it’s even in the air. Where I come from, we only get rain a few times a year, otherwise we have to get water from very, very deep wells. Here, just in the last month that I’ve been traveling, I have seen more rain than I have ever seen before in my life. When the sun shines, everything turns everything into a...hot...um...bathhouse, but when it does not, it turns colder than anything I’ve ever felt. I have spent more money on furs than anything else, I can not pile my bed high enough with them.” You chuckled as that seemed to give him ideas for what to get you although if he was honest, he knew exactly how he would love to warm your body up with his and wondered if you tasted as rich and spicy as you smelled. Your scent was filling his nose and making his mouth water. What he’d give just to be able to lift your skirts and taste your pussy would be obscene. 

When he left Kezia couldn't help but snicker a laugh as she looked at you with a knowing smirk. 

“What?” You asked her, your cheeks burning hotter than fiery coals as you put the fabrics he asked for aside before you picked out a few more that you wanted to make into different clothes for him, picking colors that would compliment his complexion best. 

“You could have been a Queen of Norway just now.” She gently teased. 

“He was flirting, he wasn’t serious.” You dismissed. 

“He seemed pretty serious to me. I thought he’d be putting either a little prince or a little princess in your belly if I turned around for too long.” She hinted and now your ears were burning and your chest was flushed at the thought.  

“Oh hush!” You shushed her which made her snicker more. 

“If I were you, I’d be taking him up on the offer. You told me that you had mentioned that you would not try to convert him and that he agreed to not convert you, yet norsewomen have freedoms even we could not hope for or even dream of. They do what they want and even though their cities are not as large or as nice as the ones you’re used to, they have potential for growth and from what I heard about his last queen, is she was a strong willed as he was and he liked her that way. I can see him following you back home just to at least try to buy you from the Sultana himself, and I don’t even need my crystal ball for that.” She shrugged. 

“Did you see his palms?” You questioned thoughtfully. 

“I did, he loves as strongly as he fights fiercely. There is wisdom in his age and experience and he would use all of it to care for you and please you well. He would keep you warm through the long hard winters and while you would rule Norway side by side, in the bedroom, you’d rule him.” She prophesied as your heart swooned. Fuck. 

“Tell no one...” You began. 

“Tell who what?” She returned, feigning ignorance before she pulled another few fabrics and cut a few yards of each and added them to your order for him as she finished making a rough pattern for his body. 

The following two weeks, you didn’t see him at all. Which was both bad because you worried where he went and what happened to him and if he was ok because you had began to look forward to seeing him at least twice a day yet good, because that meant you could get closer to the other sons of Ragnar. To Hvitserk especially. He showed promise as a possible match to your princess. He was royal in that he was technically a prince, he wasn’t necessarily as strong willed as Bjorn was and he seemed pretty easy to manipulate and his loyalty swayed, serving Ivar one moment, Bjorn the next. He was rather perfect for your princess. The poor bastard. You could almost feel sorry for him. 

However the look on Harald’s face when he walked into the long house, carrying in the butchered leg and rack of ribs of a reindeer when he saw you talking with Hvitserk he looked so...wounded and jealous, you realized as an afterthought.  

“Harald!” You exclaimed in relief at seeing him though and practically rushed to him, quickly running across the whole hall which was uncharastically empty which made his facial expression change before you seemed to stop just short of actually embracing him. 

“You’re safe?” You asked as you clutched your hand over your pounding heart, looking him over anxiously to see if any of the blood all over him was actually his. Although sense told you that you didn’t need to be worried for him, he was a mighty warrior, surely it would probably take something like a panther or a pack of wolves or a bear to take him down, not quite getting the right words but the look on his face told you he understood what you meant to say. 

“Yes, I’m safe and I’m ok.” He offered as you blew out a breath of relief. 

“So...not your blood?” You asked as you gestured to it. 

“No, not my blood, the kill’s blood,” he reassured you as you finally relaxed and nodded in understanding. 

“You went...hunting?” You asked as Hvitserk came over to take the carcass from him to take it to the kitchen. 

“She’s been searching the city looking for you and asking everyone for you since you left, I told her you went hunting, she’s been coming by every day to see when you’d be back.” Hvitserk informed Harald with a smirk and a hidden wink and it was Harald’s turn to look relieved and so very pleased. So the feelings and attraction was mutual. Good. 

“Yes, I went hunting, you said that you’ve been cold and you needed furs, I went hunting to get them for you, I wanted it to be a surprise, I didn’t mean to make you worry, I’m sorry, I should have told you.” He informed you and you burst into tears. He...went hunting...for you! He troubled himself with actually trying to provide you with...what you needed! He was so...damn it, he was perfect! Not for the Princess, but still. Perfect you were sure for a norseman. In talking with the others, his men deeply respected him and were loyal to him till death. He led by example and even though he had a relatively small kingdom, you were sure it would be great someday, hopefully in his lifetime. 

“My lord, I am...I am unworthy of such acts. You are a king, a king of Norway, a kingdom that...that has much honor that you are destined to see greatness in your lifetime. I am only a servant. A foreigner at that. You and your life are too precious to be risked for such a thing.” You began to weep as you knelt at his feet, feeling supremely humbled yourself before he reached out and pulled you up to your feet again before he framed your face in his hands. If anyone else dare do such a thing you’d be pressing a blade to their throats after cutting their hands off. 

But yet, here you stood, grasping his wrists gently feeling the strength in them and looking up at him with so much gratitude and adoration. Wanting, no, needing to kiss him as he mirrored your look, the softness in his eyes was something you never thought you’d see in any man’s eyes. It’s always been lust or ownership, which before had always made you feel sick, but now, you wanted to see those things in his eyes. He was unlike anyone you had ever known. 

“Then you are lucky. Because as a king, I can do whatever I want. And I wanted to do this for you. Honor me by accepting my gifts.” He insisted as you were nodding before you realized it before he wiped your tears from your eyes with his thumbs but made no move to remove your veil. Since in talking with Bjorn who had experience with Muslims knew that to remove a woman’s veil was forbidden. 

“Only if you will honor me by accepting a gift in return.” You managed to laugh through your tears, leaning into his touch before Hvertserk came back into the room but only for a heartbeat before he quickly left it again when he saw the scene before him which broke you and Harald out of the little trance you had put yourselves into before you reluctantly pulled away and regained your respectful distance, wiping the tears and smudging the eye makeup you put around your eyes. 

“Name it.” He replied as he simply grasped his own hands in front of him but stayed planted where he was. 

“I will make you a feast fit for the great king you are. It will take me about three days to prepare for it though. Can you be patient?” You asked him hopefully. 

“For you? I’d wait years.” He answered and you had to look away as your cheeks flushed again but you couldn’t help the bashful smile from blooming on your face which made him smile in return. You liked him back! Surely he thought maybe he was too old for you because he couldn’t tell how old you were so he assumed that you were younger than him. But clearly an adult and close enough. 

“Three days, don’t..go away or...get hurt between now and then,” you urged him before you put the package that had his clothes that you made for him into his hands. 

“I swear, I’m not going anywhere or will get hurt between now and then.” He repeated before you said goodbye and took your leave because if you stayed a moment longer you were going to lose all sense and actually try something that was likely to get you killed back home- like fucking him were he stood.  

But nothing was going to stop you from making him a feast greater and finer than any Sultan had ever eaten. Hopefully he would like it. 

“So? How’d it go?” Hvitserk asked giddily as he peeked into the room a few moments later after he witnessed you leaving a giddy and bashful smile on your face, his grin as cheeky as his ass. 

“How would you like to go to the Ottoman Empire with me to free her from her Sultana?” Harald asked him with a grin just as mischievous before he walked over to a nearby table to unwrap the parcel and marveled at your handiwork before he realized, you made him a few garments! There was a tunic that could be worn two ways, either inside out or right side in, one side had the silk. The other- the softest wool- you had called it cashmere, from a goat apparently on the other and both sides were decorated and a matching pair of pants! He didn’t remember you ever taking measurements for his legs but still. They were reversible too and the colors and designs of the fabrics, you had used pieces of both to trim the other so you could wear one- one way and match it by wearing the other- the other way. It was brilliantly done. His best garments he now owned before he realized he now had a few tunics, all made exceptionally well, with extra fabric at the seems so that it could be taken in or let out accordingly and it even had extras that he didn’t remember ever picking out but they were perfect. He knew you must have spent the entire time he was away making these for him and he was so touched. He would definitely be wearing these to the feast you were going to make him. Which that initself he could hardly wait for. 

“Sound’s fun to me.” Hvitserk nodded in agreement.

[d3-iseefire]

Princess of Shadow Chapter 3

Master Chapter List: https://d3-iseefire.tumblr.com/post/187613581372/princess-of-shadow-master-list

Link To My Other Stories: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/works

Bilba bent forward in the chair and wrapped her arms around torso. She struggled to breathe, air wheezing down a constricted throat. Her chest heaved with effort and black spots hovered in her vision.

Maybe, maybe she'd just misread it. She didn't read all that well. Her grandfather had only allowed her to learn the basics, just enough to be able to read his nightly missives on her daily missteps so she could give an accounting the next day on how she planned to improve.

Princess had no need for reading. It would cause her to squint, according to her grandfather, and create wrinkles. Or so her grandfather had said after Sigrid had gifted her a copy of her favorite book for her birthday one year.

When Sigrid has asked how she'd liked it Bilba had been forced to lie and tell her she didn't enjoy reading. It was a falsehood she deeply regretted, but the thought of admitting the truth had been simply too humiliating.

She ran her eyes over the note a second time, and then a third but it stubbornly refused to say anything other than what it had the first time she'd read it.

She dug her fingers into her arms and sagged further. Her consciousness wavered, threatening to desert her as readily as her grandfather had.

Boots sounded on the flagstone, and then someone knelt next to her chair.

"Your Highness!" Hands covered hers and a firm voice rose over the throb of her own blood in her ears. "Listen to me, Your Highness. Close your eyes."

The voice was familiar but, in her panic, she couldn't place it. Bilba squeezed her eyes shut and nodded shakily. "Okay."

"Good." The hands tightened on hers in reassurance. "Now focus on my voice, all right? Just breathe."

Bilba struggled to obey. Ever so slowly her pulse began to slow, and her breathing eased. Shivers still racked her body, and her muscles were wound tight, but she felt less like she was about to pass out.

She opened her eyes and felt them widen as she recognized the hobbit kneeling in front of her. "Lord Berold?"

He flashed a brilliant smile and Bilba's heart gave a small jolt. Lord Berold was close in age to her, with curly, sandy brown hair and a trim figure. Most of the young women of the nobility, and a few of the older ones, were infatuated with him.

Bilba could admit she was not immune. Lord Berold was one of her favorites to watch at the many balls her grandfather was so fond of throwing. She was rarely allowed to dance, and then only with those approved by her grandfather. She spent most of her time observing the ball as it moved around the small dais she was required to stand on like a living decoration adorning the ballroom.  

Lord Berold was forever surrounded by eligible women and their hopeful mothers. He was charming, charismatic, and willing to dance with even the most bashful wallflower. Bilba would often spend her time fantasizing about joining the swirl of brightly colored fabrics on the dance floor, partnered with Lord Berold instead of whichever of her grandfather's friends currently had his favor.

She knew better than to think it would ever be more than fantasy though. The nobility might love him, but her grandfather and the rest of his councilors had very little use for Lord Berold. He'd inherited his seat after his father's unexpected passing, making him the youngest on the council by more than twenty years.  

Bilba had heard him speaking once about how he had a lot to learn and was content to simply sit and soak in the experience and knowledge of those older than him.

"Inheriting a seat is one thing," she remembered him saying. "Earning it is another."

Bilba forced herself to offer back a weak smile. "What are you doing here?" He might be the least of her grandfather's councilors, but he came from a wealthy family with plenty of outside contacts and resources. Her grandfather would have certainly allowed him along if only to make use of those assets.

"Ingram," he insisted absently. He let out a huff and shot an annoyed look at the paper she held in her hand. "I'd hoped to get here before you found that silly thing. My apologies."

"Did my grandfather change his mind?" Bilba asked, the tiniest bit of hope flaring to life. "Is that why you're still here?"

"Not exactly." Lord Bero -- Ingram, stood up to retrieve a chair. He sat down, so close his knees were almost in contact with her dress, leaned forward and clasped her hands in his once again. "Your grandfather decided it best if I stayed behind to help hold the mountain as long as possible."

It was a very kind way of saying her grandfather had decided she wasn't competent enough to be trusted with such an important task. "It's imperative they escape," she agreed softly. "What good is saving the mountain if her king isn't there to rule it?"

The words were almost verbatim what her grandfather had been spouting at every opportunity since the siege had begun. In retrospect, Bilba realized she really should have seen all this coming.

"So you're going to help me stave off the barbarian hordes?" she asked, the slightest hint of teasing in her voice. Just knowing she no longer had to face it all alone felt like a massive weight had fallen off her shoulders.

"That I am, and more." Ingram sat back in his chair and clapped his hands on his legs.

"More?" Bilba asked in confusion. "What more is there?"

They were surrounded, rapidly running out of food and now her grandfather and the leadership of Erebor were gone. It certainly seemed that the only option left to her was how soon she'd surrender and in what manner.

"Your grandfather expects us to hold off the dwarves until he can get well enough away, and then surrender," Ingram explained. He leaned forward again, and his voice dropped and grew more intense. "But what if we did more? What if we turned the tide entirely?"

Bilba blinked in surprise. "Turned the tide?" she repeated blankly. "How?"

"Simple," Ingram said with conviction. "We lure the Durins in with the promise of surrender, and then take them hostage. The dwarves want their precious king back, they'll agree to our terms."

Bilba was certain he'd lost his mind. "I don't think that will work," she said finally, slowly. "Durin isn't going to just march into a trap."

"Perhaps not Thorin," Ingram agreed with a light shrug of his shoulders. "But who's to say he won't send his nephew or his brother? They'd work just as well."

Bilba hadn't known what the Durin heir's name was, or that he had kin. She suppressed a shiver at the thought of having to face any of them. She'd seen the rows of dead and injured hobbits being brought back into the mountain. The Durins had no more mercy or compassion than their ancestor.  

"We'll offer a truce, ask them to pull back so we can meet in a neutral spot for peace talks," Ingram continued. "Once they get near enough to us, and far enough from their own soldiers, we'll having archers hiding behind the gates reveal themselves and take them into custody."

Bilba frowned. The plan seemed almost ridiculously simple. "Just like that? Why didn't my grandfather do it? Did you suggest it to him?" Perhaps he wouldn't have left at all then and he cold be planning this with Lord Berold instead of leaving it up to her.

Ingram released her hands to reach into his jacket. He pulled out something that flashed and caught the light and, as he offered it out on his palm, Bilba realized it was a ring. A familiar ring, a blue stone trapped inside a cage of silver.

"Is that my grandfather's ring?" she asked in surprise.

Ingram nodded. "The king wanted me to pass it onto you, so all would know you'd been given his authority and power in his absence."

Bilba sucked in a sharp breath. "What?" The ring was her grandfather's prized possession. It had belonged to the last Durin king of Erebor, given to his hobbit wife after he'd forced her to marry him. Once he'd been overthrown the ring had been passed down to each subsequent hobbit king as a reminder of the evil of the Durins.

She picked up the ring carefully, the weight heavy in her hand, and felt an odd emotion begin to swell inside her. Her vision blurred and the bridge of her nose started to burn. "He really left it for me?"

Ingram nodded. "That he did."

A smile pulled at her lips and Bilba slid pushed the ring onto her finger. It was massively oversized, forcing her to close her hand into a fist to keep it on.

Ingram chuckled and reached under his shirt to pull out a thin chain. He unhooked it and held his hand out for the ring. "Here, let me."

Bilba handed the ring over and he threaded it onto the chain, then stood and stepped behind her. The weight settled against her collarbone, cold against her skin. Almost unconsciously Bilba pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin.

She smiled up at Ingram. "What do you think?"

"Stunning," he replied, admiration in his voice. Bilba flushed and ducked her head shyly. Ingram dropped to a knee suddenly and took her hand in his. "Your Highness," he said seriously, "I'll confess I'm not doing this with entirely pure motivations."

"You're not?" Bilba asked in confusion. She'd picked up the ring in her other hand and was toying with it absently, still unable to believe her grandfather had entrusted her with it.

"No." Ingram's mouth twisted and he seemed to hesitate, eyes darting away for an instance before coming back to hers. "Your Hig -- Bilba, have you considered what will happen to you if we were to surrender the mountain?"

Bilba's good mood evaporated and her stomach clenched. She shook her head. "I've been trying not to," she admitted in a near whisper. Feeling suddenly cold, she tugged her hand free from his so she could wrap her arms around herself once again.

Ingram swore quietly. "I've scared you. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Bilba said with a tight smile. "It's something I have to think about, right?"

"It's all I've considered," Ingram said sincerely, still kneeling, now with his hands clasped in front of him. "You're the crown jewel of Erebor, a bright light in her dark halls. I'd hate to see--" he cut himself off with grimace. After a moment he cleared his throat and tried again. "Anyway, I just wanted to say that I've long -- admired you. I'd hoped at one point to speak to your grandfather but, before I had the chance--"

"My grandfather announced my betrothal to Lord Grima." Bilba was quite certain her face was about to catch fire from the heat currently flooding it. Butterflies started up in her stomach and her heart began to race. She'd seen young women being courted before but had never had it happen to her. It wasn't allowed. "I didn't choose him," she blurted. "My grandfather did, because of the ties he has to Gondor's king."

"I thought as much." Ingram scowled. "I'll confess, that was another reason I didn't speak up. I knew I had little to offer."

Bilba put a hand on his arm and squeezed lightly. "I think you have plenty to offer." Her own boldness startled her, but it was also strangely exhilarating. Her grandfather would not have approved.

Or, she thought as the weight of the ring on her collarbone drew her attention, she wouldn't have thought so. Perhaps he'd just been waiting for her to come into her own and prove herself. Maybe, as Ingram had said, she'd inherited her position but had simply needed to earn it.

"Who knows?" Ingram was saying as he pushed to his feet. "After all this is over, and we're both heroes--" he trailed off and then held a hand out to her. "What do you say, Your Highness? Ready to save Erebor?"

Bilba took a deep breath and nodded. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. As she wrapped her hand around his arm she noted absently that his hair was damp, enough to have soaked his collar. It was probably cold, she thought, and made a mental note to order him something warm to drink from the kitchens. It was the least she could do for the person who was going to help her save the mountain. "What will we do first?"

"We'll start with the guards," Ingram said with a nod. "We'll pick a select few we can trust and explain the plan to them." He stopped suddenly as if a thought had occurred to him and looked at her. "You know what? You should be the one to tell them. I can wait for you in your grandfather's office."

Bilba's eyes widened. "Oh, I couldn't. They won't listen to me."

Ingram lightly picked up the ring she wore, fingers barely grazing her skin near the neckline of her dress. It sent an odd tingle through her that she'd never felt before, not unpleasant, but unusual. "They will listen to you," Ingram insisted gently. "You have the ring, and you're stronger than you know, Your Highness. Trust yourself. This is your time. I won't take it from you."

Bilba nodded shakily and didn't resist when he stepped away, toward the exit leading to the kitchens and the servant's tunnels.

"I'll meet you in your grandfather's office," he said. "Until then, Bilba."

"Until then," Bilba agreed in a whisper.  

They would save Erebor, and her grandfather's trust in her would be proven, and Sigrid and Legolas would regret having betrayed her.

Elation rose up in her and, for the first time in what felt like a very long time, she felt something very close to happiness rise within her.

This was going to work, she decided as she turned toward the doors, steps lightened to a near skip.  

She just knew it.

***

"So, word is the hobbits are ready to discuss terms."

Frerin snorted from where he was sprawled across a bench on the edge of camp, arm thrown over his eyes. "Terms. I can imagine how Thorin reacted to that."

"Which is precisely why he's not going, and you are."

Frerin groaned. Aule, but he hated politics. Give him something to hunt, or fight, or just anything that didn't involve having to sit in a chair listening to politicians drone on endlessly for hours. He'd been forced to attend meetings before and had come away having learned three facts.

One, that it was entirely possible to speak at length about nothing.

Two, that it was entirely possible to spend an entire day speaking and to end it having accomplished exactly nothing.

And, three, it was entirely possible to actually accomplish something only to return the next day to find it the others had decided to throw the whole thing out on a whim and start over from scratch.

He honestly could have lived his entire life happily not knowing a single one of those things. At least he understood why his brother, father before him and grandfather before him had tended to be irritable.

He moved his arm and opened his eyes as Vili came closer to stand over him. "You're blocking my sunlight."

"They're pulling everyone back enough to allow for a pavilion to be set up halfway between the mountain and the front lines," his wife's husband said casually as if Frerin hadn't even spoken. "Gandalf, Bard and Thranduil will be there as observers."

Frerin sighed in resignation. He'd been having such a nice day too. Well, aside from the bite in the air threatening an early frost and winter, and then the sheer boredom that was an extended siege.

All right, so maybe not such a nice day after all.

He got to his feet and his eyes, as they so often did of late, turned toward Erebor. A strange thrill ran through him and Frerin was surprised at how his stomach knotted with nerves. It had all been such an abstract thought before this, even during the siege, but it was rapidly approaching the moment when it'd be hard reality.

The mountain he'd only heard about, dreamed about on occasion in leaner times, would soon be in their hands once more. Taken back from the usurpers who'd responded to the kindness and generosity of Durin with treachery and death.

The sons of Durin were taking back Erebor.

#Hobbit #The Hobbit #lotredit #Lord of the Rings #writing #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #Female Bilbo #Frerin #thorin #Erebor #Fantasy #Adventure #angst #romance

[patty-writes]

Hello!!! Lifting from that first meeting starters list- “I’ve seen some weird shit, but you’re something else" with Ferid (lmao)? No worries if the prompt is too uninspiring but I would love to see you write this!!! Thank you!!!

It was actually very inspiring and I’m so happy that I can write something about my beloved problematic fav and for you! Thank you so much for sending this, I hope you’ll enjoy it 💕It took me like 5434578 years and now I think it could make a hella good, multiple chapter fanfiction.

→ Word count: 2,994

London, 16 November 1888

Heavy fog was lingering between narrow buildings creating an overwhelming atmosphere of coldness and dread. Empty, dark windows seemed to stare at the passers by who were foolish enough to wander through this part of the city in such a late hour, where nothing but darkness remained, delicately diffused by the light of the moon, now hanging high on the sky in a partly bitten shape of the sickle. It was almost eleven o’clock at night, no wonder then that the only sound in the area was the creaking of crows, the sound of water flowing down the drain, the whistling wind and your footsteps on the pavement, still wet from the recent downpour.

You were mentally scolding yourself for not declining the last cup of tea from Mrs. Jones and not coming back home earlier, when the weather was more pleasant and the area less dangerous. Still, you didn’t want to give any bad impression, both for her and her son, whom you have finally managed to have an interview with after many weeks of trying and impatiently waiting for his letter. Henry Jones was, after all, one of the best forensic doctors and one of the few who was willing to answer your questions, right now, however, you were staring to doubt whether staying in his mansion for so long was a good idea. You didn’t have any other alternative for a way back home, except for walking on your feet on this eerie night. You couldn’t lie that, despite the unfortunate circumstances, it was a truly wonderful night, the ones where you could almost hear the unreal whispering in the shadows.

You heard a carriage driving in the distance and you decided to turn left, preferring to keep the track on the wider, better illuminated streets instead of those narrow ones, where the danger seemed to be ready for an attack behind every corner. You didn’t want to die, especially not now, when you had your notebook with the written interview you were working so hard on, it would be truly unfair for it all to go to waste simply because of not being careful enough. However, the cold shiver was still running down your spine, reminding you about your poor choices and the possibility of negative results it could bring to your life soon. Eventually, you decided to focus on the road and the surroundings, relying on your senses and instincts which should allow you to notice the presence of someone else before any tragedy happened. The crows were circling your form on the sky above like an evil omen and with every step further, it was harder to control the trembling of your arms.

Walking to the other side of the street to avoid some drunkard laying there, you held the notebook more firmly and speed up a little, now realizing that it was not so far away from your home. All you had to do, was to cross the next road and you would see the tiny garden in front of your house, the mere think of climbing to the bed bringing the smile to your lips. Just when you were about to reach the crossroad, there was something unusual which you noticed with the corner of your eye while passing nearby the narrow street hidden in the shadows between two tenement houses. The wave of shock shaked through your body and forced you to stop in the middle of the step, your imagination now creating the very dreadful images of what could it be in real, while after slowly turning your head to the side, you realized that it was no joke your mind would be playing on you.

You really did saw a wave of a perfectly white coat.

At first, you thought that it was a pair of lovers in an adoring embrace in such a grotesque scenery of the dirty street, where the outfit of a man who’s back was facing you was the purest object your gaze could find. The longer you looked, however, the more your eyes saw and it didn’t took you long to realize that the head resting on the shoulder of the noble was unnaturaly pale, gray even, when there was no more life shining in their dead eyes. The other one, dressed as the nobility, was holding them tightly against the wall, his face hidden in the crook of their neck; coat swinging with the soft whispers of the wind and long, almost silver hair tied up with the black ribbon at his nape.

The aristocrat seemed to notice your presence despite staying back to you and with a swift movement straightened his back and slowly turned to you, his paperlike skin painted with the crimson blood smeared over his lips and sharp fangs. He let go of his victim, allowing them to fall on the pavement with a loud thud, like an used toy which was no longer needed and despite the horror and ridiculousness of this whole situation, you couldn’t stop staring at his inhuman, red eyes where thin, vertical pupils dilated a little at your sight.

The vampire, the man in front of you was undoubtedly a vampire and it was the only reasonable thought that your shocked mind could comprehend in that moment. Still, staying in the middle of the street in front of this bloodthirsty monster in the middle of the night didn’t seem like the safest idea in the slighest, but your legs were too heavy to carry your body somewhere else. You could only stare and admire his features, the ones which would easily lure both men and women, seducing them with the fleeting promise of the sweet kiss, only to leave them lifeless at his feet.

“Well then,” he mused, his voice low and calm, amused even. “I wasn’t expecting an audience.”

Mesmerized, you observed as he took a handkerchief out of the pocket and wiped the blood off his lips. Despite your mind screaming at you that you should ran as fast as you can, you still weren’t able to move and were simply looking at his nonchalant movements as if he didn’t just kill a human in front of your bare eyes by drinking the blood out of his body.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” he chuckled and peeked at the right as if he was hearing something your mortal senses couldn’t catch in the night air. “Nevertheless, it was nice seeing you. I hope you enjoyed the show, good luck explaining it to the others!”

With a laugh on the lips, the vampire turned around and wandered off leaving you absolutely speechless. Cold wind blew in your face, reminding you that indeed, you were still alive, cheeks burning from the emotions and feeling as if you had just witnessed a truly bizarre dream.

London, 17 November 1888

The tea in front of you was getting colder with every passing minute as you couldn’t bring yourself to take a sip of it, too lost in your own thoughts. Memories of the previous evening were running through your head with the speed of light, every single one of them giving you more questions left without answers, bothering you and your common sense.

Did it all truly happened? Did you really witness that? Was that man—the vampire—real or just a part of your vivid imagination? Even if he was, how was it possible, after all? Those creatures were supposed to exist only in fairytales you heard as a child, not in your everyday life. What about all of the others then? Werewolves? Mermaids? Were they here, too, living among mortals without their knowledge? Or maybe you were just insane?

The whole situation was driving you mad, just as the unbearable suspense.

Finally, you took a sip of now cool tea and reached for the newspaper, looking at the obituaries, looking for any signs of the man that you saw dying yesterday. Unfortunately, nothing could be found and with a heavy feeling in the stomach, you wondered whether his body was found at all. Or maybe they were just a peasant, not worth having any notice in the local newspaper?

“Damn it,” you muttered under breath and stood up from the table, heading to your humble office, determinated to finally finish your article.

If you would only focus on your job, you would surely start forgetting about it. It seemed like much safer option for you, too, especially since digging into such a delicate subject could end up badly for you, possibly even worse than for this unfortunate person who was the vampire’s victim.

London, 29 November 1888

You could swear that you saw him with the corner of your eye while wandering through the street with the basket full of groceries. He was there, facing you and smiling as if your mere presence was amusing him, still, it didn’t take him longer than a blink to disappear into the crowd, leaving nothing but a cold chill down your spine.

It couldn’t be a dream, he wasn’t part of your imagination although he, indeed, appeared in your dreams from time to time, mostly saying something inconherent but always dressed all in white—such a contrast to the darkness he was surrounding himself with. In your dreams, the vampire seemed so real you could almost touch him, feel the soft structure of his pearly white skin under your fingers and yet, no matter how many times you tried to do it, he still managed to fade away in the last second. Your mind was playing terrible tricks with you, that was for sure, but the memory of that night seemed to be engraved in your head, haunting you for the rest of your life if you only didn’t find the truth.

The unspoken words floating through your mind were interrupting your work which eventually wasn’t completely unnoticed.

“Is everything alright?” The question asked so suddenly made you jump slightly, coming back to reality as you looked at your friend and remembered that you were meeting with him to give him your latest article to publish in the newspaper.

Ungrateful job, publishing your works with a different surname, but you enjoyed seeing them printed on the paper, the pride not leaving you since you first managed to hold it with your hands.

“Yes, it’s alright,” you forced a smile. “I’m just tired, this one took a lot more energy than I thought.”

“I’m sure it will be great,” he smiled at you. “The letters we are receiving are mostly praising your work.”

“Well, that’s a compliment then.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? If you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

For the mere second you wondered how would he react of you told him about what you saw—about the vampire on the hunt—but immediately decided to not speak about it. Not only he wouldn’t believe you but he could also grow concern about your mental health. You could almost hear the words the vampire said just before leaving you be, letting you live, and they echoed in your mind for a long time after.

Good luck explaining it to the others.

“I’m fine. Thank you for the concern.”

London, 5 December 1888

The letter you received was unexpected. Obviously, you were aware of the engagement of your cousin but you didn’t think the whole ceremony of marriage would happen so soon. Still, you were reading an invitation again and again, fingers tracing the ink letters as your sight loomed over them, words repeated in your head.

It was supposed to be a wonderful evening, full of joy, lights and flowers and you couldn’t be more happy for her. Such a splendid way to start the new year, with the love of the life by the side, ready to pace through the future together.

Right now, however, you had to focus on finishing the new article, the one you still weren’t sure whether you wanted to publish or not. It seemed like a risky idea but you couldn’t help yourself, thinking about how could it be the only opportunity to keep the demons away.

It wasn’t going to get signed with your surname, after all.

Warwick, 20 December 1888

The manour your cousin was going to start living in was gorgeous, decorated mostly in bottle green and dark blue—her now husband’s favourite colours. You could endlessly walk through the halls, admiring detailed paintings, marble sculptures and other decorations which were giving the whole interior a truly exquisite taste. The library was just as impressive as the rest of the house, containg so many titles that even the best London’s bookstores could only envy such a collection. The air was soaked with the smell of warm wax, sweet perfumes, cold, winter air and the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen floor below, all of that spiced with the melody played downstairs by an orchestra invited to the ball.

It was supposed to be a magnificent evening and it truly was—first, the wedding and now the party.

You walked into the parlour and realized that there was only few people there, sitting on the comfortable couch and armchairs next to the fireplace and chatting, prehaps taking a breath before coming down to the ball. It was quiet there, indeed, a perfect place to relax a little and have a small conversation with a glass of champagne in the hand.

Encouraged, you headed to the nearest free place and sat in an armchair, immediately feeling as if its soft structure was going to swallow you whole. Letting out a long exhale, you looked at the impressive painting of your cousin and her husband hanging above the fireplace, smiling slightly to yourself at this utopic image. You were genuinely wishing them the best and since he seemed to be a good man, it shouldn’t be too hard to fulfill.

“Good evening.”

Hearing a voice coming from the couch next to you, you turned to look in the face of whoever desired to interrupt your thoughts, just to freeze in place as your eyes met the bloody red ones, vertical pupils observing you with a predatory precision.

“Oh, don’t you remember me, little lamb?” Theatrical sadness appeared on the handsome face of the vampire as he leaned down, resting his chin on the hand, only to be changed in an amused one within a mere second. “I think you do! If you didn’t you wouldn’t write such an article to the newspaper, would you?”

Your throat suddenly grew completely dry and you had to swallow to remind yourself that you were, indeed, able to speak. Plus, you were both surrounded by people, in the middle of the party, moreover, so he wouldn’t dare to hurt you now.

Or would he?

“Still not much of a talker, hm? Alright then, allow me to introduce myself first. My name is Lord Ferid Bathory.”

You nodded slightly, now matching his name with the image from your memory and dreams. Hesitantly, you answered, sharing your name with him only to receive a chuckle.

“I know your name, silly! I know that you didn’t use it under an article, also.”

“Did you read that?” you asked quietly, brows furrowing.

Of course, the main idea of the article was to draw his attention and somehow bring it back to you—just so you could stop all this nonsense and finally find peace, either in an embrace of death or having a conversation with him. Still, you wished more for the latter and you weren’t disappointed now, simply surprised that it worked.

Your friend wasn’t the happiest after reading the article you prepared, explaining to you that subjects about supernatural beings may not be greatly welcomed in the society who is building cages above the graves of their beloved ones just in case they could raise from the dead. Still, you insisted, argumenting that it was nothing but a hint, an advice on how to act in case of an attack. Wandering alone in the night was the first position on the list about how to protect yourself from the evil spirits.

“Of course I did,” he smiled and you could swear that you saw the tips of his fangs for a single moment. “It was hilarious, if you ask me, but I have to disappoint you, my little lamb, wooden stake does no harm to us.”

“It doesn’t…?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Well then…” You adjusted the position on the armchair so you would face him directly. “What does?”

He laughed genuinely happy, drawing attention of people in the parlour for a second.

“That would be too easy if I just told you.”

“Why didn’t you kill me back then?” The question escaped your lips before you could think about it twice and with the words spoken, you felt an unexistent heaviness leave your shoulders, just now noticing how it was present there since the day you saw the vampire on the street.

But Ferid simply shrugged.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t hungry anymore, as you probably noticed. I wasn’t in the mood for playing around. I simply didn’t want to.”

“Are you implying that I’m alive only because of your caprice?”

“I’m not implying.” The spark of malice appeared in his eyes. “I’m simply telling the truth.”

There was a silence between you two as the air grew heavy, yet somehow not noticed by anyone else. Once again, you felt as if you were in a dream, the dreadful and exciting one, crossing the paths of fantasy and reality when the vampire, the real vampire was sitting next to you and casually talking with you. It was completely ridiculous and absurd.

“I’ve seen some weird shit, but you’re something else,” you finally commented, making him giggle at your choice of words, taking a strand of white hair behind the ear.

“And that’s exactly why I like you, little lamb.”

#ferid bathory #ferid x reader #ferid #owari no seraph #seraph of the end #ons #ferid scenario #ferid imagine #ferid bathory scenario #ferid bathory imagine