#the duck knight rises | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soft-girl-musings · 4 months

Text

Salt & Pepper

Moon Knight System x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for teasing, domestic fluff, author does not condone touching people's hair without permission, no use of Y/N

wc: 1,078

fic summary: Marc, are you familiar with the term "silver fox"?

A/N: i might have a problem lol

_____________________

“Put. It. Down.”

Marc Spector does not startle easily. So when he nearly falls from his perch beside the bathtub, you’re surprised you have to steady him.

“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Marc picks up the towel and small cardboard box he’d dropped because of your outburst.

Shifting your focus, you zero in on the latter: hair dye, just as you’d suspected.

“So this is what you get up to when I’m away?” You tut, cradling his temples and shaking your head. "What happened to you?"

"What? Nothing, I'm-"

"-I wasn't talking to you," you sigh, resting your forehead against the crown of his head. "How long has he been treating you like this, you poor things?"

“Ha-ha.”

You release his face to study it. "But seriously, how long have you been dying your hair?”

“... For a couple of years. Started to turn gray from stress a while back, and I guess it never stopped.” He fidgets with the loose edge of the container.. “You really never noticed?”

You take the box and set it beside him. “You hid it well.”

You’re not judging him for dying his hair, it’s just… surprising. Marc’s never been one to fuss over his appearance, as far as you could tell. When you first saw his closet, you’d half expected it to be lined with the same outfit ten times, like in a cartoon. Most days, “dressing up” means adding a jacket or blazer.

“Since when do you care? About your hair, I mean.”

He shrugs. “I’m not gettin’ any younger, honey.”

“Neither am I.” You kiss the bridge of his nose. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Goes double for me, don’t you forget it.” Leaning in, Marc tries for another kiss, but you duck and grab the hair dye before turning away with a mischievous smirk.

“Gotta keep you honest,” you wink and dart out of the room before he can catch you.

_____________________

"Love?"

"Hm?"

"Might fall out if you keep playing with it like that.”

You’d been standing behind Steven for the past couple of minutes, meaning to check in on his preparations for his morning tour but had gotten distracted. Very distracted.

“Sorry,” you sigh, your fingers leaving the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and trailing down to his shoulder. “It’s just… hm.”

Your conversation with Marc must have taken root: over the past few weeks, you’ve noticed the hair that had been dangerously close to another round of boxed dye abuse steadily turning lighter. A subtle blend of silver strands mix with the darker curls that frame his face, making his hair shine a bit brighter in the light of the desk lamp.

“It’s like starlight,” you finally state, leaning in to rest your head against his.

Steven sputters and puts his book aside. “Starli- that’s a bit much, yeah?” His brow furrows, but there’s no denying the smile tugging at his lips.

“Not if it’s true,” you contend. You adjust the reading glasses that had slid down his face and tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s a good look on you.”

There’s no denying the heat rising to his cheeks when you talk. “This– you don’t–” Steven caves and sets his book down, hopelessly flustered. “Either go away or get over here. Cheeky.”

He makes room for you to settle into his lap, which you giddily accept. Your hands sink back into his curls and he shivers as you scratch his scalp.

“Did I ever tell you I had a thing for my professor, once upon a time?”

“Oh my days–”

You’re not sure who kisses who, but you’re certainly not complaining. Neither is he.

_____________________

The time apart has been agony.

You check your phone for the fifth time this evening. They’ve been gone for what feels like months (it’s been weeks) handling some business in California, of all places. Marc said he’d call when they were on their way home, meaning no news is sad news.

You’re pulled from your pity party by a knock on the door. It’s late, and you’ve already signed for your dinner delivery. Slowly, you get up and grab the bat you keep by the entrance (with a sock slipped over the end per Jake’s advice).

The knocking continues, getting more urgent. You take a deep breath and look through the peephole. A large brown eye stares back and you yelp, dropping your bat. The unmistakable boom of Jake’s belly laughter mocks you from behind the door.

“You’re hilarious,” you groan, standing the bat back on its head and unlocking the door.

You’re ready to lay into him when you open the door, but you’re stunned into silence. Jake’s smile is highlighted by silvery stubble, dusted with black. He adjusts his cap as his dark eyebrows raise in mock surprise.

“What, no hello?”

You tear your eyes away from his jaw. “Hm? Oh. Hi.” You open the door wider for him to step in. “Marc said you’d call first.”

“No fun in that, is there? Besides, you looked ready to handle some trouble.” he shrugs off his coat as you lock the door behind him.

“Trouble, yes. Nuisance, debatable.” You sidle up to him and drape your arms around his waist. You place a kiss on his cheek; it’d be impossible for him to not notice how you let yours drag along the rough line of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he laughs again. “But man, is it warm in here…”

He tosses his cap and it takes everything in him to not lose it when your eyes widen at the sight of his hair, now more gray than black and curls longer than you’ve seen them before. You’re too enraptured to be embarrassed at your obvious loss for words.

“Your hair…” You reach up to touch it, but Jake grabs your wrist.

“Tsk, tsk, you threaten and barely say a word to me, then go straight for the goods without so much as a ‘please’? What happened to decorum, hm?”

“You fucking tease,” you huff. “...please?”

“Well, since you asked nicely–” Jake can barely finish his thought before your lips are on his, your hand tangled in his starlit hair as soon as he lets go.

“I take it we should cancel Marc’s haircut?” he murmurs as you catch your breath.

Your free hand grazes the scruff on his cheek and you grin. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

_____________________

A/N: marvel you cowards give us gray-haired moon knight

ty for reading <3

event tags:@moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

865 notes · View notes

imyourbratzdoll · 1 year

Text

𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

this is part two of you aren't nat

summary - after everything that happened with bucky, you found comfort in steve, slowly falling for him as he becomes your knight in shining armour. when you finally become his, it's the best day of your life.

warning - angst, swearing, bucky is an asshole.

the gif I use isn't mine, the divider is by @firefly-graphics and @newlips

It had been a couple of weeks since everything happened with Bucky. Steve welcomed you with open arms, letting you know he was here whenever and you could stay in his room as long as you wanted. You took him up on that offer, not wanting to be alone, and he was the only one who seemed to stop the nightmares.

You were in the kitchen, waiting for your coffee to finish brewing. Your arms wrapped around yourself, feeling a shell of yourself when Steve’s not around, you feel safer and more loved when he’s close by. But he’s currently in a meeting. He rushed out in the morning, leaving an unexpected kiss on your forehead.

You felt your body tense when familiar footsteps entered the room. You didn’t dare turn around, and you could hear Bucky sneaking around as if he were the one unsafe. You jumped as the coffee machine beeped, indicating it was done, and you quickly made your coffee. When you turned to get out of the room, your eyes widened at how close he was to you.

You begin to shrink into yourself, “So… You fucking my best friend now?” You blink, shocked at the words that leave his lips. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You have always been super easy.” He smirks when he sees the tears, moving closer to you until you're backed against the counter. His arms trap you where you are as he leans close to your face. “I bet he wishes it was Natasha or maybe even Sharon. Do you really think anyone would want you as their first choice?”

You have a tight grip on your cup as you stare into the devil’s eyes. You feel relieved when a throat clears and your eyes meet Steve’s. He stands there, taking up most of the room with his giant stance, his arms crossed over his chest as his face is set into a stern glare. “Back away from Y/n, Bucky.”

Bucky looks back at him, a smirk on his face. “Why should I? It’s not like you like her, and she’s just your rebound because you can’t have who you really want.” He entirely turns to his once best friend, his back to you. “Go on, Stevie. Tell her the truth, c’mon. Doesn’t she deserve to know that you aren’t better than me?” His back straightens, shoulders squaring back as Steve stalks forward, a dark glint in his eyes. Bucky clenches and unclenches his vibranium hand, his brow rising. “You can’t take me, Steve. You’re weaker than I am.”

Steve growls, closing the gap between the two of them. His hands grip the collar of Bucky’s shirt as he lifts him, causing you to duck away quickly, and he pushes Bucky into the area you just were. “You shut the fuck up. You’re not the man I grew up with, you ever speak to Y/n like that or me ever again, or I will make your life a living hell.” He blocks Bucky’s hand, somehow gaining more strength. “I mean it. Stay the fuck away from her, or I won’t be the only one you deal with.”

He drops him, and without warning. Swiftly lifts you whilst securing your cup and walking off to his room. You begin to relax into his hold slowly, feeling your mind start to fill with insecurities and wondering if maybe Bucky was right, perhaps you weren’t ever going to be anyone’s first choice, and you’ll have to get used to always being second.

“Don’t do that.” The sound of Steve’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You lift your head from his shoulder and look at him, and your brows furrow as you wonder what he means. “Don’t doubt yourself or me, don’t let Bucky’s words make you feel like someone won’t love you. Because it doesn’t matter what he thinks, you are my first choice. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and I wouldn’t want any other woman when you are in my life.” Your eyes tear up as you stare into his eyes. All you see is adoration and the truth, your head resting back onto his shoulder as he continues his journey to his room.

Steve sets you down on his bed, wrapping the blanket around you before he places your coffee down. He crawls into the space next to you, holding you close to him as he grabs the remote and turns the tv on. “I’ve been practising how to use this new-age technology just for you.” You look up at him in awe, but he’s facing the tv, trying to find a movie for the two of you to watch. “Do you want to watch some horror?” Steve turns his head, his breath hitching as your eyes connect, his brows slightly furrowing as you stare at him. “What?”

“I love you….” Your eyes widen as you realise the words that slipped out. Your hands come up to cover your face. “Oh, shit! I’m so sorry!”

Steve felt as though his heart was going to give out. He had been dreaming of this day since the first day you joined the team. The moment his eyes met yours was when Steve felt his whole world come alive, but Steve didn’t want to cross being professional with you, and he couldn’t let it ruin his relationship with you. So Steve stayed away, kept everything professional with you, and watched you fall for his best friend. But you let him be your knight in shining armour, and then to hear you utter those three words he’s always dreamt of hearing. It felt like a dream come true.

Steve realised he must’ve taken too long to respond when you began to untangle yourself from the blankets. He quickly reaches out and pulls you back into him, and his arms wrap tightly around you as he buries his face into your neck. “I’ve been waiting so long for you to see me finally, and it feels like heaven now that you’ve noticed me.” He lifts his head, looking you deep into the eyes. “I have loved you since the moment I met you. If it’s not too much to ask… Will you let me take you out?”

For the first time in forever, you smiled a smile of happiness, lunging forward, and wrapping your arms around Steve, as you pressed your lips into his. Your lips move against one another before you slowly pull back and look into his bright blue eyes. “I’d love that.”

You and Steve had gone on many laughter-filled dates. On your first date, Steve had taken you out to dinner at a diner that resembled his time and then to an arcade where he won you many stuffed animals. On your second date, he had taken you to the movies, and afterwards, the two of you got ice cream. Your third date was probably the best date out of them all. He had planned a picnic in a flower-filled field, watching the sunset as the two of you talked about everything. That was the date when he asked you to be his.

The two of you sat in the lounge, cuddled up with each other as you watched a movie. Nat and Sam are doing the same on the other side, and Steve felt proud of you when Bucky walked into the room, and you didn’t tense. He kept his eyes on him, though, ready to jump at the chance if he tried to say anything to you.

You snuggled into Steve, pressing your lips onto his neck, cheek and lips, feeling happy with how your life turned out. Not even commenting on Bucky's bruises, especially when Sam and Nat winked in your direction.

You were in the arms of a man who adored you, sitting with your friends, watching a movie. The man who broke you couldn’t do that anymore because now he was the one who was broken.

You got everything, and he got nothing. A giggle escapes you as Steve smothers your face in kisses. “I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

taglist - @fanfictioniseverything @crystallizedth0t @haruvalentine4321 @queerqueenlynn @vicmc624 @elizabethmidnight2017 @missvelvetsstuff @redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @iheartsebstan @smplymrvl @bradfordmyworld @sleepy27 @themorningsunshine @spookyparadisesheep @billyhargrovedemoness1987 @winters1917 @siriusjohnpotter @irishhappiness @ig-you-idiot @dexter99 @loveisallyouneed1125 @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @chemtrails-club @moonstruckbirdie - couldn't tag some of you.

1K notes · View notes

feyhunter78 · 1 year

Text

Tourney Injuries and a Proposal

Description: While you and Helaena are watching the tourney, your former betrothed injures Aemond.

You sit beside Helaena watching as the knights galloped at each other, their lances shattering each other’s shields, one knocking the other from his horse.

“I just don’t understand the appeal of these things.” You said, grimacing as an agonized scream rang out from below.

“I believe the displays of strength are considered quite attractive.” Helaena said, her eyes searching the men standing on the sidelines. “Oh, there’s Aemond, in the black armor.”

You stood and rushed to the railing as he stepped into the ring, burying your hands in your skirts, your heart pounding against your chest like dragon wings in a storm.

He noticed you and made his way over, confidence in every step that brought him closer to you. “Fair Lady y/n, might I request your favor?” He called up to you, a playful smirk on his lips.

You threw your handkerchief down to him, and he caught it, pressing it to his lips before tucking it in his pocket

“Good luck, my prince.” You said, eyes filled with fear.

Aemond never entered tourneys, claimed they were a worthless waste of time, but after your former betrothed, a young lord from House Tully had insulted you, Aemond suddenly found them worth his time.

He patted his pocket. “I don’t need luck, when I have the favor of the most beautiful maiden in all the realm to protect me.”

You ducked your head, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “I’m honored by your words, Prince Aemond.”

He reentered the ring, and you returned to your seat.

“It seems that Aemond is going against Lord Tybalt.” Helaena said, a tinge of worry in her lilting voice.

You grabbed her hand, stomach churning. “No. This will not end well.”

Tybalt was your former betrothed, a strong man, he had a nasty temper, and no fear of striking those who angered him.

Aemond himself had saved you from Tybalt’s anger when the Tully lord had caught you both in what looked to be a compromising position, but really was a misunderstanding.

You’d been sitting under the Godswood with Aemond when a spider dropped from the tree and made its way beneath your gown’s neckline.

In your panic, you shrieked at Aemond to get rid of it, and he sliced open your bodice with his dagger, plucking the spider and flicking it away from you.

Tybalt walked in on Aemond’s hand gripping the shredded fabric of your bodice, his other hand on your waist as he tried to calm you.

You watched with bated breath as the two men circled each other. Tybalt was snarling something at Aemond and your grip on Helaena’s hand tightened when he lunged.

Aemond easily dodged his blade before returning the blow.

They went back and forth, and once it seemed Aemond was to win, you relaxed, taking your eyes away from the match.

Gasping and a frightened scream made you whip your head back to the duel.

Tyblat collapsed Aemond’s sword through his abdomen, but Aemond was kneeling in the sand, his hands covering his face.

“Y/n, wait.” Helaena yelled, as you bolted out of your seat and down the stairs.

The maesters were already ushering Aemond to their tent, and you followed behind them, fear gripping your lungs.

You pushed aside the fabric to see Aemond surrounded by maesters. “Aemond—”

“Out, everyone out.” He ordered, pushing the maseters away from him with his free hand.

They scurried out, but you stayed put.

“Someone remove Lady y/n.” He shouted, turning his face from you.

You elbowed the maester who tried to grab you and rushed up to Aemond cupping his face. “Aemond, are you hurt? Let me see.”

He tried to shake you off, but you stood your ground.

Aemond removed his hand slowly, and you sucked in a breath.

“I’m hideous, I’m aware.” He growled.

You picked up a clean cloth and dipped it in the nearby bowl of water, gently bringing it to his face. “Hideous? My prince, you are more beautiful than the sun setting over the Narrow Sea.”

He looked at you warily, but allowed you to dab at the cut on his face. “It’s not very deep, does it hurt?” You asked, quietly apologizing when he hissed in pain. “I feel responsible, I should have tried harder to explain the situation to Tybalt, but…”

“But?” He echoed, his hand resting on your hip.

You wrung the cloth out before re-wetting it. “I have no real answer for him that would quell his anger. I can’t lie, and say I'm not fond of you, or that I didn’t wish that perhaps your gaze could have fallen upon my skin in a more intimate setting.” You admitted, not meeting his eye.

“He was the fool who tried to take out my eye, not you. You were merely the victim of a spider.” He chuckled. “Besides, his aim was terrible, he got the wrong eye.”

“Well, I’m glad it is, I don’t know what I’d do if you were injured because of me.” You said softly, focused on your task.

His hand caught your wrist. “Y/n.”

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” You asked worriedly, dropping the cloth back in the water.

He shook his head and his hand slid behind your neck, pulling you closer. His lips brushed against yours, his violet eye flickering up to yours.

You rested your hand on his chest and leaned forward, pressing your lips to his.

His free hand grasped your waist as he spread his legs, pulling you flush against him. “Marry me.” He breathed against your lips, his thumb caressing the nape of your neck.

“Truly?” You asked, praying to The Seven, this wasn't a cruel jest.

He nodded, sapphire glinting in the low light. “Allow me to make your wish come true.” He connected your lips in a heated kiss, lips pulling you under, the taste of peppermint and mead intoxicating your sense, his scent of leather, and dragon surrounding you.

His grip on you tightened as you returned the kiss eagerly, your fingers gripping his tunic, as you let out a small whimper.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.” You smiled into the kiss and giggled when he stood and swept you off your feet.

He kissed you once more, leaving you breathless and dizzy with joy as he carried you out of the tent and towards the stands where his mother sat.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list, and requests are open right now!!!!

1K notes · View notes

caffeinewitchcraft · 2 years

Text

The Chosen One just gaslighting the people training them into thinking they’re the chosen one for different prophecies.

“You had a vision six years ago,” the wise man said. “The day the Castle fell.”

“I did have a vision then,” the Chosen One said. “There was a duck. A lake. No, it wasn’t a duck. It was a swan. A woman trapped as a swan. I need to save her!”

The group glanced at each other uneasily.

“Maybe,” the woman meant to teach them magic, “you had a-another vision? About a Demon King rising?”

“That’s crazy,” the Chosen One said even though they definitely had. “That’d be messed up if I saw that.”

“Maybe the swan was a metaphor,” the knight suggested to the other two. “Can’t visions be metaphoric?”

“You’re thinking of oracles,” the Chosen One bullshitted. “No, no, I’ve never had an oracle. I did have another vision.”

The trio leaned forward eagerly. “yes?”

“It was dark,” the Chosen One whispered. They closed their eyes. “So dark. I was in a forest. I walked and walked until I came into a clearing. In the middle of the clearing was a stone. A sword was embedded in the stone.”

“Uh,” the wise man said. He pulled out a scroll and studied it. “There’s nothing here about a sword—“

The chosen one gasped, eyes flying open. “I know now what I’ve been chosen to do! I am to find the stone, pull the sword from it, and become King!”

“We have a king,” the knight said, nonplussed. “You’ve met him.”

“See, you have one now,” the Chosen One said ominously. “That’s what the sword is for.”

The knight and the mage looked to the wise man in a panic.

#Drabble #writing warmup

2K notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

Text

I've been dreaming of the Knight of Lightning.

He vowed to have all bend the knee to his sovereign. That had been his wish, once upon a time. Not like this—he hadn’t wanted it to be like this.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Today is meant to be a joyous occasion.

Their friends, their Diasomnia family, gathered around for a grand party. Good food, good drink, and good company. A send-off for their seniors, a toast to their glorious futures.

This should be the happiest they've ever been.

So why?

Why has the chatter died and the celebration ceased? Why do their guests look positively disturbed? Why does Silver brandish his baton at the young master?

Why does he reject this happiness?

Why?

"What are you doing, Silver?!" Sebek angrily demands, punching a fist into a table. The cutlery laid upon it violently clatter. "I'd had enough of your crude jokes--lower your weapon at once! You're making a mockery out of the young master and Lilia-sama's celebration!"

"I'm sorry, Sebek. I'm afraid I can't do that." His aurora-colored gaze is serious and fierce.

"You cur! You DARE turn your sword against your master?!" Sebek takes a defensive step in front of Malleus, staring daggers at his friend. "You're breaking your oath of loyalty to your country, your prince--"

"Sebek..." For a moment, Silver hesitates. There is genuine hurt in his face, eyes wide and wet like those of a doe. But it is there no longer the next second, hardening into a steely shine. "Please stand down. I must do this."

"You've gone mad!!" Sebek's yell echoes in the decorated lounge. Mad, mad, mad... reverberated off the stony walls.

The first year tenses, putting a protective arm in front of Malleus. "Young master, get behind me! I will remove him from your sight."

"Do as you will, Sebek," Malleus replies coolly. His expression presents as almost disinterested, but there is no mistaking the slick of venom in his voice, the raging fire in his eyes.

"Boys!! I thought I taught you better than to brawl over trivial things like this," Lilia cries out to them--but Malleus lays a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

Sebek produces his own wand--a baton of the same design as Silver's, green magestone embedded into its handle. He raises it to Silver, its end already crackling with an intense energy.

The impact comes, harsh and swift as a bolt of lightning.

"Rrgh...!" Silver braces against the strong blow, skidding several feet. His boots scuff the floor, marking how far he has flown.

Sebek is upon him in an instant, his baton pushing hard against Silver's. He meets the aggressive offense with a quick block and parry, pushing with shaking arms.

"I don't want to fight you!" Silver begs hoarsely.

"You think I want to?!" Sebek roars. His lungs sting, hurting with betrayal.

Silver grits his teeth and ducks--Sebek hurtles into a stone wall. The second year slides under his friend's legs and emerges on the other side, springing back onto his feet.

Sebek faces him, waving his baton in an arc.

"Listen to yourself, Silver!! Lilia-sama's magic is diminishing... Lilia-sama is leaving school and retiring?! The young master having an outburst... forcing us into a deep slumber?!"

With each declaration, he calls forth a new strike of lightning. CRASH, CRASH, CRASH!! They come down in a line, attempting to take Silver down.

He sprints, outrunning them by a hair. A curtain of smoke rises, the air smelling of ozone and destruction.

"They're the ravings of a lunatic!" Sebek shouts, summoning another wave of lightning. "Lilia-sama would never abandon us. The young master would never abuse his powers! They are..."

His everything.

Without them, what is he? What purpose does he serve? Sebek shudders at the thought.

Silver senses it--how his hand falters, his glare softens, his lower lip trembles. He calls out to him, an olive branch extended.

"I know you, Sebek. I know you're a kind person. That's why you want to put your faith in them. Believe me, I do too!" Silver pleads. "But this... This is wrong! It's twisted."

"You're dreaming!!"

"No." He shakes his head. It's you who's dreaming. I'll make you see for yourself...!!"

Silver charges, his baton clashing with Sebek's midair. They're even twin swords, crossing blades and trading blows in a deft, deadly dance.

Neither relenting.

"Open your eyes." Silver's whisper is a loud prayer. It's the moonlight in pitch black darkness, sunlight cutting through a murky swamp. "WAKE UP, SEBEK...!!"

"ACK...!"

Silver shoves with all his might, sending Sebek sprawling onto his back.

Memories spin, colliding in his head and calling forth thunder. Flashes go off. Light and sound gather, sparking a buried image and setting it into motion.

It's a tangle of ebony thorns knitting over Diasomnia. He sees himself standing among the bramble, his face crumpled with immense terror--and sadness. From somewhere in the memory comes a familiar drawl.

"Do not fear. You will no longer have to suffer. Rejoice!! This is my gift to you all: an eternal happily ever after."

Th-This is...!

Sebek bolts up, clutching his head with a groan.

He regards his dorm leader with newfound horror. "M-Malleus-sama... It can't be. Y-You...!!"

"Aaaah..." The prince draws out a sigh. He sounds like a child disappointed with a broken toy. "How unfortunate. It seems that you've been roused awake as well. Really, Silver. Not only do you defy me, but you actively recruit others to your rebellious cause."

Silver tenses, silently putting himself between Malleus and the still-dazed Sebek.

"Fufufu. No matter. Please, allow me to put you all back to rest. A sleep so deep... you have no chance of waking again!"

A black haze encases Malleus, and all Sebek can see are the bright, glimmering eyes from the darkness. Malleus dispels it with the wave of his hand and reemerges like a demon from an inky summoning circle.

Lattices of pointed vines wrap over his body, a tattered cape fluttering out behind him. His horns and tail glow with an eerie green light, skin greyed and zombie-like. But what frightens Sebek the most is the calmness in his smile.

it does not match the quiet fury in the rest of his face.

This cannot be.

"Y-Young master, wait!!" he stutters, trying to get onto his feet. "I-I beg for your forgiveness! We mean you no disrespect! If you could please just hear us out--"

"The time for talk is over." Malleus raises a hand--and with it, a wall of emerald flames erupts from the earth. "Sweet dreams, Sebek."

The ground at their feet caves into a jagged fault. Thorns creep out from below, seeking out their next victims. Sebek leaps away from them, but they do not stop advancing.

"Ready yourself!" Silver hollers. He lets loose a blast of fire magic, which whittles away at the closest thorns. "Malleus-sama won't listen to reason. We--you--have to fight!!"

"B-But...!"

He takes in the sad scene. The castle is crumbling, the party come to a sudden stop. Briar is quickly overtaking the area, covering furniture and swallowing up students.

And there is Silver and Malleus--light and darkness, mirror reflections of one another. On opposing sides. Enemies.

Sebek is trembling, finding it difficult to swallow the bitter truth.

But swallow he does.

This is a waking nightmare.

108 notes · View notes

w-m-heart · 8 months

Text

Flufftober Day 6: Lost in Love (and in a maze)

Fandom: Moon Knight Pairing: Jake Lockley x reader Word Count: 1269 words Summary: You and Jake are out on a date for your anniversary in a corn maze of all places, and you get lost. Jake of course takes advantage of the alone time (keeping it PG of course)

“We’re lost. Admit it.”

You shove him a little. “We are not!”

Jake grins. “You have no idea where we are.”

“We’re in a maze,” you shoot back with no short amount of sass.

“And whereabouts in the maze, mi sol?”

You don’t reply and he tips his head back and laughs. “Like I said, we’re lost.”

You shove at him again, but he dodges back and ducks around your other side. Before you can react, he scoops his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. You gasp at the movement, before entirely melting into his arms.

“Fine, where do you think we are?” you demand, winding your arms around his neck.

Jake snorts. “I don’t know. In a maze somewhere.”

You groan, shoving away from him. “Useless.” When he tries to pull you back in, laughing, you point at him. “We have dinner reservations, and they will not keep them for us just because you got us lost in a maze.”

“I got us lost?” His smile turns wicked and your stomach swoops. You step back and he follows you, step for step, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m the one to blame?”

Your steps quicken and so do his. He stalks towards you, eyes devouring you. You swallow a giggle which turns into a gasp as your back hits the maze wall. Jake’s grin turns absolutely delighted when you realise you have no hope of escape.

Not that you’re complaining.

He stops right in front of you, and his hands curl around the corn stalks behind you, caging you in. He leans in, trapping you against him and heat curls through you at the press of his body against yours. It’s been years since you first fell for him but he still makes your heart race like it’s the first time.

Especially when he has that look in his eyes where you know you’re going to be aching the next day.

“What are you thinking, mi corazon?” he purrs, eyes darkening. “Because you look downright horny right now.”

Licking your lips—and watching his eyes track the movement—you wrap your hand around his tie and rise on your tiptoes to get that extra bit closer to his mouth. Your toes curl as his breath dances across your lips. You tighten your grip on his tie, tugging it tightly. He growls and the corn stalks in his grip crumple.

You step back, grinning and entirely satisfied with yourself. “I’m thinking of dinner.” You duck under his arm before he can react. “We should head off before we miss our reservation.”

You pat his chest and make it all of two steps before he hauls you back in. This time rather than just caging you against the maze wall, he pulls you into it. You squeal and fall willingly into him as he tugs you out of view of everyone.

He keeps you firmly pressed against him, and you arch deliciously against his firm…everything. One hand curls behind your neck, tipping your head back, while the other curves over your ass, tugging you perfectly against him.

You wind your fingers through his hair and pull his mouth down to yours. Desire burns through you as the crash of your lips together sends him into a frenzy that has his hands racing over every inch of you he can reach.

Your fingers dig into his scalp and you swallow his moan like it’s a nectar you can’t get enough of.

“Excuse me?” Suddenly a voice breaks through your passion and you pull back from Jake with a gasp. “Hi? Sorry, you can’t do that here.”

You glance to your left and you see the owner of the voice. Or most of him at least, and what you can see is that he is barely old enough to grow the stringy beard he’s sporting.

Jake’s fingers do a long slow sweep along the small of your back and you shiver into him at the sensation. The corner of his lips curls up and he drops his face into the crook of your neck. Against your skin he murmurs, “Ignore him.”

Okay.

You scratch your nails along his scalp and smile as he groans into your skin. He mutters something low in Spanish that is too fast and quiet for you to hear, but what you do catch has you arching against him. Especially as his fingers dip below your waistband.

“This is a family establishment,” the boy says again, unpleasantly reminding you of reality. He pauses before clearing his throat and trying again. “My manager says you can’t do that here.”

With annoyed growl, Jake steps further back into the corn maze, pulling you after him. You give him a look, but don’t do anything to stop him—not when you’re burning up under his gaze and touch.

“Um…I can still see you?”

You sigh. Yeah, this isn’t going to work. Untangling your fingers from his hair, you shake your head at Jake and murmur, “Just when it was getting good.”

He pouts. Murder? he mouths, with wide puppy-dog eyes.

You laugh softly and press a kiss to his cheek. His stubble scratches you and you’re deliciously reminded of the last time your darlings grew out a beard. By the desire burning in his eyes and the wicked tilt of his mouth, you know he’s remembering that morning too.

“You really need to leave.”

With a final look of promise, you pull back completely. The sudden lack of him and the cold rushing in after his delicious warmth, brings you further back to reality.

“We’re coming,” you call out over your shoulder.

With a final sigh, Jake follows as you head out of the way too dense corn stalks and re-emerge in the clearing. The boy—a worker for the maze—stares at you both, and you almost feel sorry for him, until you notice him ogling you and then you just feel like kicking his balls right back up until puberty tries again.

When Jake notices the look, he glares at the boy who instantly shrivels. He clears his throat and puffs out his chest like that’ll work in making him appear less prepubescent. “You really can’t be doing stuff like that here. There are kids walking around!”

He isn’t wrong. You probably shouldn’t have been acting like horny teenagers necking it in the woods, but it’s your anniversary for gods’ sake! You are horny. And who wouldn’t be with your delicious man looking at you like you’re good enough to eat?

Still, the kid is an asshole and you are just petty enough not to let him win.

You sniff, and with one bored look, you give him a scathing once over, raise your eyebrows and turn away. “Ready for dinner, darling?”

Jake smiles at you, delighted as always by the appearance of your petty side, and he loops an arm around your waist. With a snicker, you two walk off, and when you’re far enough away, Jake presses a kiss to your forehead. He grins. “That kid is going to need years of therapy to get over that burn.”

You snort. “Like he didn’t have it coming.” You lean further into your husband’s arms and shoot him a crooked grin of your own. “Now, how about we skip dinner and just go straight to dessert?”

That wicked smile you do so love comes back, and that molten desire from earlier burns back to life.

Jake strokes a finger along your jaw. “One problem though.”

You hum, and then groan as realisation sets in. “We’re still lost, aren’t we?”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

Thanks @flufftober for the fun prompts!

#flufftober 2023 #day 6 #moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x y/n #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x gender neutral reader #fanfiction #ao3 #flufftober #so much fluff #fluff

69 notes · View notes

lena-in-a-red-dress · 8 months

Text

Morgana AU Pt 4

Sarrum isn't invading. That much is clear when they begin to pass Camelot soldiers on the road near the city, and not one of them gives the host or their captives a second glance.

Within the city walls at least, stares and whispers follow them, as shocked citizens watch them paraded through the city streets in chains. Gwen remains silent through it all, seeming to retreat into herself as they near the palace.

They seem to be expected, and though Sarrum and his lieutenants split off to enter the main gate of the palace while the captives are funneled through the servants entrance, their destination is the same-- the main hall, where a pair of great wooden doors swing open to admit them all.

"Your Majesty!" Sarrum bellows amiably, lifting both arms in greeting. "An honor and a privilege to be a guest of Camelot once more."

Kara surveys the court, specifically the dais on which the king sits. His throne is relatively modest, and his knights are stationed around the room on high alert. Just behind the throne, however, stands a beanpole of a young man with dark hair, chin ducked as though guilty of a heinous secret.

In an instant, Kara knows this is Merlin.

She's heard of the boy, the servant who'd poisoned Morgana with a waterskin. She remembers Morgana's soft words to Gwen shortly before they all left the hut behind.

"I died, Gwen," she'd murmured beside the fire, while Kara had been outside fetching more wood.

Gwen's shock had been palpable in the silence that followed, before she tucks away what are undoubtedly countless questions to focus on the one thing that matters.

"But you came back."

Morgana sighed then. "Perhaps."

Whether Morgana had ever shared the identity of her murderer with Gwen, Kara doesn't know, but in this moment what she does know is that Morgana's two greatest enemies stand in this hall.

The king-- Arthur-- rises from his seat. His knights shift in readiness.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Arthur's voice is calm and measured, but Kara hears the hint of a threat. Likely, a parade of dirty captives into his throne room isn't an often occurence.

"A gift for your majesty," Sarrum announces with pride. "And for the jewel upon the crown--!"

Sarrum throws his arm back towards the great doors, and the crowd of his men parts to admit one of their own tugging on a chain. At the end of it is Morgana, hands and neck locked into a set of narrow wooden stocks, eyes glassy with fever.

If Kara could break her chains she would, but instead she simply holds her breath, relieved that her friend is alive. Her eyes flick towards the dais, and is surprised to see the king's shock mingle with a mix of concern and outrage.

The soldier hands the chain to Sarrum once within reach, who immediately gives the leash a rough pull, jerking Morgana off her feet. She lands hard on her knees with a crack that echoes in the great hall, and is given no time to recover before Sarrum grabs her by the hair to wrench her head back.

"The lady witch herself!" he announces.

Morgana grunts, breathing heavily against the pain and fever, but says nothing.

"Morgana..."

Clearly dumbfounded, Arthur stares at the prize offered to him. His jaw works soundlessly, unable to speak.

Someone does it for him.

"End this, Arthur!"

Gwen pushes past Kara to stand in the open, as far as her chains allow. At the sight of her, Arthur goes pale.

"Gwen?"

A cascade of whispers ripples across the assembled nobles.

"End this," she says again, urging her husband to listen. "Please. It isn't right--"

"Silence!"

A guard steps forward to strike her, but halts when a blade touches his neck from behind. Gwen straightens from her reactive flinch, and relaxes at the sight of her brother holding the hilt.

"Elyan..."

"It's good to see you," he says with a soft smile. Gwen nods, and returns her attention to Arthur.

"Let her go, Arthur."

At that, Merlin steps out from behind the throne to murmur in the king's ear. "Use caution, your Majesty. She is no friend to Camelot."

Kara's hands tighten into fists. Gwen, too, bristles. "People can change," she points out sharply. "Clearly, if you have come to treat with a man as cruel as Sarrum."

Arthur's jaw tightens, but to his credit doesn't otherwise react to the barb. Kara watches as he considers his option, waiting for his decision.

Finally, he looks to Sarrum.

"Release them."

Gwen releases a breath, even as Sarrum sputters in protest. "But your Majesty--!"

"I said release them!" Arthur presses, tone sharpening to a deadly edge. "All of them."

Sarrum hesitates, as though debating whether to defy the order. In the end, he motions sharply to his men, and in moments the captives are released from their irons. Kara and Gwen rush to Morgana's side as the stocks are removed from her neck, and she slumps forward into Gwen's arms.

Gwen cups Morgana's cheek and looks sharply to Kara in fear. "She's burning up!"

"The arrow--" Kara rips the fabric at Morgana's shoulder, and sure enough the shaft is still there, festering.

"Gaius!" Gwen calls. She looks around her sharply, pinning Arthur with a hard stare. "We need Gaius!"

Arthur swallows thickly, yet nods to his nearest man. "Percival."

"Arthur..." Merlin says in a low warning.

"She has done many terrible things," Arthur concedes, "but she is still my sister."

Kara watches as Percival-- a positively mountainous man-- tucks Morgana against his chest and lifts her into his arms. Morgana moans, eyes rolling back in effort to remain conscious.

Gwen and Kara follow Percival out of the throne room and through the castle, ignoring the stares from servants and vassals alike, up and up a winding staircase until bursting into what could only be a healer's chambers. A narrow cot is cleared of strewn clothes, and Morgana is laid upon it with as much care as Percival can manage. Still, it jostles the shaft in Morgana's shoulder and she groans in agony.

"Careful, careful," an elderly man urges, bustling towards them with rags and cutting implements. "Merlin--"

"Right," the boy says, moving obediently to undress Morgana's wound as though he hadn't just been advocating for her misery.

Kara intercepts him with a growl.

"Don't you touch her!" Her fists bury themselves in his shirt, arresting his movement. She releases him with a shove. "Don't you touch her."

"I'll do it," Gwen says urgently, already peeling away the blood-dried fabric to reveal the wound. "It pierced through as well."

"Then we have double the work to do," Gaius observes, his voice steady. "We shall do what we can--"

"No," Kara clips out, turning her glare from Merlin to Gaius. "You will do what you can. Not him."

"Very well," Gaius agrees. He gently moves Gwen to the other side of the cot, where she immediately moves to press a cold compress against Morgana's brow. The healer passes his gaze across the rest of them. "Clear the room."

"But--" Arthur begins to protest, but not even a king holds sway in a healer's domain.

"I require space to work, and fresh air to clear the lungs and cool the body. You may post a guard at the door if you must, but we must not be disturbed."

Arthur reticently nods, and motions to his men, tugging Merlin along with him. The boy glares balefully at Kara, who glares back in equal measure until the door swings shut behind the lot.

That Gwen and Kara both remain behind goes unremarked upon.

"Now, then," Gaius says, looking to his new assistant. Gwen glances up at him, features lined with worry. "It will not be pleasant, but we must work quickly."

Removing the arrow shaft releases a musk of pus and infection that quickly fills the room, the open windows hardly enough to help. The one blessing they have is that Morgana loses her battle to remain conscious, and goes limp before they can even begin to clean the wound and clear the infection.

"How long?" Gaius asks.

"Three days," Gwen returns. She provides what little information she can, but Kara remains quiet, arms folded as she stands watch against any who may enter. All the while, her gaze remains focused on Morgana, trying her hardest not to imagine Lena on that cot, Lena fighting for her life.

It's going to be okay, Kara thinks to herself.

It has to be.

#supercorp #morgana au #got some more for yah!#hopefully its a bit juicy #more to come

65 notes · View notes

best-ducktales-episode · 21 days

Note

A moment of silence for the ‘Friendship Hates Magic’ fans. You fought a good fight for a good episode.

But three cheers for me and my fellow ‘The Duck Knight Rises’ fans! We’re moving on to Round Three baby!

we’ll all have friendship hates magic in our hearts going forward 😔

#ask #🎉🎉🎉

26 notes · View notes

glimmeringtwilight · 2 years

Text

Forgive Me, Forgive Me | Vampire!Diluc x Reader

i'll add a pretty banner in the morning but here's the halloween diluc piece! vampire diluc because I'm basic (it just Works! It just Works!!! I believe in vampire diluc supremacy). Reader is a monster hunter :]

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: AFAB READER, NSFT, noncon, blood, violence, injury, kidnapping, yandere themes, biting, aphrodisiacs (kinda), blood loss. Use of the word "lovely" as a descriptor for the reader.

Sometimes you wonder what would have become of you, if monsters didn’t exist.

On long, quiet nights like this one, you entertain the idea: what would you do? Where would you work? Would you travel?

Sometimes you see yourself adventuring; traveling the world and helping others along the way. And though you do travel now, you’re sure it would be much, much different, without monsters to hunt and beasts to kill.

You’d travel during the day, for a start– not hidden under the cover of nightfall, chasing down something with claws and horns and sharp teeth through the outskirts of a small, tormented town and into the forest. You’re sure many of the places you’ve traveled to in this line of work are beautiful in the daylight, but you’ll never know.

You’d be able to sleep at night, too. Rather than sleeping during the day, in the scarce hours of sunlight that winter affords, and rising as the sun dips below the horizon.

Life would be simpler. Safer. You wouldn’t need to bandage quite so many cuts and suck the venom out of quite so many bites.

But it’s wishful thinking; an impossible fantasy, just out of reach. A neverending “what if.”

So your nights are spent like this: on snow-dusted rooftops, cracked shingles and shifting bricks threatening to collapse under you as you look out onto the dark alley below.

Tonight is especially cold; frost nipping your fingers through the thick gloves and a cold wind cutting through the seams in your coat to raise gooseflesh along your skin.

Worse, though, is the silence. Usually in towns like this, there’s at least one or two drunkards stumbling home from the tavern, singing some disjointed, slurred tune. Or there’s the chirp of crickets, the distant call of an owl– something to fill the empty air.

Tonight, there’s nothing. Just silence, stretching on for miles– as dead as the winter.

That is, until-

Crunch.

You duck low against the rooftop, peering over the edge and ignoring the cold bite of snow seeping into your jacket. It’s hard to see in the darkness– there’s not much snow to help reflect the waning moonlight– but you catch a glimpse of red hair as the figure of a man darts quickly through the alley.

Vampire, they’d told you when you’d taken up this commission. Look for red hair.

There’s your monster, then.

You jump over the ledge, into the alley, bending your knees as you land. You’re not sure if it heard you, but you don’t have the time to dwell on it, instead giving chase after the retreating figure. They turn a corner, you turn it a second later, and they’re gone.

The shallow footprints in the snow stop a few feet in front of you, but there’s no sign of them. You turn your gaze up towards the rooftops overhead and there’s nothing still.

Sighing, you do a quick sweep of the surrounding area, finding no trace that there’s anyone here but you. Whatever it is, is already long gone. Those Knights better pay you double for this, you think, as you clamber back up onto another rooftop and wait.

The night is spent watching from rooftops and seeing no other signs of life except for your own. When the sun starts to peek over the horizon again, you cut your losses and head for the inn.

The next night, you swap your boots for something lighter, less noisy. It won’t keep out the cold, but you’ll live. You do the same with your jacket, swapping it for a darker and quieter material, hoping that tonight you’ll be able to sneak up on it before it slips away again.

You can see why the knights that supposedly protect this city can’t seem to kill the thing themselves– the skittish ones are always the hardest to catch. But you won’t let it deter you; you’re going to kill it, get paid, and then move on to the next town.

There is one thing that bothers you about this whole ordeal: the Knights insisted, when they commissioned you for this job, that the most it’s ever done was bite people. A few of the townsfolk tell you that it watches over the city, protecting them from worse things.

You’d scoffed. Yeah, right. All vampires ever know how to do, in your experience, is kill. They drink their victims dry; leave their corpses out to cool for some unfortunate soul to find in the morning.

You feel bad for the poor, delusional townspeople who believe that. You know better– the only good vampire is a dead one.

…Still. You wonder why it didn’t attack you, if it heard you coming last night.

Tonight, you perch on a different rooftop, closer to the side gate of the city and hidden behind the cover of a smoking chimney. You tuck your nose into the collar of your coat to keep from breathing in too much smoke and to keep warm against the winter chill.

It’s silent again tonight, too. You wonder if the vampire attacks have successfully spooked the drunkards into sobering up until it blows over. Maybe the Knights instated a curfew.

It’s for the better, you think. At least there’s less worry of civilians getting hurt while you hunt it.

Much like the night before, you sit in silence on the cold rooftop, straining your ears for a sound. And much like last night, you hear the crunch of footsteps in the snow, see a glimpse of red hair.

Unlike last night, however, the figure doesn’t make it past the alley– instead, you hear a grunt of surprise, the shriek of wires pulling taut. Unlike last night, you also set a trap. As you jump to your feet and land in the alley, you see that it worked.

A ways down, you see him struggling, tangled in a mess of wires. You quickly close the distance, drawing your sword.

Vermillion eyes meet your own and you freeze.

…You know him. From the first day you came here– you know him.

When you’d first arrived, you’d stumbled onto his estate– he’d given you directions to the city. At the time you were surprised he was awake, so late in the night, but you get it now. The winery heir– what was his name–

“...Diluc.” Something like despair paints his features as you mutter his name, as though the dim recognition on your face wasn’t damning enough. “That’s what you said your name was, right?”

He doesn’t say anything– just shifts his weight, gets a knee under him. You raise your sword, realizing too late that the trap must not have triggered properly; he shouldn’t have his hands free like that–

Diluc stands, rushes towards you, and you hardly have the time to take in a stuttered breath before you’re being slammed against the wall on the opposite side of the alleyway. Your head cracks against brick, vision scattering with stars for a brief moment, but you force your sword upward, driving it just below his shoulder.

The man hisses, grabbing you by the jaw just as you yank your sword free to attack him again, and slams your head against the brick a second time.

You black out. It’s only for a few seconds, but when you come to, you’re already on the ground, sword kicked out of your reach.

He flips you over onto your stomach, taking ahold of one of your wrists. You feel nauseous. Your head swims as you strain to focus on the polished boots in your vision, to regain your senses. Sluggishly, you blink, feeling a tug on your other wrist.

“I’m sorry,” He tells you after a beat. He sounds far away.

Gloved hands hook underneath you and you thrash, trying to bring your arms in front of you and realizing he must have tied them together.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, hauling you over his shoulder as you squirm and hiss, “I don’t want to do this.”

“Fuck you,” You spit, “Monster.”

“I know,” He says, solemn. “I don’t want to hurt anyone-” You stiffen and he rushes to clarify– “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, right,” Your vision is well and truly swimming by now, blurring sharply at the edges. It’s hard to get the words out, “And what– what of the townspeople… you attacked?”

His grip on you tightens, but he doesn’t reply, carrying you past the city gate now. It’s a struggle to stay conscious, but you fight to stay awake, if only to say your piece before he kills you.

“You’re a threat. As long as you live, you’re a threat to these innocent people-”

You hear him shudder in a breath through clenched teeth. “I know.”

Do you? You want to say. You want to argue, to thrash and scream and make him regret not gagging you, since there’s nothing else you can do, but… You cannot fight off the exhaustion sinking in as the adrenaline dulls, as a throbbing, aching headache sets in; as the darkness fuzzing your vision overtakes the shrinking view of the city– of polished boots treading through snow.

Before unconsciousness takes you, you realize something.

…Where are the Knights?

When you come to, you’re surprised to still be alive.

What’s unsurprising, however, is the rope around your wrists and ankles, the gag forced between your teeth, knotted so tight you can feel a pressure headache building beneath the throbbing pain of what is already surely a concussion.

You’ve been placed awkwardly on your side in what is undoubtedly a wine cellar, the smell of wine thick in the air. There’s barrels stacked on either side of you, reaching to the ceiling.

Through the slats in the shelves you can see rows and rows of barrels to your left, brick wall to your right. You think you must be in the back of the room, then, farthest from the door. To prevent you from escaping or to ensure nobody hears you down here, you don’t know.

Nobody comes for you when you kick at the barrels, making as much noise as you can. Nobody hears you as you kick and kick and kick, praying that a shelf will slip, a barrel will fall and make a mess, a sound– but nobody comes. The ropes hold firm, unyielding to your struggling. There’s nothing to do but wait.

So you wait.

You try to come up with a plan– something to get yourself out of this, but what do you do? In your line of work, the smallest mistakes can mean life or death. Ordinarily, the fact that you’re still breathing would be a victory in itself, but is it, anymore?

You’re locked in a vampire’s wine cellar. Nobody is coming for you. Nobody knows you’re down here, you’re sure, except for him. There’s not many reasons a vampire might keep you alive– the most glaring one makes your stomach churn with unease.

You need to get out of here.

But with nothing left to do, you settle back down uncomfortably on your side and close your eyes. Sleep is a welcome reprieve from the heavy ache behind your eyes, in your jaw, and the stiffness of your joints. You dream of nothing.

The next time you wake, you’re being coaxed into an upright position by gloved hands.

“I’m sorry,” A voice says. You blink the sleep from your eyes, recognizing the vampire from last night. “I know this seems bad, but I swear I don’t intend to hurt you.”

He hesitates, a scrap of fabric clenched tight in one of his hands. Blearily, you wonder what it’s for, but you get your answer when he sets it over your eyes, tying a tight knot behind your head to keep it fastened there.

Cold fingers replace the gloves, running tentatively over your scalp until they brush something raw and painful. You hiss through the gag and he pulls away, muttering another quiet apology.

“I’m going to clean your wound.” He says. You don’t bother acknowledging him, biting down on the gag instead at the first touch of the damp rag against the injury.

“This isn’t permanent,” He explains as he dabs gingerly at your injury with the cloth- “I… just need some time to convince you to keep this secret.”

And if I don’t? You want to ask. You suspect you know the answer, anyway. The room lapses into silence, interrupted by the occasional hiss of pain that slips through your gag.

He’s gentle about it, for what little it’s worth to you given the circumstances. Gentle, but you don’t miss the shaky inhale as the rag’s pulled away, the flex in his fingers of waning self-restraint as he turns you around to get a better look at your wound.

Nothing happens, for a beat. You can practically feel him shudder behind you–

“Forgive me,” He’s starting to sound like a broken record at this point, “I shouldn’t… but you smell so good.”

Immediately you jerk against the grip on your biceps, fervently shaking your head no, no, no.

“It won’t hurt,” He promises, voice hoarse, hushing you when you muffle out a protest through the gag, “I’m sorry. You don’t know what it’s like–” Fingers card through your hair, tilting your head back while his other arm winds around you, crushing you against his chest and knocking the air from your lungs– “this hunger. Forgive me–”

You struggle as much as you can manage; you can’t let him, you can’t–

Cold breath against your throat, chased by searing hot pain. You scream around the gag, try to pull away, but he just holds you tighter. Blood drips down your neck, staining the collar of your shirt. You feel dizzy.

After a few moments, the pain fades. It’s still quietly there– still the sense of something horribly wrong, the foreign sensation of fangs cleaving through skin, but it’s chased away by an unbearable heat spreading from where Diluc’s mouth latches onto your throat.

You go lax against him. Against your better judgement, you tilt your head back further, thoughts fuzzing with the way he groans into your throat. …Why were you so worried, again?

He pulls back just enough to rasp, “See? That wasn’t so bad,” against your neck. He sounds just as lost as you feel.

You feel light. There’s a chill sinking in as he drinks from you, overtaking the heat as pins and needles start to spread through your limbs.

Diluc seems remiss to pull away when you slump forward, lashes fluttering against your cheeks beneath the blindfold. The sensations are disjointed; faraway and distant.

Maybe he’s apologizing again, with the soft brush of lips you distantly feel against the weeping injury. It hurts again, raw and sore, but you can’t find the energy to care. There’s still a deep-seated ache under your skin, brighter than the pain of your injuries.

Hands smooth over your sides and you arch against him, choking out a whine. It’s both too much and not enough, that low burning ember from his bite swallowed by the maelstrom his touch brings.

The air is heady with the scent of your blood and wine, so thick you can almost taste it on your tongue through the gag.

“It’s okay,” The monster holding you murmurs, breathing heavy against your nape, “I know it hurts. I’ll help you through it.”

Were you in a more sober state of mind, you’d thrash and spit and curse him to the Abyss– shatter the faux concern he slips on like a glove. Instead, you lean into the hand that combs through your hair, shuddering at the curl of fingers against your hip.

There’s a pause– cold breath and a mouth hot with your blood pressing against your neck as you feel his lips forming another apology, but it dies on his lips with your drying blood.

Diluc slides a hand underneath your shirt, cool digits sending electric shocks across fevered, clammy skin. His other remains at your hip, gripping it nearly tight enough to bruise while he mouths lazily at the blood weeping from his bite.

The sound that rips from your throat when those fingers find a nipple is obscene, but you’re too lost to care. The sensation of calloused fingers pinching and rolling your nipples into stiff peaks sends a bolt of heat straight to your core, almost unbearable in its intensity.

He’s not apologizing anymore, either– no hoarse apologies against your ear as he pinches and tugs harshly on your aching buds. Perhaps he was never sorry.

A rough hand finds its way beneath your waistband, cupping the heat of your sex. There’s a shuddering breath behind you, sucked in through gritted teeth. You can smell the blood on his breath still, stinging your nose.

“Gods, you’re…” Diluc exhales heavily through his nose, raising gooseflesh along the back of your neck. The hand on your chest clenches again, fingers curling achingly into sensitive flesh.

Your pants are tugged unceremoniously down your legs, stopped only by the rope still around your ankles. The action has the vampire curling around your further, blood and wine and the faint smell of smoke overwhelming your senses briefly.

Diluc moves out from behind you, bracing a hand against your spine to gently ease you to lie back on the floor. The position is awkward– your bound arms ache from the position, your back forced into an arch.

His touch leaves you and you’re left cold for a few torturous moments before you feel calloused hands digging into the meat of your thighs, nudging them apart as much as the rope will allow. He’s warm now, and you think it’s just from your own body heat for a moment– but his touch is almost searing; abnormally hot.

Thumbs rub circles on the inside of your thighs as you feel Diluc settle overtop your legs, hooking one of his own under your knee to keep them spread.

You hold your breath as his hand inches closer to your sex, stopping to fumble with the thin fabric of your underwear before that’s pulled down too– not as far, but enough to bare your dripping entrance.

He leans over you, shielding you from the worst of the room’s chill, as a calloused finger slides easily inside you. Immediately you clench down around him, gasping around the gag.

“You’re so very warm,” He breathes, leaning down to scrape fangs dangerously against the unmarred skin on the other side of your throat. Another finger joins the first and you groan, arching up into him.

Pleasure builds, sharp and hot, in your core– you nearly sob when he thumbs over your clit. Diluc’s mouth latches onto the crux between your throat and your shoulder, laving hot kisses against the sensitive skin there.

Another half-hearted apology spills from his lips before those fangs sink into your skin once more. His pleasured groan matches your own, the hand still clamped around your thigh tightening to a bruising degree.

When he presses a third finger inside you, your head lolls back, breath catching in your chest. Diluc curls his fingers inside you in time with the thumb rolling over your clit, and you tip right over the cresting heat that’s been building in your gut.

Euphoria washes over you, intense and bright and suffocating– you arch sharply into him, the gag muffling the pleasured sob that cracks from your throat.

He eases you through it, pumping his fingers into your heat until you’re whimpering and trying to squirm away with oversensitivity.

Diluc pulls his fingers from you, curling his other arm around you and turning you around to lie on your front. His coat is shrugged off and tucked under you, cushioning you from the hard floor.

The heat cooling in your gut starts to sour as you come back down from the high, exhaustion and pain readily taking its place. The bites on your throat sting fiercely, the throbbing pain behind your eyes returning with a fury.

Distantly, you’re aware of the vampire hiking up your hips, the motion jostling you and exacerbating the dull agony taking hold.

You must make a pained noise, because Diluc hushes you, breath shuddering as you feel something blunt nestle between your thighs. “You’re okay– it’s okay.”

One arm coils around your thighs, pressing them together, and he groans against your ear. His hips cant forward, cock dragging over your sex with the movement and jostling you in turn. Pain throbs anew at the motion, drawing a pained whine from your throat.

“Lovely.” Hair tickles the back of your neck as he leans over you, panting. He sets a desperate pace, hips snapping against your own so hard it stings. “You’re so– nnh– so lovely.”

He’s uncomfortably hot against your skin. You realize you can’t feel your fingers, numbness creeping up your arms. You’re so, so tired. Each motion of his hips drags you back from the release of sleep that threatens to overtake you. You feel your blood seeping into his coat, the fabric turning tacky against your skin.

Diluc’s hips stutter, something warm and wet splattering against your thighs. You hear him groan lowly, feel his weight slump against you after a moment. Why is he so warm?

“...I’m sorry.” His voice breaks you out of the light doze you’ve slipped into, but it feels like his voice slips right through you, like sand through a sieve. “It will ache, for a while. You get used to the cold.”

…What? Blearily, you try to focus– to shake the exhaustion sinking in like poison. It doesn’t work. As your consciousness fades, you hear him say:

“You’ll hate me for this–” He sounds exhausted, resigned as he says this– “but you can’t go to the Knights if you’re a monster, too.”

443 notes · View notes

daisymintt · 10 months

Text

Merlin and Arthur were on their way back to the citadel after a successful quest when they were attacked by a group of bandits. Merlin had taken a slash across his stomach from a very dirty sword, he was sure if the wound didn’t get cleaned soon it’d get infected, and Arthur had dislocated his left shoulder before they where able to get away.

Arthur supported Merlins weight on his uninjured side as they escaped only to get cornered against a cliff face. Arthur helped Merlin slide to the ground, his back pressed against the cold stone. Merlin gritted his teeth against the pain, an arm wrapped around his middle trying to suppress the bleeding, slipping in and out of consciousness. Merlin tried to grab at Arthur’s arm as he stood, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“No, Arthur, they’ll kill you!” Merlin gasped out. Arthur looked back resolutely.

“Don’t worry Merlin, I won’t let them near you.” Arthur promised, stepping forward and unsheathing his sword as the bandits stepped out from among the surrounding trees trapping them.

Lightheaded and desperate he encanted in a whisper a spell he hadn’t used since the incident with Knight Valiant, “Bebiede þe arisan cwicum.” (I command you to rise up to life.)

His eyes flashed gold, the familiar feeling of his magic warming him. The golden dragon crest embroidered on Arthur’s signature Pendragon red cloak started moving. Its head lifted from the fabric, solid and real, and the attackers stumbled back in fright.

Arthur, still unaware of the dragon coming to life on his cloak, was confused by his attackers sudden fear. The dragons wings came next, then its legs, and finally its thin, whiplike tail, until its entire body was free from the confines of the red fabric. Arthur yelped and threw his cloak on the ground, the little golden scaled dragon tumbling across the forest floor with it. She got to her feet and shook her head. One of the attackers laughed and taunted, “What’s this here? Is this little lizard gonna protect you?”

“Κα ὶ στρατηγ ὸ ν δ ὲ α ὐ τ ὸ ν ἀ πέδειξε.” (Protect Arthur.) he commanded the dragon in a deep whispered tone. She looked towards him and ducked her head in obedience before directing her attention to the attackers who had gotten more bold now. One of them raised their sword, ready to bring it down towards Arthur who looked frightened and confused, his dislocated arm hanging limply at his side while the other tightly gripped his sword, but before the blow could land the tiny dragon launched herself at him.

With her tiny, needle sharp claws she claws at his eyes, wings beating around his face. He screamed in pain and desperately tried to pull her off him causing her to dig her claws in deeper. His cohorts started yelling to each other, unsure how to help. One of them used the butt of his sword and slammed it into the man’s face, missing the intended target and knocking him out. His body collapsed on the floor, bloody scratches marred his face and his nose was bloody and broken.

The little dragon perched on his chest ready to pounce, its tail lashing about, then fast as a snake she struck. Before the bandit could react she flew at him and buried her fangs in his shoulder, he shrieked and tried to pry her off but she was too quick for him. She darted down the mans tunic, the man began hopping from foot to foot yelping and in pain as he tried to grab her. At one point he must’ve struck her because an Arthur heard a faint yelp before the bandit doubled over in pain. The little dragon crawled out of the bottom of his breeches with a satisfied smile, blood painting her talons and mouth.

The few remaining bandits looked uncertainly between Arthur and the little dragon, debating whether this was worth the risk. The little dragon flapped her wings and glided over to Arthur where he stood stiffly watching the whole thing unfold before him. She landed on his uninjured shoulder and lovingly nuzzled his face before hissing at the bandits, her tail twining around his arm protectively. One of them shakily raised their sword towards her.

Her eyes narrowed and she opened her jaws, a funnel of fire billowed out towards the bandits who dropped their weapons and ran. Pleased, she settled herself on Arthur’s shoulder, Arthur wasn’t sure exactly what to do with this. Last time he had seen a dragon it was razing Camelot and had been much bigger. This dragon couldn’t be bigger than a well fed rat yet it contained all the fight of a full sized dragon.

Tentatively he raised his hand to it and gave its chin a scratch. The dragon purred and leaned into it. It purred. How such a creature had come from his cloak he couldn’t be sure, magic had to be involved, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to be truly fearful of her when she had protected him and Merlin. A groan of pain turned his attention back to his injured manservant.

“Merlin!” He cried and rushed over to his side. Merlin was not looking good, his face was pale and sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead, and the blood stain on his tunic was steadily growing.

The dragon on his shoulder whined and glided down, landing on Merlin’s shoulder. She nudged his cheek, Merlin’s eyes fluttered open. Arthur allowed himself to breathe, Merlin was still alive.

“Come on, Merlin, almost there. Just hang on a little bit longer.” He said as he crouched down, throwing one of Merlin’s arms over him and helping him stand. Together they made the remaining trek back to Camelot with a new friend in tow.

#merthur #merlin emrys #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin #drabble #merlin fanfic #merlin fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #dragon lord #dragonlord merlin #merlin whump #merlin fic #merlin fandom #whump #wrote this on a whim #ficlet #Merlin ficlet

108 notes · View notes

sofasoap · 1 year

Text

Miss Sunflower

Pairing : Kyle “ Gaz” Garrick x F!reader Summary: Gaz and you started long distance… friendship? Sequel to Miss Sunshine

Warning: M theme.

Gaz route for my Mini MacTavish verse, I just love the photo of Elliot Knight big cute smile! As always, Thanks to mother of my Mini MacTavish @saltofmercury for lending me the character “ Mini” from her story. <3 Go read her “The Favorite MacTavish” !

“Masterlist” for other stories to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

Gaz gasped and dropped his phone.

“Everything Ok?” Soap asked as he started bending down to pick up the phone for him. Gaz was quicker to snatch the phone off the floor.

“ No, yes. All good. Um, Price wants me to see me in his office, I’ll talk to you later.” Gaz made a quick retreat from the common room, ducking towards the opposite direction of the office, leaving a very confused Soap behind, while pointing to Price, who is currently sitting by the window, chatting to Ghost.

He can’t let Soap see what was on his phone.

Not that it’s some risque picture or anything. Well. Not quite. But it’s a selfie picture of you, in a beautiful sunflower pattern dress, LOW CUT DRESS, wearing a cap very similar to his, except with a St Andrew’s cross instead of Union jack on it. That beautiful smile again.

“ Look what I found! Now we have matching cap :) Well, I can’t get a Union Jack one otherwise Johnny will be angry with me.” you wrote in the caption.

Your brother will kill me. Gaz thought.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was the alcohol that did the talking when you slipped him the phone number that night. Took him a week of self-deliberation to finally summon up the courage to text you. Your response was immediate. Which gave him great relief. It was a start of blossoming friendship, constant messaging back and forth, occasional phone calls when he is in the privacy of his own room back at the base.

He started sending you photos of all the places he has been to on mission, letting you travel through him, all stemmed from you complaining one day;

“ I am very envious of Johnny and you boys.. Getting to travel all over the world.. Sorry I know it's to war zones... But I have never stepped outside of The British isle before.. Ma claims she took us to France once, but I don’t remember a thing. I was only one year old!”

How he wishes he can take you with him, by his side, showing you the famous sites of the world. Reality is a bitch. He is always out for work, not pleasure. Saving the world, just like the superheroes. You teased him once.

In return, you update him about little tidbits of your life, what happened at work, the new ER doctor everyone is drooling over, (he denies a burn of jealousy rising when heard about it), little gossips you heard, new food you tried out. “Sorry my life is boring compared to yours.” Gaz loves it though. It gives him a sense of normalcy amongst the blood sheds and killings, and getting to know you more. What your favourite foods are, your irks. Even though you two haven’t met again physically after that night, he always feels he is close to you, by heart.

He loves hearing your voice just before they had to go dark for missions. Even with the time differences, you will always answer his message, picking up the call.

“Stay safe please.” That whisper of yours. Always laced with sadness.

“I will.” I will stay alive. To come back to you. He wanted to say.

Where is the relationship at? You two never discuss it. The feeling of trapping in this friendzone, both of you waiting for each other to step over that little boundary line, to finally take the relationship into the next phase. He’s been with other people before. But no one else ever makes him so nervous like a teenager again. What is stopping him from making the move? Wrath of Soap? Not wanting to disturb the peace of the team, jeopardising missions. Or people are going to judge him for going after his friend’s younger sister?

Or people are going to call him selfish, for leading you on, entering into a relationship that is heading to a tragic end, with a high possibility that he might not return from mission one day, leaving you heartbroken.

Or he is just finding excuses, because he is damn scared. Scared of your rejection, and losing you entirely.

He just can’t help it. He is falling more and more for you. He wants to confess to you. His Miss Sunflower.

“Come on Mini, I dare you, send him the picture! Maybe he will finally make a move on you.”

“But… but… isn’t this showing a bit too much of my…. this…..”“ OH hush, you look very cute in that dress. DO IT.”

Gaz ran back to his room afterwards, trying to dispel any ungentlemanly thoughts out of his brain. Failed miserably.

I seriously suck at writing long chapters, I think short little bits really suit me. Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs always appreciated :)

taglist: @deadbranch

@voxyin

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x female reader #sergeant kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #gaz need more love #gaz garrick x reader #no use of y/n

153 notes · View notes

iamnicodemus · 1 year

Text

Dragonfire

Pairing: Dragon!Wednesday Addams x Knight!Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: After a dragon attack leaves a village on edge, a wandering knight is tasked with slaying the great beast. When the knight enters the dragon's lair, however, they find something quite different from the winged horror they'd expected...

A/N: This is an alternate, high fantasy universe where Wednesday Addams is a shapeshifting dragon. This is also my first ever fic on this site and my first time ever writing from this PoV (it's also barely proofread, lol). I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to leave feedback. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

When you’d entered through the mouth of a cave near the summit and made your descent into the hollows of the mountain, you’d expected that your journey would eventually bring you face-to-face with a dragon. You wouldn’t have come to this godsforsaken place otherwise — navigating winding, uneven stone corridors and ducking under stalactites that looked to have been polished to razor perfection. After a recent incident in which a great black dragon had sundered much of the fertile fields surrounding a nearby village, the leaders of said village had called for the monster’s head. You, a traveling knight errant, were the only one brave enough to rise to the occasion. You’d been tasked with searching the mountain where it supposedly dwelled and slaying it without mercy. The reward? A handsome sum of gold and a great accolade under your belt, both of which were invaluable to you.

Work had not come by easily as of late. More often than not, you were forced to set up meager camps in the woods due to being unable to afford a room at an inn. You slept on a rough bedroll on the grass, your throat parched and stomach aching with hunger most nights before you drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Assuming, of course, that the surrounding wildlife allowed you to rest without fear, or that highwaymen wouldn’t happen upon your position. Both had occurred on numerous occasions, and your armor still bore the scuffs and dings from each encounter.

This mission was an opportunity to change all of that, for good. Either you’d claim the dragon’s head and be eating like a king for a good while, you’d meet your end in a hellish blaze, or — if you’d refused the mission — you’d be a week or two away from living in squalor. The first two possibilities were largely preferable to the third.

The air grew colder the lower you descended through the cave, A deep silence filled the cavern, broken only by the clang of your iron boots against stone. The noise wasn’t ideal. You’d hoped to approach the monster quietly, perhaps finding it curled up in its chamber, fast asleep. The way your footfalls were sounding, however, you’d be lucky if it weren’t wide awake and lying in wait for you. You half expected it to come racing up the cavern any moment now, its maw opened wide with anticipation, purple flames waiting to erupt from its throat.

Your heart hammered beneath your beige tunic and iron cuirass. You kept your sword raised at all times, taking what little comfort you could from behind the slim protection it offered. In your other hand you carried a lantern, creating a cone of light in what would’ve otherwise been pitch darkness.

After what felt like an eternity of wandering through the semidark, you finally spotted an incandescent light pouring out from the vaulted entryway at the end of the passage. This was it! The dragon’s lair. Excitement and apprehension knotted up in your chest as you made your approach. You weren’t sure when you started running. Your boots pounded against the ground, the lantern swinging wildly in your grasp at your side. Your breath hitched, and then, you emerged—

—into a long, rectangular chamber that looked less like the vast, bone-littered lair of a dragon, and more like an eccentric aristocrat’s dreary getaway. To say you were baffled would be an understatement.

Flaming sconces and dark tapestries lined the smooth, limestone walls. A chair and table, both looking to be hewn from slate, were set up in a corner. Upon the table sat a large stack of parchment and a black-feathered quill beside it. A viol and its bow were leaned against the far wall.

What stood out most, however, was the coffin-shaped bed in the middle of the chamber — and the human shape resting atop it.

You inched closer, sword at the ready. Laying on a black pillow and linen sheet, arms crossed over her chest like a corpse before burial, was a girl that looked to be your age. She was almost porcelain pale, with merlot lips and raven hair styled in a parted fringe and two tightly wound braids that hung at opposite sides of her head.

Despite the confusion welling up in you and the strained atmosphere that came with hunting a dragon, you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t skitter upon seeing her. She was absolutely gorgeous, and the thought nearly revolted you because you weren’t yet sure if she was fast asleep, or if you were looking upon a well-preserved corpse.

Who was she, even? A captive of the monster? She looked to be a noblewoman of some sort, if the fine, pitch-black kirtle and white chemise adorning her were any indication. And yet you hadn’t heard anything about the dragon kidnapping anyone, let alone someone of nobility. And what was up with the furnishings in here? Since when did dragons care about those?

None of this made sense. Had you scaled the wrong mountain, stumbled through the wrong cave, and trespassed on a particularly refined hermit’s home? No, this was definitely the mountain you’d been directed to. The dragon had last been seen prowling around the summit before disappearing into its depth, not that you could for the life of you figure out how such a large creature managed to squeeze through this narrow, rocky deathtrap of a cave system.

Her eyes shot open.

“How long are you going to stand there staring? I’d like to continue sleeping without a loud, toy soldier in tin plate hovering over me.”

A yelp almost escaped you. You startled back, sword almost slipping from your grasp.

The girl abruptly sat up and pinned you with a searching gaze. You froze. The way she studied you — through dark brown eyes that seemed as though they could dissect you with naught but a look - was unnerving. Yet, you could not bring yourself to look away. Your skin flushed with heat and your heart raced.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice perfectly even.

“Uh, I’m, er—” Damn it, why were you stuttering? “I’m looking for the….dragon?”

You felt silly saying it aloud, even more so under the gaze of this stranger. You must’ve been given bad information, because there was no logical way a fully-fledged dragon could dwell in a cramped place like this.

She didn’t react at all to your statement. In fact, her angular face remained clear of any emotion. Not how most would react to news of a winged, firebreathing beast in the area.

“And why have you come looking for me?”

For me.

Your brows drew into a frown. Had she misspoken?

You soon got your answer as she slid out of the oddly shaped bed, her right hand raised. Suddenly, her black-painted nails started to elongate, curving into razor talons. You watched in horror as a layer of obsidian black scales sprouted across her hand. Her stare never left you.

Your blood ran cold. You raised your sword reflexively, leveling the tip to her throat.

She moved like a streak of lightning, crossing the chamber in the space of a breath and swiping the sword from your hand. The blade shattered beneath the force of her clawed strike, littering the ground with iron shards. All that remained in your grasp was a leather-bound hilt, wholly useless in the face of the girl you now took to be the very dragon you were hunting. Somehow, she’d transformed into a human, or at least wore the guise of one.

You swallowed thickly. Despite the fact that she was shorter than you, her presence loomed higher than anyone you’d ever met.

Anyone else would’ve shrunk away from her, to cower and hope mercy fell upon them. You remained rooted where you stood. Out of fear? Perhaps. But also, up close, you noticed the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Could start to make out the microexpressions beneath the mask of aloofness. The way her eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance at the fact that you hadn’t answered her question.

“I’m not fond of repeating myself. Why are you here?” she said, drawing out the last question slightly, every word laced with cold menace.

You pondered the question for a moment longer. Saying you’d been sent there to kill her was a great way to get yourself disemboweled by her fearsome claws, but it seemed if you didn’t loosen your tongue soon, that would be the fate that awaited you anyway.

“Well…. I’m a knight—”

“Yes, because your sword and armor weren’t clear giveaways.”

“---and a local village tasked me with handling their dragon problem, after said dragon torched their crops,” you continued as though you hadn’t been interrupted.

She scoffed. “I burned half of their crops. What remains of their fields remains perfectly fertile. They’re lucky I spared even that much.”

“Well, despite your generosity, they still want you dead. But I’m very much open to this ending a different way,” you quickly added. Given your predicament — weaponless and more or less at her complete mercy — it was best you didn’t make it out as though you were still intent on killing her. Besides, you weren’t altogether sure you wanted her dead now. You’d embarked on a journey to slay a mindless, rampaging beast, not a person.

She didn’t say anything. She neither moved nor blinked. Maybe she was waiting for you to explain your alternative solution. Whatever was going on in that head of hers, the fact that you were still alive was favorable. But before you divulged anything more, you needed some answers yourself.

“Why did you attack their field?”

“Why does that matter?” she retorted.

“Knowing the context behind would probably go a long way with winning me over.”

“I’m not concerned with winning you over.”

“Then humor me. Come on, whatever your motive was, it’s not like I’m really a threat to you at this point, so my reaction doesn’t matter.”

“You were never a threat to me. You came here completely unprepared, with all the subtlety of a trebuchet, and apparently lacking even the most basic knowledge that dragons are capable of adopting humanoid forms.” She tilted her head slightly. “You’re not a very good knight, are you?”

Ouch. That… actually stung a bit. And wait, was that really common knowledge? Why the hell hadn’t you heard about it?

Sighing, you pressed on. “My failings as a knight aside, look, maybe there’s a way this ends with you getting that village off your back and me walking out of your lair with my life. You know as well as I do that I won’t be the last person they send after you.”

“If it came to that, I’d incinerate every intruder and decorate the cavern with their charred bones.”

Gruesome. “We haven’t known each other long, but I get the sense that you’ve got better things to do than killing a new challenger everyday. Besides, if one doesn’t work, they’ll send two. Then they’ll send whole teams. Soon enough, they’ll have a mage join the hunt, and badass dragon or not, you probably don’t want to fight one of those.”

She exhaled sharply, exasperation flashing across her eyes. You wondered for a moment if you’d said too much.

Then, she turned away from you and wandered back over to her bed. You noticed the scales on her hand fade, and her talons retract. She sat down, facing you.

“My brother was attacked in that village,” she began. “He was in his mortal guise. He thought to go fishing in the stream, but apparently the villagers don’t take well to outsiders poaching from their waters, and he was taken and flogged in the street.”

Your heart sank. To think such an innocent mistake had been punished so harshly. Even though her face remained impassive, you noticed the way her jaw tightened as she recounted the tale.

“Though a dragon, my brother is a whelp, and didn’t retaliate. He is weak and shies away from exacting retribution.”

Harsh words for her own brother, but it was clear she cared deeply about him.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d done worse,” you said, gently.

Her brows raised slightly. She looked a touch surprised, the first real expression you’d seen from her.

“I considered it strongly,” she said, bluntly.

“I’m sure they’re thanking the gods you didn’t go through with it. You’re a lot more merciful than I would’ve been.”

“There’s no need to insult me.”

You snorted. “Wasn’t intending to. What you did was smarter, actually. Slaughtering them would’ve prompted a much harsher response from the survivors and neighboring towns. Thanks to your choice, you only have to deal with one woefully unprepared knight.”

A smile tugged at your lips.

She stared at you, considering your words carefully. After a pensive beat of silence, she spoke. “I assume, to sate their desire for vengeance and prevent them from sending more idiots after me, you’ll need to return with proof that I’ve been slain.”

You nodded, giving an uneasy shrug. “Yeah. I don’t suppose you have a way around that?”

She didn’t respond immediately. She lifted her hand and snapped twice. You heard a gentle whoosh and something came flying past you. It was a sheet of parchment, one of those you’d seen stacked on the corner table.

You watched curiously as she balled the parchment up whilst muttering something quickly under her breath. From what little you could make out of what she was saying, it didn’t seem she was speaking in any language you understood.

Your lips parted in amazement as a black whirl of smoke enveloped the crumpled parchment. The gathering of smoke increased in size, taking on some sort of long, slightly curved shape. After several seconds, it dissipated. The girl now held a large, faded white tooth, no doubt one that could be found in the maw of a dragon.

Her gaze flickered up to yours, taking in your awe. “Those wizards you mentioned earlier? They wouldn’t have stood a chance either.”

“You’re a mage,” you breathed out.

“Obviously. How else would I have paved this chamber?”

She stood up and walked over to you, massive tooth in hand. She deposited it in your outstretched arms. Your arms sagged slightly under its weight, but that did little to deter you from marveling at her creation, your eyes wide.

“It’s an illusion. It should be convincing enough for your village, but the spell will last a couple of days at most. Show them your ‘proof’ and then get rid of it before the illusion fades.”

She sighed. “I will be leaving this cave soon. It seems my little respite from home has been compromised.”

Your chest prickled with guilt. “I’m sorry. Is there anything else I can do before I go? Anything at all?”

The girl looked fixedly at you. Her features softened. The two of you were standing close enough for you to notice something flicker behind her brown, doe eyes. Gratitude? Fondness? Whatever it was, it made your heart flutter.

“I’m not used to a mortal engaging with me,” she said, quietly. “And certainly not one who knew what I was.

“You’ve done enough.”

You nodded, resigning yourself to this. At least you could offer her this much, getting an angry village off her back.

You shuffled around and made your way back towards the vaulted passage you’d entered through. Your footfalls clanged against the stone floor, and with every step you took, a small pang of sadness shot through your chest. Would you ever see her again? It was highly unlikely, given the circumstances, but you hoped you would.

Stopping in front of the passageway, you peered back at her. “I never got your name,” you said, meeting her eyes.

When she didn’t respond, you almost turned back around, assuming she didn’t plan on giving you a name.

Then—

“Wednesday.”

You paused, lips parting slightly. A smile spread across your face. It was certainly a unique name, and you found you liked it quite a lot.

“Wednesday,” you repeated, softly. As her name rolled off your tongue, you thought you saw her cheeks go the slightest shade of pink.

With a final nod, you turned back around and made your way out of the chamber. You felt her stare on your back the entire time. The feeling made you chuckle. As you set off through the perilous cavern, you hoped it wouldn’t be the last time you were caught in this dragon’s gaze.

A/N: I want to give a special mention to these three users: @i984, @robiin-buckley, and @captain-lessship. They are incredible writers and even better people, and I absolutely implore you to check out their works! They inspired me to write a fic of my own and gave me excellent advice when I sought it from them. I appreciate them immensely.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x gender neutral reader #wednesday fic #wednesday addams x you #wednesday imagine #netflix wednesday #wednesday addams #dragon wednesday #knight reader #wednesday series #fanfic #fantasy #high fantasy #x you #gender neutral reader

286 notes · View notes