(smut please) Reader saving the headless horseman from sinking down in the river and what the best way thank someone for saving you if got no head, YOU MATE WITH THEM
a/n: Sorry this one took a while to get out!Thank you for requesting~
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Taken For the Ride
Tags: nearly drowning, very light dub-con, PinV, reader insert
Word Count: 2k
The Headless Horseman's Bride | The Horsman's Head | Here
X...X...X
It was just the turn of sunset. The last light of day was just the faint glow that lingers only as a pale blue glow on the horizon, with deep dark shadows that cast the world beyond the farm in a mysterious dim. You stand towards the edge of the fields on your family farm.
Then there was a splash. Followed by a horse braying anxiously.
It’s a horrifying sound this late at night, for it means to just about anyone out here in the country that someone has likely fallen in the river. It’s a tricky river, the one that wanders not far from your home.
For it looks much less dangerous than it is. It appears to be a normal bit of rapids, but where the wade pools sit on the banks near your farm, the soil falls quickly away and the water is more than deep enough to drown in.
You run towards the sound, for you are a good-natured sort of person. It’s a full moon tonight and the water level is higher than normal due to recent rain. Both make for a dangerous evening. When you arrive at the water’s edge, it’s as you fear. There, tied to a tree near the river bed, is a saddled horse. Another look around reveals there to be no rider.
You see, just as you run up, the wisp of a gloved hand reaching up out of the surface, the last of the struggle before this unfortunate man (you assume, based on the size and shape of the hand) has accidently waded too far into the river and lost his footing. You strip off the outer most woolen layers of your dressing clothes and hope to see the man remerge, but when he does not, you dive in yourself.
It’s a foolish, not to mention unladylike, thing of you to do. But you’ve never been one to care about social niceties when it’s time for work to get done. And saving someone’s life was valiant work indeed!
Taking a throw of rope that you see amongst the man’s things, you tie yourself very quickly to the same tree his horse titters by, and then throw yourself into the water, with one end of it in hand.
Diving in, the darkness of the water utterly confounds your vision. The flow is angry today, and harder than you expect. But you hold strong to the rope, and keep your feet grounded on the flat wall of the bank which lives right under the drop. You may have done this once or twice before. You were known in your family for being a strong swimmer, and your cousins sometimes needed help in this very part of the crick when their limbs weren’t strong enough to fight the rapids.
Taking a chance, you reach out into the darkness, trying to find a figure under the water. One swipe. Nothing. Two, again, no body. You move to the right and reach out further, and the person whom you’re trying to save must see your outstretched hand, for a strong person grabs at your arm when you search a third time.
When you feel this, you sort of swing him and yourself as hard as you can with the flow of water, so that the river lets you up from under. With a gasp your head pops above the surface, and you drag a slightly limp man out to the water’s edge.
Spitting out some water, you laugh a bit, not noticing at first anything wrong with this stranger that you’ve just rescued from doom.
“That was a bit intense, wasn’t it?” You say and rubbed at your eyes, feeling them sting as you sat yourself down in the sandy pitch and knew that your rescue was successful. You heard him stand up soon after you pulled him out, so you knew he had to be alright. “What were you doing, wading the pools while in all those clothes?” You ask.
But you don’t get an answer to your question. In fact, you don’t even remember you asked it once your vision is clear and you finally get a look at him.
You shriek.
It’s a headless man! A headless man in some long-forgotten uniform, now totally filthy if it wasn’t already, is looming over you.
He gets to one knee before you, and takes your surprised upraised hand into his grasp. Then he pantomimes all the motions as if he was to kiss it. Then he pulls back a little, his shoulders turning as if he was considering this predicament, then they sulk. The wind whistles a lovely little sound.
“Are you not going to hurt me?” You ask him.
His shoulders move, as if to say no.
“Are you… alive?”
He moved his shoulders as if to shrug.
You, a bit put off and now a bit amazed, hum to yourself and think those two answers over. “Would you have died, had I not—”
He does his shoulder movement nod swiftly, then he stood and he throws his arms open in a joyous gesture. You, again very much taken off guard, aren’t sure if it’s a good thing you did saving him. But a life is a life, right? He seems happy at least, in the ways that he can express that.
Little do you know, that the Horseman is feeling very lucky indeed. Especially as his attention traces across your form. The water had stuck all the fabric of your underclothes to your figure, and you look mighty nice in his estimation.
He’s been looking for a riding partner for a while now, he’s been alone and headless for a long long time. And you? You’re just his type, and you’re obviously skilled to living out in nature. What a better pick for himself to take then this thing who has just saved his half-life.
Under the pull of the full moon he is (almost) alive, and it is the day each month he is most vulnerable. He really could have drowned, or at least been trapped in the water for a while to rot, and he wasn’t looking to end his life-after in an even more miserable way than his first. He had you to thank for his continued existence, and thank you he intended to do.
The wind blows when he determines this and you shiver. When he opened his arms, you thought he meant to motion that you were free to go. And as you were now sopping wet you did wish to be on your way, but when you step forward, he springs, wrapping his arms around you to prevent you from going.
And as scary as that was, to have a should be dead man hold you so suddenly, you stood there in part terrified in part stuck. There was an urge, sudden and sharp, to run. It would have been smart to run, but as brave as you can be you’re often not very careful with yourself. This will be the consequence of that.
His hands move, from just your shoulders to down your arms, and you don’t fight him. Not when some hot feeling had your heart pattering and you weren’t quite sure what was happening to you. He had an oddly chivalrous air, and you didn’t think he meant you harm.
“Wait, what are you doing?” You ask him, and he pauses.
Leery, just for a moment, his grip on you relaxes. He doesn’t want to force anything, you’re his savior after all, so he slows down. Even when given the freedom (or at least an opening) to bolt, you don’t, and so he takes this as a good sign.
He turns you around, so that you’re no longer facing him, and you shuffle and follow his lead. A secondary positive. It seems, as long as he doesn’t move too fast, you will consent to his touch and his leadership. This satisfies him, as even once his hands begin wandering and you don’t even try to fight or shrug it off. In fact, you kind of like the way he touches you.
He touches over your shoulders, then down the front of your body, while your heart thunders beneath your dress. When they reach your hips, his fingers bunch of the fabric of the dress skirt. Upwards it goes, dragging against your skin, and since the fabric is sopping the drag feels like he might as well have put a hand between your thighs. The wind whispers again, and you shiver against him, while he holds you still.
Then you do feel the gloves move away from over the wet fabric, and to the crux of your thighs. His fingers glide against the place that’s wet there, and not because of the river. When you shiver next, it’s not because of the cold, but how he stokes an internal heat that catches you off guard. You are pudy in his hands, and he appreciates the trickling sounds of your surprised desire.
Then he’s in you, and his fingers are a thick intrusion. One first, then two, and their curling in such a way that has you almost bending over it feels so good. This seems fine by him, as he uses his hands to push your over the edge of pleasure, he allows you both to fall to the ground so that you’re on your knees, and he’s behind you.
“Alright… alright…” you whisper to yourself, completely unable to believe that this is really happening to you. It’s an utterly fantastical situation. And yet, it feels so good you find yourself swept away in the moment.
When you are there, he urges you lower by putting his hand between your shoulders and pushing you down so that you’re face down in the soft soil. It is then your back is arched and you’re presented for him. He quickly undoes the clasps that keep your clothes on your person, and you breathe a sigh of relief when the fabric slackens. Over your head the dress goes, and it’s tossed away into the bushes with the rest of your garments, to be forgotten.
It’s better to be cold and naked, than cold and wet, and you won’t be concerned about the temperature of the air very soon. His hands trace over your ass and he gives it a nice squeeze, before one undoes his pants to let out his length from its constraint, and he rubs his shaft against you.
Dragging his length down, feeling how your wetness has already gathered to welcome him. You keen a bit as he just slides between your folds for a few stokes of his hips. You want more of him. You might have saved his undeath, but if he doesn’t fuck you soon, you think you might die.
Little do you know, that fucking him will surely kill you—or at least end life as you’ve lived it—but that’s a worry for the you of later. For now, you just groan, happy when he finally uses his length to enter you. He’s slow, just to tease you, letting you feel the stretch of him until he’s sunk all the way in. It’s then the pace is brutal.
You claw at the ground, moan, and pant, as the headless man behind you humps you with vigor. Your thighs are shaking by the time he relents, and are still tremoring when the pace slows. He stays in you, letting himself feel the aftershocks and savoring this first time simply because he can.
The horseman, now hovering over this huffing woman basking in her own pleasure, observes you in the way that his kind are able. You’re a blur of color to him, no longer human now that he’s released his seed inside you. You won’t be like this forever, you’ll reach your shape again soon, but for the moment you’re just an aura in the shape of a fine figure, in a color he likes, with a good head—one that he’ll be sure to keep on your shoulders.
Yes, he’ll take you on the ride, he thinks. You’ll suit him just fine.
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