#sees a bird in a far off tree and has to make sure its not something more

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price

[eldritch-spouse]

You are running naked in the Jungle, searching frantically.

You look and you see another human, the first one you've seen in months and you run towards them.

“Thank God! Listen, we need to get out of here immediately, it's dangerous! Do you know the way out? Back to civilization?”

You feel a tentacle around your ankles

[Months? Couldn't be me, I'd just die. Let's downsize that to a week. Fem reader.]

TW: Reader has a self-loathing inner monologue; Reader is in a bad place mentally; Dubcon to full consent.

It was a stupid idea.

You knew that when you started it. So did everyone that tried to convince you otherwise. But common sense isn't something that could have stopped someone like you, someone who was ill enough to think taking a break from life in the middle of buttfuck nowhere would work out.

You didn't even have any sort of experience in this type of thing. Neither did you seek any kind of useful tips.

You just wanted to escape.

And you did, literally, into a forested nightmare that you got lost in not even hours after your arrival.

You just wish you could find your car, you just wish you could find somewhere warm and comforting to sleep in.

It's been days. Probably a week by now. Your stuff all disappeared, somehow. You swear you're not tripping, it all just vanished! Your phone, your bag, your keys...

Your back hurts, the nights are cold and humid and you're sure you're getting sick by now. Clean water would be a godsend, you've been drinking and cleaning yourself with some questionable-looking sources for a while. Not to mention you can't feed yourself properly, and you certainly don't know how to hunt.

Not that there's much to hunt. Every time you think you hear a peep, there's a brush of foliage and silence dominates seconds later.

You're going to die.

A horrifying reminder that has your chest pounding painfully and sweat glistening on your forehead.

You don't want to die.

But the modern human wasn't born for the wilderness, and you can only stand being clothed for a little longer before the sensation of being dirty has you clawing the skin off your body.

It was a fucking miracle that you managed to get a small fire going.

Finally.

You can heat up that fish you caught earlier.

If it's still good. Is... This is safe to eat, right?

You lean to sniff at the leaf-wrapped catch.

Eh. You can stomach it...

God, you're starving.

One thing that's been bugging you for a while is how... Deserted this whole place feels.

You're no wildlife expert, but isn't this kind of location supposed to be brimming with animals? Why is it that, everywhere you go, it's mostly just you and insects bumbling around?

Shouldn't there be some mammals here? Some birds? Maybe a squirrel or a snake... Aren't there predators you'd have to worry about in this kind of scenario?

Ironically, being alone makes you feel even more stressed out than if you were constantly surrounded by wild animals.

You huddle closer to the small fire.

Alone.

But always so on edge.

Always getting that tingling feeling crawling up your spine.

The one that screams- Look, look behind you! You're in danger!

The phantom feeling of something hovering behind your neck, goosebumps that hardly fade every time you do turn around to check and find nothing.

Is this a normal amount of paranoia for your situation? Is this your brain trying to cope with the fact that you haven't seen much wildlife so far?

Or is there something watching you from beyond the trees?

Something stalking.

A persistence predator, coming and going, to check on its latest prey.

Oh, and what a catch you are. Big and juicy compared to the things that probably roam this place -Roamed, more like...

Have you wandered into the territory of something that'll inevitably snap its jaws around your neck?

...

Just eat the fucking fish already.

Food.

Focus on the present.

The smell starts to hit your nose. Salt, oh what you wouldn't do for some simple salt. How do people get salt?

You're glad you got some berries along the way too, because this fish is probably going to taste like ass. You're sure they aren't poisonous or anything of the sort. If they are, then you've been eating them for the past few days so honestly you could keel over at any moment.

You'll see.

Once the fish has roasted enough where it's likely safe to consume, you peel it open messily and start munching indiscriminately, ravenous.

It's... Well, it's sustenance.

It's about the most nutritious thing you've eaten since you got here.

This survival thing is harder than the fake actors on TV make it seem.

A sudden crack of a branch has you pausing mid-chew.

You truly feel like a deer when your head snaps up and you stand very still to listen for a follow-up.

Nothing.

Tired eyes strain, trying to make sense of a darkened blob in the distance.

Huh.

What the fuck is that thing?

Tall.

Two legs...

Arms?!

Shit- Could it be?!

That can't be possible, someone else roaming around this maddening forest. Is that a sign that you're somehow getting closer to civilization? That you're making it out by sheer luck? What cosmic force could be on your side this time? Maybe they just live here, like some kind of off-grid retired agent- Okay, you've been watching too many movies.

Without stopping to think twice about frankly important concerns regarding this sudden development, you place the cooked fish down on the leaf it was previously wrapped in and start scooting forward towards the silhouette you saw.

That build can only belong to a man. Well, you assume as much anyway. It's hard to spot more from here, with the foliage covering their form.

" H- Hey... "

You haven't used your voice in a hot minute. Some part of you almost doesn't recognize it. A healthy dose of paranoia stops you from brushing aside the obstacles and facing this person.

But you need to at least try, right?

The worst that can happen is that you really are hallucinating for some reason or another.

With a surge of bravery, but mostly desperation, you push all the branches and greenery away to run towards this person, opening your mouth to greet them, to beg for help, ask for new clothes or just something cooked!

" Hey! Please, I need your... Help? "

Nothing.

There's no one.

But that doesn't make sense, you clearly saw a silhouette, someone was there! You didn't even have to run that far, how could it be that you already lost sight of them? That they could get away so silently?

No. Everything's wrong.

Before you know it, your vision is blurring and your face heats as tears stain your cheeks.

Why... Why would your mind fuck with you like this? Going from a shining shred of hope to complete despair in seconds has you screaming inside.

Why is this happening to you?

Are you really about to die in a stupid fucking patch of nothing just because you can't deal with the stress in your life like a normal person? Just because you made one bad decision when everything was weighing heavy on your conscience? Are you really so incompetent and so pointless as a human that this is how your story ends?

Anger and regret blind you to everything, fingers course through your knotted hair as you sob and tug, having no way to calm yourself and nothing to unleash your tension onto.

The moment you try to stomp your foot in a petulant act, you find it rooted to the ground. It takes a couple more insistent tugs upward for you to realize that something is coiled around it, keeping it firmly planted.

The train wreck of emotions and bile of self-hating thoughts takes a backseat, goosebumps pricking your skin from tip of the head to your very toes. The first thing you think of is some kind of snake, eyes bulging behind digits.

You look down frantically, shaking, but in spite of the sky being clear, all you see is this reddish mass, with neither end nor beginning. What... What the fuck is it?!

The thing tightens around your ankle, starting to slide up the length of your right leg, up to your knee. And immediately, you panic, kicking and shrieking, achieving absolutely nothing and getting promptly tugged to the ground.

Yeah.

Maybe freaking out isn't the best bet for your survival here.

Twigs and dirt get on your face, it takes some coughing and swiping to finally clear your field of view. But honestly...

You almost wish you hadn't.

Curved over your prone figure, staring down, is a creature you have never seen before.

Bipedal and quite large, like the silhouette you had glimpsed before, but so very far from human. The reddish coloration spanning the length of that bizarre body makes him -Because, again, you can only assume that is a male- Look as if he's made of flesh quickly molded together to imitate the figure of a human. What initially made you think he was skinless soon turns into the realization that there was never room for skin anyway.

Because his body is quite literally comprised of what you can only call tentacles. Tendrils and coiling tissue that clings and organizes itself in the vague lie of an organism like yours.

From elbows to fingers and knees to feet, the tendrils become a lot more discernable, coiling and uncoiling while he watches curiously. The thing around your leg is one of said tendrils, coming from the mass forming his own. Along the length of its torso, sharp-toothed mouths form and shift, almost seeming to have a mind of their own as they scent the air and snap at nothing.

That head has got to be the most striking feature. It's an amalgamation of tentacles all wrapped around each other, leaving room for an incredibly sharp golden eye to fix you in place. This thing looks like it crawled out of a sleeping ocean, like the roots and vines of an ancient jungle came together to form a totally new an extension of themselves. He looks like he's been sculped from the guts of others yet also composed in a way your mind could never hope to grasp.

Somewhere between trying to determine if you're dealing with an animal or a person, you reach the conclusion that an animal wouldn't stare you down for this long.

An animal would take a couple of seconds to determine if you're prey or predator and act accordingly. He would have snapped your neck or suffocated you like a boa constrictor with those tentacles by now.

And yet, he just stares.

Like you're the strangest creature to ever grace the woods this thing probably calls a home. You're as freaky to him as he is to you, enough so that he seems out of depth on how to proceed.

You stare back.

This has got to be the monster that you saw back there. Watching you. Now that you think about it, maybe this was the reason you'd always have a tingling sensation reminding you that you're not alone. Because he was there all that time, stalking.

Plenty were the moments he could have dug your grave until now. It's strange that he hasn't. Because surely, he's seen how you're failing to adapt to this location. Every step you take, you're stumbling and getting pricked, hungry, thirsty, afraid, disoriented- You're a fish out of water and he could have ended that misery a long time ago.

Odd.

Neither of you move. It blinks, vertically. You blink too.

And then, it makes this chitter.

Wet, like a gargle, followed by some kind of rumbling as more of those tendrils that form his limbs unwind, explore.

They reach down towards your frame when he squats, and you stifle the urge to scream at the sight of them getting nearer. Because who knows what he's going to do...

They poke and prod, grabbing lightly at parts of you, wet yet not quite. Two coil around your arms, then elbows, then wrists.

Other strays squirm around your sides, unintentionally triggering a squirming reflex as you muffle helpless laughter.

The monster seems intrigued by the noise anyway, making his own vocalizations as if attempting to communicate with you.

Abruptly, there's a blur of movement and you're yanked into the air by the arms, shrieking in fear and pain.

Not for long, because more of his freaky, flowing appendages wind around your middlesection, hips and knees, pulling in different directions.

In seconds, mere moments, this being has you suspended in the air.

Immediately, your panicked mind is going places where it absolutely shouldn't.

He seems more relaxed now that you're restrained, that gaze becomes softer, clouded with curiosity. To be monitoring you this long, you don't doubt he has his own questions and intrigue regarding how you work.

When that hulking red mass walks towards you, anxiety prevents your mouth from staying shut.

" H- Hi? "

A sound not too different from the peep of a skittish bird.

One that causes him to cock his head in a brief pause, processing the noise, and returning it with his own light gurgle. One of the mouths on his figure gets the pitch right down to a T.

Soon, he's lacing a hand through your hair, grabbing it, manipulating the protrusion and stroking your head inquisitively. He squeezes and almost scritches at your scalp, reminding you of the way someone acts when spotting a particularly cute cat. Yes, hair is likely a mystery to this creature, you can kind of understand why it'd linger here.

But that doesn't change the fact that you're being patted like a pet by a strange, unknowable creature- And that's morbidly hilarious.

When your cheeks start to puff with laughter, his attention finally deviates. You can feel the tendrils that form every digit when he splays them across your face, tracing your eyebrows, playing with the tip of your nose and even trying to poke into your ears- Something he halts when you jerk away rapidly each time.

When he starts trying to put a digit in your mouth, he's a lot more careful, aware that you have teeth and can bite, even if yours are quite small and blunt compared to the ones he sports. He succeeds, because your strength is nothing compared to that of a monster of his size and nature. The digit he dips into your mouth rests there placidly for a couple of moments.

You aren't sure what to do. Biting is not a bright idea when you know this creature can probably easily dismember you in this position. He himself looks slightly lost, as if he put his finger in your mouth out of impulse mostly. A false sense of security begets your own curiosity.

Perhaps you're just insane already -That probably says a lot about your overall mental fortitude- But seeing another living being that behaves and looks vaguely like what you might call a person makes you feel calmer than you have since the beginning of all this. You know it's an irrational feeling, that you're not any safer than before, but it's a thread of comfort you desperately cling to.

And it's what allows you to look this thing in the eye while you experimentally lick his bizarre tendril-clump of a finger.

It was only a little flick.

But naturally, he felt it.

The monster rumbles something incomprehensible at you, leaning closer still to cast a shadow upon your front. In this position, he looms between your clothed legs, though seems mostly unaware of the lurid position he's got you in, fixated on your mouth.

The sensation of his digit unfolding into two separate thin tentacles is bizarre. You picture a human finger splitting in two and curse your brain. Said tentacles poke and wriggle, capturing your tongue between themselves.

Yes, that's probably the part of your body that most closely resembles the mass of prehensile tissue composing his own.

The touch has you drooling, saliva trying to break down something probably few to no humans have ever come in contact with. He tastes slimy yet slightly rugged in some areas, not something you'd write home about.

Reflex has your poor muscle squirming to be freed, but that only causes him to tighten the grasp upon it. And, surprisingly, to let out this humid noise that sounds far too much like a groan of delight for you to interpret it as anything else.

There's a pause from your part as you wonder, incredulously, if this thing just got turned on.

There's not much time to ponder, because that digit very quickly slips out, and as he examines the sheen of drool on it, something else steadily approaches your mouth.

Ah, you've graduated from finger to proper tentacle mouthfucking. Commendable.

Making light of the situation is about the least recommended course of action, but after what you've endured so far, you think you deserve to be a little, tiny bit, insane.

Apparently convinced that you won't try to harm him, the crimson monster wiggles that darkened appendage and taps it against your lips, seeming very interested in how this is unfolding.

You should not have opened your mouth.

But you did.

And he visibly brightened up.

The tendril wedges itself in without much hesitation, resting upon your tongue. Much thicker than his digit, your jaw has no choice but to stretch, and your lips wrap around it in a rather phallic, dirty image. You barely realize you're making an effort not to scrape your teeth on the appendage. Perhaps because the sensation of it is a tad spongy and remarkably similar to that of any standard manhood.

And, as if to give reason to your lewd comparison, he shudders at the warmth of your wet mouth, the thing pulsing within you.

While he mostly simply lets the extremity sit there motionlessly, you do explore, trying to lick around it out of morbid curiosity. He watches you avidly, but apparently, what really gets to this bizarre entity is feeling you suck down the saliva that pools in your cheeks, swallowing.

Suction. Because of course he'd enjoy that. What man doesn't?

That begs the question, is the thing in your mouth part of his genitals?

Again, thinking is a privilege you can't afford when that tentacle starts sliding down your throat experimentally. It doesn't take him long to trigger your gag reflex, a violent kick and curve forward from your part causing him to pull back quickly. But he continues to test the waters afterwards, probably seeking the sensation of your stressed throat muscles tightening around him.

Instinct takes over.

Because even if he seems truly out of his depth maneuvering a human body, he's curious and, if you had to guess, attracted to you. Enough to put sensitive things in your mouth, to fetishize that part of you. Hormones make things work, which means he soon realizes he can make repetitive back and forth motions to get friction.

And so, just like that, you're getting fucked in the mouth, inside the woods, by an eldritch abomination of a monster you might find in a cheaply made H. P Lovecraft rip-off.

It should not arouse you.

It should horrify you.

... But it doesn't.

Those reactions are missing, leaving you befuddled at your own enjoyment of the situation. Are you just happy to have someone around? Has it truly been so long since you received this type of attention that you don't mind if it comes from an entity of unknown origin who is clearly not civilized? Are you just a freak actively discovering new sides of your sexuality?

Who knows anymore.

All you know is that there's a wet noise ringing every time he thrusts that slimy thing into your mouth, that he's resorted to gripping your hips hard while making intense eye contact, that he growls and gurgles whenever you have enough control to suck at him. If you had to guess, it's his unwavering, lewd and fascinated observation of your face and lips that has you likely forming a wet spot on your poor pants.

You think your wanton squirming is subtle, but reality proves otherwise when the monster starts getting distracted, one of those pupils shifting to the rhythmic movement of your legs as you shamelessly seek friction. At first, he seems irritated, as if questioning why you'd want to leave when you'd been so docile so far.

Then it appears to click.

You can almost see it in his face, in spite of how inhuman it is, that eureka moment.

And the tendril in your mouth slows down to a crawl.

He starts pawing and pulling at your pants, but not aimlessly. Not at all. He's studied you, he knows what he's looking for, the button and the zipper. You pale a few shades, the only way this thing could know how to take pants off is if it saw you doing it, if it saw you relieving yourself or trying to bathe to avoid infections.

Just how many embarrassing moments did he catch?

Too many, probably.

Still, you're pleasantly surprised to see him so easily remove the garment, fluidly shifting the positions of his tendrils to avoid tangling the fabric in them. Your pants come off without a single blemish, aside from those they sustained previously. Is he removing them so carefully because he thinks you need them to survive or is he just being considerate?

Your underwear is treated the same way, he spares no extra thought to it, and only appears to pause once your pussy is exposed.

Usually, you'd feel self-conscious in this position. There's not a lot you can do to properly groom yourself without the simple privilege of soap and whatnot... But what does it matter here? As far as you know, for this monster, pussy is pussy regardless of it being shaved or bush-heavy, "perfumed" or au naturel.

And a soaked, needy hole is hard for a lonesome monster to ignore.

He looms closer to your womanhood, watching closely, gargling a string of vocalizations you still can't interpret, until another tentacle slithers into scene and slaps against your cunt.

No, literally.

The thing whips from mound to the bottom of your entrance, swiping up and down in a pace that has you seeing stars every time it flicks your clitoris and catches on a clenching entrance. To say your legs kick out occasionally from the intensity of the stimulus is no exaggeration, but he's quick to adapt his hold so you have no way of wiggling aside.

You don't know why it's doing that, but frankly, you don't care much, it just feels good. A racing heart and a heaving chest have you tipping your head back to moan against the thing stuffed in your mouth. You realize, a little belatedly, that he was probably mostly just trying to lube that appendage with your own arousal.

Your plump pussy still tingles when the assault stops on all sides, you strain to watch what he's doing, observing the monster evaluate the sheen now coating that wriggling extremity.

He's less careful than before now, a product of excitement no doubt, parking the somewhat thicker length at your entrance and pushing in tentatively for only a couple of moments before ramming a decent chunk of that tendril into your cunt.

Eyes bulging, you spit out a beastial sound that startles the monster, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch. He's reached a depth within you no one else has found before, and the pressure is such so that you've been robbed of the ability to speak.

He shouldn't be that far in you.

You may come from extremely distinct backgrounds, but some things are vastly universal, like the facial expression of pain. Which, credit where credit is due, he picks up on relatively fast. The moment the entity removes a good chunk of its length, you sigh and sag in momentous relief. That's a lot better. You still feel as if you're being stuffed to the brim, but there's no longer that stabbing pain.

He understands what he did wrong after a couple of still moments and some bizarre palping sensation from your insides.

Much like the previous tendril in your mouth, this one too starts to thrust back and forth, with more care now, experimenting with differing speeds and curling in various ways as he gets closer and closer to watch how you react.

You're no researcher, but maybe if the mounting pleasure wasn't swimming to your head and making it very very hard to think coherently right now, you'd be fascinated with the way this monster is being so thorough in his examination of you, wanting to learn what makes you tick in every way, what has you choking out noises and rolling your eyes.

So intense is the heat rushing through your body from his repeated, filthy motions that you hardly notice anything happening until his all-seeing eye is almost glued to your face. The tips of the tentacles that make up his rather disturbing head unfurl and appear to drip downwards, clinging to the sides of your face so he can fix it in place, observe every detail as soon as you part your mouth to moan and gasp and babble nonsense. Each noise you make is eagerly eaten up, he tries to mimic the same motions that make you squeal as if begging for more of them.

There's no time to warn or even shriek about it, your orgasm barrels its way down your body with the intensity of a bullet, curving you in its tentacles, a breathless "oh" being all you can offer as your abdominal muscles contract and you squeeze the life out of the tendril inside you, making a mess that drips to the ground between you two.

It may not have been easy to spot in that pleasured trance, but the monster halted to watch it all unfold, mesmerized. Retracting to test the nature of the new slick now grossly painting you.

By the time you're done riding the high of your climax, you've been shifted again, this time a little lower, and you find the entity staring down to the spot where your core meets something that wasn't there before.

You'll admit you didn't have the time to properly process the full extent of his appearance when he first appeared before your stunned self. Now you're unsure if this monster had some kind of pelvic pouch, or if he merely unfolded two more tendrils out of his mass where one would expect a dick to be.

The two appendages wriggle and roll impatiently, seeking each other before parting in search of heat, of wetness, slapping against your belly and thighs. They may not look like it, but you can only guess those are his cocks. And he's considering something quietly.

It's hard to tell what he's thinking right now, the communication barrier doesn't help. Maybe he worries that the length of them will hurt you. Perhaps he wonders if he can impregnate you this way. It could just be that he thinks perhaps mating with a strange human is not a good idea, but the way those things are spreading a coat of thick precum on your skin says otherwise.

Instead of letting his stall further, a small hand reaches down to feather over the tip of one of those members, immediately getting captured and pulled at in the process. His figure rattles, hips offering a useless piston before his head snaps back up to watch you.

" ... Try putting one in. "

You murmur, knowing damn well it can't understand a single word.

He looks back down, peels back to spread your cuntlips invitingly, then seems to make up his mind, allowing the very tips of both squirming cocks to connect with your entrance. They've found warmth and they're desperate to worm in, stretching and flirting with your walls.

You grin incredulously, already trying to guess what it'll feel like, gasping as soon as he leans forward and allows more exploration. The first hint of a burn arrives as he rumbles in delight-

But a branch snaps in the distance.

And the moment is ruined because he halts immediately, your cry of frustration ignored entirely.

His body twists in an unnatural way so he can glance behind, inhuman eye seeing through greenery and undoubtedly spotting something off.

In the tense quiet that has now settled, even you pick up on the faraway mumbles of what must be people.

Eyes widening, snapping out of this episode, you begin to squirm earnestly now, wanting to see them, to find a way back, to go home!

Finally, people came looking for you!

The monster snaps back around, making you realize how truly fucked you are in these circumstances. Something flashes in that gaze, a hint of contempt, of hurt maybe.

Something too human to fall upon such a nightmarish face.

You can only scream as more tendrils dart in lightening speeds to cocoon you inside them. That single noise being all that escapes before you're forcibly gagged and physically thrown over the monster's shoulder.

His molding body swings from tree to tree in a blur of movement, taking you God knows where...

And leaving your saviors in the dust.

#Sever oc #terato tag #monsterfucker #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #monster boyfriend #tentacle monster #monster x reader #monster x you #minors dni #not sfw

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 2

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Let me introduce you to our cowboy, as he takes a trip

CW: injury and description of broken bones

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A lonely cowboy trudges through the desert, bleary-eyed and hatless. His name is Jimmy.

He woke up not too long ago, face down in the sand and alone. The grains refuse to budge from their places buried between the colourful feathers on his face. With a sigh, he stops trying to scratch at the feathers to dislodge them, resigning himself to the permanent itch. It wouldn’t have helped for long anyways, the wind would soon blow more sand back into the gaps in his feathers, along with just about every other part of his lanky body. Jimmy coughs, dust coating the back of his throat. He pulls up his red bandana, from where it rests around his neck, to protect the lower half of his face. He’s not a stranger to waking up in the desert, it’s always been tempting for him to nap between the dunes, shielded from the winds and the distractions of Tumble Town. These are not those dunes. The land is flat, aside from a cracked layer of earth. The sun beats down on every surface, with next to no trees or bushes to offer much needed shade. Jimmy frowns, trying to recall the events that led him here. He must’ve fallen asleep on his horse and fallen off. He had been riding for a while… and it wouldn’t be the first time. Although, how he didn’t wake up when he fell is still a mystery to him. Maybe he fell head first. The horse must’ve wandered off while he was out… with all his belongings attached to their saddle.

And then there’s the beeping. It started off infrequently, only sounding every couple minutes. Jimmy thought he’d imagined it at first, that maybe he got heat stroke from sleeping under the sun for so long, but he reasoned that it’s far too consistent to be a hallucination. He’s not sure if that even makes sense, but it’s clearly speeding up and slowing down depending on the direction that he’s walking, so he’s sure that it’s leading him somewhere.

His running theory is that, somehow, the beeping is leading him to his horse, who, hopefully, has not managed to lose his stuff in the middle of this vast desert. Or, if not his horse, then whoever has found his belongings. If that’s the case, he hopes they’re friendly— he’s been robbed a few times and he’s not all that excited to add another experience to the list. Jimmy’s second, and just as unlikely, theory is that he’s being led towards water. That somehow he picked up some kind of water detector and managed to forget about it. He thinks this one might just be wishful thinking… or both of them may be.

There’s only one way to find out, and he’s familiar enough with this type of environment to know that meaningless wandering isn’t going to help him.

The beeping increases steadily the further he treks across the sands, dragging his sore, bird-like feet. The makeshift shoes he cut from an old pair of boots, so that they could fit, do a poor job of protecting him from the scorching earth. The more wiry trees and bushes cross his path, the more certain he becomes that he’s in a completely different desert than the one he calls home. He’s never been much of an expert in flora, but he knows he’s never seen these plants before. Their branches are thorny and muddy red, unlike the ones he’s used to. Hell, he doesn’t think he’s seen a single cactus. He probably would have tried to cut it down to see if it was edible if he had.

Despite the beeping leading Jimmy in a straight direction, he has to carefully wind his way through the desert, walking around the trenches that split the ground for miles. He almost broke his ankle in one of the shallower cracks earlier when he misjudged its depth. He pays more attention to them now, observing as they slowly grow deeper and wider, creating the chasms that lead on and on until into the dust clouds and heat waves.

Jimmy misses his hat. He will never again take its wide brim for granted, and how it blocked the harsh sun. His eyes hurt. He thought he’d have more time before the sun reached its peak, but the star moved much faster than expected. Jimmy is tempted to reason that the difference is because he’s on an entirely different planet, rather than just an unfamiliar part of the desert. A planet that rotates significantly faster than the one he calls home. But he’s not thinking that, because how could that even happen? How would he get back home? No, he lost track of time. He’s just been walking for longer than he thought. Jimmy has been living in the desert for years now, and has grown used to the heat— the feeling of feathers damp with sweat and covered in sand is a familiar sensation— but the temperature is starting to get to him. The lack of shade and water make it impossible to find a moment of relief.

The beeping grows faster, and he searches for a change in the landscape around him. The ground remains an empty plane, with nothing but the deep, wide fissures marking its surface. He’s starting to hope the beeping might be leading him to a settlement, rather than his horse. At least then he'll be able to get out of the sun.

Zoning back into the beeping, Jimmy realizes it’s slowed, a notable gap forming between each sound. Whatever he’s been walking towards must’ve changed directions, or maybe he just walked past it somehow. Looking around, nothing has changed. He hasn’t even seen animals skittering across the sand, no lizards— or alien lizard equivalents— basking under the hot sun. Trying to reorientate himself, Jimmy begins to test the beeps, listening for which directions make it speed up. But it keeps shifting. The beeping then speeds up to its fastest speed yet, the separate beeps bleeding into one sound before stopping completely, only for it to start up again a moment later. Maybe it’s leading him somewhere vertically? He looks up.

He starts walking, keeping his eyes on the sky, hoping it might reveal something new to him, but he foolishly loses track of the topography. Before he knows it, one foot sinks into unsteady ground, then the other finds nothing but air, and he’s falling.

Reflexively, he holds his arms in front of him, hoping helplessly that it will slow his plunge into the cavernous ravine.

An old reflex cries out. One long forgotten and useless. He tries to listen.

First there’s the hiss of sand, pattering over the surface below. Then a sickening crack as Jimmy lands on his outstretched arm. Pain shoots through his side.

He opens his mouth to yell, but he’s interrupted by another scream, next to him.

Scrambling to the wall and clutching his injured arm, Jimmy’s mind works on pure adrenaline as he tries to push through the pain, and wills his vision clear enough for him to see his new company.

The figure curled on the floor mirrors him, clutching their own arm to their chest.

Their body is covered in a light yellow fur, which darkens to a reddish brown at the tips of their limbs. Their fiery hair and tail flicker wildly with distress— a blazeborn. They’re wearing a torn sleeveless shirt, with a thick, dark coat tied around their waist. Why anyone would carry a coat like that out here, Jimmy cannot understand.

Their bright yellow eyes are wide like suns, shining right at Jimmy. They let out a quavery wheeze.

Jimmy shakes his head, fending off the delirium.

He coughs a pained, bitter laugh. His ribs ache. “...Hello?”

“Are you okay?” They manage back, looking and sounding like they’re in just as much pain as he is.

“Are you okay?” Jimmy nods pointedly to their broken arm. He can see its misshapen form from here. He doesn’t want to imagine what his own arm looks like.

The blazeborn shuffles tentatively towards him, making sure to not move their arm.

“I don't know- I don't know how it happened. You just fell and then I felt-”

Jimmy's eyes snap open with the realization. “Did I fall on you?! I’M SO SORRY!!”

“No no, you fell nowhere near me-” they shake their head, whining slightly, just as Jimmy feels a pulse of pain and bites back a wince himself.

With that, the look on their face morphs from concern to confusion. They shift closer to him, close enough that Jimmy can see the slight blue wisps in their warm flames. This might be the first time he’s been this close to a blazeborn. He always thought they’d give off more heat than this.

They don’t meet his gaze though, their attention directed elsewhere.

Gently, they pull their good arm from where it rests on their chest. Before Jimmy can question them, they tap his injured arm. A bolt of pain shoots through his body— he pulls back violently.

“OW!! THAT HURTS!” he yells, but his anger dissipates once he spots the blazeborn grimacing from their own pain. They blink rapidly, fighting through the daze. When it passes, they focus on Jimmy with an apologetic expression.

“This sounds crazy, but I think we're- connected.”

“What?! What are you on about?” Jimmy barks, confusion and pain leading easily into anger.

“Look, if I-”

Jimmy catches them by the wrist as they make another move to prod him.

“If you poke me one more time I swear-” Jimmy threatens in his best attempt at an authoritative tone, tightening his grip on their arm, challenging them.

They pause, considering him for a moment. Their eyes, without a trace of fear, flick down to Jimmy’s arm before returning to meet his gaze. They seem to be more intrigued than anything.

“Okay, okay, how about you poke me, then.” They direct his hand over to their injured arm.

"W-why?" Jimmy squawks, resisting.

“You'll feel the same thing. If my guess is right, at least.”

The way they laugh afterwards doesn't exactly fill Jimmy with much confidence. It reminds him of a mad scientist excited to test their hypothesis regardless of their questionable, painful methods. The logic makes his head spin; the stranger’s certainty is a jarring contrast. He feels like he’s out of the loop about something.

”....Okay. Are you sure?”

They grin wildly at him, their sharp teeth on full display.

“Go ahead, I'm giving you permission.”

“HM.” Jimmy hums with audible suspicion, baffled as to why someone would willingly feel that kind of pain. Stumped, he grants them their wish. As gently as he can, he pokes them.

His own arm blooms with pain. The same white hot pain. He pulls back, gasping, faint from the unexpected sting.

“What- WHAT THE HECK-'' Jimmy cries, hugging his arm closer to his chest. Nothing touched him, but that’s not how it felt. His poor arm pulses with pain, and he stares at the blazeborn.

They huff out a couple unsteady breaths, clearing their head before meeting Jimmy’s stricken look with another weak grin. How someone can smile in this situation is beyond Jimmy, and how this stranger’s grin grows wider with each passing second is completely unfathomable. Finally, they explode with laughter.

“AHAH- Welp, this is definitely a weird situation!”

“How-” Jimmy falters, his worry deepening. “Who are you?”

The blazeborn casually pushes themself up against the wall, sitting down next to him. They wipe the sand off their hand onto their coat.

“No idea, and the name’s Tango.”

He smiles up at Jimmy, more genuinely.

“…Jimmy.” He replies, finding the time to properly take in Tango’s appearance beyond the minimum.

Jimmy’s eyes flicker to something tied at the blazeborn’s waist. It was a pair of big, bulky boots. He watches Tango kick at the dust with his bare feet. No wonder he isn't wearing them. They look more suited to insulating the cold and snow, rather than the scorching heat of a desert.

An awkward silence falls over the two, both of them trying to process their situation, and grimacing internally from their pain. Jimmy rests his tail over his own feet, fanning the end towards him to battle the heat. He's not particularly sure what to say, especially to a stranger who is, by some unexplainable magic, connected to him. Fortunately for him, he doesn't have to go first.

“So, Jimmy… What got you here?” Tango breaks the silence.

“I fell.” He replies dumbly, not registering the question completely.

Tango spits out a laugh. “No, I mean- in this desert.”

Jimmy shrugs, recalling all he can. “I don't know… I don't remember.”

He’s beginning to accept that maybe his horse and all his belongings aren’t on this planet at all.

He yawns, “I was just following the beeps-”

His head slips against the wall behind him, neck lolling as a wave of exhaustion hits him.

“Hey, hey, buddy- stay awake for me.” Tango reaches over, snapping his good hand in front of Jimmy and chuckling nervously.

“Mmm… sorry.” Jimmy rubs his eyes, blinking blearily at the blazeborn. “What about you?”

“Pretty much the same.” Tango affirms. “I was following the beeps through the caves and ravines, and then I stumbled upon you- or more like, you stumbled and-” Tango gestures to the top of the ravine, reenacting Jimmy's fall with his hand, complete with cartoonish sound effects.

Jimmy, too worn down to feel insulted, just laughs.

“You think the beeping was leading us to the same thing?” He enquires.

“Probably- or probably to each other, actually. ‘cuz we're linked somehow!” Tango decides, seeming far more alert than Jimmy.

“Who… would do that? …why?” Jimmy asks hazily, stifling another yawn.

Tango lowers his gaze, brow furrowing. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he sinks deeper in thought, mumbling like he’s debating something in his mind.

Jimmy frowns as the moment stretches on, and opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, but Tango interrupts him.

“I think I might have an idea why I'm here.”

“Oh?” Jimmy tilts his head.

“You work with dodgy people, you get into dodgy situations.” He states bluntly, like it’s a matter of fact.

“You- you’re not a robber, are you? Or a murderer?!” Jimmy tenses, not-so-subtly shuffling away.

“Oh, no no- nothing scary,” Tango snorts, offering Jimmy a disarming wink.

Jimmy’s not convinced. He studies Tango wearily.

“I mean-” Tango elaborates, “I'm actually just an architect of sorts. That's not scary.”

“Could be!” Jimmy argues, “You could be making dungeons and torture chambers!”

Tango snaps his mouth shut with a squeak, a chuckle stuttering through his teeth.

"…yeeaah. Nothing like that." He assures vaguely, trying to emphasize his words carefully.

Jimmy squints at him, humming in agreement despite his suspicion. He goes to move so that he can face Tango straight on, but in the process, bumps his elbow into the stone wall.

Both Tango and Jimmy immediately curl into themselves. “Ah- ow ow ow ow.” They murmur in sync.

"Oh, yeah,” Tango wheezes breathlessly, “We should probably do something about these.”

Jimmy makes a small, sad noise to himself. He’s gone a long time without having to deal with a broken bone, and he had been hoping to keep it that way. He looks helplessly at his arm, and Tango follows his gaze.

“Can I see?” Tango asks, in the calmest voice he can muster, though the tension around his eyes betrays his own unease.

Jimmy just nods and moves closer, more carefully this time.

Tango leans over as Jimmy lifts his arm delicately.

“Hmm.” He ponders over the mangled limb. “Haha.” He concludes flatly, “It looks like we might have to set them.”

Jimmy pulls his arm back. “I don't want to do that. You know what, I always wanted a wonky arm, actually.”

“If it's any comfort, you won't be alone in the pain.” Tango tries with a weak smile.

Jimmy pouts. Conceding slightly, he asks “Are we going to do our arms at the same time?”

“Void, no.” Tango laughs dismissively. “That sounds like a horrible idea. The universe might just implode.”

“What?” Jimmy snaps, shooting Tango a concerned stare. Tango rolls his eyes.

“We'd most likely both feel twice as much pain, buddy. That's what I mean.”

Jimmy’s face tightens with anxiety, and he makes another move to scoot away.

“Hey, hey, wait.” Tango placates, looking around helplessly. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulls out two torn pieces of fabric. They look like they used to be the sleeves from his t-shirt.

Tango hands one to Jimmy. “Bite down on this?” He offers.

“Don't happen to have any form of painkillers, then?” Jimmy pipes uselessly.

Tango notices the way Jimmy eyes the dirty fabric. He shrugs apologetically.

“That's all I got, sorry.”

Jimmy sighs, willing himself to accept his fate, and clumsily folds the fabric with one hand. He tentatively places it in his mouth.

“So… who first?” He mumbles defeatedly through the fabric.

“Hmmm… you!”

Before Jimmy can process what’s happening, Tango snaps his arm back into place.

#stareater au #life series au #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #ranchers duo #cw injury #cw broken bones #team rancher #trafficblr

[rollinouttahere-writes]

AS2L Intro

I finally got it done! The intro for this concept has come to fruition. Unlike Lucky Break, this won't be completely linear and will just kinda jump around to random events that I feel are worth writing.

Ace, Sabo, and Luffy x Child Reader

5.5k words

Grown ups did a lot of things that you failed to understand the point of, and even more things that you found unpleasant. There were even some things that managed to be both. Namely, family reunions. You didn’t get why they needed to do this every year. You already saw them often enough since you all lived pretty close. So why do you have to spend a whole day with them at some park? It doesn’t even have a playground. Boring!

Small pebbles tumbled through the grass as you kicked them. At the moment, you were far away from everyone else, having had quite enough of your cousins’ teasing and hair pulling. Between not getting along with any of the people here that were your age, and the aforementioned lack of a playground, you were bored out of your mind. Possibly even dying of boredom. 

As you keep walking aimlessly, you notice a sign out of the corner of your eye. Having nothing better to do, you go over to inspect it. It reads “Horseshoe Trail” in big, bold letters. There’s a picture of what you assume is the trail itself beneath it. Much like the name implies, the trail is shaped like a horseshoe, going out and coming back to an exit not far from here. You look to your left and squint, and you’re pretty sure you can see where it lets out.

Maybe going for a walk in the woods would be fun? It had to be more exciting than kicking rocks all day. You hazard a glance back at the pavilion where your family is gathered. No one seems to be looking your way… This should be fine. You make up your mind quickly and hurry onto the trail before anyone can tell you not to. 

This will be fine. Besides, you’ll probably be back before anyone even notices you’re gone. The trail didn’t look that long in the picture.

The trail is a refreshing change of pace. You stare up in wonder at the tall trees on either side of the trail. Other plants and flowers decorate your surroundings, making for infinitely more interesting scenery than the bland grass of the main area your family was hanging out at. You don’t get why none of them thought to go walking through here. It makes you feel a little special to have discovered something new and exciting.

There’s a lot of noise in the woods. From the rustling of leaves as squirrels dart around, to birds singing, to insects chirping. It’s all enchanting to you. You hum happily as you wander down the path, not a care in the world. 

You’re walking for a while, a lot longer than you thought you would be. It starts to dawn on you that the trail was perhaps longer than you originally assumed. You start to feel nervous about how mad your parents will be if they notice you wandered off. Looking back, you wonder if it would be better to just turn around, or if you should keep going. The end can’t be that far away, can it?

A fallen tree is next to the path, and you walk over to sit on it while you try to figure out what you should do. You fiddle with your pink, frilly dress that your mom insisted you had to wear, tugging and picking at the seams nervously. Mom was definitely going to be mad when you got back… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just keep going even if it does turn out to be longer?

The sounds of foliage moving behind you snaps you out of your anxious daze. You tense up. Whatever it is sounds bigger than a squirrel. Slowly, you look over your shoulder and towards the source. Bushes shake as something works its way through them. You want to run, but you’re rooted in place by your fear. The bushes rustle louder as whatever is in them is about to pop out. Your tiny hands fist the fabric of your dress painfully tight.

A furry creature suddenly springs out and lands on the log next to you. You yelp and fall backwards off of it. The creature creeps closer and… meows?

You sit upright and finally see the animal for what it is. A cat. Instantly, your fear melts away and you squeal excitedly, “Hi, kitty! Can I pet you?” You stand up and reach out to the cat, only for it to hop off the log and start walking away. “Hey, wait! Come back!” You start walking faster, following the cat into the woods.

“I promise I’ll be gentle!” Your attempts to reason with the cat were moot, it just kept walking. Occasionally it would look back at you, but it didn’t stop. It hadn’t hissed at you yet, though, so you keep following it. You didn’t even realize how far you were getting from the trail.

Your dress keeps snagging on branches from the local shrubbery, slowing you down significantly. With every pause you take to rip your dress free, the cat gets further and further away, but you don’t give up.

It isn’t until you trip and fall over a root sticking out of the ground that you officially lose sight of the cat. You whine and slowly push yourself up. Your foot hurts from getting snagged on the root, the sandals you were wearing did nothing to protect you. It takes a minute to get back up onto your feet, and when you do, you realize that it isn’t just the cat that you’ve lost sight of.

The trail is nowhere to be seen. Tears begin to well in your eyes as you’re hit with how bad this is. How stupid could you be to have run so far away from the trail? Your parents are going to be so mad when they find you. You whip your head around wildly as you walk backwards, looking for literally any possible hint of the rail.

Suddenly, the ground dips behind you. Your arms flail as you try to catch yourself, but the ground is too slippery for you to get any traction. The next thing you know, you’re falling backwards and rolling down a hill. You scream and try to catch yourself on something, but you’re too disoriented to be able to hold onto anything for longer than a split second. Rocks and bushes attack you as you violently tumble down the hill.

When you mercifully roll to a stop at the bottom, your head is spinning and everything hurts. You whimper as you roll onto your side and try to get up. Something wet drips into your eye and stings, making you flinch and rub at it. You pull your hand away and see that it’s stained red with blood. Just like that, you burst into tears and sob loudly. You cry out for help, screaming for anyone to come to your rescue.

But no one comes.

Then, because today wasn’t awful enough, loud thunder sounds through the forest, and it begins to rain. Cold droplets fall and soak into your dirty, torn clothing. You sniffle loudly and force yourself to stand despite your body screaming at you to lay down. Sitting in the rain sounds terrible. You need to find somewhere dry to wait this out.

Looking around, you don’t see anything nearby that you could hide under. Seeing as that you’re already horribly lost, you pick a random direction and start walking. Well, more like limping. Your already sore ankle is now swelling, and the straps on one of your sandals ripped off during the fall. It’s barely hanging on and is more than a little uncomfortable to walk in. You trudge forward, sniffling and crying as you stumble through the woods in search of shelter.

It feels like an eternity before you see something through the trees that piques your interest. It looks like a small building isn’t far from here. Your tears dry for the first time and you smile, thinking that maybe you were closer to where your family was than you thought you were. You hurry as much as your pained body will allow.

The closer you get, the more your smile fades. The building you were looking at was some abandoned, broken looking shack. There weren’t any other buildings or signs of people in sight. Despite your disappointment, the rain pelting you encourages you to go inside the shack regardless. 

The door had fallen off and was laying outside of the structure. You step on it as you go inside, and it creaks loudly under your weight. Your disappointment only grows as you see that the roof had caved in. Rain was pouring into the dilapidated shack, leaving only one corner of it somewhat dry. You press yourself against the shelf in the dry spot, shivering in your wet clothes. 

Deciding that your sandals were more of a painful hindrance than a help, you unbuckle and kick them off. Next, you slip off the once cream colored cardigan your mom had insisted you wear with your dress. It got all torn up and covered in mud from your fall, plus there was some blood on it from the cuts you got. The frilly dress you had on was in a similar state. Your mom was going to kill you for ruining the outfit she picked out for you just for today.

Given that it was already ruined, you scrubbed your face with the sweater, trying to wipe away the blood you felt on it earlier. You wince as it touches a particularly tender spot on your head and pull it away. The sweater is now smeared with even more blood and dirt. You sigh and toss it next to your discarded sandals.

With nothing to do, you sit in the corner and wait for the rain to stop. Your stomach growls loudly, which makes you remember something. Reaching into your pocket, you are ecstatic to find that the candies your grandpa had slipped you hadn’t fallen out during your tumble. You smile softly and unwrap a piece of chocolate before popping it into your mouth. At least you have one good thing going for you. You look around the shack while you savor the chocolate, and your eyes are drawn to a box on the shelf next to you.

Having nothing to do, you pull it off and start rifling through it. There are some old flashlights, duct tape, and some ropes in it that you carelessly toss behind you. At the bottom of the box, you see a tiny key and a jewelry box. You grab both curiously and wipe off the dusty box. One of those cool skull-things that you see on pirates ships is on it, which only makes you more curious. Giving the box a shake, you hear something rattling inside of it.

Trying to open it didn’t work, so you put the small key into the keyhole. Much to your relief, it fits and unlocks the jewelry box. You pry it open and find a necklace inside. It feels extremely brittle in your hands, and it has the same pirate skull on it as the box. There is a piece of paper in the box, too. You pick it up and unfold it, finding that there is something written on it.

Congratulations on your lucky find

I wonder what desire you have in mind

Close your eyes, make a wish, and break the pendant in two

Whatever you want most will come to you

Now that was exciting. You looked at the apparently magical necklace in your hand with a surge of joy and intrigue. Maybe getting lost wasn’t so bad afterall! You kick your feet as you try to decide on a wish. You suppose that you could wish to be back with your family, but… did you really want to waste your wish on that? Did you really want to use a magical wish to be teleported back to your parents that will definitely be furious with you.

This is your wish. Why shouldn’t you use it for something that you want? But what do you want? To have more fun? To have a family that actually likes you? Those things would be nice. Would it be okay to squeeze two wishes into one? There’s only one way to find out.

Closing your eyes, you say your wish, “I wish to have fun with a family that loves me.” With that said, you snap the necklace in half. You keep your eyes closed for a few more seconds, then crack one open and look around. Nothing happened.

Both of your eyes open and your cheeks puff out into a pout. Why didn’t it work?! You got your hopes up and everything! Today was the worst! Who would leave a fake magic necklace here to trick someone? That’s just mean!

You’re about to throw the broken necklace away from you, but then something happens. You start to sink into the ground, with your legs disappearing in mere seconds. You flail, trying to pull your legs back up, but you can’t and you’re sinking down even more. What’s happening?! Were you sitting in quicksand?!

In a last desperate attempt, you grab onto the shelf next to you. You’re already up to your neck, only your arms and head are still free. You let out a high pitched scream, hoping- praying that someone will hear you and come to your rescue, but the shelf you’re grasping tips over, plunging you into darkness.

You expect the quicksand to drown you, but that isn’t what happens. It feels like… you’re floating. In the air. Experimentally, you wave your arms around. There is nothing around you. Death not being imminent did calm you slightly, but not entirely. Not when you were seemingly floating through some weird darkness. It felt like you were falling, however gently, so maybe if you wait long enough you’ll end up… somewhere?

Was this happening because of your wish? Was the necklace mad about you trying to squeeze two wishes into one? You whimper and curl into the fetal position as you fall, feeling stupid for making a magic necklace mad at you. Hot tears well in your eyes and drip down your cheeks as you cry to yourself.

Abruptly, your descent ends and you feel solid ground beneath you. Instead of pitch black, you can see a soft light peeking through your fingers. You pull your hands away and look around. You’re in a forest. But… it doesn’t look like the forest that you were just in. The trees are massive; way bigger than any that you’ve ever seen. It also sounds different. The woods that you had just been walking through sounded mostly quiet minus some birds chirping, but this place was much louder. The bird calls sounded different and more plentiful, and you could hear plants all around you rustling. Whatever was moving them sounded huge. 

Pressing yourself up against a nearby tree, you look around frantically, looking for any sign of other people. You saw nothing but more trees. Worse yet, it was starting to get dark. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you felt like you were about to start crying again.

Your hands flex nervously, and you’re distracted when you feel something in the palm of one of them. You look down curiously and open your hand. Your face scrunches in confusion when you see some weird looking necklace staring up at you. It’s got a skull and crossbones on it, and the skull looks like it’s biting something between its teeth. Maybe a stick or something? You flip it over in your hand and examine it closely.

You’ve never seen this thing before. Why do you have it?

Before you can ponder this mystery further, you hear a loud growl. You snap your head up and look around. You don’t see whatever made that noise, but you aren’t about to wait and find out. The necklace is stuffed into your pocket and you turn around to face the tree you’re standing next to. It isn’t easy, but your terror about becoming a snack to whatever made that noise motivates you to scale the tree faster than you would have expected. You climb until you find a cluster of branches that you can settle into securely.

The sun was setting fast, and the forest was rapidly becoming too dark for you to be able to see anything around you. You press yourself into the branches while rubbing your exposed arms. The wet dress you were in was doing nothing to keep you warm, and you found yourself wishing you still had your sweater. Even if it was soaked and torn up, it would be at least a little better than this.

Animal calls resounded all around you, ones that you’ve never heard before. You don’t understand where you are. You were just lost in the woods at home. How did you wind up in this strange forest? Was it just a different part of the woods that you’ve never seen before? How had you never noticed these huge trees before? Well, you suppose your mom has said that you don’t pay attention very well…

Another growl cuts through the air, but this one is from you. Your stomach takes the time to remind you that it’s been a while since you last ate. Digging around in your pocket, you pull out a few more pieces of candy and start eating them. It’s not like there’s anything else you can do right now. You need to find your way out of these woods, but you’re too scared to do it in the dark, so you’re going to have to wait until morning.

Your parents are going to kill you when you finally get out of here.

The night passes by slowly. With how noisy it is, and how scared you feel, sleeping is almost impossible. You do eventually nod off, but you’re awoken by a ray of sunlight shining right into your eyes. You whine and rub at your eyes before cracking them open. Light is filtering through the leaves and all the way down onto the forest floor.

Movement catches your attention, and you snap your attention to it. Much to your relief, it’s just a small bird that is perched on your knee and watching you curiously. It has green feathers on its body and colorful feathers forming a large fan-like crest on its head. The bird’s head tilts and it lets out a series of whistles before leaning down to peck at the frills of your dress.

“Hi, birdie. Do you know how to get out of here?” You knew that a bird couldn’t answer your question, but it was nice to talk to something.

The sound of your voice made it glance up at you again, but it quickly ripped a frill off of your dress and then flew away. Yeah… that was about as helpful as you thought it was going to be.

After giving your surroundings a thorough scan to make sure there wasn’t anything scary nearby, you climb out of the tree. You wince as the tree bark digs into the soles of your feet. Much like your sweater, you find yourself bemoaning the fact that you ditched your sandals. You reach the forest floor and look around warily. You weren’t able to see any houses or anything from up in the tree, so you had no idea which way to go. So, you just started walking in a random direction and hoped for the best.

Your stomach growled again. You checked your pocket for more candy and after rifling through a bunch of empty wrappers, you found one last piece. As hungry as you were… you felt like it would be dumb to eat your final piece of candy now. It’s stuffed back into your pocket as you resolve to save it for later.

What feels like hours pass, and you have yet to see so much as a trail, much less a person or building. It’s starting to feel hopeless and like you’ll be lost forever. You stop and sit down on a rock, wondering what else you can possibly do right now.

That’s when you hear it. Crying. You’ve never been so happy to hear that sound before. You scramble off of the rock and run in the direction of the noise, feeling a sense of relief that you’ve never felt so intensely before. You bound through some tall grass and find yourself in a small clearing. There aren’t buildings or anything like that in sight, but there is someone here. A boy with black hair is sitting in the middle of the clearing and crying into his knees.

Taking a look around, you don’t see anyone else here. This isn’t exactly what you wanted to find, but maybe he knows how to get out of this place. The boy doesn’t appear to have heard you stomping through the grass, so you approach him carefully and call out to him.

“Hello?”

The boy flinches and whips his head around to look at you. He stares at you with wide, teary eyes, and his face has dirt smeared across it. You think that he’s about the same age as you. It looks like he’s also had a bad day.

When he doesn’t respond, you take a few more steps towards him. You try talking to him again, “Are you okay?”

He sniffles loudly and wipes at his face with his arm, “I’m okay… I’m just lost.” Your heart sinks upon realizing that he’s no better off than you are and won’t be able to help you. The boy looks up at you hopefully, “Do you know the way out?”

You avert your eyes and shake your head, “No… I’m also lost.” That little bit of hope he had in his eyes dies instantly and he hangs his head again. It makes you feel bad that you can’t help him. You crouch down next to him, “My name is (Y/N), what’s your name?”

The boy sniffles again and speaks in a quiet voice, “I’m Luffy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Luffy. I don’t know the way out of here, but maybe we can be lost together?” The proposition hardly sounds appealing, but it’s not like either of you have any other options right now. Not being alone will be better than nothing.

Luffy looks at you again, then nods and starts to stand up, “Yeah… we can be lost together.” As soon as you’re up, he grabs onto your hand like it’s a lifeline. You two start walking again, but it’s obvious that he’s still upset.

Something about his sad face makes you want to do whatever you can to make him feel better. You think hard as you walk with him. Then, an idea pops into your head. Candy makes you feel happy, so it should do the same for him, right? You pull out your last piece of candy, saltwater taffy, from your pocket. You stare at it for a moment, feeling conflicted. While you are hungry, you want to do the right thing.

Holding out your hand to Luffy, you present the taffy to him, “Do you want some candy?”

This makes Luffy come to a halt and stare at the offering. You pull your hand from his and unwrap the candy for him before holding it up to him again. That seems to snap him out of it and he quickly snatches it out of your hands and eats it. The fast movement startles you slightly. He must’ve been really hungry, too.

Finally, he grins at you, “Thank you! Do you have any more?”

You look down, now feeling a little guilty about snacking on your candy all night long. “No, I’m sorry. That was my last piece.”

Luffy blinks in surprise, “And you gave it to me?” You nod, not really seeing it as a big deal. It was just one piece of candy. Before you can blink, Luffy lurches forward and hugs you tightly. You’re lifted off the ground a little, then dropped back down. He pulls away and smiles widely at you, “Let’s be best friends, (Y/N)!”

Best friends? Just for some candy? Well, he seems nice, and you could always use more friends. You return his smile with one of your own, “Yeah, let’s be friends.”

With the new friendship established, you and Luffy resume your trek, but now he is much more bubbly and talkative. He’s rambling about pirates when he suddenly looks around and lights up, “Oh! This looks familiar! I think we’re almost out!” Luffy breaks into a sprint and you’re forced to run to keep up. Rocks and plants dig into your bare feet, making you wince, but you feel a surge of joy at the prospect of getting out of this stupidly big forest.

Finally, the trees thin out and both of you are free. A small town can be seen in the near distance. It doesn’t look familiar at all, and definitely isn’t your hometown. Was it a nearby town that you’ve never seen before? You guess you and your parents don’t get out a lot, so that makes sense.

Luffy doesn’t give you much time to catch your breath before he’s running again. As you run through the town with him, you notice how weird it looks to you. None of the roads are paved, and you can’t see a single car. It looks super old, like something out of a history book. Where are you right now?

You’re forced to make a hard right as Luffy turns and runs into one of the buildings. You stumble in behind him and look around the place. It looks like a restaurant or something. You’re dragged towards a counter while Luffy calls out, “Makino! I made a new friend!”

A woman with green hair is behind the counter and smiles warmly at Luffy before flicking her attention to you. Her smile drops instantly and is replaced with a look of concern. “Oh dear, are you alright?”

Oh right, you did get pretty dirty and hurt from your fall yesterday. You look away sheepishly, embarrassed to be looking like a mess. Your mom would definitely scold you if she could see you right now.

“This new friend of yours must be pretty great if you haven’t even noticed me yet.” A new voice cuts in. You look up as a man with red hair and a straw hat spins around in his seat. He has three scars over one of his eyes that you can’t help but think look really cool. Like Makino, his relaxed grin drops when he sees the state of you. One of his hands reaches out and pulls something out of your hair. A small twig with a leaf on it. He raises a brow, “Rough day, kid?”

“Shanks!” Luffy abandons you to clamber up to the man, and you’re left standing alone and feeling very self conscious about your appearance as you notice even more people staring at you.

Makino comes out from behind the counter and crouches down next to you. Her warm smile is back and she starts wiping off your face with a wet rag. “Why don’t you tell me your name, sweetie?” You mumble out your name while avoiding eye contact with her. She hums in acknowledgment, “(Y/N)? That’s a lovely name. Now, can you tell me what happened to you?”

“Well… I wandered away from my family because I was bored, and then I got really lost in the woods because I was chasing a cat. Then I fell down a big hill and got all dirty and hurt.” Saying it all out loud made it sound really dumb.

“And when did all of this happen? Just a little bit ago?”

“No, it happened yesterday, and then I was lost in the woods all night.” You winced as she wiped at a gash on your head.

“You were in that forest all night?” Makino looked shocked at your statement.

“Yeah… I tried to find my way out, but I couldn’t, so I slept in a tree until morning.” Again, you felt embarrassed about your situation. How stupid were you to get that lost all because you wanted to pet a cat?

Makino still appears to be shocked by your story, but she tries to force another smile onto her face. She stands up and takes your hand, “Come into the back with me. I have some spare clothes for Luffy here, and I think they’ll fit you.”

The prospect of having clean clothes sounds amazing to you, so you follow her without any protest. When you’re in the back of the restaurant, she takes the time to clean off the rest of the blood and dirt from you before giving you some clothes to change into. The shorts and t-shirt are much more comfortable than your tattered dress, so you can feel your mood lifting instantly just from having them on. You were still barefoot, but you weren’t about to complain. Makino examines your discarded dress with a puzzled look, then shrugs and tosses it into a bin.

You’re guided back out to the main part of the restaurant, and placed in a seat next to Luffy. Shortly after that, a plate of food is placed in front of you, as well as in front of Luffy. He happily digs in, but you hesitate, “I don’t have any money…” 

Your concern makes Makino chuckle, “Don’t worry about that, it’s on the house. You look like you could use something to eat.” Her words were enough to demolish your already weak resolve, prompting you to start wolfing down the meal. It tasted amazing and was a relief to your empty stomach. It didn’t take long for the plate to be completely clean.

As soon as you're done, Makino comes back over to you and starts asking questions. “What do your parents look like? Do you think they’re nearby?” You tell her that they probably aren’t around here and rattle off a description of them. She frowns and doesn’t seem to recognize them based off of your description.

Shanks chimes into the conversation, “What’s their ship look like? We just docked a little while ago, I might’ve seen it.”

“Ship? My parents don’t have a ship.” The question confuses you. There aren’t any big bodies of water around your town as far as you know. Why would your parents have a boat?

“Oh? So you’re local?”

“No, I’ve never seen this place before.”

Makino perked up at that, “You aren’t from Goa Kingdom, are you?”

You shake your head, “I don’t know that place.” You tell them the name of your hometown, but all that does is make everyone look confused. Everyone looks around at each other, silently asking if anyone recognizes the name. It would seem that no one does.

“Well, if you aren’t from around here, then you definitely got here on a ship. Did your parents get a ride here from someone else?” Shanks stares at you more intensely, as if trying to find answers written on your face.

“We weren’t on a boat, we were just at a park.” The questions were starting to frustrate you. Your town had to be nearby. There’s no way you walked that far.

Shanks stares at you hard, then his eyes drift up and focus on the gash on your head. He sighs and relaxes his expression. “Your parents are probably lurking around the docks, you should try looking for them there.”

Luffy sits up straight and turns to face you, “Oh! I can show you where they are!” He hops down from his stool and doesn’t wait for an answer before hauling you off of your own seat. You’ve barely made it out of the restaurant before another person runs out after you.

“Wait! I’m coming, too!”

You look over your shoulder and see a girl with red and white hair running after you two. She looks to be a few years older than you. 

Luffy smiles at her, “Hi, Uta! Why are you coming with us?”

Uta reaches out and pokes his cheek, “Because I know that you only offered to go so you can sneak onto Shanks’ ship.”

“Nuh-uh! I want to help (Y/N)!”

She rolled her eyes and lightly shoved his shoulder, “Yeah, right. You’re definitely going to sneak onto the Red Force as soon as you see it.” The two start bickering amongst each other, not paying you much mind as you all make your way to the docks.

All of this is very confusing and overwhelming. You have no idea where you are or how you got here, but at least the people you have found have been really nice. This situation wasn’t great, but it could certainly be worse.

At least you made a new friend.

#AS2L #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #monkey d luffy #luffy #one piece makino #red haired shanks #shanks #uta

[majosullivan]

Since it has been on my mind lately and I’m in the mood to ramble, I present to you: why I believe Lenore’s spectre is going to be a Phoenix/Phoenix themed.

Before I go more deeply into this, I want to cover the most agreed upon detail of Lenore’s possible spectre: Lenore having wings. This really seems like a slam dunk at this point. Lenore so far has had a clear association with birds, specifically ravens; with one of the Poe works she is based on being The Raven, her talking to and seeking out the Raven in Nevermore, the cane we see her using in her and Annabel’s memories having a Raven skull as the handle and her family crest having a pair of black wings a part of its design.

Additionally, there’s also the detail of Nevermore’s logo. Nevermore’s logo is comprised of a beating heart and a pair of black wings. Since Annabel’s spectre has a heart shaped hole in her chest, Lenore’s spectre having wings would make up the rest of the logo, with the logo symbolising our pair of deuteragonists.

Furthermore, there is also the scene with Lenore and The Raven, with him mockingly asking Lenore if she has a pair of wings under her blazer after she tries to stop him from leaving in episode 35.

Honestly, this panel might as well have a massive sign titled ‘FORESHADOWING’ in blinking lights attached to it when we take into account everything that we’ve pointed out. So, while it seems very likely that Lenore will have wings, why do I think she will be a phoenix specifically? With her connections to ravens, surely it make more sense for her to be a raven? Well, this is because of one word: rebirth.

Just to have a quick explanation for the basis, a phoenix is an immortal bird that cyclically regenerates or is otherwise born again. Being associated with the sun, a phoenix obtains new life by rising from the ashes of its predecessor. Some legends say it dies in a show of flames and combustion, others that it simply dies and decomposes before being born again. Throughout the comic, there has been a lot of links to Lenore and the ideas of rebirth. Specifically, there are three examples where Lenore has gone through a death of some form, before being reborn/brought back to life in some form.

The first time we see this after the accident with the tree. With the death of Theo, who was seemingly the only person in Lenore’s life at the time who genuinely cared about her, and being locked away in the attic for years after being deemed as never being able to recover from her injuries, along with her parents no longer seeing her as any respectable use since they wouldn’t be able to marry her off, we see Lenore go through her first ‘death’. Forced to live a lifeless existence hidden away in shame, with her ripping away the wallpaper being the only real change that occurred during her time in the attic. All of this leads into first time Lenore is reborn/brought back to life when she first meets Annabel, which allowed her to be freed from the attic and form a genuine connection with someone in years. Lenore even says so herself, describing Annabel as the one who brought her back to life long before she died.

The second time, and the one that arguably has the most obvious link to the ideas of Phoenixs, is when Lenore faked her death to go after Annabel. Here we see her in the process of disguising herself as a man, before finishing her packing and setting the house on fire so everyone will assume she died in the fire and she can assume her new identity without suspicion. Here, I don’t think I have to go too in-depth to point how through her actions, Lenore arose from the ashes of the house fire as Leo Vandernacht, leaving her life as the disgraced daughter of the Vandernachts to burn away in the house fire, just like a Phoenix arising from the ashes of its predecessor (side note quickly but Lenore I swear to fucking god you better actually have a cousin named Leo or I’m coming through the screen to shake you like a maraca). The parallels here are pretty clean cut.

Finally, we have her actual death and her appearing at Nevermore. While we don’t know the full details behind Lenore’s and Annabel’s deaths, whatever they are only have the possibility to strengthen the links to rebirth that have been clearly shown from the start. The whole conflict in Nevermore is the competition for a new life. With Lenore’s death and her arrival to Nevermore placing her in a competition for a second chance at life, she has once again been placed into a position similar to the cycle of a Phoenix, with this time following closer to legends where a Phoenix simply dies and decomposes before being born again. Additionally, Annabel’s complete faith in Lenore can also fed into this. We see in episode 41, how no matter what awaits them, no matter challenges they have to overcome, Annabel has absolute faith that Lenore will find a way to get them out of Nevermore. Not herself or any complex plan she has, Lenore is the one who will ultimately be the key to their escape. Lenore is the key to their second chance at life, to their rebirth.

Speaking of Annabel, the way she describes Lenore in episode 66 can add onto this line of reasoning. During the episode, we see Annabel describe Lenore as ‘ash the moment we met’, before going on to talk about how all madwoman die at least twice. First off, describing Lenore as ash already brings her back to the idea of being a Phoenix, with Pheonix rising from the dead through the ashes of predecessor. Secondly, the idea of all madwomen dying at least twice in relation to Lenore is yet another link to the concept of a Phoenix, with them going through multiple deaths in their cycle of rebirth.

To focus on some of the smaller details, the colours associated with Lenore can also strengthen the idea of Lenore’s spectre being Phoenix themed as well. As we all know well at this point, in very Romeo and Juliet fashion, Annabel and Lenore have clear colours associated to them, with Annabel often dressing in blue, in addition to other cold colours, while Lenore often dresses in reds, in addition to other warm colours. Considering this and Lenore’s already clear association to fire, like Lenore’s spectre having wings, it seems likely that Lenore’s spectre will also have fire powers. Now, what is something that has wings and it linked to fires? That’s right, a Phoenix. This small point can be strengthen by what we know about Annabel’s spectre. Annabel’s spectre is freezing to the touch, which matches up with the colours associated to her. Since White Raven’s spectres are definitely going to parallel each other, this detail increases the possibility of Lenore’s spectre having fire based abilities, and as a result, increases the possibility of Lenore being a Phoenix.

While there are still loads of other ideas about what Lenore’s spectre will be going around, to me at least, Lenore’s spectre being at least Phoenix themed is definitely the strongest theory I’ve seen so far. If anyone else has any other ideas about what Lenore’s spectre will be, or if you have any other evidence supporting the idea that Lenore will be Phoenix themed, I would love to hear it!

#nevermore #webtoon nevermore #nevermore webtoon #lenore vandernacht #lenore nevermore #annabel lee whitlock #annabel lee nevermore #nevermore theories

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 12: Catharsis

Summary:  You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.

Word Count: 6.3k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

"Then say it, Astarion,” she urges him. Her lower lip trembles. She unconsciously bites it to quell the movement. A single fang peeks out and glints in the sunlight, white as the purest snow. “Open the bond and say it.”

“I…I-” he trails off with a rasp and cracking voice. The words are lodged in his esophagus and anchored on the tip of his tongue. That presence in his mind tugs at his psyche, grappling for control. It speaks its ethereal omens. “ She will be your end. She spins her web of destruction even now. When she snares you, she will crush you in her grasp, and when you finally break, I will be there to claim you once again." He grimaces at the ill-portent and cedes, “Perhaps you are right. This is a conversation better had at home.”

She nods, crestfallen and stares at the lake with a longing look that he does not like to see upon her face. It’s the look of defeat. All hope is lost and withered away. She yearns for stillness and obscurity to quiet her mind. Yes, he knows the expression inlaid on her features well.

Is he putting her in further danger if he says it? Could the voice in his head be speaking truths?

He’s said it before. What stops him?

Is it a lie? He is no liar.

He said it before….

He said it…. 

Gods. It’s hard to think clearly with this tittering in his head, defiling his thoughts with its blighted ballad. The presence screams that she is a threat. She has cast some sort of spell on him. “A trick!” It chimes, “A clever, beautiful trick by a clever, beautiful sorceress. She means to unravel you! She means to break you apart, crumble you into pieces and dance on your ashes!”

She would not do such a thing. Would she? Could she? He has used his beauty to mislead many in the past centuries. Is it possible she is doing the same? She cannot scourge him physically, but mentally… well, that is a fate far worse than even death.

She would not trick him. She need not trick him. He already lov-

Hells below, he cannot even think it, let alone say it aloud.

He can force her. He can make her his with naught but a thought. She already belongs to him. He can pull her strings and make her dance, a puppet upon his world stage because he is the Vampire Ascendant, and he can take anything he pleases.

No. He grimaces at the sadistic notion and how good and powerful it makes him feel. His thoughts become contorted and serpentine too easily these days, a pit of snakes twisting themselves into tangled knots.

She wants something real. She deserves something real, but what in the Hells does real look like? Is it supposed to be like in the silly stories he’s read? Surely not. Those are just a conglomerate of lovely words, trussed into pretty lies that the eyes can view.

He hears them before he sees them. They stand idle in the shadows, trying to hide their heartbeats behind the thundering hoofs of the horses and the wind whipping through the trees. They do not smell like powdered iron-vine.

They are learning.

They should not know he is here, but he does not have time to ruminate on it. His heart detonates in his chest, leaping around like a frightened bird in a cage. The presence in his head serenades him, pulling at its chains, pleading to be unleashed. He needs to get her away from here, from them and himself, before he sinks.

“Run!” He commands.

She hesitates, her pouty lips set into a hard line while she scowls at him and protests his commands. She draws the Weave. It shimmers around her like a vapour in the air. She is beautiful.

She challenges him at every damn turn. He loves it. He loves her for it.

He loves her…

She will not leave of her own accord. Even if he begs, an army cannot make her leave his side, and he knows it. He knows what he must do, but he does not wish to do it. Taking her control from her, forcing her into servitude, the idea used to thrill him. When did that stop?

Yet, he will always do what he must, even if it pains him as he has always done.

He confiscates her control, “Run to the manor as fast as you can and stay there until I return. You will stop for no one and nothing.”

She’s going to berate him later for this, but at least she will be alive to admonish him.

She sprints, and he summons every werewolf, every bat, and every ghoul he can, “Follow her!” He sends several away as the hunters rush him. He parries and dodges, sinking his blades into ribs, necks, and chests. “Protect her at all costs. Signal me when she is out of the forest and return here.”

Gods, his head hurts as he’s torn, the rattling of chains in his head splitting his concentration, but he must make sure she makes it out before he can give in and be overtaken. What will he lose this time? Whenever he drowns, something is stolen from him - a memory becomes snapped and riven like looking into a broken mirror, another part of the real him lost.

Once he hears the baying signal, he lets go and allows himself to be consumed, and all is black, black, black.

Shadowheart tugs on your limbs and clothes, wrapping her arms around your waist and heaving with all her strength. Her voice resounds, but it sounds like a faint, distant whisper, like the sigh of a weary breeze over barren plains. You feel like you’re staring at yourself from a distance. Fatigued, faded and lusterless, you’re a relic of what was and what could have been, just another corpse littering the earth. The skyline is the indigo and blue hues of impending dawn, and the stars no longer stare down on this tragedy as they wink out like eyes shutting against an unexpected bright light. When the sun rises, you will float away and be forgotten in the sands of time.

You were so close. Gods, so fucking close. In the end, Astarion had been right. Love hailed itself a saviour and became your destroyer.

“The sun is rising,” Shadowheart pants, panicked as she tries to pry your fingers from their clutch on Astarion, but they might as well be fused to him. “We don’t have a second longer to lose.”

Each time you blink, a new memory appears and plays in your mind’s eye. Some good. Some bad. Some terrible. Is this what they mean when people say your life flashes before your eyes at death? The reliquary opens, and your hopes, dreams and broken pieces are laid before you to gaze upon.

“Astarion would not want this!” Shadowheart raves, agitation and dread, making her voice tremble. She shakes your shoulders and hauls on them. “He would not want you to die!”

I am already dead.

The first thin golden strings of the newborn sun weave their way through the trees, a grand lace of radiant light that falls upon your pearlescent, colourless skin. Shadowheart screams, her heartbeat pounds in your ears, her blood a tidal wave through her veins as she tries to cocoon you with her body and limbs so the light cannot consume you.

“I’ve got her, Shadowheart,” Astarion’s faint voice charges the air. “I’ve always got her.”

You barely catch it, another whispering flutter in the air, but his chest shudders underneath you, and you’re plunged into your body. Your eyes snap to his, which are open in a hairline split. Crismon barely peeks through behind thick lashes, but somehow, you know he’s looking straight at you.

You grab his hands, interlocking your fingers with his, “Astarion?”

He does not answer, but his fingers twitch, and his grip tightens, if only by a barely perceivable fragment.

Shadowheart clambers, her hands glowing the baby blue hue of her magic so brightly that she could rival the sun as she focuses every morsel of power she has left. She slams her splayed hands onto Astarion’s chest with a thump that makes him wheeze and cough, and he’s bathed in vivid blue.

“You’re not burning.” Shadowheart’s chest swells and recedes like waves over a storm-tossed ocean with exertion, “Is he?”

Astarion stills again, eyes closed. Yet, you do not burn as the rays of light prance over your skin. Your ears perk and quiver as they catch the faint, feeble beating in his chest.

You smile at Shadowheart and throw your arms around her, “His heart beats. He lives. Thank you, Shadowheart. Good Gods, thank you.”

You sit cross-legged on the bed beside Astarion and fixate on him. Shadowheart helped you get him home and into bed, but he’s still not stirred more than some muttering and twitching in his sleep in three days. You’ve not left his side to sleep or eat, and you’re getting hungry. Very hungry. Shadowheart refuses to leave despite your insistence that she is not safe with you. With each passing second, it gets harder and harder to ignore her presence. Astarion’s heartbeat is of no concern to you, but hers… good Gods. Hers sounds like a culinary delight being offered to a starving ogre. You forgot how hard it was to be around the living with their delicious-smelling blood and beating hearts, begging to be tasted.

I’m a monster.

Shadowheart knocks and lets herself into Astarion’s bedroom. She yawns and stretches. You can hear her bones cracking and grimacing at the sound assaulting your ears, “Still nothing?”

“No,” you mumble, clutching fistfuls of bedsheets to stop yourself from scratching your skin in front of her. “His heart sounds stronger and beats more rhythmically, but he hasn’t woken.”

Shadowheart nods toward him, “May I?”

She’s been continuing to heal him every day as much as she can until she needs to sleep and recuperate. You’re surprised she’s putting so much effort into helping him. You thought she hated him, but there is worry etched into the lines of her expression and sadness you did not think you would see, at least when it came to him. You push yourself against a wall, splaying your hands against the wood. You cannot let her get too close to you. You are dangerous. Being a vampire spawn has not been as easy as Astarion made it look. Although, it is substantially less difficult when you’re well-fed.

“Go ahead,” you nod at Shadowheart with a small smile, “but always be wary of me. I cannot be trusted.”

She scoffs, laying a hand on Astarion and reciting incantations in a repeating melody, “You lived with me for a year, and you only tried to kill me once. I trust you. You have better control than you believe, but I will be on guard.”

You wince at the memory. It had been only a few weeks into living with Gale and Shadowheart after they found you in the sewers, starving, writhing and feral with hunger. Astarion had made being a spawn look easy. He could be around blood and gore, and it barely seemed to affect him, but you learned quickly that it was not as simplistic as that.  Shadowheart and Gale could not understand why you would not leave your room or why you barricaded yourself in there with every spare piece of furniture you could. One night, you had ventured down, and Shadowheart had been cooking after having had quite enough of Gale’s dry and tasteless food. She nicked herself with a knife chopping vegetables. A small wound, but the blood in the air sent you into a feeding frenzy, blacking out everything but that delicious sanguine tang and you had lunged at her. Gale cast sleep on you before you could bite. Shadowheart laughed it off, but it was a wake-up call to you.

You are dangerous. You cannot be trusted, and you cannot trust yourself. Bloodlust overrides everything else far too easily.

Shadowheart’s magic washes over him again but with little noticeable effect, and she frowns at her palms as if somehow it’s her fault.

“He’s improving,” you assure her, disheartened by her sullen look. “Every time, he improves. His heart beats stronger.”

She clenches her fist with a nod and a grin, walking over to the chair at the other end of the room. She gives you once over and states, “You’re hungry.”

You swallow hard, crawl onto the bed and place your hand on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat in your palm, and it comforts you, “Yes. I’m very hungry,” you don’t bother trying to conceal it. “You should leave Shadowheart. I know you mean well, and I am grateful for all your help, but I am not Astarion. I do not have the control he does.”

“He keeps you well fed,” she points at Astarion. It’s not a question, and you cock your head at her, “You were skin and bones when you left, but you’re looking healthy again. You’re looking like yourself. I imagine you’ve not gotten much better at hunting, so he must do it for you.”

Your fingers curl into him, “He’s trying to teach me,” you laugh lowly for the first time in days. “He says I’m atrocious. I believe he called it an affront to the gods themselves,” you try to mimic his voice while rolling your eyes. “He takes me out every night, usually.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Shadowheart’s brows pinch. “You said you didn’t have time to explain it, but we have nothing but time while we wait on him. Gods. Is he always this lazy?”

She’s trying to cheer you up, and you giggle at her. You’ve missed her. Shadowheart was not overly pleased when you showed up as a spawn, but she accepted it when you told her it was what you wanted. Shadowheart has been the only one, other than Astarion, who you can be brutally honest with regarding your morbid urges.

“He always did enjoy his beauty sleep,” you shrug with a giggle, and she grins. “The Rite had more consequences than we assumed,” you sigh, “Not entirely surprising. As for what exactly, I cannot be sure yet, but I think it would be best if he tells you himself - if he wants to.”

“I understand. If he allows it, I will help any way I can,” she nods. She will not pry because she would want the same choice if it were her, and you would never give away her secrets, just as you refuse to give away his, “You need not be alone in this.”

Hells below. Shadowheart never fails you.

“I could hug you right now, Shadowheart.” You smile, fangs bared, because you do not need to hide from her, “But can we perhaps wait until I’ve eaten and you’re not looking so godsdamn delicious?”

“I’ll have you know that I am as delicious as you are pale. I will have to tell Astarion to get you out into the sun more often,” she giggles as you groan. You’ve had enough sun for a while after your last dalliance with it, “I will take the hug when you’re feeling less peckish. I like my blood in my veins.”

Peckish is an understatement. You could eat a bear, or two, or three, or perhaps an army of them right now. Those hunger cramps and spasms in your muscles are starting to make themselves known and hard to control. Your mouth is a salivating spring, and you have to swallow excessively lest you drool. If Astarion does not wake soon, you will have to push Shadowheart out with physical force if she does not heed your warnings.

“You really should think about going home, Shadowheart,” you urge with a plea that wobbles your intonation. Your hand hovers over bandaged wounds. The superficial ones healed long ago, but these. Gods. Any of these would have killed a mortal man instantly, and he has several, “Astarion just needs time to heal, I think.”

Shadowheart’s eyes flash with that pig-headed defiance you’ve come to know, and she sniffs, “I’m not leaving until he wakes,” she smirks as you grumble under your breath at her, “Is there anything you can tell me about what is going on with him?”

“I know this will be a challenge for you,” you smirk at her with a knowing glower, “But when he wakes, try not to make him angry. You two have always been like cats and dogs, but try not to push him too far. When he gets angry…. Well, let’s say he is not himself.”

“Don’t make him angry?” Shadowheart scoffs, crossing her arms and turning her nose up with a brashly twisted mouth, “Gods. That will be quite the task. He can be exceptionally insufferable.”

“I heard that.” Astarion grumbles, clicking his tongue while opening his eyes sluggishly, “I am a positively magnificent bastard, aren’t I?”

“Astarion!” You nosedive into him, wrapping your arms around him and basking in the warmth of his skin.

“Well, hello, little love,” he purrs comfortingly. His arm wraps around you and compresses you against his chest with his nose in your hair. He thrusts you back with one arm and scans you, “You are alright?”

“Me!?” You fight the overwhelming desire to shake him. He’s just woken up, and he’s asking about you? “You stupid, foolish idiot! When you are on your feet, you and I need to talk.”

He chuckles, running his fingers through your hair, “I expected as much.”

Shadowheart stands, “I hate to break this up, but may I?”

She gestures to Astarion, and you nod, pulling out of Astarion’s grip with a reluctance that makes your skin crawl. Astarion arches a brow at your retreat. Shadowheart’s magic infuses his skin, healing him slightly further, and he looks at her confused.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Astarion,” Shadowheart emphasizes with a genuine smile. “She’s looking well. I owe you gratitude for that. She would not tell me what’s happened to you, but I would like to help if I can - if you will accept it. I don’t need your answer now, but think about it.”

“Uh,” Astarion is taken aback by Shadowheart’s authentic appreciation, but he recovers his detached mask quickly. “You’re welcome,” he says cooly, “I will think on your request. Please tell me this does not make us,” he cringes, “friends.”

Shadowheart scoffs, “Gods, no!”

“Good,” Astarion giggles. “I do positively enjoy our squabbling, after all.”

Astarion’s eyes swing to you, pressed against the wall as if you’re trying to melt into it. Your jaw is clenched hard, teeth rasping. Try as you might, you cannot hide the discomfort you’re feeling, and you look away from him, uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. He will recognize bloodlust.

Astarion pushes himself upright, “How long have I been out? Please tell me she’s at least tried to eat.”

Shadowheart answers before you do, “Three days and no. She has not left your side,” she points at you with a scowl, “Despite my insistence that she do so. You know how stubborn she can be.”

“Hells below.” Astarion is out of bed before you or Shadowheart can comprehend what’s happened, and he pulls you close to him with a tight grip on your waist, “I thank you for your assistance, Shadowheart, truly, but you should leave. It’s not safe for you to be around her. I will think about your offer and walk you out.”

Shadowheart puts her hand up with a shake of her head, “That is unnecessary. I can show myself out. Take care of her, Astarion. Do not make me regret saving your hide.”

Astarion chuckles, “I can only promise I will take care of her. You have my word."

Shadowheart smiles at you, “I will be expecting that hug once you’re feeling better.”

The shattered glass crunches under your feet as you walk through the shambles of what remains of the mirrors, vases and paintings you ravaged. Little pieces of mirror reflect the candlelight, spraying it in a flickering array across the walls and ceiling like a conglomerate of stars. Your fingers tremble over the curtains, but the anguish is fresh in your mind, and you can’t get yourself to open them. It feels grave to be away from Astarion, even though he’s upstairs, and you keep your hearing trained on his heartbeat, afraid that if you don’t, it might arrest.

With a sigh, you bend down and start to collect the broken fragments of the mirror that spurns your existence and remains empty despite your fingers gripping the surface. You breathe on the glassy surface. You know nothing will happen, but for a reason unknown to you, the refusal to acknowledge you sways you in a sudden grip on anger. You squeeze it, and the sharp edges slice into your fingers. Blood wells up, gliding and smearing on the surface, and you grin as if you’ve forced the damn thing to accept you are real.

“Decided to do a little redecorating, I see,” Astarion chuckles, arching a brow at the mess.

You whirl, compressing the pieces of mirror in your hand so hard they start to buckle and splinter further. You want to berate him for sending you away, screaming at him for compelling you and scolding him for dying and almost leaving you alone for eternity, but once your eyes meet his, the anger is washed away by relief. He’s alive, and for now, that’s all that matters.

I have an eternity to chastise him for being an idiot.

“Sorry.” It’s the best you can do.

Astarion walks toward you, and even though the floor is littered with rubble, his footsteps still make no sound. His fingers slip down your arm to the hand that’s clutching those broken pieces, blood still rolling down the surface.

“It’s okay, little love.” He coos, taking the fragments from you and letting them fall back to the floor. He kisses your blood-smeared fingers, “It was all horrific. Wasn’t it? We can redecorate.”

We?

Gods. He talks as if nothing has happened, and it vexes you, but you slip your arms around him, push your ear to his chest, and enjoy that steady and strong beat almost stolen from you.

Astarion kisses your temple, then forehead and then tilts your head up and moulds his lips to yours in a lingering kiss before pulling back and scowling at you. His voice is coarse and booming, “What you did in the forest was bloody stupid! What in the Hells were you thinking? You would have burned to death had Shadowheart’s damn wailing not roused me.”

“You don’t get to lecture me on stupidity.” You push him away and meet his ire with your own. “You should not have sent me away! I could have helped.”

“It’s not your problem,” he shakes his head.

“Oh, Gods,” you scoff at him, fingers curling into fists at your side, “Not this bullshit again! Your problems are my problems. When will you learn that?”

“No.” He hisses, “I failed you once, and the Gur nearly killed you. I will not fail you again.”

“You imbecile!” You scream, starting to weep, and you put your hand on a wall to keep yourself steady as the leaden weight of everything that’s happened descends, “You died! You were dead! You… you almost left me here all alone.”

The blaze of anger in his eyes winks out, sterilized by grief. Astarion’s brows rise, and the corners of his mouth turn down, “Oh, love, no.”

Astarion’s arms fold around you as your knees give out, and he braces you against him with a hand at the back of your head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles with his lips against your forehead.

You almost want to push him away, to give yourself some distance, because you are falling too hard, too fast, but he guides your head up, and warm ruby eyes unite with yours. The connection with him croons the invitation to open, and you don’t hesitate to answer. Everything floods in a downpour. All your nerves, synapses, and neurons buzz with the efflux of information. You squeeze your eyes shut as your body attempts to orient itself. You inhale several shaky breaths as his heart beats inside your chest. It’s uncomfortable, but Hells, you will gladly take that pain.

The flood eases and becomes pleasant, languid streams that cross softly, slowly, and you are one. You are whole. You are complete.

Before you can open your eyes again, you feel Astarion’s lips ghost over yours, and you part them for him in a gasp as you feel his desire ignite. A raw, almost feral passion, unbridled and uninhibited. It’s so potent it’s intoxicating, and your yearning bursts and throbs between your thighs. Astarion kisses you with ferocity, and his tongue darts into your mouth. His taste is rich, deep and dark, and you moan as you drink him in. His fingers slip into your hair at the back of your neck, holding you firmly while he pushes your back against the wall. He grinds his hips into you with a resonating growl as he pins you.

Good Gods. With the connection to him open, you feel everything. His pleasure. Your pleasure. All brimming and teeming as one ocean of bliss you’re going to drown in. Without his smooth skin against yours, you feel painfully bare, and you rip open his shirt, flinging buttons askew. Astarion slips your dress from your shoulders with a smug smirk and lustfully hooded eyes, and it pools at your feet as Astarion lets his shirt fall.

Pushing yourself against him, you sigh with a pining whimper. He feels pure and warm as sunshine, and he is the light that parts the gloom of sorrow that has clutched your heart for the past few days.

Astarion parts your folds, spreading them and stroking the slickness. He is not slow this time. He is not teasing. He is feverish in his need for you. The pads of his fingers find your aching center, swollen with want, and quickly settle into a rhythm that makes your body twitch and spasm with white-hot pleasure, making you arch off the wall. You moan loud and animalistic, whimpering his name like a verse that’s stuck in your head, and his throat steals your moans with his lips on yours as if he can taste the euphoria in your cries.

Tension coils in your belly, and Astarion moans deep and velvety smooth as you crest and dissolve for him. He doesn’t waste a moment. You can feel his urgency from the connection, and it makes you just as rabid. You need to feel him stretching you, massaging your walls, making you his.

With a quick snap of his wrist, his trousers are below his hips. His cock is hard and yearning, twitching in the candlelight. Astarion grips your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist, and he buries himself into you with one quick thrust.

The pleasure is so intense, either his or yours or maybe it’s both combined, you do not know, but you clench around him so hard he hisses when he inhales and groans, bracing himself with his forearm on the wall as if he might fall over.

“F-fuck,” he pants. He pulls out slowly and slams back into you with a snap of his hips. “Tell me you love me,” he commands with another pump, plunging himself deeper.

Your ears barely perceive the words he’s saying while you sink into your mind-numbing ecstasy, but you know what he wants intuitively, “I love you,” you whimper, lacing your fingers into his soft curls.

Astarion’s pace increases, uncontrolled and more frantic, as he rears his hips back and drives into you. He pushes himself as close as he can possibly get while he pumps his into you.

“Again,” he instructs huskily as he finds a pace that snares all your senses. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you breathe, panting, bucking your hips to push against his thrusts, rolling them in the way you know drives him crazy. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” you repeat a whispering hymn.

Every nerve quivers in bliss, and your eyes roll back. You clench, gripping his cock tighter and tighter with every thrust.

“Come,” he growls the command darkly.

Your lips crash into his as you comply, your body submitting to his influence. It feels like a dream to obey, and you crash into your orgasm like a wave crashing upon a rocky shore. You cry out, fingers raking his skin, thighs squeezing him as you’re cast upon that shore time and time again.

“Good girl,” he purrs. His hips stutter as the tremors massage his girth. “Again,” he barks with a groan, his breath hitching as he plunges into you erratic and needy.

Every pump of his hips is an ode to possession. Every twitch of his cock is a chorus of control. Every time he drives you to your peak is a sonnet to claim.

He owns you. You belong to him. You are his.

Yes, take me and make me yours.

You don’t know if they are your thoughts or his, but you hear his answer in your mind as it drifts on the slipstream of your bond.

“I will.”

Good Gods. Astarion means to make you shatter around him over and over until your body cannot possibly splinter any further. He means to take, take and take until you have nothing left to give, and even then, he means to take more.

And he does.

The smell of Honeysuckle, Vanilla and brandy is heavy and prevalent, arousing you gently back to your senses. Your eyes remain closed with lingering fatigue. The muscles in your body ache with an obnoxiously constant pang, and you groan and grumble under your breath at the sensation. There’s a serene tranquillity rife that you cannot quite explain, like a peaceful and undisturbed pond. You’re warm as if swaddled in a blanket made of sunlight.

Sunlight. Sun…

No. You should not be in the sun!

Your eyes snap open, and you flounder, graceless and clumsy. Steam rises all around you, and water swooshes and splashes over the sides of a ceramic-tiled tub, splashing against the floor.

“Easy, love,” Astarion chuckles, pulling you against his chest to stop your inelegant lumbering. “You’re alright.”

Your head quirks up, and your eyes meet his gaze. Candlelight treads and sways in the sanguine sea, and kindness coruscates, making them radiate softly.

You blink, and your hand slices through the water, “What in the Hells?”

“A bath,” he grins handsomely, sweeping wet strands of hair from your cheek and behind your ear tenderly. His fingers trace your jaw, “Apologies. I may have gotten a little… carried away.”

Carried away is one word for it, I suppose.

“Oh,” he giggles, beautiful and lighthearted, as careless as a child at play. It makes you smile. You came so close to never hearing that sound again. “And what’s the other word for it?”

Shit. He’s still in my head.

“Yes,” he kisses your temple, hugging you tighter. His fingers skim across your skin comfortingly, “I am still in your head as you are in mine.”

“You put me in a bath?” You arch your brow at him.

“It was necessary,” he smirks arrogantly. “I made quite a mess of you.”

Astarion reaches down, his fingers parting your folds, and you jump, confused at what exactly his goal is. “Relax,” he purrs. “This is not about sex.” His fingers rub over you gently, washing you and easing that soreness his enthusiasm caused. His feelings of affection and genuine, thoughtful compassion roll through the connection. “Unless you wish to go for round four? Or was it five? Or six? I could be persuaded.”

You groan and slump down further into the bath. Despite your exhaustion, your body responds to his touch as it always does, fire igniting within your stomach and desire making your skin prickle.

“Good Gods, Astarion,” you mumble with a sigh. “No more.”

“I thought not.” Astarion lathers his hands with soap and starts washing your arms, chest and back. He massages your stiff muscles with perfect pressure.

Should I be angry with him? 

“Oh, don’t be sour,” he tsks, clicking his tongue and nuzzling your cheek. “You enjoyed yourself. I felt it. I felt it every godsdamn time. I almost couldn’t contain myself. You’re lucky I have such excellent control. That would undo a lesser man immediately.”

“You are full of yourself, aren’t you?” You laugh. Astarion’s cheerful mood is infectious, and you can’t help but feel a little bubbly with happiness yourself.

He shrugs, “Can you truly blame me? I am rather impressive.”

“I think it’s me that’s impressive,” you smirk with a wolfish grin, “If the exultant Vampire Ascendant could barely contain himself.”

“Sassy girl,” he tuts with a chuckle. “You are inconceivably enchanting. Even with an eternity, I could never get enough of all this.” He gestures over your body with seductive eyes but becomes more serious, “And whatever this is, between us, I could never tire of it, my love.”

My love… 

The words descend in your mind, slow and tortuous like a feather falling from a great height. He does not love you. He said as much himself, and his silence and reluctance when you pressed him only cemented that. Yet, his actions speak different words, and his thoughts and feelings that you can feel utter different syllables. You don’t know which language to believe.

“I do,” his answer floats in your head, not out of his mouth.

You push away from him, whirling around in the enormous tub, splashing additional water over the edges. You need to see him, be able to watch and look in his eyes. His brows furrow in confusion, and he looks at the swaying water, “At least, I think I do.”

“What happened downstairs was not love. You want to possess me, control me and claim me. You want me to belong to you. I felt it,” you frown. It’s all so godsdamned confusing. “You craved ownership, not a partner. Is that love to you?”

Astarion’s eyes widen, and his hand reaches for you, but you bat it away, and he stops his advance. You need distance if you have any hope of keeping your wits about you.

“You want to be taken and claimed. You want to be mine,” he snarls, but there’s a sorrow weaved in between that choler. “I felt it. I heard it. I do not understand why you deny yourself these truths. Why do you continue to fight me?”

He’s clever, always able to take your questions, skirt them artfully and turn them around on you, but you know his tricks. He’s partly correct. You do want to be his, to belong, but you do not want to be owned and controlled.

“You didn’t answer the question, Astarion.” You retort bluntly, narrowing your eyes at him.

You have to tread carefully over these hot coals. If you challenge him too much, you’re likely to be reacquainted with his anger made flesh.

Astarion takes a deep breath, calming himself and smoothing his severe expression, “I already admitted I got carried away and caught up in the intensity of the moment. Sometimes, my thoughts become twisted. What more do you want me to say?”

You can accept that sometimes his thoughts are out of his control. You’ve heard the chittering yourself, and it’s like a flesh-eating infection that grazes upon contemplations. If you want him to continue being open, you must be able to withstand his darkness.

You can and you will because you must.

Always the lovesick hero.

“You know what I want you to say,” you whisper with a tear glistening in the corner of your eye. You know he won’t say it. You can feel his aversion as if it were your own.

“I can’t,” Astarion says flatly. He does not offer a reason. His fingers comb through his hair, and he shudders as if ice was suddenly thrust upon his warm skin. “You want something real? I’m not entirely sure what real looks like, but I will try. For you, I will try. But I cannot say what you’re asking right now.”

“Then I think this conversation is over,” you growl bitterly while climbing out of the bath.

Water drips down your body as you wrap yourself in one of the plush towels. You can feel his pain through the bond, and it’s tearing you apart on the inside, but you cannot fathom being his pet. You are not an object to be owned and flaunted, and no matter how badly you want him, you cannot allow him to treat you as such.

He does not speak as you walk away, your feet leaving wet marks across the floor. You don’t turn when you speak. You cannot see the sorrow reflected in his eyes, “And Astarion, if you ever compel me like that again, I will walk out and never return.”

His answer is calculated and numb, “I will do what is necessary to protect you.”

“Then you better be ready to lose me,” you snarl. “I am not an object you can wield when it suits your needs and put away when you’ve finished with me.”

“So be it,” he concludes quickly.

This time, you close the door in your head, although you’re reluctant to do so as you tread the hall back to your room. You are hollow once again, but you fill the void with hatred. You will find out how the Gur knew of your whereabouts and descend on the wings of death.

You know exactly where to start.

Elowyn.

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

I felt terrible for the cliffhanger, so I spent much of my free time writing this week so I could keep mostly on schedule :)

#astarion fanfic #ascended astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion smut

[shattersstar]

A possessive kiss in the rain for Alucard (Castlevania) and reader

First time ever requesting! I love your writing and your series on alucard! Feel free to make a whole new thing or to even ignore this,no pressure! Thank you!

possessive kiss in the rain + adrian tepes x vampire!reader

a/n: did i use this as an excuse to include striga? yeah of course <33 but tyyy for the request along with ur kind words im v honoured 😌 and sorry for taking forever with this i did have a lot of fun writing it tho so i hope u enjoy!!

—

It was quiet, the sun setting around an hour ago and it was still quiet. Quiet when you climbed out of the caravan to find Sypha and Trevor building a fire, quiet when you took a seat against a tree—the speaker not too far behind, even quieter when Adrian made his way back to camp, finding the magician laying her head in your lap while you stared into the flames. Both the men in your company grumbled at the sight, though Trevor had long dozed off against a tree of his own, while Adrian beckoned you with his eyes. You rose without warning Sypha, she yelped and scolded your manners as she rose to dust herself off. Her words went over your head, you offered a half glance over your shoulder in response, but tensed at the sound of her calling Adrian’s name—his other name.

Alucard rolled off her tongue as easily as all the other humans who dubbed him so. You did your best not to roll your eyes at the title, brushing past the half vampire who bid goodbye to the humans you traveled with.

You both moved silently, the ambient scape of the forest filled the air—branches snapped and leaves crunched in the distance as birds sang above and insects trilled below. You had stayed hidden amongst the trees, but followed parallel to the path that led to a cattle village nearby. And if the horde moved as you all predicted, they were likely to pass over soon. A buffet of beef would surely bring them calling, but it was still too quiet. Animals should have scattered when the wind chilled, bringing the scent of rot and decay. The sky also had not clouded over with the mass of the night creatures, the moonlight still slit through the trees and danced on your skin.

Adrian’s pointed silence didn’t help, but you were too caught up in where the night creatures were to dwell on it. It was not like them to wait so long to show themselves, the sun had set over an hour ago now—maybe they were not here yet.

You were simply ahead of schedule, you settled on, wondering if Adrian had decided the same. You were going to ask him about the silence, about the calm—yet he seemed anything, but calm. When you glanced over your shoulder you could see the emotions swirling in his golden eyes, contemplating and consuming him. “Are you okay?” You asked suddenly, your voice was the loudest thing within miles it seemed.

“Sypha’s quite taken with you.” Adrian replied, and your brows shot up your face. You stayed quiet for sometime in front of the dhampir, trying to understand the root of his statement. Perhaps the question within it. Sypha’a affection and interest towards you was what he had been stewing on?

Was it…jealousy?

No. “She has never been around our kind before and now she has two wells of knowledge. It's the speaker side of her—the only side of her.” You sounded defensive, and you hated it, over a century alive on this earth and still unable to hide yourself from those feelings. The ones Adrian brought out in you with a simple stare.

“I suppose, she does interrogate me to no end.” You both laughed lightly at that. You felt a little easier, ready to move one when he spoke again, “She’s quite comfortable around you—honest around you.”

“Comfortable?!” Your anger surfaced too fast—you knew it the moment you whipped around and Adrian took half a step back. Jarred by your reaction and the glint of your fangs in the moonlight. You wanted to calm down, but it was too heavy, “You think she should be weary of me, scared Adrian? Its okay because you can go out in the sun and survive without blood, but, but I’m—“

“No my darling.” He never interrupted you, never broke that respect he offered so easily a lifetime ago, but he did this time with a hushed tone. It silenced you, jaw clenching as you looked away. You were never one for dramatics, not in front of him especially, but it burned something deep in your chest to feel even more alienated. Forced to see skulls of vampires in the Belmont’s hold—trophies and artifacts of loved ones neatly cataloged amongst the goodies you know the Belmont boy was dying to use on you.

Adrian was easy to stomach and you were the one to be scared of, the one who stayed hidden in the caravan during the days and unable to spend a minute at night alone without wild accusations about your whereabouts, motives or more being thrown around. It had calmed down in recent days, Sypha’s unbridled affection towards you may have been a part of that, but it could also be the nights spent on hunts. Just you and Adrian, the only person who would never judge you, never see your carnage and violence and think anything of it.

It was to ease the burden the two humans had been facing, nights spent clearing areas far and wide while they worked through the days. And to quell the restless Adrian sensed brewing in you. You had barely been sleeping during the days, staring into the brief glimpses of sunlight from the back of the covered wagon with dead eyes, spending the nights irritated and distant, which never helped whatever they may think of you.

But the distance, that helped. The time spent alone with Adrian, moments to feed and drink in peace on the unfortunate souls who didn’t manage to escape the horde. Adrian often collected canteens of blood for you, keeping them with his things and out of Trevor’s knowledge. You never questioned the secrecy, but did have to stop your eyes from widening in surprise when he first gave you one. You had never asked Adrian to do such a thing, to care and attend to you in his own silent ways.

It made your anger dissolve fully, he called your name after you let out an unneeded sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you so. I know it's difficult, I see it. I promise.” His hand met your cheek, cradling you for a soft second. You leaned into his touch before remembering the reason you were out here. You would find the words later, instead you kissed his palm before turning back to the path. He stayed by your side as best he could, sometimes drifting behind with the forest demanded so, but always within reach. It was only when a scream pierced somewhere in the distance Adrian slipped in front of you. You both leaned into your senses, and while you both located the source of the scream, you also caught a scent of something familiar.

Something from lifetimes ago that brought back memories from your human life. You tried to shake the sudden onslaught of emotions, you were always drowning in what you felt. Alive or dead your feelings consumed you wholly. Adrian had already taken off in the direction and while you tried to follow, that warm floral scent only grew stronger. You found yourself stopping and watching him vanish into the dark of the woods. You knew another vampire was nearby, and as you carefully followed the scent, you found yourself in a small clearing.

A woman, tall and broad, sat sharpening her large blade while you lurked in the tree line. You watched her, wondering why she was here when she called out.

“No need to hide.” Her voice carried on the wind and reminded you of home. You moved at lightning speed, appearing in front of her, your long cloak settling as the breeze from your movements fluttered her long hair.

“Who are you?” You asked.

“Striga, one of four rulers of Styria.” She placed her blade against the log she sat upon, pushing herself up to her full towering height. The moonlight caught Striga's hair as she moved to stand next to you, and you couldn't deny the fact she was beautiful. Strong and powerful, but with the eyes of a lover. That kind that drew you in, saw into your soul and kissed the barest parts of your condemned spirit.

“Styria…” You whispered, it had been too many lifetimes ago since you had set foot on the shores of your birth place. And now, one of its vampire rulers stood in front of you, radiating that warm smell of jasmine and something indescribably citrus that reminded you of where you had grown up. You had left your past behind you, never returning to where you had been turned, not since you were free. Though, you had always hoped to catch that scent of Styria again and finally understand the complexities of its smell with your heightened senses. Yet you were still unable to place the adjectives that gave you a true answer to the intoxicating scent.

“You're the vampire traveling with the Belmont boy.” She was close enough that her arm brushed yours.

“I am.” You confirmed, while Striga raised a brow. Her strong arms crossed over her chest, black and purple armor amplifying her size.

“You ally yourself with the enemy.”

“I ally myself to Ad…Alucard, and if that’s the company he keeps, then it is the company I keep.” You explained, trying to ignore the bitterness at the sound of his other name.

She laughed, a low sound that made you smile involuntarily. “You’re quite something to be with a…half…thing like him.”

You laughed weakly, unable to gauge her tone. “Do you forget he’s the son of Dracula?” You inquired, scanning the tree line where just beyond night creatures howled and screeched.

“I suppose you have faith in him, leaving him to fight alone so you could speak to me.”

You didn’t reply, couldn’t muster a lie in response to what was an obvious statement. You both had lived long to know it wasn’t a question and that it was true. Striga intrigued you, standing tall and alone, and reminiscent of a life you had tried to forget. Her gorgeous purple robes were set against the royal blue sky streaked with orange as shards of leftover sunlight tangled in the thick evening clouds.

“I have heard such stories of his fighting.” Striga suddenly stated, the lit of her accent more noticeable with the casual cadence of her tone.

“Its breathtaking.” You found yourself murmuring, Adrian’s strength was always something to behold. His swiftness and keen eye, how he held his sword ever so carefully and cut many in half with more grace than a trained dancer. He was violence and art in motion. He was yours forever. It made you grin, small and fangs peaking out.

“You wear your affection on your face, he should be honoured to be cherished by someone as beautiful as you.”

“You speak like a true soldier, warrior even. Of honour and worth. It is a beautiful way to want.” You turned to face her, taking in her green eyes and the charm wrapped around a single braid in her hair. It was a long tousled mess of black waves that were half swept up. You noticed the glinting clip that held her hair back and wondered how a notorious commander would own such a thing. Perhaps it was a gift from a lover like the crystal bracelet you wore. Adrian had fastened it around your wrist one early morning. You were dozing in the caravan with him, listening to Sypha try to pry stories from Trevor while easily supplying her own. It was nice to fall asleep to the lull of their mindless talk while in Adrian’s arms. It was then he slipped it over your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips and leaving a few soft kisses there before carefully slipping into the day.

“And how do you love him? If you do?”

You held her gaze, “You imply that I don’t?”

“I’m curious if you don’t.” She corrected with a simple nod. “I find you beautiful and interesting, it would be disheartening to know you are spoken for.”

“I am.”

“By a man who stands on the opposite of side the war?”

“It appears so.”

Striga turned her attention to the sky, appealing to the heavens as she spoke her next words.

“Then I apologize for any hurt I may cause you during this war. I’ll find you and apologize in person, repent for as long as I must.”

“That is, if you truly hurt me.”

“No, I would find you anyways.”

You chuckled, “Why?”

“To see if you are still in love.” Striga shrugged her broad shoulders, the words almost too casual as if she knew something you did not. It made you nervous, another half laugh escaping your lips before you turned back towards the tree line. “You do love him?” She inquired, shifting closer. A moment of silence passed before a howl broke through the woods. Inhuman and sending a flock of birds into the night sky. You followed them with your gaze.

“I try not too.” You answered honestly, watching the winged creatures disappear into another part of the dense forest. Adrian was far too great for this world to be yours. You were a lowly vampire turned by a lonely widow who needed company more than blood. She begged and begged until she stopped taking no for an answer and turned you in your sleep. You woke up screaming and sobbing, a life robbed by someone who didn’t even end up wanting you. Her guilt consumed her whole, she had doomed you to the same life she wanted reprieve from and choose to let the church find and kill her. She left you alone, and you wanted to spend eternity just like that.

But you and Adrian had found each other, lonely in your own torrential ways. You had never met someone like him before, someone caught between two worlds you had given up on entirely. Adrian brought something to quell the loneliness of your cursed existence, and for that companionship, you’d follow him anywhere.

You would accept death at the hands of his father if it meant stopping the bloodshed as Adrian wanted. You had nothing, but your entire self to give to him. Maybe besides the knowledge from the life you lived and the sword on your hip. He could have something more normal, more human than you, if that’s what he so wanted from his life. You had always understood that, accepted that and tried to love him a little less in spite of it all.

Yet, your heart bled for him in ways you had never known in your brief human life, and forever stretching vampiric one. It was almost painful, how much you craved him. And almost, almost, was more powerful than the lust for blood that fueled your existence.

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear “ Striga’s soft voice broke you from your thoughts, reality crashing down as Adrian stood, panting, at the edge of the clearing. He was across from you, hunched forward slightly, and hand on his blade. “I will be seeing you, soon I pray.” Striga hummed, bringing your attention to her face as she grabbed your bare hand with her gloved one. She brought your knuckles to her lips, placing a chaste kiss all while her sea green eyes bored into yours.

You opened your mouth to respond, but she vanished into the night before your hand reached your side. You pivoted back towards Adrian, walking in his direction at a steady pace, while your gaze fell to your feet. You focused on each step, one foot in front of the other, until his hands jumped to your biceps and stopped you in place.

You were about a foot from him, head tilting from the ground to meet his angry gaze. Adrian dropped his hands from you, letting silence wash over you two as the forest’s din became too loud in your ears.

“I’m sorry.” You blurted out, anything to cut the silence and tension along with it.

Adrian shifted his weight, the sunny yellow of his eyes was a deep amber in the dark of night. “Why were you here?”

“I could smell a vampire, and investigated.”

“Investigated!?” His tone inflected with the anger he normally kept at bay.

“She was from Styria and I-I was curious. Is that wrong?” You were finding your ground, steadying your voice as challenge lingered in your tone.

You two never fought, not like this.

“Was it wrong to leave me—“

“You are more than capable, we both know that Adrian.” You snapped, you would not be guilted into seeing him as helpless. Adrian was anything, but that.

“Why did she kiss your hand?” Your angered confidence faltered, your gaze softening as something…sad bled into his voice. Something cold and lonely you knew well.

“I don’t know.”

His jaw clicked, and in an instant he was in your space, fangs flashing because he couldn’t help it, as his fingers grasped your jaw. He stared into your eyes and asked you again. Perhaps it was the proximity, or your own ego dying down, but you saw through him so clearly. So easily, as you always had, and understood.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, as the looming clouds finally began to cry soft tears of rain.

Pat. Pat. Pat. Against your clothes, it wasn’t torrential, but that misty rain that made everything hazy.

“She was interested in me, she complimented me and asked about you—us. She reminded me of a place I called home ages ago but my love, she is not you.” Maybe it was jealousy earlier when Adrian asked about Sypha, but regardless it definitely was now. You were unsure how he could think such things when you felt so unworthy of him, and he was worried about a woman you met once. Yes she was beautiful, and carried power and confidence like it was given to her by god, but she was not the man you loved.

The one you had swore yourself to, one you killed for and one you would gladly die for if he so much as asked. His grip faltered, eyelids shuddering as your soft explanation washed over him like the rain. With a voice barely above a whisper on the wind you continued, “I never have nor will I give myself to someone like I have you, Adrian. I would do anything at your behest. Anything beloved.” You pressed your hands against his torso, clinging to the fabric of his coat as best you could.

“Anything?” He rasped, like speaking was a chore he had no capacity for.

“I’d burn worlds down or build them up if you asked. I’d kill the Belmont boy or give my life for his if you asked. I’d lock myself away and never speak to anyone but you if that’s what you wanted. Yes, my love, anything.”

“Just let me kiss you.” Adrian’s mouth met yours before you could answer, but you both knew it was a yes. It was more teeth and fang than anything at first, as the momentum of his body slamming into yours, sent you reeling back a step before one of his hands moved to your waist. Your hands slipped up his chest, fingers still clutching the fabric before one of your hands tangled into his hair. Fingers toying with the golden lock that cascaded down his back.

Adrian still had one hand cradling your jaw, keeping you in place as he kissed you with enough desire to make you delirious. Your mouths moved together, his fangs grazing your bottom lip. He wasn’t usually like this, bold and desperate, but you would let Adrian kiss and hold you however he needed. To let the jealousy spiral through his system and find release in your lips against his.

You smiled against his mouth, nails scraping deliciously through his hair before his tongue found yours. You were faintly aware of the rain, starting to beat down heavier with each second you spent lost in each other's embrace. Adrian finally pulled away, letting his thumb smooth over your chin before finding the other side of your waist. You let both your arms wrap around his neck, stealing soft kisses as the thunder grew louder. You knew you would have to go back soon, but Adrian was still preoccupied with leaving open mouth kisses against yours, pulling back slightly before deciding he still needed more. It was more tender, what you were used to from him. Chasing your lips, a few soft pecks turning into something more heated before he would start the cycle again.

You played with his hair and felt his fingers twitch against your side as the darkness clouding his beautiful expression softened. Adrian stopped his assault of kisses, dropping his head to the curve of your neck. You kissed the top of his head, fingers slipping out of his hair.

“I love you.” You murmured, such sentiments felt a little too human and empty for you. And you did love him, but it was just more than that. He still said it to you often, and you were easy to repeat the sentiment, but you rarely offered it on your own. It was no reflection of him, it was just your distance from humanity you could never get back. But you knew Adrian needed to hear it.

“I love you too darling.” He hummed against your skin, leaving a kiss there before standing at his full height. You stared at him for a moment, the want still clear in his eyes as he tucked you against his side. You walked through the forest with clasped hands, the thick trees keeping out some of the rain, not that you cared.

You both had faster means of returning to camp, but pressed against Adrian who occasionally left kisses on the fabric by your shoulder or brought your intertwined hands to his lips, was enough to forget about the storm. Adrian engulfed you and drowned you in ways the rain never could, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#yknow this is the first alucard fic of mine not apart of my main series for him #that’s kinda wild #to me at least #adrian tepes x reader #adrian tepes imagine #alucard x reader #alucard imagine #castlevania x reader #castlevania imagine #writing

[thebigbiwolf]

Starvin', Darlin' - Chapter 1

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Astarion knows his power is waning, and seducing their leader Evelyn has gone poorly at best. If he is to keep himself in the tiefling's good graces, he's left with no other options. He must drink from a thinking creature.

Everything goes according to plan... until it doesn't.

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Word Count: 6.1k

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I started this as a way to get this fruity fuck out of my head but I think I just made the situation worse. If you know me, no you don't. If you've followed me for a long time, sorry in advance. I may make this a mini-series depending on time and reception, but we'll see! OC is a rogue who seduces men to gain their favor but we'll get to that in later chapters.

Astarion's trance did not come easily that night; his hunger manifesting as a throbbing headache that refused to subside. It had been hours of tossing and turning in his tent, willing his body to settle, forcing himself to ruminate on the past few weeks.

Before he joined this disgustingly merry little group of adventurers, hunting rabbits and the occasional boar had been enough to sustain him. In fact, dining on larger animals had been a significant upgrade from the meager flies and rats he’d become so accustomed to under his master’s rule, but that was before all of this incessant hard labor. 

He could feel his strength waning over the last several days. His senses were dulling, his reflexes numbed. Just this morning, he had failed to gain the upper hand with a particularly nasty kobold. He paid for it dearly when the damned thing all but pummeled him into the ground. 

Luckily, Lae’zel had been there, hammer at the ready to divorce its jaw from its head. Beautifully done, by the way, but his blunder did not go unnoticed. All this sneaking around for barely a nibble during his watch was beginning to take its toll.

Astarion knew he was on thin ice, considering his relationship with their fearless, incomparable leader began with him pulling a knife on her and grappling her to the ground -  in front of the damn wizard, no less. Some friction was to be expected.

But things hadn’t progressed much between the two of them since then. The pair rarely saw eye to eye on anything, and she seemed to have an innate passion for berating him over his unwillingness to stop for every single injured bird or helpless child as they traveled - as if playing the part of a hero was a favorable distraction from the literal time bomb in both their party and their heads. 

“The world is full of potential allies, Astarion,” she had told him, sprinkled with a hint of her usual irritation. “I’m simply expanding our network.” As if a group of starving refugees and mud-slinging tree huggers were going to find them a decent healer any sooner. At this point, he’d heavily considered taking his chances with the goblins. At least they knew how to have fun.

What made matters even more frustrating was that Evelyn was seemingly unaffected by his charms.

Just how exactly was he supposed to secure his place under her protection when the woman barely spared him a second glance? Surely he wasn’t losing his touch. He was a master of seduction. Thousands of others had thrown themselves at his feet for far less effort. He’s had centuries of practice. The mere notion would be ridiculous.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a single moment in the last two hundred years where his advances had been so callously brushed off. Every attempt to make her laugh with his (admittedly morbid) quips was met with her chastising him for being insensitive and making threats to send him back to camp. She dismissed every flirtation, even if her lovely little blush betrayed her. She seemed determined to make him play her little game. He just hasn’t quite figured out what the rules are, yet.

Astarion couldn’t afford to take any more chances. If sleeping his way into her good graces wasn't an option, he was left with little choice. He wanted to make himself indispensable, so he was going to have to take drastic measures to ensure that his strength and physical prowess would never come into question. At least, not again.

He would have to drink from a thinking creature.

The idea of it was as invigorating as it was terrifying. He had spent the last two centuries enduring unimaginable cruelty, starved in ways mortals couldn’t begin to imagine--for years--without any reprieve. 

No, starving doesn’t even scratch the surface. No words could ever describe the tortuous, gnawing, ravenous hunger that consumed his every waking moment under the heavy weight of Cazador’s boot.

Though, Cazador wasn’t here now, was he? 

Curious.

Astarion had spent some time ruminating on who to approach before settling on Evelyn, though his options were limited at best. The githyanki was entirely out of the question; gods forbid he get caught, she would make quick work of him without allowing him so much as a single word of explanation. Shadowheart was…tempting, but that mark on her hand frequently caused her pain, and who knows if that magic would have any affect on him or worse, her taste? And Gale, well, he would rather subsist on a diet of garlic sprinkled with holy water before he put his lips anywhere near that man.

So, Evelyn it was. The tiefling wasn't terrible to look at. She was a younger woman full of vitality, so surely she wouldn’t miss a bit of her blood. He would just have to mind the horns. 

He would be in and out. A quick nibble, then he'd be right as rain. One bite, he tells himself, barely enough to leave a mark. Then, he’ll pass it off and say that they had been attacked by bats during his watch and, not wanting to wake everyone, he quietly dispatched them and saved the day. Unfortunately, not before one of those wretched little beasts managed to puncture their illustrious hero. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. They'll eat it right up.

He continues passing through camp undetected, catlike in his silence, but when he reaches the canvas entrance of her tent ready to pounce, he freezes at the sight of her.

She looked…different while she slept. Softer, gentler, almost; surrounded by a nest of fur blankets, snoozing away instead of attacking his ego. Her hair was puddled beneath her head and horns like dark, red wine; rich and unrestrained by her usual loose bun. 

Another realization hits him: this is the first time Astarion has ever seen her in her sleep clothes, a simple basic black wrapping across her breasts. Practical. Of course.

Her skin is pale enough to rival his own, even with the warmth of the firelight. She’s lying on her side, her uncovered shoulder lightly dusted in freckles, much like her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, and in the silence of the night air, he can hear her light, even breaths.

Cute, he thinks to himself. He could almost forgive her for being so maddeningly aloof with a face like that. Almost. 

Astarion leans over to brush her hair away from her neck; the strands softer than he had anticipated. The thrum of her pulse underneath is magnetic. It pulls at his very being, beckoning him closer.

Settling on his knees beside her, his arms form a cage around her body.

He takes in the image of her form one last time and allows himself a moment to savor it. She is toned and lithe, much like himself, but smaller. Perfect. Delectable. 

He bends closer, feeling her gentle puffs of breath on his shoulder; the warmth of her body. His ears ring with anticipation; manicured nails clench the sheets by her head.

She’s going to be so-

Something brushes his leg, hidden beneath the furs.

Her tail. He forgot about her bloody tail.

Evelyn stirs, and fully awakens right as his teeth are at her throat, eyes meeting his. 

Shit.

“Shit.”

With incredible speed, she reflexively reaches for the dagger closest to her pillow, lunging at him. He just barely seizes her arm in time to save himself from being skewered.

“What in the hells are you-” he clasps his palm over her mouth to silence her.

The girl’s eyes are wild with panic, their golden hues burning a hole in his skull. He notices them flit down to where his body hovers over hers before she begins to struggle against him. “No, no, shh,” he whispers. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” 

Her expression shifts from panicked to confused. She ceases her squirming. Good. Well, not good, but better. He can work with this.

“When I take my hand away, you have to promise not to scream and wake the whole camp,” he continues, hushed, “unless you’d like for them to find us tangled up in your bedroll. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression now, would you, darling?”

Her eyes widen. Her face flushes deep red, warming his palm against her skin.

There, he thinks, that should-

Her body turns, and suddenly he feels the hard edge of Evelyn’s knee make contact with the corner of his ribs. A direct hit. Pain shoots up his chest as he rolls off of her and onto his side, clutching himself and coughing, heaving air back into his lungs.

She hurriedly covers herself with her sheets, glaring at him as he struggles to collect his breath. He can see her fuming through the tears forming in the corner of his vision. If looks could kill, he’s sure she would have him skinned alive. Maybe use what's left of him to scare away the crows. 

She’s still holding the knife out toward him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing in here?” 

A fair question, one he was not prepared to answer. Perfect. He’s just going to have to wing this. Possibly with two broken ribs. He can’t believe he expected this to go any smoother.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He raises a hand and falls back on his thighs with a grunt, grimacing in pain. His other clutches his side, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. “I just…” 

Okay, this is it. He’s got this.

“I just needed, well,” 

Aaaaand,

“Blood.”

There. Excellent form, Astarion. Good show.

“I - You needed what?”

She blinks at him, whether in disbelief or shock, he cannot say.

It takes a moment before his words start to sink in. She takes that time to scan over his body, purposefully. 

He couldn’t quite tell if she was looking for something or if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, but then again, what other explanation could he give? 

He works over his options in his head, considering just how difficult it would be to pass this all off as a terrible joke, but just as he’s about to open his mouth to start on damage control, he hears Evelyn heave a deep sigh. She lowers her weapon, then tosses it to the side, massaging her eyes in frustration. 

Oh. Well, alright.

After some time, he watches her expression soften into understanding as a few notable things dawn on her. He’s never really eaten any meals with them, has he? Then there was the drained boar, which he so carelessly left out by the road.  The damned beast hadn’t even taken the edge off that night, and he was so desperate to quell the nagging ache in his stomach that it lay there forgotten until she found it the next morning. He admitted to her himself that it had been drained by a vampire, after all…

A bit of silence follows.

Astarion doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare move a muscle. He just allows her the time to process whatever she’s feeling. What’s important is that he’s still alive, she hasn't run him out of camp, and she hasn’t screamed for help. 

He may be able to salvage this, yet.

She scratches the back of her head, carding her fingers through her hair to ease her irritation before finally meeting his gaze.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name leaving her lips pulls him from his thoughts. He can see the disappointment on her soft features just as plainly as he can feel it humming through their psionic link. 

He didn’t think himself capable of guilt, but there was an emotion akin to it brewing within his chest. Ugh. He breaks eye contact, searching for anything to pull his attention away from his discomfort. The miscellaneous bags of clothing and trinkets she had scattered about her tent were just oh so fascinating. And was that a new hairbrush? Hm. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He’s taken aback by her question. He expected a more offensive reaction. A few insults, maybe ones pertaining to his sharp teeth or bloodlust, but an olive branch?

After all the lies, the invasion of privacy, and the failed attempt at assault?

She really is just full of surprises.

“Well, we aren’t exactly close, you and I. Though, you must admit, I’ve made several attempts to…” He waves a hand between them for emphasis, “mend the gap, so to speak.”

“Well, have you ever considered maybe not being such an asshole?”

Ouch.

But in fairness, no.

“I…” He thinks carefully about what to say next. The buzzing behind his eye socket acts as a threat, reminding him of the very fragile barrier between their minds. Should she choose to dig her claws in and pry the information out of him, she may find more than he's comfortable sharing, so Astarion makes a decision that surprises even himself. 

He chooses to be genuine.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He gestures towards the dagger at her side. “But believe me, I’m not some monster. I’ve never killed another person.”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, not for food,” he quickly corrects. “I’ve been subsisting on animals. Boars—like the one you found the other day—deer, kobolds, whatever I can get my hands on.”

“And what exactly was the plan here? You were just going to kill me and expect the others not to notice?” 

He recoils at the accusation but fights to keep his expression neutral. “I had no intention of killing you. I would never do such a thing.” He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice, as if letting her in on a secret. “We need each other.” 

Evelyn shifts to lean her weight on her arm as she listens, dark hair falling to the side of her shoulder. With the new level of exposure, he can hear her pulse settling into a more comfortable rhythm. 

He swallows. Hard. His hunger is rearing its ugly head again, just at the sound of her.

Oh well, might as well lay all the cards out on the table while we’re at it.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and continues, “As it stands right now, I’m too slow. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” There is a question hidden in his words, a favor to be asked.

She seems pensive as she considers him, mulling over everything he’s said in her mind. She lifts a thumb to her mouth and starts nibbling on her nail, no longer looking at him. Nervous too, no doubt. How could she not be with what he’s asking of her, as if he had any right to ask in the first place? 

“I understand you detest me, but-”

Evelyn appears to snap to some conclusion, sitting up straighter and placing her arms to her sides before she responds.

“No, I should detest you, Astarion, but I don’t. You just don’t impress me.”

Wow.

It feels as though he’s been slapped. He barks out a laugh that’s a bit too loud for the intimate setting, trying to mitigate the damage to his ego. “Excuse me?”

She has the nerve to shrug at him. “I’ve seen every trick you’ve used to fill your little black book, probably a thousand items over. I’ve used them all myself. So, frankly, I'm uninspired.”

For the first time in his undead life, he’s totally speechless. His face contorts in indignation, disbelief. This devil.

There is something dangerous in her expression as she leans further forward, neck tilted, exposing herself to him. Her eyes are hooded, with long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Her shoulders relax as she lifts her chin to stare down her nose at him, sneering. 

He works his jaw, clenching the muscles unconsciously.

“Astarion, men are idiots. I’ve spent my entire adult life toying with them and robbing them blind. I’ve heard and seen it all. You really believed a few empty praises and mediocre jokes would have me jumping into bed with you? 

Wha- Mediocre?

He opens his mouth with every intention of retaliating, but Evelyn’s palm unexpectedly rests itself on his calf, and the action stuns him into silence. She begins leisurely dragging her nails up towards his thigh. 

His body responds involuntarily; eagerly, frustratingly, the delicate little motion leaving his skin prickling with excitement. 

She regards his chest, admiring the hard planes of muscle. Then, her attention slowly inches down the toned curve of his abs until, finally, they stop at where his cock hardens disobediently beneath his pants.

“Your pretty face doesn’t detract from the fact that you’re still just a man.”

It finally clicks.

She’s baiting him, attempting to get a rise out of him. 

Hm. Impressive.

Normally, at this point in her little game, he assumes most men would take her flirtations at face value. They would likely mistake this performance as an enthusiastic plea to bed her, but Astarion is not like most men. He sees her little game for what it is and recognizes it with ease because he has spent lifetimes playing it himself.

She leans back, satisfied with her little show, and smirks at him.

“So, you admit I have a pretty face?” He teases, his own smile twisting, becoming more mischievous.

She rolls her eyes, but this time she laughs. It’s a soft sound, genuine.

A pinkish hue crawls up her face and paints the tips of her pointed ears, but he can’t discern if that's supposed to be part of the act or, more likely, an unfortunate side-effect of the living experience. He’s finding it hard not to admire her dedication, regardless. 

Well, that’s quite enough of that. Back to business, then.

“It’s settled,” Astarion clasps his hands together, “I’ll just need to impress you with my more eclectic talents if I am to earn your favor. We can start by gracefully slaughtering a few goblins, depending on how the rest of tonight goes. Which is entirely up to you, of course.”

The tiefling squints at him. “Oh no, if you want something from me, darling, you’re going to have to ask politely. With manners. You have those, don’t you? Familiar with them, at least?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find this amusing; nothing like a little role reversal to spice up the evening. But this feels different, heavier, as if her feigning indifference will alleviate the weight of what he's asking of her.

Fine. He supposes relinquishing a little bit of his pride is a fair price to pay.

He takes a deep breath. "Please." 

"Please, what?" She lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Come on, Astarion. Use your words. I know you’re quite fond of them."

He scoffs at her shamelessness, and for a moment, he honestly considers whether this is worth it, but he can't back out now. He'll make it through this, surely. He's been through worse. 

Through gritted teeth, he barely spits out, "Please, may I drink from you?" 

Gods. He's going to be sick.

"Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

He’s going to fucking kill her.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. So many unspoken questions and a rising suspense that makes Evelyn adjust herself uncomfortably where she sits. Astarion is also musing to himself, still wondering how it's all come to this. Why did he choose her, again? Something about her not killing him right away? Death may have been preferable to this, actually, but he is pulled back to reality when she finally speaks up.

“So," she's picking lint off one of her pillows, avoiding his gaze as she asks, "how exactly should we do this?”

Well, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know. He understands the mechanics behind it, of course, but how exactly were they supposed to go about this?

Should he tell her that he’s never actually fed from a person before? Would it make her more or less comfortable to know that he’s just as clueless about this as she is? 

No. He decides against it. Astarion has always done best when he’s playing the role of the confident seductor. This should be no different. He’ll just treat this as if he’s bedding a virgin: guide her, take things slow, and she’ll no doubt be begging him for more soon enough. It’ll be easy. All she has to do is behave.

“Lie back and get comfortable.”

He moves himself closer to her, settling at her side as she does what she’s told. The flap of the tent remains open, letting in the faintest amount of warmth and illuminating Evelyn’s features. With such close proximity, he can see the gold flames within her irises flickering and dancing, a genetic trait attributed to some luckier members of her race, and a feature of her’s that Astarion would have never otherwise noticed. 

He can hear her pulse quickening as he closes the space between them, lifting himself a bit to settle above her, once again caging her between his arms. One of his knees parts her legs, and he can tell in the quietness of her tent that she’s struggling to hide her uneven breaths. Her stare is intense, but he can’t read the meaning behind it.

He decides to give her another out, just in case. Better safe than sorry. 

“We don't have to do this, you know,” his voice is composed, as if his body wasn't currently screaming with anticipation. “I appreciate the consideration, regardless.” 

“I’m fine.” Her response is clipped, dismissive. Her face remains stoic though her fingers fidget with the blankets at her sides. She had moved the furs to give him better access to her body. The darkness inside him preens at the concept.

Best get on with it, then.

He leans down and, unable to help himself, takes in the scent of her: woodsmoke and the faintest hint of vanilla, which he had watched her pick up from a merchant in the grove just the other day. “For Gale’s cooking,” she amended, when he gave her a questioning look.

He gives her one more moment to stop him.

She doesn’t.

A bit of pressure on the skin before it snaps and gives way, his fangs finally sinking into her. He can feel Evelyn’s body tense at the sudden intrusion. She hisses through gritted teeth, her arms involuntarily raising at her sides, reaching for him, but she stops herself before she touches him. He wants to tell her it's fine, expected, even, the need to ground herself, but all of his higher thoughts are plunged into complete chaos when he finally registers her taste. 

Every cell in his body awakens.

The iron flavor of her floods his throat and sets his nerves ablaze. Its heat fills, expands, and splits every crack in his self control into deep, cavernous fissures. 

A groan escapes Astarions throat before he has the chance to quell it. Of course it would be like this - drinking from a thinking creature. Drinking from her. He understands now why Cazador forbade this. Before, he had assumed it was a matter of keeping his spawn weak and compliant, but this was entirely different. This was far more than a method of control. The bastard had been withholding ecstasy greater than he’d ever known.

A feeling swells in him, crashing like waves through his veins. Warmth. It invades him and fills every fiber of his being. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his first time wouldn't have some sort of great, emotional impact, but this? 

This was everything. How was he ever supposed to come back from this?

"Agh - Astarion," he barely registers her pathetic little whine through the haze. She finally allows herself to grab onto him, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt tightening in her fist. For purchase, he tells himself with what little is left of his consciousness, practical. That is until he lowers himself fully onto her in an attempt to relieve the strain on his biceps.

With no space left between their bodies, he doesn’t anticipate the blazing heat of her core on his thigh, even through the several layers of clothing. She gasps at the sudden pressure,  fingers twitching, nails digging little crescent shapes into his skin. What surprises him most, though, is when the taste in his mouth melts into a flavor so much sweeter. 

Something primal within him recognizes it instantly; it twists in his gut and sits there heavily, as if the emotion were his own: arousal.

Oh.

She is burning for him.

Good.

After all of that teasing, the woman he’s spent weeks enduring endless lectures from actually does desire him, or at the very least desires his body. Which is just as favorable, in his opinion. It’s just nice to know all his hard work hasn’t gone to waste. 

If she lets him live, he's going to spend every waking moment tormenting her over this. His lips vibrate against her skin as he chuckles to himself, causing some of her blood to run down his chin in hot rivulets, blooming new stains onto her sheets. 

He knows he’s had enough. He means to let go, he truly does, lest he end up draining their groups' only hope of survival. Surely that wouldn't go over well with their companions. Pitchforks, and all that. 

But her whimpering, her heat, coupled with the ferocity of his hunger, all provoke a feeling that has been building beneath the surface which he’s unable to name; it's desperate and possessive, a predator guarding its kill from hungry scavengers. The monster in him casts a dark shadow over his mind as he feeds. His body no longer feels as though it is his own, betraying him; a slave to the demands of his appetite. 

He needs her, needs all of her, and he cannot will himself to stop, too lost in sensation and the sound of her mewling to bow to his higher thinking. 

He mindlessly rocks his weight into her and grunts—a slow, unintentional grind against her mound. The motion comes easy to him, like breathing - instinctual. The blunt edge of his clothed cock drags deliciously through her parted thighs. Evelyn’s breath hitches at the feeling, her squirming beneath him giving him the sickest form of satisfaction, but the animal within him demands her compliance.

His hand gathers her loose hair and pulls, growling, warning her to keep still. She whines at the force, back arching. The other grabs her arm, pinning it down, and tightens, thumb gently stroking against her wrist.

"Astarion,"

She’s no doubt making a mess in her smallclothes as she quivers beneath him, all flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She may deny it later, but her taste tells him everything he needs to know.

Her body is burning against his cool skin, and her gasps are only spurring him on. He laps at the wound, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat, indulging himself in her. It's too much. 

He feels her pulse weakening, her rhythm slowing.

It isn't enough. 

He's about to latch on to her again, teeth at the ready and blinded by his eagerness, when he suddenly feels a piercing sensation behind his eye - the tadpole, he assumes, writhing in panic. Screeching at him to open himself to it. The discomfort is just enough to pull him back into his body. Then Evelyn's voice invades his mind. 

‘Astarion, enough!’

He disentangles his limbs from hers, practically jumping off of the poor woman. He’s gasping for breath as he comes to his senses, the mix of her blood and his saliva staining his lips pink. It dribbles down his chin. He wipes his face with the back of his knuckles and licks them clean.

But then, the cold realization of what he’s done is thrust upon him like a bucket of iced water, shocking him back to the present. He’s going to need to come up with one hell of an apology to get himself out of this one. Or maybe he should just run? Baldur’s Gate is really only a few weeks travel at most. 

“Shit,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Are you alright, dear?"

Evelyn's eyes meet his. Her pupils are blown, almost entirely overtaking the gold of her irises when she glances away from him to assess the damage.

"Gods damn it," she quietly groans and applies pressure to the wound, thankfully finding that it isn't too deep or particularly painful. She tends to it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow. She searches for a rag as she avoids his concerned stare

A deep purple bruise spreads across her pale skin. Small red droplets trickle down the length of her nape, dampening her black breast band before soaking into it and disappearing entirely. He collects himself, willing his mind to cease its incessant urge to lick the damned liquid from her neck. She is flushed and sweating, unbalanced, panting from exertion as much as her own embarrassment. Her dark hair is a tangled mess from his attention. She looks ravaged. 

It… suits her.

Astarion clears his throat, trying his best not to get caught admiring his handiwork.

She was right about one thing. He was, at least in some respects, just a man... 

“Here,” he insists, grabbing one of the smaller furs and holding it up to her. She takes it from him without acknowledgement.

“I -” He begins, but he’s at a loss for words. What does one say in this situation? ‘My sincerest apologies. I don’t know what came over me! I must have gotten swept up in the moment!’ as if that pitiful excuse would overshadow the fact that he manhandled and almost devoured her.

He wants to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat.

He begins to worry that she really may not forgive him. He fears she'll wake the whole camp, or maybe finally cast him out like the monster he is. He wouldn't blame her. She took a great leap of faith in trusting him with this, and he rutted against her like some horny bugbear. Or worse, a teenager, he sneers.

Evelyn pulls the rabbit skin away from her neck, examining it. The brown hairs are matted and crimson, but the bleeding has stopped. She runs her fingers over the puncture marks, feeling the skin dip slightly where his fangs pierced her. She sighs with resignation, surely thinking about how the others will approach her with a plethora of questions tomorrow morning, face reddening at the idea.

“You could have warned me, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize I was agreeing to…all of that.” 

His heart sinks. 

Of course she thinks it was on purpose. I mean, look at him. He’s all but thrown himself at her since the moment they met. He’s spent this entire time playing the part of the rake. It's only natural she assumes the worst.

“Evelyn, darling,” speaking her name aloud brings her focus back onto him. 

The gravity of it is suffocating, condensing the already small space they shared. The tension pulls at something undefinable within him that he thought was long dead—a sincerity that betrays the character he’s been crafting for as long as he can remember. 

It sways him.

More truths to forgive more transgressions, then. A fair transaction.

“I’ve had this condition for over two centuries, but, truth be told,” he clears his throat again, because ugh this is awful. And why does she have to stare at him like that, with her earnest, wet eyes? “You were my first. I’ve only ever fed on beasts.” 

The implication is there: how could he have known?

His confession takes her by surprise. “You don’t…” she pauses, taking everything that transpired tonight into consideration. He must be giving her a look akin to pleading, because she takes mercy on him and disregards whatever question she was about to ask. 

“Please tell me you didn’t do that to the boar.”

Seriously, a joke?

He barks out a laugh before he can stifle it. Whether it's from the sheer ridiculousness of the question or the disbelief towards her acceptance of it all, he truly doesn’t know.

“No, my dear. Just you, and you were delectable.”

Her expression is difficult to read. She’s not looking at him; refuses to, when she replies, “So then, did it work?”

Astarion moves to stand, peering down at her form. He exhales in relief, feeling as though he is a century younger. His muscles are lax; all the stress has been drained from his body. A novel experience. “Yes, I would say so. I feel stronger. My mind is clear. I feel…happy.”

He adds the last word in an effort to appease her, but it does ring true. His main source of joy since he contracted this affliction has been causing others pain, ripping out throats and such. This feels distinctly different, less exhilarating, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you fight.” 

He acknowledges her, then stretches his back out, extending his arms to the sky with his hands clasping behind his head. The motion pulls the rest of his nightshirt out of his trousers and tugs it upward, exposing the hard edges of his hips. He can’t confirm it, but he swears he sees her eyes flit quickly towards them before making an expeditious retreat.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” He lifts the flap of her tent to peek outside. No sign of anyone stirring, and the night is still young. Knowing the wildlife in this area, he may still have a chance to sate himself. With his newfound strength, he may even be able to wrangle up a bear. What a feast that would make.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He bows his head to her in thanks. 

He’s about to step outside, one foot exits the canvas before the rest of him, when it hits him that he feels…odd, uncomfortable leaving her like this. He can’t place his finger on why. He’s ridden atop many women and left without saying a word.

But, he supposes this is dissimilar.

Evelyn listened to him tonight, heard him out when anyone else would have carved him into pieces without second thought. She let him drink from her, forgave him for getting…carried away. 

The most shocking part of it all is that regardless of her dismissiveness, he now undeniably knows that she’s attracted to him. Yet, she didn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it arose to take advantage of his altered state; of his needs. With that, she’s shown him more kindness in the last hour than he’s experienced in his entire undead life. 

He likely owes her for this, of course, but there are worse fates he could endure.

The elf looks over his shoulder at her and catches her watching him intently, as if she wants to continue this conversation but can’t quite figure out what she wants to say. The intensity of her gaze almost forces him to turn back towards her, drawn to her by an unfamiliar ache; a thrill in his spine, the compulsion pulling at his chest like some sort of spell.

“This is a gift, you know.” The words escape him, hanging in the air between them with raw authenticity. He means to make himself sound more frivolous, but before he can edit them in his head, more truth spills from his lips, “I won’t forget it.”

His throat tightens. He considers her for a moment, wondering what he might find if he does turn to meet her eyes.

But, Astarion resists.

She must be exhausted. He shouldn’t take up any more of her time.

He leaves before she can respond. There wasn’t anything left for them to discuss, and he’s desperate to break free from the uneasy weight of her presence.

The second he steps fully outside, he feels as though he can breathe again, not that he needs to, being undead and all. 

What a strange feeling, that was. 

One he decides he’d rather forget. Best to not burden himself too much with it.

The taste of her lingers on his teeth. He finds himself savoring it for a moment too long before stalking towards the forest, confident. Ready to hunt. 

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 oc #im muting every bit of social media i have after posting this lmfao #evelyn

[lorelune]

(cw: brat reader, self destructive reader, asphyxiation, minor gojo satoru x reader, past satosugu, implied yandere getou suguru if you squint, dark content if you squint)

getou suguru is going to kill you.

it's your first thought when you walk onto the grounds of his compound. when you feel the barrier ebb and shake, your technique rendering it useless for just a moment. a clear, noticeable cut you've left him.

'i'm back, baby.' it says. it's a siren song for someone with a temper like his.

you don't bother going to the main building. you splay out on a bench nearby, light a cigarette, and wait. suck down smoke and let it billow in the cold. you leave your pack and lighter next to you, and offer it with an open palm the moment getou suguru graces you with his presence.

"honored and revered one," you praise, voice sickly sweet. you stand and bow, cigarette high as you head goes low. "would you do me the honor of sharing a smoke?"

"i thought you'd left."

"hm?" you ask, a cheeky smile tugging at the corner of your lips. you light his cigarette. "whatever do you mean?"

he takes a drag, an odd thing to see when he's in his full monk get up. "you disappeared."

"i had work to do."

"'work'?" suguru's expression twist, something venomous lighting his eyes. "you hardly do work around our precious home— what dragged you off so far?"

you feel his cursed energy thrum. the angry loud kind that makes blood speed in your veins. you want to eat him whole.

"well." you smile a viper's grin. "satoru gojo still has my number. he got drunk. booty-called me. and i answered."

"did you now?" his smile feels wicked at the corners. you revel in it. "satoru doesn't drink."

"he does, actually. apparently he has a tradition of getting shit-faced on his ex's birthday." the cherry burns close to the filter. you're sure getou won't mind if you indulge in another. "and... yesterday was february third."

the silence of the compound is deafening. you swear even the tree birds have gone quiet in the hills, the river song silenced even as getou suguru stares you up. you imagine he's pondering whether or not to kill you.

"sorry to pick up your scraps." you light another, exhale in his face. "you've been busy lately, dear. i got bored."

"bored?" he laughs, cackles. there's cracks around the edges of him, you revel in them. what you wouldn't give to crack him in your own hands. "fucking an old bedmate of mine is how you satiate such a feeling?"

"absolutely." you want to split him.

suguru's cursed energy fluctuates, so quickly you don't have a chance to try and sidestep or avoid him.

"must i keep you on fucking leash for you to behave?"

a whip-like cursed, thin and covered in eyes, flicks and cuts the air. it wraps around your throat and you dare not to touch it. you can feel the poison of its half-flesh already seeping into you.

"really?" you ask, voice breaking. "isn't this excessive? i pwomise i won't ever fuck your ex behind your back again. though, satoru did seem pretty hurt, still, and i think he'd be down for a three-way—"

the cursed tightens and drags you down in to the ground. your knees hit pavement and you don't even have the air to spit an insult at suguru. always so childishly physical with his reprimands. your grin hardly wavers the curse drags you forward, on your knees at his feet.

suguru's expression is unreadable. you like that you've stumped him. rubbed at wound that isn't new or raw, not even festering, just healed wrong. the glee of it is exhiliharing.

he holds the cigarette to your lips and you take a drag.

"it would do you well to learn some manners, i suppose." getou sighs and exhales a lungful of smoke into your face. "if you'd like to paw for scraps like a dog, then i'll treat you like one."

he grabs a fistful of your hair, pain sparking at your scalp and you wheeze out a laugh.

"as if you don't already treat me like your l-lapdog already." your words break at the end, vision wavering at the edges.

you enjoy this too much, probably. getou suguru is a well-veiled man and finding his weak points has become your mission in your time within 'his family'. your technique is indispensable to him, both of you know it, and thus you know you have more rope than the rest of your 'kin'. you use it well. poke him. prod him.

force him to expend a curse on you, just to get you on your knees. the power you wield over him makes you dizzy. the ability you have to get under his skin is yours alone, and both of you know it. you think he hates you for it sometimes. sometimes, you think its why he loves you.

you know, later, you'll regret such thoughts. you'll be sore and aching and unable to sit properly and you'll wonder if it was a good idea to return to the compound while still dripping with the cum of jujutsu world's god. you'll consider that, perhaps, you've pushed getou suguru too hard.

you suppose, as suguru presses his lips to yours, bites at your lip until you're bleeding— it's best to save your regret. suguru is the most fun when he's angry, wounded in a way that he couldn't possibly be sane about.

so instead, you let him lick the blood from your lips, suck in air when the leash lets up (just enough)— if you've truly pisses getou suguru off enough to have him consider ending your life, you might as well enjoy the high of it.

#lore writes #drabbles #getou suguru x reader #getou x reader #suguru getou x reader #jjk x reader #tw dark content #tw yandere #juuuusut if you squint. maybe.

[daryldixonfanfiction]

What you fight for! Pt.3- what changed your mind?

Masterlist

Summary: Daryl has his doubts, but as he grows closer with Julia that all seems to change...

Warnings: protective Daryl, age gape, pinning, angst, fluff, typicall twd violence and gore.

WC: 11k

Daryl couldn't go back to sleep. 

Daryl was a light sleeper and often never slept the hours he needed. Meaby it was the hunter in him or the fact he could never fully relax. He was awake now and the consequence of their fair share of moonshine aches all over -He felt like shit. 

Standing with a heavy grunt, Daryl lets his gaze fall on Julia. She sleeps on the forest floor, curled in a fetal position, with her head resting on her hands. Daryl smiles, she was put out like a light when they turned in for the night, sleeping without a care in the world. Daryl felt envious, wishing he could sleep as soundly as her. 

A twig snaps from behind, in reflex Daryl grabs his crossbow, aiming towards the rustling. He engages slowly but quickly finds the walker skare was just a false alarm. The culprit was no other than one harmless rabbit chewing on a peas of gras -Daryl exhales in relief. 

“Well hello breakfast,” Daryl takes his aim towards the rabbit and shoots a bolt, but misses when the rabbit gets scared off by nearby birds. He sighs.

Julia stirs, she lies on her back, hands ley lax on either side of her face. Daryl turns thinking she had woken up, but Julia continues staying sound asleep, her chest rises and falls steadily. Daryl kneeled slowly beside her, to wake her, but decided against it seeing the dark circles faintly visible under her eyes. She needed rest so he let her be. 

Then… 

his gaze wanders from her lips, down her neck, to her breathing chest, down  further down to her thighs. He swallowed seeing the ankle length skirt revealed her skin, innocently  -nearly revealing her undergarments. Daryl glanced nervously towards her face. Still sound asleep. With a shaking hand, Daryl covers her legs with the skirts fabrike. Julia stirs again and Daryl froze. If Julia saw him holding her skirt, even if pulling it down, she would certainly miss judging the situation. 

Julia mumbles something incoherently, unbeknownst of Daryl's panic. He sighed, dropping his shoulders in relief, seeing her eyes were closed and face lax in what appeared to be deep sleep. 

He rises, standing to his full height, throwing the crossbow over his shoulder. Daryl continues the search for breakfast and hopefully brings back a rabbit or two. Daryl was sure he would have time before she woke as the sun was still under the horizon. Before he goes he looks back, seeing Julia lying there. She would be fine, the forest was quiet and he wasn't going far knowing more rabbits were close, so he continued forward, deeper into the forest. 

…

Julia's eyes flutter open, she looks tiredly upon trees above her. Slowly sitting up she scrunches her face, her head pounds making her groan with a hand against the forehead. 

“I’m never drinking moonshine again,” -It felt like she was dying. 

Her eyes scanning -sershing, searching for him. A pang prices her chest. For a moment Julia thought about Daryl leaving her, that he had left. But would he really?

Daryl’s backpack rests against the nearby log. She picks up his hunting knife and lets her gaze travel along its sharp edge for a moment, studying it. Julia sits on her knees, attaching the knife to her belt then continues, looking through his pack finding some matches, stacks of dollar bills, a plastic jar of cinnamon sticks - she takes one and starts to chew on it, she continues placing the plastic jar back, finding valuables like rings and gold chains. -she shakes her head, because what was Daryl thinking he was gonna do with money and jewelry? She stops her snooping and drums her fingers on her knees with a sigh.

The cinnamon's strong taste makes her terribly thirsty and as if in que, Julia hears water pouring somewhere nearby. Julia found it to be pretty easy to navigate her way. Before she even reached the water’s edge she knew it to be a river.  

A fallen tree extends over the burbling river as clear water travels along its bed, bubbling over rocks and branches in the shallower parts as forest hills and trees line the river shore where she stands. 

Julia gazed with awe before closing her eyes, she inhaled, savoring the pure scent of wildlife, then exhaled gazing down where the water ended and kneeled, and reaches a hand into the water taking a sip of the pure water and grips a smooth rock, letting it rest in the water for a moment before pulling it out. She cloutshes the rock then picks up another flat stone with her other hand and piles it on top of the other. She continues to stack the rocks, each smaller than the one before, making a cairn. Perhaps a way of mourning? Julia didn't know but she hoped, hoped wherever people go after they die was a kind place.

Gripping the fabric of her dress, Julia notests maybe for the first time how dirty she really was. The cowboy boots were unrecognizable, covered in dry dirt and mud, making the beautiful western embroidery unnoticeable. The skirt, torn and ingrained in dirt where her knees had pressed when sitting. The short sleeved button down was stained with filth and splash stains. Julia begins undoing the buttons of her shirt and lets it fall to the ground, then the belt. She places the knife for easy access, she lets the skirt slip down her legs and leaves it with the rest, placing her bracelets on top. The boot's fit is snug, so she sits down on her bottom to easily pull them off, the mid calf socks follow along still in the boots. Julia goes into the river leaving her only in undergarments and a camisole. Its vintage floral print is faint, spaghetti straps reach down to a ruffled hem snugly hugging her chest. Its cotton fabric flows loosely down the rest of her body ending just above the knees. Julia began to wade into the water until it came up above her chest. She looked back where she had settled her things on the shore then submerged into the river.

…

Julia was gone by the time Dayl returned. His pack remains, resting against the log just like he left it.

"Julia!" Daryl calls out, he's met with no answer.  

He kneels, investigating footprints removing a leaf they headed the opposite direction where he came, leading further down the forest. He could tell she was doing fine so far, there was no sign a walker was anywhere near her. The sound of water pouring became clearer. Daryl heads towards it -chances were Julia hasn't gone that far and would most likely be there. But what was she thinking? But on the other hand he knew he had made a poor choice leaving her alone. 

Making his way to the river Daryl halts rounding a tree and he stops for a moment, notesting Julia's clothes neatly pleased by shore from a far. Anxiety bloomed in his chest. Because what happens if he finds her and she’s bit? Daryl didn't know the answer to that and he certainly didn't like the idea of it. Agin, he should never have left her.

Stop worrying. I’m gonna locate this girl, she's gonna be just fine. He told himself.

Daryl prosedes with his crossbow in hand. He walks slowly and stops, picking up the knife placed on top of her folded clothes. Daryl looks around, scanning for anything but sees nothing. The twisting feeling with something he knew - it was familiar…

Sophia.

Finding her doll lying in the creek just like Julia’s clothes lies on the shore. He didn't like this, not one little bit. 

“Julia!” Daryl calls out scanning his surroundings, then turns towards the tree line behind him, but then… 

Julia emerges from the surface, wiping her hair back, smoothing the wet hair from her face and Daryl felt his panic fade the moment she emerged. But just as fast he was pissed off, almost wanting to grab her right then and there, dragging her out of the water. He refrains himself from doing so by blowing an attention grabbing whistle instead and commands, “Girl, come up here before you drown!”

Julia’s head wipes towards the shore, spotting a figure there, standing. She knew it to be Daryl just by the voice. And there he was, two dead animals hanging attached to his belt. Relieved she couldn't help the way her mouth upturned in relief, she hurried with excitement towards him, not paying attention to his harsh tone. 

He really didn't leave.

“Julia. You could have been pulled under,” Daryl scolds as Julia gets closer, “Even if the river looks calm it can still be strong,” -and closer and he continues standing just on the water's edge.

“Is that rabbit!? Two!” Julia confirms, excitedly. 

“Hey, are you even list-  The words disappear from his mouth.

Julia’s bare feet stood before him; he's at a loss of words. She looked breathtaking. The morning light painted her soft features along her face and neck. Water dripped from the ends of her curls as some strands she mused had missed are stuck to her cheeks and forehead. The camisole dress was drenched, accentuating her soft feminine curves, spaghetti straps hung loosely off her shoulders, her hardend nippels poked through the fabrike, leaving little for the imagination. Her eyelashes curled, enhancing her brown eyes beautifully. Everything about her was so feminine and pure. If he didn't know any better he would have thought she was Aphrodite herself. 

Daryl didn't know where to look. He didn't even notest he’d dropped the knife and crossbow, she didn't seem to either.

Unbeknownst, Julia didn't notice how his breath became heavy nor how his pupils had blown wide -so she reached for the rabbits because she had never seen wild ones this close before. But Daryl turns cold, moving so quickly Julia didn't have time to react. His hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist so tightly, she swore it cracked under the pressure forcing a cry to escape her lips, she nearly fell to her knees from the pain. She lifts her gaze, confused by his sudan grabbing. In that moment Julia wished she could read his mind, figuring out what went beyond those deep blue eyes, and that hard face. But what Julia didn't know was his reason for doing so, stopping her was to stop whatever urge within. Fearing if she got to close, he would give in to something he…he didn't quite know what, it felt… wrong. 

Julia pushed at his hand with her free one and managed to croak, “You're hurting me,”  making Daryl snap out from what every daze he was in. But the moment he lets go he sees something he never noticed before.

That is…

The edges of his vision turn dark with a sort of panic he wasn't sure existed within himself, he commands  with a low tone, “Show me your arm.” Causing her to jump.

Julia pulled her arm behind her back  -biting down on her lip, looking anywhere but him. She should never have taken the bracelets off, but it was too late for regrets. 

Daryl yanked her arm back just as fast. There was a heavy flinch, then a slight struggle. However, it didn't take much to overpower her. Daryl pulls her towards him, stretching her arm out revealing the bite mark just above the inside of the wrist. His face became hard, almost angry, she could feel it too, how his hold hardened further if that was even possible, and she hadn't realized how small her wrist was in his until she glanced down, seeing how his hand easily swallowed hers.

Julia stares up, blinking several times -meeting Daryl's cold glare. Her pupils shake with a sort of panic, shaking her head frantically as her long curls fall in her face. 

“No, No!” “No, I’m not sick!” “I am not sick!” “I am not sick!” 

Daryl shakes his head as if not buying it.

She points to the bite mark, “This is three months old.” “Nobody lasts more than a day!”  “Does this look a day old to you?” She insisted, voice cracking, as if she was trying desperately to make him believe her.

Daryl looked at the bitmark then back at her glaring intensely.

“You would have killed me!” The words came shakingly more than anything. Because she was frightened, remembering Marlene's warning.

Daryl didn't say anything as he inspected the wound with his gaze; he had never seen anything like it before. it was faint, as it had healed. Was he angry? He didn't know. 

Julia continued because she was so scared… so desperate. “Does it look like I’m infected? Julia asked -Daryl stares, searching her eyes for an explanation. Maybe if he were calmer, he would realize this was all wrong. She was scared out of her mind. But it had become something much more.

“See it's not getting any worse.” “I’m not gonna turn.”

Daryl’s face became unreadable, voice firm and questioning, “What was Marlene doing with an infected kid like you?”

“I’m not a kid, and am not infected.” She answered, sounding slightly annoyed. As he doesn't respond she continues and admits, “Marlene found me after I was bitten.” 

“And she didn't shoot you.” Daryl States.

“Yeah… She made me distance myself from everyone and tested me every day. To see if I was getting sick.”

"Test you how?” Julia didn't answer. His voice became deep and threatening in his chest as he all but groweld, “Test you…how?”

Julia let out a heavy breath, she answered, “She'd make me count to 10 and hold out my hand and then keep it steady, and guess what, I didn't turn into a Walker.” -She inhales “I've made it through these past 3… ” -she corect’s herself. “4 days. I'm fine.” -She insists almost pleadingly.

But Daryl felt indifferent, because she just didn't seem to get it.

“You need to stop talking’ like there is some kind of future ahead, because there ain't.” He said it a little too harsh then he should have because her chine trembled in response and her eyes looked pained, but she restrained herself from crying.

His hand that wasn't gripping her pointed a daring finger towards her, demanding, “Why are you so important to Marlene, and don’t lie to me. Answer the question.”

Julia's body language became nervous, uneasy in his grip. She answered, knowing there was no way to avoid it. “She told me not to tell anybody, and now I’m telling the first person that I– She interrupted herself inhaling a needed breath for any kind of courage.

Daryl stares, impassively waiting for her answer.

She exhales and begins, “There's a base camp somewhere out west, you can see it on the map…There doctors. They’re working on a cure. And what happens to me..is the key to finding the vaccine.” 

"Mm-hm." -Daryl grunts, shaking his head, “I’ve heard that before”. It reminds him of the CDC, and he wasn't fond of that memorie. -Daryl continues speaking way too harsh for her liking.

"I call bullshit. Vaccines, miracle cures. None of it works. I’ve been at the CDC. And you know what, the scientists had either left or opted-out. I almost got blown up in the process so don’t feed me with this miracle cure bullshit. Whatever Marelene has told you, you better forget, because it's gonna get you killed.” Daryl said directly staring into her eyes. 

He then stepped forward, she stepped back, causing him to pause letting go of her wrist as if he became self-aware of how intimidating he was. Daryl felt a guilt burrow and the argument melted away - because..he saw how she inhaled, holding her arm close to herself. Maybe he had done too much? And it was going to haunt him every time he looked at her.

Julia stairs, eyebrows furring -searching for something to somehow change his mind, she felt almost a sense of defeat. His cold eyes turned sad and Julia didn't want to quarrel, he didn't seem to ether.

“Daryl.” Julia said after a few moments. Taking one step closer, he appeared surprised by the movement. “I know I must have scared you, disappearing like that.” Her voice laced with sincerity, eyes looking into his. 

Daryl lowered his gaze in return. He couldn't seem to find the right words. To his surprise, Julia wrapped her arms around him and her head was against his chest, embracing him just like before. He jolted slightly but returned the embrace, although he was stiff and hesitant at first. Carefully his hand placed itself on the small of her back, he needed that.

“I’m sorry.” Julia said softly. Daryl could feel how her fingers gripped the back of his vest and her wet hair causing his shirt to dampen as she held him even closer -to make the words more true. Daryl nodes slowly in response. She couldn't see it as she was pressed to his chest but she felt him do so.

“We should eat,” His voice was deep and rumbling within his chest. His chest is warm, he always seemed to be -a gentle contrast from the dripping chemise clinging to her skin. There was this moment, where she just listened. Listened to him breathe, and she swore she could feel his heart beating or maybe it was her one? She tilts her head up to speak. Daryl does the same, gazing down with that unreadable face he often made. 

She looked small. He could see her begin to shiver and goosebumps forming on her skin as she said -smiling softly.

 “Not gonna lie but I’m starving.”

…

They were forced to continue further within the forest the next day, making their stay on the river bank a short one; he had spotted a walker. 

Daryl’s strides were wide compared to hers, they didn't talk. Julias mind was elsewhere, her mind often was. Always thinking about everything and nothing at once. She often was distracted like that when nothing seemed to happen. A dangerous flaw in a world like this. 

The forest was quiet, nothing seemed out of place. She liked the green and the chirping of the bird's maid. It almost seemed like everything was normal, as if  they were on a simple walk out in the forest. 

Julia notest Daryl's change of pace. His steps were careful, his gaze set on something ahead, making him lower himself, almost kneeling. Julia does the same. With a motion of his index finger he reveals what caught his eye. Just a couple of meters ahead a light green tent is set up. Julia stairs for a moment before she said.

“There could be someone inside.” 

“Could be a whole bunch of things in there.” Daryl wisperd, stating simply. 

He stalks closer, leading the way, Julia follows close behind. He scans their surroundings, crossbow against his cheek, taking a couple of more steps he then slows down, motioning for a halt handing her the crossbow. Julia stairs, confused. What was she gonna do, she can't even shoot? He then motions for the knife attached to her belt. Of course the knife, she gives it to him and he gives a silent command, stay here with a motion of his finger. Julia frowns, she didn't want to be left standing there all alone, but she nods, giving in knowing there was no room for arguing. 

Daryl slowly approaches the tent, knife firm in his grip. He tries to peek through the flap of the opening then traced back in his steps avoiding the trash surrounding the tent, then carfolly lifts the outer fabric to get a glimpse of what could be inside, seeing nothing indicating there was something there he returns to the opening. He unzipped it slowly, all about making as little noise as possible. For a moment she thought his movements seemed more than just a hunter's, as if he has done this before. 

Daryl redis himself with the knife high up, its edge pointing downwards -in the purpose stabbing whatever he had thought could be inside. He lifts the fabrike of the opening, she is too far back to see but she could tell there was something, noesting how Daryl turns his head and coughs in a disgusted manner shielding his nose with the hand still gripping the knife. Without hesitation he steps inside, disappearing from Julia’s view -she swallows anxiously.

Inside Daryl finds a man dead in a chair, with his brains blown all over the fabrike, the jaw was gone as it had been blown to bits by a gun or a shotgun of some kind. Daryl grimaces in disgust of the decomposed smell.

Outside Julia had become more anxious. The quiet felt like Daryl was forever in that tent, making her call out. “Daryl?” No response - she steps closer and calls out once more, “Daryl?”

Daryl reaches for the gun in the corpse's hand, taking it and puts it in the small of his back holstering it there, then emerges out, notesting Julia standing right outside and not where he left her.

“I told you to stay back,” Daryl scolds.

“What’s in there?” Julia asked curiously, trying to get a glimpse inside, Daryl steps in front of her as if not wanting her to see as he explained simply.

“Some guy. Did what them scientists did. Opted out.” Right she remembered him telling that back at the river.

“Oh,” Julia breathed in response, he could be so blunt sometimes. 

A pause then…

 “There could be stuff inside we might have youse off,” she tried to step round him but Daryl stepped in front again, holding her in place by the arm -lightly, not putting any pressure, simply keeping her from entering. He didn't want to subject her to such a sight and to be honest it disturbed him. 

Julia searches his gaze. He seemed to be thinking for a moment and then he gave in and said.

"Alright." But you stay here.” Julia nodes heavenly doing as she was told. 

After some rustling Daryl emerges from the tent throwing her a bag, it lands before her feet. Opening it she hesitates for a moment, this was once someone’s, perhaps this was wrong, it felt like stealing. Daryl noticed her hesitating and said, “Don't think, just take what you need.”

Julia started digging through the bag, there wasn't really anything until she found what she had in mind. She puts on the knitted gray cardigan and buttons it, she looks to Daryl, looking him up and down. She looked through the bag once more, finding a men's long sleeve button down and a black denim jacket. Holding the jacket out before her she looks up at him then back to the jacket making Daryl shift on his feet, feeling her eyes scanning his body.

“What?” He grunts.

She smiles and tosses the clothing items at him. Daryl easely catches with his one hand then inspects the clothes holding it out in front of him.

“Put them on, I think it will suit you.” Julia insisted. Daryl grunt’s in response and she didn't quite figure out if it was disapproving or approving. 

Daryl peels the vest off, sliding his arm through the shirt, then the denim jacket on top, finishing with his signature biker jacket. 

Pleased, she smiles to herself, it suited him just like she imagined. Daryl then goes back inside the tent as if looking for something. To her surprise, he walks out with a cheated knife. Her mouth opened, agape a moment as she looked into his eyes, and then down at the weapon - it being offered to her, and he said simply, 

“You're better off with this. Won’t be clumsy in your grip like mine, and it’s lighter.” 

Daryl urges the weapon into her hand -Julia accepts it, she would like to think it was a gift, she liked the idea. 

Daryl notest she had struggled with his, and often at times it looked like she was going to cut her damn fingers off. His solution was simply giving her a less harmless weapon, in harmless meaning from her clumsy fingers. 

…

Daryl had noticed the bruise his grip had left behind, Julia sat beside him, staring into the fire, following the flames with her gaze. He removes the meat, handing her a piece.

"Here." She takes it. 

A few moments passed…But then he began and said, “Hey, sorry for what I did that morning.” He gives an awkward glance, she stares up at him silently and she notest how his gaze travels to her wrist. And maybe she had not really noticed, but a bruise had formed there. Her gaze returns to him, shaking her head slowly. She knew why he was apologizing. He was apologizing for grabbing her. But Julia knew he did not mean to hurt her, he was scared.

"No." “I should have told you.” Julia said softly.

Daryl stairs for a moment then diverts his gaze and bises himself with the fire, feeding it tinney sticks to just keep it going. He still felt guilty and even more when she wasn't upset. 

Julia leaned forward to place a bigger stick into the fire, Daryl stops her from doing so. Julia frowns, confused by the interruption and she questions, “Why? It’s freezing.” 

“Because it'll attract e’m,” Daryl said simply. 

“You mean Walkers?” Julia stairs, gauging. 

There was silence before she spoke again..Sounding perplexed, “People?" It was a bit quiet, the way she said it - hesitant. As if she was pretty sure she didn't want to know the answer. Daryl gives her a look and continues to toss the small sticks into the fire and Julia begins to pick at her food as anxiety starts to bloom in her chest.

“So what are they gonna do? "Robb us?” A hint of sarcasm plaid in her voice, masking that unsettling feeling growing in her stomach.

“They’ll have way more in mind than that.” He eyed her sternly and she knew what he was insinuating and it made the anxiety only worse and her heart quickened. Maybe she had been naive, never had she believed people could be something to fear. She could only muster a quiet  “Oh,” in return.

Part of him had hoped she'd go to sleep after that but she continued to look at him, as if thinking or perhaps waiting for him to say something. 

The fire caused her gentle features to glow orange and red, she lifted her head, resting it on her hand and her elbow into the forest floor. Daryl remained on his back, arms crossed holding his knife over his chest, he pretends not to notice her staring. 

“Daryl,” Julia began, he hums in acknowledgement, noticing the hesitance in her tone as she all but whispers. “when you said, ‘they’ll have way more in mind… There’s no way anyone knows we’re here, right? No one’s gonna find us?” 

Daryl knows, but he doesn't tell her the truth for the benefit so she could sleep peacefully, so he lies, he lies straight to her face and assures, “No one’s gonna find us.”  

"Okej." She said, because really she just needed to hear him say it, to hear the confirmation leaving his lips. With that she adjusted herself to sleep -and turned over shutting her eyes, her head resting against the backpack and the conversation was over. 

Daryl curls his arm underneath his head then turns his head to look at her facing him with her back, his eyes studying her. Daryl knows she’s frightened, even though she tries to hide behind sarcasm. She was naive in her ways. A part of him wanted her to guard herself - but selfishly, another part of him enjoyed seeing optimism. She had empathy like no other, when she told him it did matter, even if that mannequin corpse of a woman was no one she knew. She cared so deeply and so easily, ultimately selfless, he had never met anyone like that before. He could only assume whatever upbringing she had received from her family had something to do with the ability to not become hardened and maintain that purity, that heart and compassion. She had pleaded for him to believe her, that she was some type of cure, and that bite mark fucking scared him. He didn't know what to believe. Holding onto hope he himself could not. Because there was nothing, nothing that would change his mind. To him it was just another pipe dream, a fairytale Marlene had put in her head. It was no surprise Marlenen had chosen her, she seemed like the sort of girl who would believe blindly because she simply didn't know any better. 

Daryl shifts his gaze scanning the trees surrounding them, holding the knife close to his chest, glancing towards his crossbow resting beside him. And he knew it was there, he just needed to make shore. He stairs a few moments looking at Julia, she seemed to have dozed off. Daryl couldn't stop from dwelling on what she had said with that small frightened voice.

There’s no way anyone knows we’re here, right. No one’s gonna find us… 

He kept thinking about it over and over. Every fiber of his being was almost nauseous over it. Thinking about something like that coming true. Thinking about her being in danger, being hurt -he couldn't imagine what it would be like losing her to. This new sense of fear had become more evident each day since the prison fell. He didn't recognise it as fear at first but then he did. The closest thing to it was that same feeling he had felt when they had captured that kid, Randall on the farm. Knowing there were people out there hurting kids, women, young girls, girls like her. Men like that have no soul, no remorse. He forced himself not to spiral any further, not to be emotional in such a way. Instead he shoved it down. He pretended it wasn't there, doing the only thing he knew. 

Julia gently turns over, hands resting beneath her cheek as Daryl stands in distance pacing back and forth and stays up until dawn cracks beneath the horizon. Keeping her safe.

…Julia had thought about what Daryl had said that night. And she was grateful. But the unsettling feeling still lingers, she remembered how his eyes had looked, they held a knowing in them, as if he had seen the darkest part of life that she herself had not. A part of her wanted to ask him more, to know what he knows, ask him of what cruelty he had seen. She referred not to of course, it would be selfish. If he wanted to share he would simply tell her. 

Julia walks in his footsteps, a game she entertains herself with. Suddenly…Daryl halted, making Julia bump into him, pulling her from her thoughts. Daryl turned to face her and said…

“Take out your knife. I want to show you something.”

Julias brows furrowed, but she did as she was told, unholstering it, holding the weapon to her side.

“Which is your lead foot?” Julia shrugged, she didn't know. 

Daryl moved quickly, with one intimidating stride towards her. It was quick and she instinctively stepped back and she understood now where this was going -he was teaching her. Daryl continues speaking to her firmly, clearly to make her understand.

“If someone comes at you, you race this arm up and you block, and use their strength against them.” Julia did so, blocking him with her forearm, staring intently upon him for further instructions. He reached around, grabbing her hand in his that was holding the knife and pulling it towards his chest, his hand that wasn't gripping her hand grabbed her opposite by her wrist. He was somewhat rough with the movements holding her so close she could feel his breath grasing her face and his touch, warm wrapped around her wrist against the autumn breeze. 

 “You're small, so wait until they’re close and you drive it through their heart to the hilt.” -her gaze shifts from his chest back to his face, “You understand?” His eyes searched hers shaking her firmly, desperate to make her understand, and he continued, “Do not hesitate. And you look in their eyes and do not pull it out until you see their soul.” 

Julia blinked -processing his words slowly. That seemed to be a difficult thing to do. At least inside of herself. His hands were steady, steadier than hers as she tilted her head to look up at him. Then placed a hand flat to his chest where her gaze had shifted. He lightend his grip in return as she pulled back and he dropped his arms to his sides. She held the knife with both of her hands, still looking to his chest where the knife had pressed to his heart. The idea of hurting someone, killing someone felt impossible. She inhaled…then shakes her head stepping back. He stared down at her, as she all but whispered, “I couldn't do that.”  

He continued to stare at her, until eventually he moved and simply said, “Well, you might not have a choice.” 

…Daryl tucked his jacket around her limp form, she was curled against his side as soft snores rumbled through her lips. Daryl didn't know when they had begun to draw close to one another. He worried it was for selfish reasons. She seemed terribly comfortable after only spending the past several days with him. And despite them having gone through a few stressful situations together -it concerned him. He was more concerned about himself, about how he was behaving, getting distracted by many of the things that she did. And how he couldn't seem to keep his breath even when she got so close. Especially at night. And the worst part of all. He was longing for it.

Julia snuggled her way into his arms and Daryl nearly moved away, but only tensed for a moment. Her head was on his chest and she had grabbed hold of his shirt for what he could only assume was a form of comfort. Daryl doesn't hold people he finds them, but he couldn't deny the warm, fuzzy feeling he felt when she tugged on his shirt as if he was worth holding onto. And he lets her as he studies her soft face, lax with sleep. Even though it was innocent, she was tormenting him. With a deep sigh he tried to stop his heart from racing and his mind from wandering. He moved ever so slowly to prop his hands underneath his head, gazing upon the night sky, his body became heavy and relaxed as he slowly drifted into sleep.

Daryl was typically the one who woke up first, this morning was no different. He was grateful he did. They lay how they fell asleep. Carefully he removed her hand from his shirt, slowly slipping it from her fingers. Her hands laid lax against her chest. He sat up fully then turned his head to look down at her, in doing so, he wanted to move a bit of hair from her face, but refrained. He seemed to do that alot, refraining. 

He noticed when Julia woke up, and started moving around. He would never tell her about last night, afraid it would be awkward if he did, so he pretends like nothing had happened. As if she hadn't been sleeping on his chest or how he could feel her heart beating against his. He had taken notice how soft she was, different from himself. Of course they had been close when she had hugged him by the shed and by the river a couple of days ago. But it was nothing like this, this was different.  

Daryl scratched his stubble staring ahead, Julias soft voice pulled him from his thoughts, “Daryl,” and he hums in agnolishment still staring ahead. 

Slowly Julia sits up fully, holding his jacket in her lap, feeling the fabrike between her fingers, then continuing, “You know, one of these days you're gonna have a cold. It's not summer anymore.” She felt terribly guilty when he so easily gave up his own comfort for her. He had given his jacket every night since she had mentioned it was cold, and she wished to never have mentioned it in the first place. The truth was she had been cold that night, but it was not the real reason. It was because she was terribly afraid of the dark, the strange sounds of the forest that she never seemed to get used to. She offered his jacket back and he retrieved it. He said nothing, and she thought maybe he wouldn't until he did -with a soft tone she wasn't sure she had heard him use before.

 “Ain’t no big deal. And besides, can't sleep hearing you chattering your teeth all night.” 

Julia felt her face heat up, she knew she must be blushing. Just as she was about to argue against it, that she was fine, admit what she should have told him that night . Daryl stood to full height, offering his hand and urged, “come on.”  

Julia looked confused but took it either way, he grabbed his weapon off the forest floor. She tilted her head, staring. She had asked him to teach her as he had been her only source of socialization and she was determined to prove herself, rather than doing nothing. Daryl put the swing strap over his shoulder, and he began and said.

“I think today is a good day for you too-  Julia cut him off, stepping closer, with a smile lighting up her face, “You're gonna teach me how to choot?” She said, maybe sounding a bit too much like a child.

He stared and felt that same feeling in his chest, fuzzy and warm, then he answered simply, “Something like that,” -a pause…then he demanded, becoming serious, “And no wondering of.” Julia rolled her eyes, humoredly, “Yes Mr.Dixon.”

“Julia, I mean it.”

“I’ll do whatever you say, Daryl.” 

Daryl stared for a moment a little taken back by her genuine honesty. He didn't know what to say to that. There was a truth in her russet brown eyes, round and sincere. Daryl clears his throat, urging her forward.

…

He had never seen her show such interest before and he could tell she was serious about learning. He wanted to make it right this time, teaching her how to use his crossbow. Everything was calm and peaceful as Daryl walked close behind watching her back as she scanned their surroundings for anything out of place, but it was more difficult than she thought. And she wondered how on earth he could hold such a thing and make it look so easy, like it wasn't heavy. He must've had a great deal of strength, not to mention his perfect aim. Holding it up against her cheek trying out the scope she asked.

“Are we close?” 

"Almost done.” He answered like he knew exactly what they were looking for, Julia asked again, still looking through the scope, “How do you know?” 

“The signs are all there. Just got to know how to read’em.”

And she did so, slowly prosiding onwards. But it was all so difficult in her head, she didn't see any signs nor did she know if she saw any she knew how to read them like he did. She prompted him again, “What are we tracking?”

“You tell me.” Daryl vaguely offered. Julia turned to him with a slight frustrated frown. Daryl shrugged, “You’re the one who wanted to learn.” Her gaze travels along the forest floor.

“Well, something came through here. The pattern is all zig-zaggy.” She stated, deep in thought, she clearly had paid attention to what he had said a moment ago. And then it all made sense, “It’s a walker.” She confirmed, clearly happy with her accomplishment.

“Maybe a drunk.” Daryl said, and she knew he was testing her. She smiled back at him before proceeding onwards as she became a little bit cocky, “I’m getting good at this. Pretty soon I won’t need you at all.”

Daryl nods to himself as a subtle smile plaid on his lips, he almost chuckled at her sudan confidence. He kept her going and ordered, “Yeah, keep on tracking.”

Daryl of course was aware of the tracks, but it was about her finding it by herself in order to learn, and she did. He felt a sense of pride in that, teching her something he knew. 

The trail led them upon a clearing. A lone walker stands on its knees, turned with its back, festing on something in its hands. Julia stands in front of Daryl staring for a moment before she turns her head and states, whispering, “It’s got a gun.”

Daryl nods and gives her a go ahead. She takes a nervous breath as she steadys the crossbow against her cheek and begins with careful steps, approaching. Daryl stayed back, his eyes never leaving her. He had seen her kill a walker before so he lets her handle this one on her own.  

Even though she was scared she was determined enough to not let her fears controle her. And she was desperate to prove herself that she could hold her own. Every step was carefully put in front of the other, like Daryl did. Just a little bit further and she would be in the right distance to fire. One last breath and she stepped down. But to her surprise her foot gets caught in an animal trap and twists in a natural way. Her leg gives out and she falls to the ground, a pained sound leaves her lips. The commotion alerts the walker, it starts to growl, dropping the dead animal to the ground and begins to head her way. Pure horror rises in the pit of her stomach as she desperately tries to aim from the ground. The weapon fired, and she watched as her shot missed, only making it stumble back a bit and it kept on coming her way. 

Daryl sprinted straight towards her. He snatched the crossbow from her hands, hitting the walker with the momentum of his speed. He hurried towards her, sliding on the leaf covered ground and kneeled, grabbing her skirt and pulling it up to reveal her foot underneath, then ripped the animal trap from her foot like it was nothing, throwing it out of sight. 

His voice was laced with concern as he asked out of breath, “Can you move it?” He studied her face, lifting her foot by the heel examining the sole. Julia inhaled unevenly, a clear response from the pain. She managed to croak out a shaky,“Yeah.” And the pain in her voice and her trembling lips carved a new fissure in his heart. 

Daryl carefully lowered her foot back on the ground and stood fully. Julia looked up at him and he told her, “Hold on.” She watched him walk towards the dead walker, pulling the bolt she had missed when firing from its cheek, then grabbed the gun from its side holstering it in the small of his back. Before approaching her he grabbed the crossbow off the ground. Julia quickly grabbed the edges of the skirt, tugging it downward. She managed to stand on her own even though she could see Daryl tense of her doing so when she lost her balance for a moment. He steadied her with his arm around her waist, pressing her against his side. Her arm was over his shoulder, her hand gripping the fabrike there, like she had dune in the night. And she weld to control tears from forming, screwing her eyes shut with the tension of the pain, but the gentle feeling of his arm around her, holding her there tightly forced them to flutter open and she found the strength to ask, “Can I have the gun?” Daryl urged her onwards and gave her a firm “No.” And she knew there was no use in arguing. 

Eventually they exit the forest, coming upon a graveyard and a white memorial house further ahead. She limped alongside him as his strength kept her upright, though gravity seemed to be working against her. Her feet were tired, soar, and stinging with cuts from the animal trap. Just for one moment she wished to stop, to catch her breath and to rest. "Can we…Can we hold up a sec?” Julia said and reached for her foot as his hand gently left her side and he asked, "You all right?” 

“I Just need to sit down.” Julia reassured, rotating it carefully and put most of her weight on the opposite foot, clearly avoiding the pain. Daryl looked ahead and breathed, “All right. Hold up.” And begins putting the crossbow over his shoulders, settling it infront on his chest, adjusting it a bit. Julia blinked at him perplexed and stepped back when he suddenly got closer, his back facing her as he began to bend his knees, hunching forward with his arms hanging loosely to his sides, and he ordered, “Hope on.” 

It surprised her, he had never offered such a thing before. The sudden change of character made her think he had to be joking, “Are you serious?” She questions. Daryl looked over his shoulder, “Yeah. This is a serious piggyback. Jump up.” Julia grabbed his shoulders  for leverage and jumped up with her arms over his shoulders. 

“You're heavier than you look.” He joked straightening up and adjusted her further up his back with his arms underneath her legs and began their walk through the graveyard. 

"Maybe there are people there.” Julia states, ever the optimist. “Yeah, if there are, I’ll handle them.” 

“There are still good people, Daryl.”  But Daryl found it difficult to believe in such filosofie, “I don’t think the good ones survive.”

They encountered a gravestone with the words beloved father. Julia stood before it with a sad expression on her face. Daryl places flowers in response and returns to her side. Her soft features clashed with the sorefull expression and he wondered what her quiet thoughts were about and If what he had said contributed to the sadness there. He blinked in surprise as her soft fingers gently intertwined with his and he glanced down to look at her, his stomach twirls, but she continued to stare ahead..Her expression telling him she was far away.

Everything she's experienced hasn't just gone away, even when she acted as if it had, always being positive and hopeful. Time doesn't really heal anything and pain doesn't simply disappear, it fades. And in that moment she needed him...to hold him close. It felt so..human to stand beside her and to feel the touch of her hand. He had never done that before, never been the type to hold someone. And he took notice he did not tense like in those moments when she had pushed herself close to him in the night. It was oddly comfortable, even when she squeezed his hand and leaned against him he didn’t push her away.

A few moments later they headed towards the funeral home.

Daryl continued carrying Julia until they approached the front door of the building. He cracks the door open then makes a few loud sounds that surely would alert any walkers in the home. “Give it a minute,” he tells her. But it was quiet, oddly quiet. Daryl enters the entryway and gives the nearby rooms a quick look. Julia limped after, on guard with her knife in her hand. She took notice of the clean smell and the neat state of the house that Daryl clearly seemed to find strange. 

“It’s so clean.” Julia declared. “Yeah.” Daryl answered. “Someone’s been tending to it. May still be around.” 

Right. That made sense.

Daryl moves further into a large room, Julia follows. They discover A dead man in a casket. The man didn't look rotten and decayed like walkers did, he appeared natural, peacefully lying in a suit. It felt as if they had walked in on a public viewing. She supposed that would make sense as it was a funeral hom after all. The room was beautifully arranged, decorated with big bouquets of flowers on each side of the casket. They were dry now but she imagined it had to look even more beautiful before. Chairs were placed before the man in the middle of the room for family and friends to say their last goodbyes and an old piano facing the window. She didn't feel disturbed by the sight, she had attended one before. So it didn't surprise her when Daryl inspected the man's face notesting something odd she supposed, as he drags his fingers across the man's face revealing the cosmetic work done. 

Daryl thought it was odd as he felt the cosmetic between his fingers then looked at Julia. Why did someone take their time doing this to a walker he would never get his head round. To be honest it creeped him out. 

They continued down a set of stairs leading to a white room. It smells of chemicals,.the ones used for disinfecting and it was noticeably colder than upstairs. On two embalming tables lay 2 more desiset men dressed in suits. One looked like a walker with its gray skin and the other looked more like the man upstairs. Julia carefully takes her last steps down, a bit slower due to her injury. Daryl opens the carbonets in a surge for medical supplies clearing his throat, a habit he did before speaking. 

“Let's get that ankle wrapped.” Julia didn't answer. She quietly admired the cosmetic art the unknown person had dun. They had even taken the time to make the hands look normal and comed the man's hair. Only a good person would do such a thing. 

Ripping the bandaid package with his teeth Daryl glanced at her and said humoredly, “Looks like somebody ran out of dolls to dress up.” Julia wipes her head towards him, eyebrows furrowing. “It’s beautiful.” She states softly. Daryl diverts his eyes looking down as if searching for that beauty she seemed to admire. Julia continued to be ever so thoughtful in her ways of speaking.

“Whoever did this cared. They wanted these people to get a funeral. They remembered these things were people. Before all this. They didn’t let it change them in the end.” Her gaze shifts to him from where she had looked down upon the man on the embalming table. “Don’t you think that’s beautiful?” His eyes met hers from where he was leaning against the wall and he couldn't find the right words to answer. He found it difficult to see the beauty she saw. Perhaps because he didn't fully understand it, not in the way she did at least. But Daryl did think something was beautiful, and it was not the dead men lying on the tables. 

Daryl escapes the question completely and instead urges her back towards the sink, gently. Daryl was oddly careful with his touch as he rapped her foot. She looked down from where she stood leaning back against the sink. She could tell he knew what he was doing and she wondered  if he realized how much he's changed in these past 2 weeks. If he recognized those small changes as she had? It wasn't dramatic, personality altering changes per say, but he was softer and more talkative which pleased her. 

Continuing they explore the kitchen. 

Julia checks the fridge, “Dang,” she sighed, “You find anything?” 

Daryl checks the wall cupboards, opening them one after the other, finding nothing until then he comes across something. Julia exclaimed in surprise, standing by his side. A large cache filled with food is in front of them. 

“Peanut butter and jelly, diet soda and pig’s feet. That’s a white trash brunch right there,” Daryl said humorously, grabbing a jar off the top shelf.  “It all looks good to me,” Julia commented, grabbing a couple of items, clearly hungry.

Inspecting the jar in his hand he noticed it looked like it just came out of the store and so did everything else. He came to realize and told her, “No, hold up.” And Julia wipes her head looking at him. “Ain’t a speck of dust on this.” He states. “So?” Julia prompts. “That means somebody just put it here. This is someone's stash. Maybe they’re still alive.” 

Right, she should have thought of that.

He spoke with a voice of coming to a conclusion, and he told her with a new sense of thoughtfulness, “All right, we’ll take some of it and we’ll leave the rest, all right?” And that was different. Julia smiled brightly at him, “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Daryl questions. Julia holds their eye contact repeating herself from before. “It's like I said. There are still good people.” Daryl reaches two fingers into his jar, scooping out jelly, shoving it directly into his mouth, humming as if it was delicious . “It’s gross,” Julia scolds, heading towards the kitchen table with her peanut butter. Daryl likes the edge of the jar and warns playfully with jelly still in his mouth, “Hey, those pigs feet are mine.” 

Julia smiled to herself. He could be funny sometimes. 

…

No matter how much Julia insisted she could help him get rid of the walkers, he made her not lift a finger, ‘due to her injury, he had told her. 

He could be so stubborn sometimes. 

While Daryl was outside setting up security tripwires, Julia made the room cozy. The room with the casket, with candles lit on top of the piano and more across the room. It had been a while since she played. She never learned to read music notes but she could play by heart, finding melodies with her fingers while she hums softly, remembering the words to a song she used to sing. 

Closing the front door Daryl immediately heard a soft voice flowing through the home. He stepped towards the entrance of the room, seeing Julia playing the piano with her back facing him, the only light was from the candles, painting the room in a warm glow. He did not enter but instead leaned against the door frame and just watched and listened. It reminded him of those early mornings, when Julia did her chores and he would just take a moment to listen, just like he did now. He never knew she could play, it was nice. When he thought about it she had not sung sins the prison. It relieved him, he couldn't stand the thought of her being sad and she had been so quiet this morning. Daryl makes his presence known clearing his throat, Julia abrupts her song turning to him.

“The place is nailed up tight.” He said and began walking fully into the room, awkwardly. He hoped not she knew how long he had been standing there in the doorway. “The only way in is through the front door.” He told her and Julia nodded, following him with her gaze as he made his way to the empty casket and to her surprise decided to lie down in it, and she asked “What are you doing?”  

“This is the comfiest bed I’ve had in years.” He remarked with an arm curled beneath his head. Julia turned fully towards him, still sitting. “Really?” she questioned. “ I ain’t kidding.” He insists.

Julia lowered her gaze, becoming quiet again. Daryl stared at her, “Way don’t you go ahead and play some more? Keep singing.” Julia inhaled, lifting her gaze, “I don’t wanna annoy you.”

She rarely sang in front of others, It made her feel vulnerable in a way. She didn't like to feel judged or the feeling of people's eyes on her, it was naked in a way. But Daryl was different from others she had met.

Her response surprised him though he didn't show it as he instead urged, “There ain’t no jukebox, so…

Julia gave him a shy smile and began to sing playing the same song again. Her voice velvet smooth and angelic, transporting him to a world of peace above the clouds. And he wondered why someone with a voice like hers would hide such a gift. Daryl studied her as she closed her eyes. It was from her heart he could tell. Every word meant something. And when she sang…

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

I know you haven't made your mind up yet

But I will never do you wrong

I've known it from the moment that we met

No doubt in my mind where you belong…

It felt as if the song was meant for him. But surely not? It was just a song after all. 

Her voice carried such warmth and sounded so sweet a sense of calm washed over him, tucking him in. Daryl almost felt guilty he didn't miss them as much being with her. And before he knew it, he had drifted away into a deep sleep he had not had for a long time.

Julia opened her eyes as she had finished the song. But to her surprise Daryl had fallen asleep. She had never seen his sleeping face before. His troubled frown had evened out, though the lines in his face were still visebull. And she wondered how old he was as she knew there had to be an age difference there. There was no denying she found him handsome with his ruffe complexion and the dark hair framing his face, but that didn’t mean she had romantic feelings towards him. She liked to think of him as a friend and that it was mutual, that she wasn't just some girl he felt an obligation to care for, simply because of the fall of the prison. 

Julia moved to a nearby sofa, it looked to be for decoration, but she laid down on it -lying on her side and shutte her eyes.

They rest for the night. 

…

Morning came, bright light seeping through the covered windows. 

Daryl sat up fully looking to where Julia had played the piano, the candles had burned aout, no longer offering its warm glow. He must have fallen asleep when she had played, the bed and her playing the piano had all been so soothing. Daryl scanned the rome still sitting in the casket and he grew worried when he did not see her, but then there she was -soundly sleeping on the sofa to his side. She laid curled into herself, facing his way with one arm hanging out and the other beneath the cheek. Even though he knew she was a heavy sleeper he jumped down carefully in case he would wake her. His gaze studied the scar on her wrist and the  bruse faintly visible now, remembering all she told him about being an emunine, the map to the facility she so badly wanted to go to. And he didn't know, he really didn't know. 

He decided he would let her sleep in a bit more, she needed the rest with her injury, he takes his crossbow and heads to the kitchen.

Her eyes fluttered open as a gentle hand slid along her arm. Julia looks up at the figure, rubbing her eyes past the sleep, she sat up fully, legs off the sofa. Daryl’s deep voice spoke to her. “It's morning.” 

Julia hummed in acknowledgement then tilted her head up to meet his gaze. He looked as if he'd been up for a while and she felt bad she always seemed to be the one that woke last. He then took her arm, tugging her up to stand, “com’on.” He urged. Julia blinked past the rest of the sleep but she clearly could tell there was this excitement in his voice and the way he seemed eager. 

“I wanna show you something.” And there it was and it immediately got her attention. “Show me what?” She asked. Daryl began to leave the room, Julia took the hint to follow as she heard him say, “You’ll see.” 

Julia walked with the best of her ability but due to her ankle injury was not fast enuff to catch up to his strides. Daryl looked past his shoulder, “Hurry up!” Julia kept on halting behind him, “Going as fast as I can!”  

Daryl suddenly turned, approaching her, “Forget that,” he said and before she knew it she was in his arms, carrying her like a bride. She squeals of the action. Her arms found its way around his neck, he kicked the door open and he carried her into the kitchen. A smile lit up her face as she was pleasantly surprised by a set up meal. Carefully he pleased her on the chair opposite of him. He breathed, “Here you go.” Then settled himself down,  “All right. Let's eat.” He said and they began to dig in.

Daryl flinched at the sound of his traps getting triggered outside. Julia looks worriedly at him and begins to stand but gets turned down as he orders “Stay.” And he hurries off taking his crossbow to check on the disturbance. Cracking the door open Daryl is surprised to see a one-eyed cat meowing on the front porch. “It’s just a damn cat!” He tried to pet it but the cat scurried away. 

The Moment Julia heard him say to the word cat she couldn't help but to hurry towards the hallway only to be met with Daryl closing the door. 

“It wouldn’t come in?” Julia asked. 

Daryl stepped closer standing an arm length apart and scolded, “I told you to stay back.” Julia smiled, "Yeah, butt, Daryl, you said it was a cat.”  Daryl took her by the shoulder, speaking softly “Maybe he’ll come back around. Come on.” And he beaconed her around back to the kitchen.

…

Julia liked the place, it was nice and it had brought them closer. She hoped the cat would visit them once more, but she also knew Daryl would probably make them leave soon. When the prison went down her diary was the only thing she had left and she thought it would be nice of them to leave something for the occupant of the house.

Julia looked to Daryl beside her, he was spooning some jelly in his mouth while she opened her diary on the kitchen table, candles were lit across the room creating that same cozy feeling when she had played the piano. 

“I’m gonna leave a thank-you note.” Julia told him. Daryl looked at her beginning to write and he asked, “Why?” 

Julia shifts her gaze, Daryl looks back then explains as she continues to write, “For when they come back. If they come back. Even if they’re not coming back, I still want to say thanks.”

Daryl thought for a moment….And then..

“Maybe you don’t have to leave that.” Julia looked at him, listening. “Maybe we stick around here for a while. They come back, we’ll just make it work. They may be nuts, but maybe it’ll be all right.” 

He gave her a little smile, Julia returned it with a grin and said, “So you do think there are still good people around.” Daryl shrugs his shoulders, suddenly finding the jelly very interesting. Her mouth continued to turn upward and she looked at him and said, “What changed your mind?” He shifted his gaze back and forth between her and the jar in his hand, swallowing hard as his defense began to crumble and could feel how his heart started to beat. 

“You know.” Daryl replied, eyes averting. A light blush creeps up his cheeks and he was grateful for the darkness and the candlelight hiding that burning feeling in his chest. Her smile widens, “What?” Julia giggeld. And without her knowing her smile stole all his words away. Daryl could only stare, a little taken back by his own thoughts; he had never felt like this before. His gaze dropped from her shyly then returned, answering in an incoherently grunt, shrugging his shoulders.

"Don't…" -Julia copied him and encouraged softly, “What changed your mind?” Her lovely brown eyes stared into his blue ones, round and sincere waiting for his answer. Julia had noticed his lack of words seemed to be a lack of skill finding the correct ones. 

Never before had Daryl wanted to say so much, but couldn't utter a single word; felt so much but stayed so silent. A million feelings warmed his heart that he could not express with words, because it was deeper than that. Like there was this disconnect between the feeling and his mouth and all he could do was stare. He studied her in the dim light, as if he could find his words in her eyes. But it seemed he never could as his eyes spoke without saying a single word.

YOU

And there was silence. A realization fleeting between them.

And when he gazed deeply into her eyes, she knew. It was her, something within her had somehow made him believe good people did still exist. Julia’s smile faltered, taken back a bit. She couldn't possibly fantum the idea that she had changed something within him, he who clearly had told her “I don’t believe the good ones survive.” 

Her gaze continued to search his, blinking a couple of times before breathing out a quiet, “Oh.”

The firelight ghosts across his face and he couldn't stop from continuing to stare. Her face was gentle and inviting despite being in shock, there was softness in her eyes -irises blown wide, twinkling into his, lips were parted and plump from the little oh that had past her lips, a pleasing shade of deep rose from what he could tell, subtle freckles painted her cheekbones, he haven't notest those before. And that lovely hair framing her face, with locks that glowed deep brown in the warm light. In conclusion -she was in his eyes... 

The snap back to reality when tripwiers outside goes off for the second time today. Neither of them flinched as they knew it to be the little friend from before. Daryl finishes his spoonful of jelly then says jokingly, “I’m gonna give that cat one more chance.” And goes to investigate.

Without checking, expecting the cat he opens the door. But unfortunately their moment must have slowed his reflexes and dulled his edge as he is met with a horde of walkers trying to get into the house. Immediately he tries to chute the dore, braising it with his back shouting her name. Julia hurried and threw his crossbow from a distance, retrieving it he ordered her to run ahead. The horde storms into the house, Daryl fiers one shot, but there are too many of them. He tells her to escape through one of the windows as he distracts them, she is hesitant for just a moment, she doesn't want to leave him she tells him as they slowly lose sight of one another. But she relents when he assured her that he will met her by the road.

The Walkers followed Daryl down the stairs into the embalming room. He shoots another walker then grabs a few sharp tools and uses one of the embalming tables like a barrier between him and the walkers corning him against the wall. He takes out one after the other, stabbing them. He dukes and crowles under their legs to hide behind the other table, stabbing some more before he pushes the table one last time creating enough space to escape up the stairs unscathed. He hurries around the house and runs across the graveyard, up the road he is shocked to discover the backpack lying on the ground. But he had come moments too late. Wheels squeaked, a black car with a white cross drove away. Immediately Daryl runs after realizing Julia had just been kidnapped. He tries to follow but on foot can't keep up, shouting her name again and again while his lungs burn like acrid smoke.

Daryl never stopped running that night, he just kept on going and going then going some more, until morning came when he reached an intersection. 

He fell to his knees, the pure exertion numbing his body. He felt  a terrible pain inside his chest, he felt sick, wanted to throw up, and could hardly process what just had happened. He could hardly read it as being real to him. It was like a blizzard setting into his joints, his brain, everything. 

Everything was gone and Daryl was alone.

Pt.4

#apocalypse #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #fanfics #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon #beth x daryl

[manias-wordcount]

Can I request for a Princess Zelda (botw ver) x Female reader who's part of the Yiga clan and was sent out to kill or retrieve the princess. The catch is that the female reader was actually apart of the castle guard in disguise for most the part.

I don't know how to end it but you can decide how it ends...THOUGH i want a happy ending with romance

Against Orders (BOTW! Zelda x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮 𝗳𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗲 (𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗲𝘄 𝗟𝗢𝗟) 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱. 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲 :)

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You’re conflicted. Any normal person would be.

  On one hand- it’s too easy. For all the moments Hyrule’s precious princess needs a female guard rather than her blonde little watchdog, she has you. One of the few females in the army- perfectly capable of acting as companion and guard for the young princess. For as much as Link is skilled in this and in that, there are certain things that he really shouldn’t do. As a boy, at least. Besides, he’s a champion! He has other responsibilities. Other duties that pull him away at a moment’s notice. Someone has to take care of her in his absence. Plus, every girl needs a friend her age! Wouldn’t it just be perfect if that friend was a part of Hyrule’s mighty royal guard? 

  And course, Hyrule isn’t the only one benefitting from this dynamic. Sure, their princess has a bodyguard but you and the Yiga clan? You have close contact with the Princess. The ability to whisper into her ear and to pull the puppet strings from far, far away. Completely unnoticed. Completely undetected. Until the perfect moment to strike. But on the other hand…

  “Oooh! Ooh! Come look at this one!”

  …you don’t think you could ever strike.

  You whip your head in the direction you heard Zelda’s shout. Years and years of training allow you to zero in on her figure in less than a second and to rush over to her with fast, yet near-silent feet. As you draw near, you’re able to spot what has captured her attention almost instantly and you begin to change your approach. Instead of charging straight toward her, you turn on your foot and make a slight arc. You hope to cut it off before it gets away. With her presence, it can be easily distracted, so you can make yourself move with little to no effort. And if need be, a swift strike nearby with your sword could allow you a few nanoseconds to seal the deal. Plus, you could always-

  Something changes.

  “I’ve got you now little frog! Wait- No!”

  And it’s not for the better.

  “Princess!” You shout in a alarm at the sight about to unfurl in front of you. You had been so close to the two of them: to Zelda and the Hot-Footed Frog with a weirdly off-color marking on its back. A couple of a second, and you could have had the Hot-Footed Frog in your hands without the princess ever having to dream of getting dirty. But of course, it’s Princess Zelda, and of course, she would make a mad lunge for the frog herself, tripping over her own feet in the process. 

  In hindsight, you should have anticipated Zelda making a move before you. But only your hindsight is 20/20. You like to think you have near-perfect eyes, but people are like animals. Unpredicted. And you never truly know how things are going to go. But what you do know is that you’re a damn good soldier. And that you have more than what it takes to save your friend from a fall or two. 

  So, you dive. You throw your body out using all the momentum you built up until this moment, and you toss yourself underneath Zelda’s falling form. It’s like the seconds slow down and you’re able to see perfectly. Hear perfectly. Think perfectly even. Everything begins to crawl at a snail’s pace as you go down, down, down, and prepare to catch her. The birds chirping in the trees let their songs stretch for notes and notes longer. The subtle summer's breeze flows leisurely by as if it was honey dripping from a pot. And then suddenly?

  “Oof.” A tiny grunt of surprise escapes your mouth as the Princess makes contact with your chest. A little dazed. A little winded. But perfectly safe and sound. “...Don’t worry, I got you.”

  She catches your eyes and immediately offers you a bashful smile. The smile you send her back tells her that it’s all good- that you’re just happy that you were able to save her in time. But the warming of your cheeks? You’re not sure what that would tell her if she were to realize.

  Well, not exactly. You see, you’re still conflicted.

  On one hand, you’re not supposed to do this. All of this. Your orders from the Yiga clan were to infiltrate the guard. To find a way in so that you could find and figure out all the locked-up secrets that belong to the kingdom of Hyrule. Ending up as princess Zelda’s guard was an absolute bonus to your mission, but the objective still stayed the same. Get the info needed to destroy all who stand in your way. Get in undetected. Get out unnoticed. Though leaving with a captured or killed princess would be fine too…unfortunately for you….

  Either way, that meant that you didn’t have to entertain her or become her friend. That meant that you didn’t have to listen to her late-night rates of frustration, let her confide in you all her fears and her worries, or any of that. Hell, you didn’t even have to help her look for frogs and catch her from a fall that will at worst leave her with a bruise or two. You just had to be her bodyguard. That was it.

  On the other hand? You want to do this. 

  You do. Even though your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. Even though you feel more nervous at this moment than you do in battle or during a stealth mission. Even though it literally goes against everything you were raised and told to do. You want to do this. Because by doing things like this for her? 

  “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you so much!”

  You get to become closer to her. You get to see her smiles- the happy ones and the much more timid ones. You get to hug her when she’s feeling down. And pass on a little piece of wisdom that you’ve learned while growing up in a completely different world from her own.

  But most of all?

  “Of course Princess!” 

  You get to be close to her. Not just because of a mission. Not just because of orders.

  “ I’d do anything for you.”

  But because you want to.

#zelda x reader #princess zelda x reader #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #princess zelda #breath of the wild #breath of the wild zelda #breath of the wild x reader #tloz breath of the wild #loz breath of the wild #botw x reader #botw #botw zelda #botw fanfic #botw fanfiction #loz x reader #loz fanfic #loz fanfiction #tloz fanfiction #tloz fanfic #tloz x reader #tloz zelda #tloz zelda x reader #loz zelda x reader #loz zelda #x reader #xreader #fanfic #fanfiction

[twst-drabbles]

Ignihyde 5

Summary: You knew your hiking path had a tendency to get foggy but you didn’t expect it to obscure your vision. Well, at least Idia and Ortho knew the way home. Their light can help guide you.

There are many stories you’ve heard relating to fog. Of how when it sweeps in as sudden as a lightening, you’ll be taken away to strange lands once it goes. Of how this fog was actually the breath of a monster escaping its maw as it wakes from its slumber. Or even how this was the work of malicious will-’o-the-wisps hoping to obscure your steps and have you trip into the river.

You really don’t believe in any of those stories, even less so when they were told from the lips of Crowley. Seriously, you get lost in the fog one time and suddenly he has to make sure you fear the too-thick fog settling around you.

Though he wasn’t kidding about how quick it comes. Thirty minutes ago, you could see the birds flying to distant trees to rest. Now, you can’t even see the river that you know is right next to you. The sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

And yet, you still had to have the combined powers of Idia and Ortho tugging at your collar cause you forgot about the weird curve that jutted out of the river.

“Ugh,” you rubbed at your neck, “Thanks, you two.”

Poor Idia though, your weight was too much for him. Already he’s breathing heavily as he floats in front of your eyes. Ortho, on the other hand, still had enough energy to worry over you, flitting around your head before pressing against your left temple, as though you might suddenly veer to the side to fall into the river.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you nudged Ortho away, “Come on. We have to get home before Crowley blows his lid.”

The flames of Ortho’s hair flickered with his nerves. Idia, on the other hand, looked brighter than ever. Tired he may be, there was a smugness to his stance, his shoulders pulled back a bit, chin just a little higher, as though he was in his element.

Well, considering where these creatures tend to reside, Idia is in his element, and now he has the opportunity to show it off. Will-o’-the-wisps, no matter how thick the fog, are somehow always able to navigate through it with the greatest of ease.

“Well, lead the way,” you gestured to Idia, giving him full permission to take the lead.

A light crackle snapped from him, clapping his hands before flying on ahead. When he felt he went just a bit too far, Idia lagged behind. He’s a little too enthusiastic but you won’t shame him for it. You still have Ortho there to keep you company.

As soon as you get home, and give them some toys to enjoy, you’re taking a nap.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #ignihyde #idia #idia shroud #ortho #ortho shroud #house pet au #reader insert

[vixendoesstuff]

I haven't completed any new art concepts for the Techno!Branch AU yet, but I got some notes on how Branch ended up with the Pop Trolls.

So as I've mentioned before, his egg is somehow found on the Troll Tree, even though there was no river or any water source for it to be washed up on.

And according to this map, the nearest water source to Bergen Town is on the west, and the Techno Reef is on the north or northeast. So here's what I've come up with;

When Branch was still an egg, there was a massive storm on Techno Reef that caused the waves to go out of control. I'd wager it spread onto the other kingdoms nearby like Volcano Rock City, but it's not enough of a concern for them as it is for the Techno Trolls.

The currents underwater was going wild, and amidst the chaos, Branch's egg was somehow swept away. Whoever's in charge at the time probably wouldn't notice an egg going astray, too focused on getting the rest of the Trolls to safety from the storm.

Soon the egg was washed ashore on a random beach north to Bergen Town. How did it end up there?

I don't know, maybe it went through an adventure Disney's Dinosaurs style if any of y'all watched the movie (something like this : https://youtu.be/xeMV6gQto_s?si=kteSk28Q9lsG6ElS)

It's a kids series, anything can happen.

Anyway, the egg then ended up carried into Bergen Town, either by an unsuspecting Bergen just messing with a little ball thing he found on the edge of town and decide to throw it into the Troll Tree, or we can do a Cooper and have some bird drop it into the Tree.

Either way his egg ended up on the Tree regardless, nestled neatly on the base of the Tree, no crack in sight.

How that happened, I don't know, maybe Techno Troll eggs are resilient to attacks lol

The egg was then found by either John Dory or Grandma Rosiepuff (I'm betting on JD, though) and was brought back to their home 'cause maybe they thought it was a random Pop Troll egg that got lost and they didn't pay close attention to it.

It was only when the egg is in the house that they realized that this isn't a normal Troll egg.

Now I don't know for sure what Techno Troll eggs look like. The ones we've see onscreen are one for the Glitter Trolls (who are a part of Pop, so we can assume most Pop Troll eggs look like the ones shown), the Country Trolls, and the Funk Trolls. Best official reference I could find of the eggs is from this image; the one on the far left is, presumably, the Techno egg through its design alone.

If I didn't know any better, this is probably the official design for the Troll eggs. My initial headcanon is that Techno Troll eggs are more spherical in shape and has the same consistency of a goldfish egg.

But for the sake of simplicity, let's say the image above is the official egg design and leave it at that; the only thing important to note is that the eggs look different for each tribe.

Anyway, the bros realized the egg isn't normal, and it wasn't long until it started to shake, to their dawning horror.

The final eggshell fell off, and out came baby Branch in all his Techno glory.

And that's that! I'll be making more notes and headcanons in the future, but for now this is what I got so far.

#trolls #branch trolls #techno!branch au #techno trolls

[disasterofastory]

Next to the river (Tommy Miller x Reader)

Next to the river Tommy Miller x Reader Warnings: smut

Summary: Tommy finds you bathing in the river.

Tommy can never know what waits for him outside the safety of Jackson. Clickers. Bloaters. Bandits. The list goes on, but he is ready for everything. Nothing can surprise him anymore. Not after he started the end of the world by going to work with his brother and ended it watching his niece dying in Joel's arms.

Well, nothing can surprise him anymore except you.

Your naked form in the cold river is a shock to his system. You seem small and fragile in the distance. Your wet skin shines under the weak sunlight filtering through the bare branches above your head. Your breath leaves your lips in white puffs. Tommy doesn't understand what made you go into the river this cold. It's freezing. A few more minutes and you will turn into an icicle, he is sure of it.

Silly girl, he thinks, what are you doing here all alone?

He moves closer without noticing. His body moves on its own. Dry leaves and twigs crunch under his steps. His fingers around the rifle tighten. It's against his chest. The metal is cold under his fingertips. His eyes wander to your clothes on the ground not far from you before scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger. Maybe you are not alone. There is no way you are alone. Maybe it's a trap. A pretty little thing like you can draw any man into their death. But he doesn't see anything suspicious. The forest is quiet and calm. Birds chirp in the distance, and something, maybe a squirrel, jumps from branch to branch above his head.

His gaze falls back on you, and the air gets stuck in his lungs at the view of you this close. Small droplets of water run down your skin, following the slope of your collarbone and breasts. Your nipples are hard peaks that make him excited and ashamed at the same time.

God, his mama would tear his head off to shove it into his arse, and he would deserve it. How low does he have to be to spy on a defenseless woman? Joel would kick his ass too. And despite these thoughts, he still stares at you.

A frown deepens between his brows, but he can't tear his eyes away from you. Tommy's palms tingle around the rifle at the view of the curve of your hips. His attention lands on a small droplet of water, running down your stomach, disappearing in the curls between your legs. "Oh, god," Tommy groans. His voice is breathless. He lowers his eyes to the ground for a second before looking up at you again with growing guilt in the pit of his stomach. Your thighs seem plushy in the distance. He doesn't even remember the last time he saw something as soft as you, let alone felt it.

Commanding his legs to move, Tommy finds his way down to the bank of the river. He makes sure you can hear him coming before he appears from behind the trees. The man doesn't want you to get scared. He wants a lot of things, but hurting you is not one of them.

Your eyes are already on him when he dares to look at you, moving his gaze from the long chains of the mountains at the horizon. You are even more beautiful up close. Your expression is calm and curious.

"Are you alright, Miss?" Tommy breaks the silence after a few stunned seconds. His voice is hoarse and still breathless. He has to fight against every fiber of his body to keep his gaze on your face. A smile pulls on your lips as you nod. "I'm fine," you tell him. You don't move to hide yourself from him. Your arms hang next to your body, relaxed. "You will freeze," he warns you softly. The words are heavy, rolling down his tongue. You shrug, still smiling. "It's fine. I'm fine." "Still," he says, stepping closer. "You should come out." You don't move immediately, and Tommy continues. "I won't hurt you." "I know, Tommy." Your laugh sounds like a melodic song in the cold air. It is almost enough to make the man forget you called him by his name. He frowns. "How do you-" But he can't end his sentence. You start to move out of the water, and his attention skips down to your body without his control. Your bare skin is wet and glints under the lights. Goosebumps run over you when a cold breeze bursts out of the trees.

Tommy gasps. "Here," he says, putting down his weapon to take off his coat. The warm fabric is heavy in his hands. Before he knows it, you are standing in front of him, close enough so he can put his coat over your shoulders. He can feel your breathing on himself. You smell like the river, earth, and something else. Something sweet and mesmerizing. "Thank you," you smile up at him. He waits for you to put your arms through the sleeves, but instead, you reach out for the flannel shirt he wears. Your fingers grip it between the buttons. "You will get cold," he says quietly, watching you the whole time. If he would move a few inches closer, he could feel your body pressing against his front. Just a few inches. "You could warm me up," you tell him, smirking. Your eyes glint with mischief as you glance up at him through your lashes. Tommy doesn't answer immediately. His hands go to the collar of his coat on you, pulling out your wet hair from under the fabric. He lets a lock curl around his finger. "There is a camp nearby…" he breathes out. "You would be warm and safe there." Your hands slip from the front of his shirt to his sides. The space between you disappears. "You are warm too," you tell him. "Yeah?" Tommy hums, giving up the fight against the pull he has felt ever since he saw you. His wide chest molds against yours, his hands smooth down your arms, and his lips find yours. The kiss is wet and soft and careful. You taste like berries and cold water. "Don't," Tommy says against your mouth when you want to shrug off his coat. "You will really get cold." Your giggle vibrates against his lips.

Tommy is still not sure what is happening. His whole body tingles with need, and his mind is dizzy. His senses are full of your closeness, and it's still not enough.

Still kissing you, he takes off his flannel shirt. He jumps when your hands smooth over his sides again. "Your hands are cold," he says, a bit embarrassed. "I'm sorry," you tell him, jerking back your hands from his bare skin. "It's fine," he says with an airy laugh. "Let me…" But when he grabs your fingers, the back of his hand flicks over one of your hard nipples. He can feel the shiver running down your spine. Watching out for your every reaction, he let his hand slip to your breast. A low groan leaves his throat at the pleasant weight against his palm. His thumb draws a teasing circle around the hard pebble. Your back arches to press yourself closer. "Tommy," you gasp out his name. That one word shimmers with impatience. The man frowns for a second. Embarrassment and shame cloud his thoughts. "Wha-what is your name?" "Y/N," you reply, not caring that he kissed and touched you even before he knew your name. "Y/N," he repeats your name softly before leaning down to kiss you again. His hand from your breast moves up to the back of your neck, keeping you in place. He tilts your head to the side, licking into your mouth. The mustache above his lips teases your skin, and the small nibbles and licks bruise your lips until they are red and swollen. Every bite and swirl of his tongue strikes between your legs in waves. Your hands fall to the waistband of his jeans, your fingers snuggle between the rough fabric and his bare skin. Tommy burns where you touch him. "We should…" he murmurs, breaking away from the kiss to look down to the ground. With a last, hot peck, he adjusts his shirt on the ground, feeling embarrassed again. It heats up his cheeks.

He shouldn't do this. Not like this. He doesn't even know you, and now he is ready to have sex with you on his shirt next to the river. It's cold and can be dangerous if he doesn't look out for his surroundings carefully enough. Joel would definitely kick his ass.

In another life, he would take you out on a date. Several of them before even thinking about having sex with you. He would take you to his favorite restaurant; he would invite you out to the cinema and dance; and at the end of the night, when both of you would be standing in front of your home, he would only hope that you would ask him to come in for a coffee.

"It's good," you tell him when you notice the guilt in his expression. His dark brown eyes almost seem sad. "It's fine." And it really is. You want him, and nothing else matters. Not the other life. And definitely not this one. "Tommy," you breathe out his name, hoping for the right reaction. Whatever is happening between you two, you don't want it to end. "I want you."

-

"Are you sure it's okay?" Tommy asks again, looking down at you. "Is it comfortable?" A laugh leaves your lips as you reach up to pull him into another kiss. His hands are next to your shoulders as you lay on his coat. The fabric is soft but not big enough to give you enough space. Wet grass caresses your bare skin as you move. "You think too much," you state, smirking. "I don't want you to think." Tommy is sure you don't have to do much to make him stop. One touch and his thoughts are out of his head, leaving tingling and dizziness behind. His lips move away from yours, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and collarbone until he reaches the valley of your breasts. His tongue is hot on your skin. A giggle escapes your chest when you feel his beard. He smiles at the sweet sound. "It tickles," you tell him, cupping his face for a second before he moves lower, and his lips find your nipple and make you gasp for air. Your arms fall to your sides, gripping the coat under you. Your legs open on their own accord, letting Tommy lean against you some more. His jeans are rough against your sensitive center, and his mouth is hot on your nipple. His tongue flickers over the hard bud, sucking it into his mouth until your back arches and a moan fills the quiet, cold air. You feel nothing else but him. One of his hands smooths down your side, pausing on your hips to squeeze the soft flesh there. He even leaves your breasts to watch the motion. His fingertips dig into your skin, and a smile pulls on his lips. "What?" You ask him. Tommy shakes his head. "It's just… You just feel good." "You feel good too," you tell him, still not really understanding his fascination but letting him enjoy it anyway.

Soon, his attention goes lower, and now it's your turn to be embarrassed even though you know it's silly. You want to close your legs under his heated gaze, but his body stops you from doing it. "I didn't really have the chance to… shave," you explain hoarsely. He laughs, glancing up at you before dropping his gaze back to your wetness. "You are beautiful," he says. Throat tight. "Can I?" You nod. His large hands land on your leg, and his thumb caresses your inner thigh as he moves up to your pussy. The short curls are still wet from bathing in the river, but your lips glint with something else. He is so careful you barely feel him touching you for the first few seconds. "Tommy," you say his name, wanting more. You watch him petting your thighs, teasing your slit, focused. His heart thuds in his throat the whole time. His jeans are rough and uncomfortable around his erection. The fidgeting of his hips doesn't slip through your attention. The corner of your lips jerks. "You can take it off, you know?" He shakes his head. "If I take out my cock, I fuck you," he grunts. The first digit of his finger pushes inside you. The movement is slow and careful. "It doesn't sound like a bad thing," you smirk. Tommy shakes his head again. "I need to get you ready." You think you are ready but don't argue. Another finger joins to the other, and your hips buck to get more. Your mouth falls open with a silent moan.

Tommy still doesn't understand how he can be so lucky. The forest is quiet and peaceful around you, and you are beautiful and so reactive. Everything he does finds an answer in you. Your warm hole squeezes his fingers, your chest trembles with each rapid breath you take. His saliva still shines on your nipple.

"Tommy," you cry, pushing yourself against his fingers. "Please." "It's okay," he says, moving back above you. "It's fine." Your lips meet another kiss. And you swear to god, you missed it. Your fingers bury in the curls of his black hair. His warm breath fans over your neck and chest when breaks away, and you hear the sound of his zipper. Anticipation jumps in your stomach, and your legs open even more. Your whole body shakes with impatience.

Air leaves your lungs when you feel Tommy entering you finally. He is still slow and careful, giving you time to adjust his size. Your pussy stretches around his hot shaft, coating him in your wetness. For long seconds, your whole world narrows down to the feeling of him filling you up and stretching you out.

Tommy doesn't even know what to think or how to react. In a world where everything is ready to kill or infect, being in your arms, feeling your hot pussy squeezing him, you feel like safety and home. Your heart thuds against his chest. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders. Your lips brush over the vein on his neck as you moan at the rocking of his hips.

"You feel so good," Tommy grunts against your skin. "I don't know how to stop." A breathless laugh shakes your shoulders. "Then don't. Never stop, Tommy," you tell him. "Please." His movements get fast and erratic at your words. His hand on your hip tightens. He pounds into your pussy. His cock is coated in your mixed juices. You are warm and tight around him. The wet sound where your body joins fills the air. Your legs curl around his hips, your heels dig onto the firm flesh of his bottom to urge him deeper. "I gonna…" you gasp out. You don't know how to breathe. The hot coil in your stomach takes away your every attention. "Tommy!" "Cum, Y/N," he grunts into your ear. His voice rumbles over your spine. "I want to feel it. I want to feel your pussy cum around my cock. Make it messy, Y/N." "Yesyesyesyes," you chant with an open mouth and closed eyes. Your back leaves the ground again. Your breasts press against his bare chest. Your hard nipples graze the thick plates of his muscles. The cords in his arms flex as he keeps himself above you. There is a cramp in his thighs, but he can't find an ounce of care in himself. White, hot flames burn Tommy's insides as his balls jerk upward, and he moans when your hole closes around his cock some more. Bright, colorful circles dance in front of his eyes. He comes inside you, splattering your walls with his seed.

None of you move for long seconds. Tommy's cock still pulses inside you, and your wall flutters to take everything he gives you. You can feel the mix of your juices dripping down to the ground. "It was…" Tommy gulps, letting himself fall next to you. Both of you groan at the feeling when he pulls himself out of you. More cum slips out of your swollen, sensitive pussy. "Amazing," your smile is bright and satisfied as you look at him. A drop of sweat runs down his temple. "Yeah," he hums. Eyelids are heavy. His arms are still around you. The man wants to say and asks several things at the same time but stays quiet. Your nails run up and down on his arm. None of you feel the cold anymore, and none of you move to dress and leave for more safety.

When Tommy wakes up, you are nowhere.

#tommy miller smut #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller imagine #the last of us smut #the last of us imagine #the last of us x reader

[cleoluvrr]

The Last Days of Summer XVII (Rafe Cameron x Heyward!OC)

Warnings: violence, underage drinking, drug use, verbal abuse, jealousy, forbidden relationship, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, gaslighting + manipulation

Synopsis: Stuck in a situation she never dreamed of, Neriah Heyward blurs the line between Kook and Pogue; Rafe Cameron a witness.

masterlist

word count: 3.2k+

↠━ღ◆ღ━↞

I don’t remember falling asleep, and I definitely don’t remember being embraced by the smell of fresh linen fabric softener. 

The feeling of soft duvet weighed heavy on my body, the bright light of the sun forcing itself through my closed eyelids as the sound of birds chirping filled my barely conscious ears. It would almost lull me back to sleep if I didn’t immediately remember what happened the day before.

Shooting up in the soft bed, I throw the blanket off me and fly off the mattress. I still wore the same clothes I was brought here in, the smell of the ocean and sweat radiating off my body in waves. I smelt like I was in a boat and I needed a shower. Bad.

I walk towards the door leading out of the simple, all white room I had been stuck in, hand reaching out to try the door handle. To my surprise it was unlocked and opened up silently to reveal the hallway outside. On the left side of the hall was a balcony overlooking what I assume is the living room and on the right side is a wall of windows. I stepped out further into the hall, my bare feet softly padding against the floor as I creeped out of the room.

I hear voices coming from the area below, both of them feminine. Peeking over the railing, I spot Wheezie and Rose sitting on a couch in the very open living room. I yank my head back, not wanting either of them to see me. 

My feet carry me down the stairs silently, body on edge as I listen for any signs of Rafe being around. My head is on a swivel as when I reach the bottom of the stairs, cautious of my surroundings.  

Rose’s voice in my ears makes me grit my teeth in annoyance. It’s no wonder none of her step children like her.

My hand pushes open the back door of the house quietly as I step out onto the newly discovered patio. The wood flooring is warm against my bare soles from the beaming sun, but the ocean breeze is cool against my skin in contrast. The patio overlooks a bright blue chlorine pool and the expansive green of the backyard. One side of the house is hidden by trees, a forest of palm branches seemingly endless as they hang over the roof and cast a shadow over the pool. 

I walk towards the railing of the side porch, arms resting against the white painted wood as I stare out at the acres of empty land in front of me. It was very scenic, a house right next to the shore with a big, open yard. You would never think I’m being held hostage by its owners.

My eyes fall to the road in the front of the house, the only possible escape route I have. I make no moves towards the pavement despite it being so close. I have no shoes, no idea where I am, don’t speak french, and I’m sure Rafe is somewhere close enough to catch me before I get too far.

“Goodmorning.” I hear a dreaded voice speak. My lips purse, my short-lived peace disturbed by the last person I wanted to be around.

I release a heavy sigh as he approaches, head dropping in defeat. I don’t turn around to face him although I feel the heat of radiating against my bag, the smell of his cologne filling my nose and masking the smell of sweat and old furniture that has sunken into my clothes. 

I say nothing in return, my mouth far too dry to form words. 

“You were asleep for two days, y’know.” Rafe says. “You really had us worried. Had me worried.” 

I don’t react outwardly, though I feel my eyes widen slightly at his words. 

I was asleep for two days? I've been wearing these clothes for four days? Rafe and his family were doing God knows what for two days while I had no idea what was happening around me? I don’t even remember being that tired, especially since I was asleep for an unknown amount of time after Rose dosed my tea. 

I don’t resist when Rafe wraps his arms around my body in a tight embrace. I don’t flinch when he kisses the top of my head, or my cheek, or my shoulder. The position feels familiar to me; like when we were on the ship and he ripped me away from my freedom.

“I’m sorry…” He mumbles into my shoulder, the sound muffled by the skin. My jacket is long gone, not that I remember taking that off either. “I’m sorry for hurting you, but I had no choice.”

I scoffed and shoved him off of me, spinning around to finally face him. 

“Come on, don’t be like that.” He says lowly.

The blonde looks as handsome as ever, expression soft as he watches me with sad, blue eyes. He looks fresh out of the shower, hair still damp and stringy as it hangs against his forehead. In his usual dress of khaki shorts and a casual light blue polo, it reminded me of the old him. 

The Rafe that I would banter with, the Rafe that I grew to care about. The one that I trusted.

“You had a choice, Rafe.” I reply sharply, tongue heavy in my mouth with dehydration. “You had a choice, and you made it.” 

“You..you think I wanted to make that choice?” His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, eyes wide as he questions me. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if you would just listen to me!”

I scoffed at him, eyes rolling as he placed the blame on me instead of on himself. 

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” My arms fold across my chest firmly, irritation riddling my voice the longer he stands here in front of me.

“I didn’t say it’s your fault. I didn’t say that, so don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“Do I need to remind you that I don’t need to listen to you? I’m a grown woman, you don’t get to tell me what I do.” I smack his hand away when he reaches for my arm. “You especially don’t get to rip me away from my home, shove me on a boat, and drag me to an island with you and your weird ass family.”

“And yet, here we are!” Rafe exclaims in a huff of humorless laughter, arms thrown up in the air as if he can’t understand why I’m upset.

I move forward to go back to the room I woke up in, shoving past Rafe with my shoulder. He follows close after me, feet heavy as they slap against the wooden panels of the patio. 

He calls my name repeatedly as he follows me back into the house, his voice distant in my ears despite our proximity to each other. Rose and Wheezie watch as he stomps up the stairs after me, conversation interrupted by his temper tantrum.

“Neriah!” He calls out again.

I continue to ignore him, pushing open the door to the white room I was in earlier. He follows me in and slams the door behind him, lock clicking before continuing on. I sit down on the disheveled bed and watch Rafe closely as he takes a few steps towards my seated figure.

“You can’t ignore me forever.” He states with arms crossed against his chest, posture mirroring my own.

“You can’t expect me to willingly talk to you.” I reply back, completely unamused by his refusal to understand my reluctance to converse with him. 

“I said I was sorry, Neriah! What else do you want from me?”

“I want you to take me the hell home!” I yell frustratedly. My patience had run out long ago and I was tempted to start swinging at the boy standing before me. “I want you to take me home, that’s literally all I ask of you.”

Rafe groans loudly and throws his head back in frustration. He begins walking again, this time to the other side of the room and back. His brooding figure paces back and forth in front of me silently as he thinks of his next sentence. 

He looks more stressed and anxious than he usually does, shoulders tense and face drawn together tightly. Each time he turns to walk back towards me, his eyes study my form wordlessly. 

“I can’t do that.” He says finally, abruptly pausing his pacing. He looks down at me with pursed lips, head shaking side to side in refusal. “I can’t do that, it’s not safe.”

“What do you mean it’s not safe? My family is probably worried sick-”

“Not safe for me. For my family.” Rafe interrupts. His tongue pokes out for a split second to wet his lips, the pink muscle catching my attention for the briefest moment before my gaze returns to his.

I pull my eyebrows together in confusion. What does that have to do with me?

“Didn’t you just say I’m a part of your family now? What happened to that?” He shakes his head at me as soon as the words leave my mouth.

“I want you to be, I do. Your name would be even more beautiful with Cameron at the end. But you know too much.” He continues to explain, voice shaking with anxiety. “You know my dad is alive, you know where we are. I can’t let you go back.”

“Rafe-”

“No! No!” He shouts, his long index finger pointing at my face. I notice the family ring on his hand, the one that his father normally wore. “No. I have to protect my family. I promised dad that I would, so I will. If that means I have to keep you here, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

I smack his hand out of my face and push myself off the bed, placing myself directly in front of him. 

“What does me going home have to do with your family, Rafe?” I ask loudly, voice raising to match his volume. “I want to go home to my family, I couldn’t give a fuck about yours.”

Taking a deep breath, I walk to the opposite side of the room. I take in everything about it that I didn’t before, the simple beach painting hanging from one of the walls, the glass doors leading to a balcony overlooking the side of the house, the large, white dresser pushed up against the wall.

I walked towards a medium sized vanity in the corner, eying my disheveled appearance in the reflective glass of the mirror.

Rafe follows me again, proving him incapable of giving me any personal space. We stare at each other in the mirror, the state of our beings the complete opposite. 

Reluctantly, I pull my eyes away from the depths of his and look around the room in search of my belongings. I couldn’t stand looking less presentable for much longer.

I leave him alone by the mirror and walk towards the plain white door in the corner. My assumption was proven correct after yanking it open to reveal a decently sized walk-in closet. The right side of the closet held Rafe’s belongings, his down sized wardrobe lining the rack and drawers on his side. The opposite side was completely empty, save for the few bags that I packed to spend the weekend at Tannyhill.

“I didn’t want to cross any boundaries, so I left your stuff for you to unpack.” He says from the other side of the room. I almost laugh at the absurdity of his statement.

“How considerate of you.” I sneer at him, shutting the closet door after dragging the bag carrying my clothes out of the storage space. “I think we are far past the point of broken boundaries. Don’t you?”

I throw the bag atop the bed and roughly pull at the zipper to reveal my fresh clothes. The smell of my room back at Kildare hits my nose immediately.

“Rafe…” I sigh, body spinning around to face him. I didn’t hear him move from his spot by the vanity, but I felt the body heat that revealed his presence behind me for a third time. “I won’t tell anyone that I was here. I’ll just say that I needed some space and went to the mainland for a few days, no one has to know what happened.”

He releases a deep exhale and shakes his head at me, once again denying my request. His blue eyes wander over my face for a long moment before he speaks, taking in the grief that weighs down my features.

“I don’t trust you.” He says. My head jerks back in offense, a sound of disapproval leaving my throat at his words.

“You don’t trust me? That’s very fucking ironic, Rafe.” I laugh out loud harshly, the sarcasm of it made obvious through my otherwise stoic features. “Comedic, even.”

“No, I don’t trust you.” Rafe looks unamused by my theatrics, head tilting to the side in annoyance as he listens to my dry laughter. “I don’t trust you to go back there and keep your mouth shut about the shit you’ve seen. How do I know you won’t go running that pretty little mouth to the first sheriff you see, huh? What are you gonna tell your parents?”

“I already told you I’m not going to tell anybody? What reason do I have to lie about that?”

He closes his eyes and rests his hands on his forehead, fingers working to flatten out the stress wrinkles between his brows. His tongue pokes out of the confines of his mouth again, the moisture on his lips shining in the sunlight shining through the windows.

“You’re too unpredictable. You don’t trust me, so I definitely don’t trust you to not say a word.” Rafe’s voice is flat as he speaks, eyes still shut and lightly fluttering involuntarily. 

“I have every reason not to trust you, Rafe! Have you lost your fucking mind?” I’m sure Rose and Wheezie can hear everything I’m saying, my voice echoing off the walls of the house as I yelled at the blonde in front of me.

“Do you think I’m stupid? You think I really believe you’re just gonna act like nothing happened?” Rafe asks rhetorically. “I don’t trust you, so you aren’t leaving my sight. Especially not when those Pogues could be anywhere right now.”

“They could be fucking dead right now, Rafe.”

“Is that supposed to be such a bad thing?” He says. I looked at him in bewilderment, not sure if I correctly heard what just escaped his lips. “Less problems for us if they’re gone.”

“My brother could be dead, Rafe! Your sister could be fucking dead and that’s what you have to say?” Rage engulfs my entire body, stomach turning at his blatant dismissal of such a serious topic.

“My dad could be dead right now too, Neriah!” He says in the same tone as me. I almost flinch at the base in his voice, the sound unfamiliar to me. “My dad could be dead, in fact, he almost died because John B tried to kill him. He’s in a coma because your little pogue brother and his friends don’t know how to butt out.”

I swallow dryly, tongue heavy in my mouth. Ward’s in a coma? Is that why Rafe is wearing his ring? 

“So I’m supposed to do, what? Stay here with you forever?” My eyebrows are drawn together tightly as I question him. “I’m supposed to pretend there’s not a bunch of kids out there that could be dead or lost at sea?”

Rafe shrugs his shoulders in response, his body language showing that he couldn’t care any less if they lived or died. His behavior made my stomach turn in anger, my dropped jaw turning into a sneer of disgust. 

The blonde rolls his eyes at my display once again as if he was the one that should be annoyed right now. He huffs out a breath of air, lips smacking together loudly.

“What I’m worried about right now is protecting my dad. My—my family.” He says finally after an awkward pause on my end. He points towards the door at his father on the other side, the mad hidden away somewhere in this house. “I don’t give a damn about Sarah because she doesn’t give a damn about us. Don’t you get that? She would leave our own dad to die to go be a street rat with her boyfriend. I’m sorry about your brother, but he was just collateral damage.”

“Collateral damage?” 

“Yes, collateral damage.” He continues on immediately, not eleven giving me the chance to finish speaking. “I have bigger shit to worry about right now than a bunch of Pogues and my sellout sister, okay? I’m the man of the family until my dad wakes up, if he wakes up, so excuse me for not caring about some—some miniscule outside shit that doesn’t matter in the long run.”

I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from cursing at him, the pain preferable to saying something I shouldn’t while stuck on a remote island with a man that has clearly lost his mind. Rafe’s eyes fall to the soft flesh stuck between my teeth and he sucks in a deep breath.

I release the chapped skin from the prison of my teeth and drop my eyes to the floor.

“Get the hell out.” I say shortly. He looks like he wants to laugh at me, the slight smirk on his face only managing to piss me off even more. “Get the hell out of my room, Rafe.”

“Your room?” He points at the closet containing both of our things before looking back at me. “This is our room. I don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Fine! I’ll leave then.” He grabs my arm before I get a chance to take more than three steps around him. 

His fingers dig into my flesh painfully and I wince, his grip not wavering as I attempt to pull away from his steel grip. 

“Rafe, let me go. I’m not going to ask you again.”

“You can be mad at me all you want, I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything.” He says.

I stumble a bit as he pulls me closer to him, his face only inches away from mine. His breath is minty against my face and the scent of his cologne fills my nose, the familiarity of it leading my mind to wander to brief memories of our moments of closeness back home.

“I need to make sure my family is safe, and it may not seem like it, but everything I do is to keep you safe too.” Rafe leans and plants a soft kiss to my cheek, right next to my lips. My eye twitches at the contact, but I make no other movement. “It’ll all work out in the end, I promise.”

He releases me finally, my arm surely bruised once again from his less than gentle handling. Walking to the other side of the bed, he sits down and digs in his pocket to reveal a new phone that I’ve never seen.

Gritting my teeth together, I grab a change of clothes out of my suitcase on the bed before entering the open door of the ensuite bathroom. 

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #obx1 #obx2 #outer banks #rafe cameron x kook!reader #rafe cameron x oc #obx fanfiction #obx3 #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks fanfiction #pope heyward

[johaerys-writes]

As Fate Would Have It

Patrochilles | Omegaverse | E | Ch. 7

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

The journey to Pelion lasts for the better part of the day. They make their way through narrow, serpentine paths winding through dense forested land, twittering birds and bubbling streams accompanying them as they ride higher and higher up the mountain. Chiron leads them at a gentle, even pace that’s easy on the horses, and talks to them about the trees, herbs, animals and mountains they pass by. 

This is sage, the first shrub to bloom this season. The leaves are used to manage pain and inflammation in the body; the flowers make a lovely tea. 

Great horned owls live in dense populations here, and they often lay their eggs in the fall; you must be careful not to hunt them when they’re rearing their young. 

Do you see this wide rock, up there on the hillside? Pan is known to come and rest there from time to time. I would avoid it, if I were you. 

“I’ll be sure to,” Patroclus mutters under his breath. His brush with the divine has been nothing short of testing so far; he doesn’t exactly want to push his luck further. 

The clean, fresh scent of the mountain greets them as they approach the glade where Chiron’s cave lies, late in the evening. Its mouth is covered by thick leather panels, no doubt meant to keep the cold at bay. Even though in Phthia it is still very much summer, Patroclus can feel the change of the temperature that comes with the altitude. His skin prickles at a chill, sharp breeze, and he wishes he had taken a cloak with him before he dashed out of the palace like a man possessed. 

“Leave the horses there,” Chiron tells them, gesturing at a covered alcove in the stone that has been turned into a pen of sorts. “There is grass for them to graze on, and plenty of shade for when day breaks again.”

Patroclus guides the horses there, his and Achilles’ both, as Achilles stretches his legs and his arms after the long ride. It is a beautiful place, quiet and serene, and so very green. Pine needles and acorns crunch under his feet as he walks. After so many years in the lowlands, it is strange not to hear the murmur of the waves or smell the sharp scent of the sea with every gust of wind. 

Achilles is waiting for him by the entrance of the cave; they make their way inside together, their heads turning this way and that to take everything in. There is a big fire already burning in the middle of the large, circular room, bathing the space in vibrant warmth. There are tools of all kinds covering the entirety of one wall of the cave, while the other is lined with amphorae, crates, boxes, vials and clay bowls filled with strange powders and dried herbs of  all kinds. Achilles’ nostrils flare as he inhales, eyes wide with curiosity, and Patroclus can’t say that he can’t relate; his own keen nose has been practically assaulted by all the different kinds of smells that can be found in this room, from the sweet tang of stum to the musky odour of dried mushrooms, to the floral scent of fresh blooms, cut and left to dry on the wide worktable. It’s like a workshop or a laboratory of sorts, and Patroclus is more than a little curious about what the centaur busies himself with here. 

“Come,” he tells them, “sit by the fire. There is food and drink aplenty; I think you might need it.” 

They both sit down on the furs in front of the fire and accept the warm wine that Chiron offers them, as well as the strange porridge of coarse wheat and sour milk, sprinkled with goat’s cheese as soon as he takes it off the fire and serves it into bowls. Patroclus has never had anything like this before, but it’s quite delicious and very warming. He hungrily wolfs down his share, and gladly accepts the second helping Chiron generously ladles into his bowl. Achilles is reluctant to try it; he sniffs at it cautiously, brows drawn in a curious frown. 

“Is there any fish in it?” he asks. 

“Not a trace,” Chiron answers, amused. “Being this far up, fish aren't as easy to come by here. Unless you’re prepared to go fishing at the river everyday, I’d suggest you get used to different kinds of food.” 

Achilles’ frown deepens. He brings a small spoonful to his mouth, chewing very slowly. Then, his features twist in an expression of faint disgust. 

“How far away is the river?” he asks, a little choked, before he downs his wine. 

The centaur smiles widely; his teeth are perfect rows of white teeth, stark against his dark skin and darker beard. “I’ll take you both there first thing in the morning,” he says, then offers Achilles a few strips of what looks like smoked brown trout. 

They talk while they eat, Patroclus and Achilles giving the centaur a detailed rundown of all events in Phthia and beyond. Though he lives in such a quiet and secluded place, he seems to have a fairly good grasp of everything that’s happening in Greece and beyond, of the doings of both men and of gods, yet he still listens with avid interest as they both relay to him the news, important and mundane. 

After dinner, Achilles asks to play one of the lyres that are hanging off of the cave wall; he plays for them, the crystal clear notes filling the space with sweetness. When the fire is reduced to embers, and Achilles’ fingers slow on the lyre strings, Chiron pushes himself up on his large hooves. 

“It is late, and you are both weary. There is much to do tomorrow; I suggest you take some rest.”

He leads them to another room, adjacent to the larger one, connected to it by a brief passage in the stone. There is a table in one corner, and a small basin filled with clear water in the other, a bundle of furs next to it. It is small and quite bare but Patroclus couldn't be asking more from a room he is, presumably, only going to use to sleep in.

There is just one small problem: there is only one pallet in the room.

Read on AO3!

#patrochilles #patroclus #achilles #the song of achilles #tsoa #hades game #the iliad #homer's iliad #omegaverse #johaerys writes