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slashbitch2 · 1 year

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blood, betrayal and granola bars PT2

part one Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader W.C: 7.9k Words

The following day you both walked with a renewed energy, snacking on berries that Natalie scavenged and sharing out painkillers from the first aid kit. With the forest sloping downwards, some of the pressure was eased from your aching feet, while the thick snow that invaded your boots thinned out. Still, several times you slipped on the icy surface. Several times Nat laughed at you.

Eventually you reached a river running through the valley, which was flowing beyond its banks, having only recently thawed from the freeze. The water was deeper than usual and moving too fast to swim through. It was the first real obstacle you had encountered on the journey, and yet while Natalie only saw it as something to overcome, you saw opportunity…

“There is no way that’s going to work.” The redhead called down to you. She was sat further away, watching amusedly as you approached the bank. “And if you fall in, I’m not going to save you.”

You grasped securely onto the stick you had found and sharpened with a piece of flint. A rudimentary tool, but one you were proud of assembling. “So, you’ll save me from a bomb but not a river?"

“Not when that river is a series of freezing cold rapids.”

Upstream there was a rock jutting out, impeding the water around it. You decided to head towards it. “Haven’t you ever been to a theme park? The river rapid rides are always the best!” You called back to her.

“Actually, no.”

Momentarily distracted from the task at hand, you turned back to Nat, mouth agape. “You’ve been in America long enough to develop an accent, but not to go to a theme park?”

She shook her head. “In case you haven’t noticed, I live a rather busy life.”

“What? Does SHIELD not give you paid holiday?” Throughout the duration of your time together, you hadn’t really acknowledged each other’s opposing profession, let alone bring it up in conversation.

But it didn’t seem to deter Nat. “And HYDRA does?”

“Actually…” Reluctantly, you tore your gaze away from her, raising the sharpened stick above your head. “Paid days off and health insurance. It’s not a bad deal.”

“In return for what? Committing countless assassinations, orchestrating the great conflicts of the world…”

“That’s not all that different from SHIELD.”

She huffed and paused for a second before speaking. “Maybe not. But as you said, at least SHIELD wasn’t founded on Nazi ideology.”

“Please, HYDRA came from SHIELD. It’s been there from the start- Besides, it’s not like we idealise that side of history.”

“Anymore.”

You glanced back at Natalie and saw the gleam in her eyes. You took a breath, shaking off the mild irritation that had risen within you during the debate, and focused back on your hunt.

A flash of silver swam by, disturbing the riverbed around it. The water clouded for a few seconds as you scanned the space for another glimpse of the fish, then threw the makeshift spear. Nothing. You could already picture Nat saying, “I told you so.”

You bent down to retrieve the spear before it was carried away by the current, the edge of your clothes getting soaked in the process. You shivered, clenching your jaw and trying to ignore the chill that suffused across your entire body.

Another splash of water, you threw the spear again. This time, instead of dirt from the riverbed clouding the water, red liquid did. You pulled the wooden stick out from the river, seeing a fish lodged on the sharp end of it.

“Told you so.” You said smugly,

Natalie was already looking at you, a mix of surprise and impressed. An inexplicable heat rose to your cheeks. Beyond just feeling proud of yourself, you found you enjoyed the way she gazed at you. If you were to ignore the circumstances, the continuous pain inflicting some part of your body and the general state of exhaustion, you couldn’t help but admit that you were enjoying your time with her.

Part of you longed to voice this thought. But instead, you opted to say, “I think it’s your turn to light a fire.”

Unfortunately, your clothes didn’t dry off until the end of the day. You had found a shallower section of the river to cross, yet that didn’t stop the bottom half of you to remain soaking wet. Although being at a lower altitude meant the snow had all but melted away, it did nothing to lessen the cold breeze which ate away at your energy, nor stop snow from lightly falling all around you.

The flakes were just beginning to settle on the ground as the sun started to set. By this point, you were ready to collapse quite literally anywhere when Nat pointed off into the distance.

“There!” She exclaimed. As much as you tried to focus in on where she was pointing, all you saw was a mound of rock sticking out of the forest floor. “Cave.”

Stifling a laugh at her inarticulate explanation, you squinted off into the distance yet were unable to see anything. “I know the last couple days have been tiring, but I still expected you to have more eloquence than a caveman…”

She rolled her eyes at you then began marching over.

You trailed after her, mockingly saying, “Cave- ug. Go.”

But for all you mocked her, there was a section of carved out rock, providing the perfect shelter as the sunset clouded over with the promise of more snow. After a quick once over to confirm no other creatures resided inside, you began to set up for the night. On this occasion, you had a fire lit in no time, both huddling round it and sharing out the food you had gathered throughout the day.

The wind howled outside, whistling through the cave entrance. You couldn’t decide whether it was an eerily beautiful, or unsettling sound. The one thing you were certain of, however, was how thankful you were to have come across shelter. Endless light flurries of snow were being carried by gusts of winds, and you knew that despite their weightless appearance, the impact would sting against your skin like knives.

Shaking off that particular idea, you turned back to the fire, eyes scanning over the orange glow which illuminated every crack and crevice of the rock walls. Your gaze then fell to Natalie, who seemed lost in thought. You took the opportunity to trace over the defined lines of her profile, the strands of red hair that had come loose around her face and the mesmerising green of her eyes.

Despite having been surrounded by greenery the last couple days, you were able to admire the depth of their colour anew, as though you had never seen green meadows or fern forests before. And you were certain that should you never see any natural greenery again, the colour of her irises would be sufficient to replace it.

Suddenly, Nat was looking back at you. She licked her lips. Your eyes traced the subtle movement. Usually, holding her attention made you tense, but not in this case. Not when she was looking at you so openly, so hesitant yet curious. She stared at you as though you were a comforting presence amongst all of this. As though she were savouring something inevitable that was growing between you. Something you didn’t dare to name.

You tore your gaze back to the fire and cleared your throat, your mind racing for something to say.

“I’d kill for literally anything other than berries.” You complained, ending the silence between you.

In comparison to the fish that you had caught and cooked earlier, which was anything but gourmet, the berries tasted like flavourless mush.

“Sure, I’ll just get out Uber-Eats and we’ll see what’s available.” Natalie said sarcastically, pulling her knees to her chest.

You noticed she was shivering and couldn’t help but soften at the sight.

“Do you want my jacket?”

Natalie glanced at the sand-coloured jacket you were currently wearing. It had already acquired several stains, which wasn’t a surprise seeing as you hadn’t taken it off once. Except for now, when you slowly slipped it off your shoulders, down your arms and held it out to her.

“What’s the catch?” She asked, suspiciously eyeing up the kind gesture.

You smirked. She already knew you too well.

“Your real name.” You replied simply.

Nat considered the trade for a second, then grabbed the jacket from you and pulled it on. She sat silent for a beat but kept her promise. “It’s Natasha.”

“Natasha?” You repeated. “Wow. Real creative secret alias. I never would’ve guessed.” You couldn’t help but laugh at her, the difference between her real and fake name being so minimal that it hardly mattered.

“Shut up.” Natasha leant back, a grin playing across her lips.

“What about your surname then? You persuaded, eager to use your generous moral high ground to find out as much about the enigmatic SHIELD agent as possible.

“Oh no, now that wasn’t part of the deal.” She raised an eyebrow cockily, though you could tell her words were sincere.

“Why? Is it topic secret knowledge?” You teased. “If you tell me then you’ll have to kill me?”

“Something like that.”

“Well now I’m only more curious.” As much as you wanted to know, something in her resigned posture and pleading expression persuaded you not to push the subject any further. “But save that piece of information for another day. I need some kind of motivation to keep going.”

You stood up, turning your back to Natasha and the fire to retrieve the first aid kit from your backpack. At multiple intervals during the day, you made sure to change the makeshift bandages and plasters covering your body in some attempt at keeping everything hygienic.

“Let me do that.” Natasha offered upon seeing what you were doing.

You looked over at her, surprised to find you weren’t suspicious in the slightest of her intentions. Despite the fact that you ought to be enemies, entirely distrustful of one another, you trusted Natasha with every bone in your body. Over the last couple days, a mix of necessity and basic empathy had sparked an unexpected alliance between the two of you.

No, not alliance. Friendship. Respect. Enjoyment of each other’s company. And you were certain Nat felt it too, and so allowed her to gently take the first aid kit from your hands.

You smiled at her gratefully, aware that your eyes likely conveyed a lot more than just that and sat back down in front of the fire. She crouched down behind you, hands lightly roaming over your combat suit and assessing where the darker stains of blood were. You flinched at the contact, then relaxed into her open palm.

“It’s just the cut on my upper back and the one along my forehead I’ve been treating.” You explained.

“Are you sure? There’s a rather nasty one down here as well.” She poked a finger into your side to prove a point, causing you to jerk away from the sudden sharp pain.

You hissed through your teeth as the pain subsided. “Yep. Gotta ration supplies.” Then tugged down the top of your suit to draw her attention back to the main injury.

“Alright, hold still.” She set to work unwrapping the bandage you had crudely looped round your shoulder and arm. “This part might sting a bit.” She warned, preparing the antiseptic.

You grimaced, assuming she was going to be much more thorough with the treatment than you had been.” Just get it over with.”

Natasha began delicately cleaning the cut, putting more consideration into the work then you had expected.

“You’ve clearly done this before.” You commented as she started rewrapping the bandage in record time.

“And you haven’t?” She stood up to check, or rather admire, how much better the gauze was looking, then moved to sit in front of you and begin work on the gash along your forehead.

“Fair point.” You conceded, averting your gaze anywhere except Natasha. “But still, I’m glad it’s you out here with me.”

You risked a glance back to Nat. She was close. Closer than you had ever been to her before. If you shifted forwards even just an inch, your lips would brush. You could close the gap so easily. You could bring her impossibly closer. You could-

“Is that gratitude I’m hearing?” She smirked. Her voice was low and raspy, her gaze darting all over your face. Beyond the smirk, a newfound hope was etched into her expression, which only softened further as your eyes met, lessening the distance between you even more.

“Maybe.”

Natasha’s smirk only grew as her head titled down slightly. For a second, you thought she might lean in, that she might kiss you… Until her attention turned back to the first aid kit, abruptly ending the building tension between the two of you.

She returned to tending to your injuries, this time the gash along your forehead. “It’s a miracle this didn’t come with a concussion.” She muttered, stroking a finger along the bruised and bleeding skin.

Your lips drew back in a weary smile. You hadn’t thought back on the whole ordeal much- or truly appreciate how lucky you were to even be alive. You had Natasha to thank for that, not that you would ever be able to recognise her efforts. Once these couple days together were over, once you returned back to civilisation and back under HYDRAs radar, the safest thing to do would be to forget any of this ever happened. To forget Natasha, for her own safety.

Your heart sunk at the idea.

“You know, I think I’m entitled to some information about you.” Natasha stated suddenly.

“How come? I thought we had a deal. The jacket for your real name.”

“Yes, and now I’m fixing this mess of your attempt at first aid. I think you owe me.”

You tutted in lieu of shaking your head, trying to stay as still as you could. “I was going to offer rebandaging your shoulder in return.”

“I don’t accept.”

“No?”

“No.” She sat back on her heels. “Tell me something about yourself instead.”

You exhaled, racking your brain for an interesting enough fact about yourself that didn’t compromise your identity. “You’ll have to be more specific… There’s just too many interesting things about me to share in one night.” You joked.

“Too interesting or too top secret?”

“Both.”

“Fine.” Natasha thought for a moment, pursing her lips- which you admittedly were rather fixated on. “Tell me about your childhood.”

Now that was something you were happy to regale her with, and began happily recounting your early life in as much detail as you could remember. Natasha listened with rapt attention, even as she finished her first aid and packed everything up, even as you tended to her shoulder in return, her focus never left you. She laughed at all the right moments, offered comfort at the more difficult points and asked only the right questions.

And then, in the dying embers of the fire, Nat told you about her childhood. The Red Room, her temporary family, her tenure as a Black Widow assassin.

“Your surname.” You were laid down facing her in the fading light of the fire when it clicked. “You’re Natasha Romanov. SHIELD’s infamous Black widow. An Avenger.”

The identity of SHIELD’s most prolific assassin had only come to light recently with HYDRA unveiling their grand plan. As your organisation stepped into the limelight, so had Natasha, subsequently becoming a top priority for elimination. One of your superiors had told you that as long as she lived, so did the public’s support for SHIELD since she represented a link between the beloved Avengers and the secret service that she served.

Across from you, Natasha nodded; the movement almost imperceptible. Her pupils darted uncharacteristically nervously across your face trying to gauge how you would react. “Does that bother you?”

Of course it didn’t. Out here in the middle of nowhere, none of it mattered.

“No.”

She frowned. “Well, it should.”

“Well, it doesn’t.” You snapped, though not unkindly.

Natasha’s past didn’t matter to you. All that mattered was your time together, in which you had grown fond of her. The real her. Not some made up identity or emotionless figure, but her. You were trained well enough to recognise a liar, which she most certainly was not. Nobody would be able to keep up appearances in the circumstances you were under, let alone remain so authentic yet likeable. You had come to accept the unavoidable fact that she was your only motivation, your only solace through this harsh reality.

Even now, in this freezing cold cave in the middle of the Russian wilderness, you were at peace because of her. You shivered, unsure whether it was due to the cold, or the intense feelings you had repressed for so long.

“You’re cold.” Natasha commented, ever observant. She sat up. You realised it was to take off the jacket.

“No, don’t.” You swallowed, summoning up as much bravery as you had left. “Just- come here.” You patted the rock-hard ground next to you, and waited, watched as Natasha sized up the offer.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding when she shuffled over to you. Then found yourself at a loss of breath again when she lay down next to you. There was a moment of stillness, of darkness as the final light from the fire dwindled away. And then an arm stretched round your waist, hand resting at the base of your spine.

Instinctively, you scooted closer, turned so her front was against your back, and settled in the embrace instantly feeling warmer.

The two of you intertwined so perfectly, so comfortably. It felt so natural that you wondered how you had ever slept without her by your side before. Now that was a thought you really couldn’t entertain.

“For body heat.” You explained unnecessarily to the silence, more to convince yourself rather than ease any non-existent awkwardness about the situation.

Natasha hummed in agreement. The vibration sending a pleasant warmth through your own body. It was in this soft embrace that you fully relaxed, comforted by the gentle rise and fall of her chest, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of her breathing, the warm breath fanning across the back of your neck.

It was perfect.

Natasha was the first one to wake up and carefully untangle herself from you. It wasn’t until sunlight started to filter into the cave that you awoke, bringing an end to the privacy of your own little world within the rocky walls. You panicked momentarily upon realising Nat was nowhere to be found, but upon reaching the entrance to the cave, she reappeared with a rejuvenated expression on her face.

“There’s smoke rising in the distance, just beyond that hill.” She pointed to the rather steep incline you had been dreading to face, from which sunlight was only just peaking over the summit. “I think we might be near a settlement.”

Her suggestion filled you with renewed hope, though you were hesitant to show it, too preoccupied by the question of what would happen once you reached civilisation. Despite everything, would Nat turn you over to SHIELD? Would she reveal what she had discovered about your identity? That would almost certainly get you into trouble. Perhaps even put your life at risk.

Or would you go your separate ways pretending to have never met? No- you were certain that was impossible.

“Alright then.” You gazed out at the horizon and preparing yourself for whatever awaited you. “Let’s get moving then.

To your relief, and dismay as much as you tried to deny it, Natasha was right. As you crested the hill, a small village sprawled out on the flats below. It consisted of about fifty houses, one factory with two soot covered chimneys, a handful of fields with some ill looking cows and one road leading in and out. Hardly a luxurious welcome back to civilisation, but what else were you expecting.

Natasha’s pace quickened as you drew nearer, something you really shouldn’t take personally, yet did. Any reasonable person would be relieved that your journey was coming to an end, would be counting themselves lucky to have survived and covered so much distance without any issues. In fact, you yourself were rather looking forward to a change of clothes, a comfortable bed and food that wasn’t foraged or hunted.

It was hypocritical of you to think, but jealousy and insecurity took Natasha’s eagerness as a sign that she was well and truly sick of you. Ready to leave you behind for good.

As you drew near to the outskirts, walking in between the old wooden houses scattered untidily about, a dog came running out to bark at your arrival. It leapt and bounded around you, signifying to all nearby that someone was arriving. You and Natasha walked side by side in silence, feeling the weight of several pairs of eyes tracking your movement. An old man sat on the porch of his house grudgingly and brazenly stared you down, a clear sign that the town didn’t usually see many visitors.

The whole atmosphere was uncomfortable.

“I’m assuming you speak Russian fluently.” You muttered to Nat, clenching your jaw and squaring back your shoulders.

“да.” Was her response, which she then translated as meaning “yes.”

“I gathered that.” You passed yet another resident who looked ready to spit on you, finding the town didn’t become more accommodating the further in you travelled. “Have at it then.” You gestured round the area which appeared to be the main street, although the name hardly did it justice.

There was no formal road or signs naming it, rather a more defined set of tire tracks that marked it as the most frequented street. One of the buildings had a sign labelling it as a grocery store, though was the smallest on the street. You could hardly imagine it would provide much beyond the basics- yet the main problem remained that you had no money on you, nor form of identification or anything.

Nonetheless, it was where Natasha went, and where you wordlessly followed her to.

As predicted, the shop didn’t have much produce to choose from. You browsed aimlessly as Nat spoke to the woman behind the counter, who was the first person not to glower at you. Although you understood some basic Russian, you left the two to talk, occasionally picking up on words you could just about decipher meaning from.

Nat returned to inform you that the woman- Anya- had a room above the shop that she was renting out, and that the town had an ATM located by the factory. Nat had already devised a plan that you would allow Anya to show you round while she went to retrieve cash. You truly had no idea how Nat planned to do so without a credit card, but decided it was best not to question her methods.

“I’ll be back in half an hour at most.” Natasha must have seen the doubt on your face as she informed you before departing.

“Alright.” You swallowed back your hesitancy and nodded, feeling rather strange to be separating from Nat for the first time in days. The urge to reach out and hug her suddenly arose, though you were quick to quell it. You smiled reassuringly instead, watching as she darted out the door and back into the cold Russian air.

“This way, yes?” Anya announced in strong accented English, beckoning for you to follow.

Trying your best to put on a grateful expression, you nodded and accompanied her up a rickety set of stairs to the spare room. Anya did her best to present the property, though the language barrier made it difficult, coupled with the fact you were anxiously glancing out the window every other minute in hopes of catching sight of the redhead returning. Although the spare room was just as she had described. A room. Nothing more, nothing less. One bed, one armchair, one dresser and a view out to the ‘main street.’

The bathroom was downstairs, next to the shop storage room- tad unhygienic- and was hardly an improvement on the amenities over the last few days. Still, you listened attentively and smiled politely as Anya gave her tour. She seemed grateful that someone was finally interested, and you couldn’t help but feel bad about the fact you were only going to rent it for a few days. But with no hotel in town, there were no alternatives.

You and Natasha hadn’t spoken about how this was all going to play out, being too afraid to have hope. Now that it was actually here, you found yourself rather conflicted, unable to plan further ahead than the next five minutes.

Anya ended her tour in the storage room, where you spotted something which sent a thrum of excitement suffusing through your body. A phone. Simply hanging from the wall, available for use at any time. Such a mundane object, and yet it brought you into the present, back to reality with a sudden jolt of realisation. All it would take was typing in the eleven digits, lifting the microphone to your mouth and speaking. But who would you call?

A family member? They would certainly be glad to hear from you, but likely unable to help your current situation.

The Embassy? You would be able to leave Russia more anonymously that way, making HYDRA less likely to question your lacking presence following the destruction of your base.

Or HYDRA themselves? They were the most obvious answer. You were a high ranking official, and they would willingly send aid to your location. You could be back in no time, with little effort beyond corroborating some account of the event. But that would put Natasha in danger.

After all you had been through together, you wouldn’t put her through that.

You at least owed that to her, and crushed the idea as quickly as it had come. You would allow her to disappear first, or for you to go your separate ways before contacting HYDRA.

You heard the door of the shop open, your heart skipping a beat at the sound knowing who it was likely to be.

“Hey.” Natasha grinned at you, her hands clutching literally wads of cash.

“Welcome home, honey.” You joked, watching as Nat placed the money down on the counter. She started counting out the correct amount, Anya’s eyes lighting up as she collected the bills. From what you had picked up from their earlier conversation, she had paid her about a month’s rent. There was no need to give her so much since you wouldn't be staying long, but your chest warmed in recognition of Nat’s considerate nature regardless.

“There’s a tiny restaurant in the middle of town- if you could call it that. The place is basically a shed in some guy’s back garden.” Nat explained. “But I was thinking we could go for dinner.”

“Dinner?” You repeated, face flushing at the connotations.

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “It’s a meal you have after lunch, in the evening before bed-“

“Very funny.” You interrupted with a roll of your eyes. “Yes, I would love to go to dinner with you, Miss Romanov.”

“Alright.” Nat smiled to herself, said something to Anya who nodded vehemently, then turned back to you. “But shower first?” She suggested, to which you gasped playfully.

“Not a fan of the Eau de forest?”

She scrunched up her face.

“Fine. I get the hint.”

Showering had never felt so good. Even if the water was cold, and the shower floor was somehow sticky, it was still blissful…

For some extra cash, Anya had provided you with clean clothes from her own wardrobe, which meant you were able to change out of your disgusting, blood soaked, dirt encrusted combat suit and into fresh, clean fabric, which felt amazing. Even if her fashion sense was very traditional, the dress length very conservative, and Natasha finding your appearance highly amusing, you were grateful, nonetheless.

However, to your annoyance, Nat somehow looked perfectly normal in the style. Daresay she made it look good. But you weren’t jealous, instead considering yourself lucky that you were able to admire her at all.

The next couple hours were spent simply doing nothing. After your shower you all but collapsed into the old armchair in the corner of the room, which was so plush and easy to sink into that you had fallen asleep within five minutes. You would’ve preferred to take the bed, but had decided to leave it in case Nat wanted to sleep.

You weren’t sure whether she did or not, as next thing you knew, she was gently shaking you awake. The room had succumbed to darkness, apart from the last vestiges of sunset casting a purple hue through the window. For a brief second, you had no clue as to where you were until your gaze fell upon Natasha.

She was leaning over you, eyes blinking sleepily as she waited for you to jolt back to life. Your initial confusion became inconsequential at the sight of her; so open and vulnerable, so close to you in the fading sunlight. You swelled with pride at earning her trust so easily. It had come so naturally to you, in a way that it never had with anyone else, and in return, you cared for her more than you dared to admit.

“What time is it?” You pushed yourself into a seating position, if only to pull yourself closer to Nat.

“Six-thirty.” She answered. “We both fell asleep.”

You yawned, stretched and reluctantly stood up, ignoring the click of your overworked joints.

“Do you still want to go to dinner?” Nat asked.

You shot her an incredulous look. “Of course. I never pass up the opportunity for some fine Russian cuisine.”

“All naturally sourced, I’m assured. If you’re lucky there might even be buckthorn on the menu.”

You groaned. “If I even think about eating those damn berries ever again, I’ll throw up.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes. On you.”

Nat chuckled, grabbed something on the end of the bed and chucked it over to you.

“This jacket, seriously?” You stared at the sand-coloured item, which was almost brown by this point.

“Returned to you as promised.” She shrugged playfully.

“I’m not sure I want it back anymore.” Regardless, you tugged the jacket over the ridiculously puffy sleeves of the dress Anya had leant you. “How do I look?”

Her gaze swept from head to toe. You couldn’t help but bask in the attention.

“Like you’re ready for a night out on the town.” She concluded, opening the door for you.

The two of you strolled leisurely through the deserted town, both ignoring how each other’s stomachs cried at the promise of proper food. Part of you wanted to run to the restaurant, part of you wanted to savour your remaining time with Nat, and part of you was sensible enough to realise you had no idea where the establishment actually was.

In fact, you would’ve walked right past it if Nat hadn’t directed you inside.

The building was quite literally a wooden shed attached to some guy’s house, promising anything but the finest. The interior was rustic at best, the walls made from spruce logs stacked unevenly, and illuminated by a single string of fairy lights stretched across the square room. There was only space for three tables, with two already having been pushed to the side, and the third sat conveniently next to a space heater.

“Wow. Business is booming. Are you sure we’ll be able to get a table?” You joked, trying to spot the owner of the establishment. It felt like you had walked into someone’s home rather than a public restaurant.

“Give it a chance. It’s charming.”

At her reasoning, you focused on Nat in lieu of judging the place too harshly. You found that anywhere would have been good enough so long as she was there with you. Whether it be an uncomfortable cave, in the elements weathering the cold together, or in a secluded town with no real recognisable restaurant, you were able to appreciate it. Purely because of Natasha Romanoff. The woman who ought to be your enemy, yet you had never brought yourself to hate.

As you sat down on the rickety wooden chair opposite, you saw in her soft expression that she was the same. Neither said it but you both felt it.

Less than a minute after taking a seat, a waiter did emerge. He was perhaps the youngest person you had seen in town so far and spoke no English, but was kind. After leaving you with a handwritten note that was supposed to act as the menu, Nat briefly translated everything he had said. That he ran the place by himself, acting as waiter, cleaner and chef, and that you were the first customers he had seen in weeks besides his parents.

“You’re right. This place is charming.”

“Oh, so you’ve changed your mind now you feel bad?”

“Is that so wrong?” You leant forward on your elbow, trying to peer at the menu which Natasha was hiding behind. “I’m supporting local businesses.”

“How can you be supporting when I’m the one with the cash.” She held the menu out to you. “The wine is imported so it’s all in English.”

You took the sheet of paper from her. “I’ve been meaning to ask; how did you use the ATM without a card?” You skimmed down to the readable section, eyes flittering across the albeit short list of drinks.

“That’s a secret I’m afraid.”

“Of course, it is.”

The waiter returned and promptly took your orders. Not understanding enough Russian to read the menu, you had allowed Natasha to pick something out on your behalf. You weren’t really sure why, considering that in the grand scheme of things she knew nothing about your likes and dislikes, but that hadn’t seemed important at the time.

“I would ask how you are,” you said, denting a silence that hadn’t exactly been awkward, “but I think I already know the answer.”

“Tired.” She answered with a lopsided grin. “But I’m kind of used to it now.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t keep you up too long.”

Natasha didn’t say anything as the bottle of wine arrived in a chilled bucket, surprisingly well presented despite expectations. He poured out two glasses, bowed his head politely and left.

You rested your hand around the glass, studying the light golden colour of the liquid amplified by the warm lighting. In it, you saw sunrises over snowy hills, you saw dwindling firelight reflecting on cave walls, you saw the warmth of Natasha’s auburn hair.

A hand rested faintly atop of yours, fingers steadily seeking permission to intertwine with your own. Slowly, you untangled your grip around the stem of the glass, turned your hand over and felt her palm slide softly against yours. Neither you nor Natasha said anything, content to lose yourself in the humble contact.

After a minute, you glanced up at her, taken aback by the sad, far-away look on her face. You wondered whether it had dawned on her that your time together was running out, whether she was as distraught about that fact as you.

But no, that explanation didn’t suit her. A more fitting label would be regret.

“Hey.” You spoke softly as to draw her attention back in a gentle manner. “What exactly did you order for me?”

She didn’t glance up from your connected hands but smiled. “I thought it was meant to be a surprise.”

“Alright.” You conceded. “I trust you to pick out something good anyway.”

The palpable guilt on her face only worsened. A daunting sickness began to rise up through your chest, evoked by the chilling sensation that something here wasn’t quite right. Nonetheless, you were determined to enjoy yourself, and so persisted with the evening as though a tense suspicion wasn’t present in your mind at all times.

Natasha did eventually seem to snap out of whatever she was feeling, and conversation begun to flow easily between you both. You were able to talk about nothing and everything at the same time: only teasing, light-hearted conversation that you both held onto as if it were the most important thing you had heard in your entire life.

The waiter returned with your dishes about twenty minutes later. You still had no idea exactly what Nat had ordered for you, but it was delicious nonetheless, being the first real food that you had eaten in days. The meal filled a void you had become numb to in all you endured, a newfound energy returning to your body.

Placing down your knife and fork, you looked up at Natasha fondly, admiring her as though it were the last time. Her hair washed and recently dried fell down her shoulders in natural waves of red- almost the same shade as her lips, you noticed. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her eyes appeared darker than usual, though the corners of her mouth quirked up. The cuts and bruises across her face remained, but with less contrast against the pale of her skin, as any mark of that last few days together was gradually fading.

And as they faded, your emotions- your hurt- only grew. For you soon realised what she had done.

The sound of helicopter blades whirling through the crisp night air came into focus, grew closer and closer, louder and louder. You cocked your head to the side an inch to try and pinpoint from which direction they were approaching.

“Here comes the cavalry…” You murmured bitterly.

“Y/N.” Natasha reached out to firmly grab your hand, her grasp no longer tentative. “Don’t run.” She glared at you imploringly. Then added, quieter, “Please.”

You stared back at her, your jaw tightening as you willed any reaction to keep at bay. “Why?” Your eyes shone with betrayal. “Just for SHIELD to capture me? To interrogate and lock me up?”

“That won’t happen.” Despite the certainty of her words, her voice shook. “I won’t let them-“

“Then what?” You interrupted. “They let me go with my identity compromised? HYDRA would have me killed in a heartbeat.”

“Not under SHIELD surveillance. We can protect you.”

“And what kind of life would that be?”

“One with me.”

You paused, your mind going blank.

“It might not be perfect,” She continued. “But I don’t want to leave you just yet.”

You detected a hint of fear in her voice, recognising the toll it had taken on Nat to say what she truly felt. But as much as you felt the same, anger swirled around inside of you like fire, stoked by even the slightest of things. “I didn’t take you as such a selfish person.” You snapped.

You were wasting time, and shot up from your seat, throwing your napkin down onto the table. The building was likely to be imminently surrounded by SHIELD agents, you needed to escape before it was too late.

You surveyed the room, blinking away the tears already welling up. Going out the main entrance would lead you back into the centre of town to be easily trapped, whereas the door the waiter went in and out of would probably take you through his own house. You decided that was the better option, grabbing the jacket from where it was hung over the back of the chair and preparing to run.

Natasha abruptly stood up, tried taking a step towards you, shock and hurt reflected in her gaze.

You had truly upset her and immediately wanted to apologise, but instinctively took a step away from her. “I’m sorry I can’t-“ You tried, but found yourself at a loss for words. “It was nice knowing you, Natasha.” You forced out instead.

Nat opened her mouth to say something. Then closed it again.

So, you turned on your heels and ran. Her betrayal weighed heavily on your heart, but you refused to let it slow you down.

You burst through the backdoor, shoving past the waiter who was returning to collect your empty plates. He grunted at the impact, but you just carried on through the back garden and into his house, trailing snowy footprints along his carpet you. The helicopter above only grew louder, and out the windows you saw shadowy figures drawing nearer, surrounding the house. You had no weapons on you, and the long dress didn’t allow for much movement, but under no circumstances could you allow yourself to be captured.

You walked briskly through the living room and into the kitchen, stopping as you spotted a knife gleaming on the countertop. Deeming it sharp enough, you grabbed it, plunged it into the hemline of your dress and roughly dragged the blade along the fabric. You heard a terrible tearing sound and continued to frantically pull at the cut section until you had ripped all the way around.

The door you had entered through slammed open once more. “Y/N!” It was Natasha. Your heart sunk down into your stomach.

You would’ve preferred an armed SHIELD operative…

Without a second thought, you dashed out the side door, where nothing but an expanse of snow-covered fields awaited. A horrible sense of Deja-vu surfaced in your mind as you realised you were practically going to relive the last couple days of traversing the Russian wilderness, only this time alone and without any supplies or real weapon.

“FREEZE!” Like an answer to your unvoiced prayers, the first SHIELD agent arrived on the scene. He was young, fresh faced and inexperienced, but aiming a gun square at your chest.

You ducked, heard a bullet fire, then rammed straight into the man and slammed him into the ground. His gun flew out of his hand, skidding across the icy surface. You ungracefully launched yourself over the weapon, grabbed it and stood up.

Under the cover of darkness, you aimed it at the soldier, breathing heavily as he looked up at you with wide, innocent eyes.

“Go.” You spat, gestured for him to run and watched as he hauled himself up.

He glanced at you fearfully, then turned and sprinted back in the direction of town. You summarised this was most likely where the main group would be waiting to ambush, and instead looked out in the opposite direction for where to aim for. About half a mile away was a gathering of trees. With the helicopter still hovering somewhere above, you would need the covering of the forest to truly disappear.

“Y/N?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tried desperately to ignore the desire to turn and face her. You knew it would only slow you down, and perhaps that was what she intended to happen. You knew Natasha Romanov would be your downfall… And yet, you still spared a glance back.

Natasha was stood in the doorway of the house, the light from behind casting her shadow onto the sheet of snow. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but think how beautiful she looked like this; studying you so intensely, her face carrying such raw emotion that you could hardly stand to see her this way. Guilt. Loss. Shock. Hope. Screw your entitled sense of betrayal- you wanted to wipe the weight of what she had done from her conscience.

You threw down the gun, crossing the distance between the two of you in a span of three seconds. She stepped down to meet you, arms wrapping around your waist as your hands grasped hold of her face. You pulled her in, lips crashing together as she leant into you. Her lips were chapped but warm, fervently pressed against you as though the need for oxygen had entirely dissipated.

Natasha kissed you urgently, held onto you desperately, hopelessly. Yet in her embrace, everything else faded away to become inconsequential. Her arms tightened around your waist as your lips parted, a plea not to let go. You took in a shuddering breath, rested your forehead against hers and kept your eyes closed, content just to be with her.

For the first time since meeting Natasha Romanoff, you felt you fully understood her. This wasn’t some ploy to make you change your mind or distract you long enough for SHIELD to catch up, nor was it even a goodbye. This was her assurance that someday things would be different, that your story wasn’t over.

That someday you would meet again and finally get it right.

You opened your eyes, finding Natasha’s still to be closed. Reluctantly, you removed your hands from her face, kissing her cheek so that she would just look at you one last time.

And with that, you separated, keeping your gaze fixed on her for as long as possible.

Natasha swallowed her grief. “I’ll distract them.” She nodded, then smiled at you sadly. “Now run.”

Too grateful for words to convey, and too distraught to even try, you bent down to grab the gun before sprinting into the cold Russian night. Your lungs burned; your body ached with each step as you dashed for cover amongst the trees. Your heart was thudding in your chest- as though it wanted to escape and fly back to Natasha, to whom it now belonged.

You reached the forest, an inescapable sense of familiarity dousing you in cold disappointment. Thorny bushes scratched at your exposed legs, mud splashing up your calves. You skidded to a halt in a ditch, crouching down to catch your breath momentarily. You knew you would need to run further to truly disappear from SHIELD, but with the light dusting of snow leaving an easily trackable path, you would need to throw them off the trail first.

Hands patted down your form, looking for something to leave behind somewhere to mislead them. A loose thread of fabric from where you had torn the dress, a strand of your own hair, anything… Feeling something solid in the jacket pocket, you reached in, fingers brushing against plastic.

You frowned and pulled out the mystery object.

An unconscious smile stretched across your lips as the neon green wrapper of a granola bar fell into your open palm; left behind, half eaten by Nat. You turned the inane trinket over in your hand, feeling strangely nostalgic for not so long ago when something caught your eye.

Barely visible in the dim light was a note scribbled on the inside of the packet. The writing was smudged and almost illegible in the small blank space, but your trembling hands unfolded it with the upmost caution.

If you don’t hate me for what I did. Flat no.4, 34 Peterdy St, Budapest- NR

You exhaled deeply, leant back on your heels, and stared up at the night sky.

Natasha had known you would run, already having prepared a second chance: this one you wouldn’t miss. And you certainly didn’t hate her for it. In fact, the brief enigmatic note set your heart soaring, as in that moment, you knew your journey with Natasha Romanoff was only just beginning.

next >

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader

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dailyadventureprompts · 1 year

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any ideas for a druid villain who isn't a pro-environmentalism "extremist" who opposes the #just'n'kind authorities and such? i'd like to do one but honestly most suggestions are just to make a fantasy anti-civ unabomber and idk im not too crazy about the concept

Villain: The Eelmonger

While the scholars debate whether it is nature, society, or fate that makes a person cruel, remember my student that none of these things are kind or fair to most whom they govern. -From the diaries of Tarraji, country tutor

Hooks:

Every year a great festival is held across the kingdom to honour the queen's birthday, a tradition started by the previous rulers to celebrate the long-sought birth of their first heir, but maintained by the current sovereign as a means of sharing a little of her prosperity with her subjects, the crown footing most of the bill for the event. This year, just as people (and the party) are crowding into the rivermarket to enjoy the festivities, a horde of grotesque aquatic monsters surge from the water to rampage through the town.

Two days later when the last of the beasts is either slain or driven off, word arrives that similar attacks have occurred all up and down the central waterway, paralyzing the realm's economy and making travel tremendously dangerous. The party could go hunting the worst of the rivermonsters, or they could sign up to protect a daredevil merchant's cargo and make a small fortune crisis trading.

Along with all this chaos an old threat reemerges, pirates with a long hatred of the realm trawling for plunder in the wake of the rampage. Apparently exempt from the wrath of the seabeasts that still lurk in the rivers and canals, they fly a new flag bearing images of sharp-toothed eels, and sing songs in praise of an unseen master.

Dressed like a peasant and exalted by outlaws, the enigmatic figure known only as the Eelmonger has emerged seemingly from nowhere to overthrow the realm and topple the queen from her throne. Who is she? Why her unprecedented attack? How is she able to turn the great predators of the deep into warbeasts bent to her aims? Among all the uncertainly all that can be known is that she has seemingly declared war against the realm, and will not stop till the queen and any who support her have been reduced to meals for the ocean's scavengers.

Background: Sha's parents thought it was very lucky for their daughter to be born under the same stars as the crown princess, as in the old traditions of the kingdom such "celestial siblings" were thought to share their fortunes, and as poor fisherfolk eking out a meagre living from the sea that fortune was dearly needed. As Sha Grew however it became apparent that the stars played a cruel game of favourites, and whatever luck the oneday queen was given was taken in equal portion from Sha's own: The day the princess was thrown from her horse and rose mirraculously unharmed was the day Sha tumbled over the side of her family's boat in a calm sea and somehow broke three bones, the announcement of the king's recovery from the brittle sickness reaching Sha's village the same day they put her long-ailing father in the ground.

These transgressions were manifold, too obvious and cruel to be mere happenstance, and over the years and the grand festival-birthdays Sha's resentment at her distant royal sister and the injustice of fate filed her sharp and cold as a gutting knife. Things paradoxically got a little better during the pirate wars, when those foreign fleets took the town she lived in as their fortress, burning and pillaging many other settlements along the coast and great river. Sha, now a woman grown, felt her fortunes had reversed, as the pirates were all to happy to pay for her catch with handfulls of stolen coin, and her expertise with local cuisine saw her elevated to the position of landbound galleycook, feeding whole crews of cutthroats in between their inland raids.

It was not to last however, after a few brutal years on the defensive, the princess and her allies rallied and launched an offensive that shattered the invader's fleet and ousted them from the lands they'd set to conquer, culminating in a battle that saw Sha's town (and the life she'd built there) burnt to the ground. It was in the midst of that fighting, trapped beneath burning rubble that Sha saw her celestial sister for the first time, glorious and beautiful and totally ignorant of her existence, scaling the ruins of Sha's happiness on her way to future glory. Sha was pinned there for days, forgotten among the rest of the corpses; it wasn't until a great storm broke and washed the wreckage of the battle out into the sea that she was freed, her druidic powers awakening as she drowned and calling out to those creatures of the brine to aid her. Whatever warpath and hope she had for making a good life in spite of her sister she left below the surface, because as soon as she made landfall she started plotting her path back to the queen.

Goals & Schemes:

Ruination: As strong as her monsters are individually or as a horde, The eelmonger knows her beasts can't challenge the might or logistics of an entire kingdom. However, Sha grew up on the kingdom's waterways and knows that just like small tributaries fed the great trade river, the lives of farmers and merchants feed into the strength of the crown. If she has any hope of evening the playing field Sha must break the system that feeds the realm's warchest even if it means breaking the realm itself in the process. Monstrous chaos and resurgent pirates are just the first step: Targeting the merchants will cause supply shortages and beggar the realm, after that she'll move on to sowing famine in the farmlands. When there isn't enough to go round people will break down into factions, causing the army the well trained army the queen has inhereted to crumble before it ever reaches the field.

Fixing the broken scales: Simply killing the queen won't be enough. Sha reasoned out long ago that if she ever did direct harm to celestial sister whatever fate bullshit that connects them would likely redirect the outcome onto her somehow and that just wouldn't do. Instead she has to settle for making the soverign suffer by proxy, all the while searching for some means of attacking the connection itself. Those pirates directly privy to her plan are out hunting for priests and fortunetellers during their raids, anyone they could kidnap and bring back to the eelmonger to help correct this balance.

Saint of the Brine: Though she has no love for gods, Sha's vengeful ascent is watched over by a coldhearted deity of the fathomless seas, who has umbrage with this particular kingdom ever since the queen's ancestors laid claim to its bays and coastlines by slaying a titanic beast she favoured. The eelmonger is her unwitting instrument of wrath, and whether the gods involvement began during Sha's almost drowning or all the way back were praying for a safe birth is impossible to say. Though the eelmonger has unseen aid throughout her campaign against the crown, if the party is able to make their enemy aware that some god may be the source of her misfortune they may be able to divert Sha's wrath from the queen and the realm's inhabitants.

Art

#villain #seaside #Lysthzaho #pirates #mid level #high level #warfare #wuxia #festival #river #seamonster

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lorebite · 2 years

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𝒐𝒅𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕 | 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐨𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: 18+ minors dni. cursing. fem/afab reader. suggestive content (lots of dirty talk, begging, mild fingering (f receiving), a bit of handjob, finger sucking, a bit of hair pulling, cunnilingus, masturbation instructions, [unprotected] sex against the wall, creampie, slight breeding, switchy Jason). i might've watched too much attack on titan but reader is, like, super physically strong in this one. enemies to more. Jason is hella touch starved and needy but also a cocky mf. just two fellow enemies not being able to resist railing the shit out of each other; what else do you expect from me? 😜 big dick™ Jason. this is that "Salim + Nick scene" but reenacted with Jason in mind. probably the horniest piece i've written on this blog to this day.

summary: after the ambush, Jason finds himself stranded from his team in the hellish depths of the Sumerian temple. once he comes across a promising opening, an enemy soldier he hasn't run into before pulls him away before he walks himself right into certain doom. what will become of this unlikely due in the face of danger?

It was a disaster. The ambush had depleted more than half of Jason’s energy – to hell with everything else he went through since they fell. Alas, he had no time to waste; with a sealed off exit and a long unknown path ahead, he had no choice but to stand back up and find another way to his team.

This wasn’t the first time he was finding himself on his own, navigating the harrowing crevices of these ungodly caverns that echoed even his sharp uneven gasps of breath. The sound of debris crushing beneath his soles was far from comforting, only exacerbating the gnawing panic in the pit of his stomach which made him too alert to the blinding darkness that seemed to close in on him the farther along he went.

At last, the soft glow of an opening loomed in the distance that seemed much like the mouth of a tunnel. He began walking faster, gun held tightly and at the ready. However, as his boot skimmed past just the fringe of the precipice, he cowered back into the shadows. He almost walked himself right off the cliff of the ruins. Cold wash of realization prickled his face as he drew a wavering breath and stalked farther away; but then his back collided with… something.

Air locked in Jason’s throat, eyes blowing wide in panic. He went rigid for the briefest moment, eyeing the foreign hand that wound around his face to plaster over his mouth. The unknown arm pushed him further back into what he only thought to be a person’s chest. His heart hammered in his throat, his grip growing loose on his rifle at his side.

A gentle “shhh” was breathed against his ear. Goosebumps raced down the back of his neck as he futilely looked to the side in an attempt to catch the slightest sight of this soldier – or whoever it may have been – whose arms enveloped him.

“Don’t make a fucking noise,” whispered a low feminine voice Jason didn’t recognize and although he already expected it, still it managed to aggravate his growing dread. Another hand stretched out from behind him and pointed at something in the distance, drawing his attention to a sight that made him gasp into the palm pressed over his mouth. “They hunt by sound. If that thing hears you now, we’re both done for.”

A few feet away just below the cliff, there crouched one of those monsters he barely managed to escape only minutes ago. It hunched over the carcass of a soldier, emitting those nauseating clicks and sniffing curiously.

“I’m gonna let go now,” said the faceless voice behind him again, quiet and careful. “If you try anything stupid—”

But Jason didn’t even let the sentence finish. As soon as the hand loosened slightly on his face, he made a grab for the opposing soldier’s wrist. However, she seemed to have anticipated his decision, her hand curling immediately around his forearm instead.

It took him aback. A choked noise of surprise caught in his throat as he was harshly shoved into the jagged wall of the temple. He bit his lip to hold back the pained groan threatening to tear out of his throat. Two hands were wrapped around his neck now, squeezing the breath out of his lungs. His eyes grew round and frantic as they peered into the eyes of his attacker.

That face. How long has it been since the last time he was in the same proximity with a warm attractive body? His brow gave a twitch as he silently marveled at the way his own body betrayed him. His waist jerked involuntarily, his fingers winding around your wrists as you thrust your hips into his to stop his nervous movements, unaware of what that action alone did to him. You snarled at the man.

“What did I tell you?” You spat in a harsh whisper. “You have a death wish?”

All Jason could manage was a short strangled moan – a noise so pathetic that even he could swear it made your smirk deepen. You cocked your head, face cast in the shadows.

“Don’t look at me like that. If I didn’t know better, I’d actually believe you’re enjoying this.”

Oh, hell. He was enjoying this. The insistent pressure of your knee in between his legs was already making his vision swim. Fear. Panic. Lust. The few hours down in this hellhole seemed to be truly fucking with his head. There must’ve been something absolutely wrong with him or why would he groan so deliriously when you shifted your feet and pushed the curve of your knee deeper against his clothed hardening cock. What were you even trying to do to him?

“Nothing to say?” You scoffed and Jason nearly moaned at the caress of your hot breath over his lips. “Typical. Maybe you’re better at following orders. That’s what a good soldier does best after all.”

He made no words. He couldn’t. As the pressure of your hands increased on his throat, his mouth went slack and his eyes rolled back into his head. He wished you’d just put him out of his misery already. You were so close. If only you leaned in a little closer and shut his mouth with yours.

“Let’s find out. What do you think?”

And you were pulling away from him then. The cold distance was sobering and Jason found himself shivering as his mind finally registered the weight of his rifle in his hand. He almost leapt to aim the muzzle on your chest – nothing but a knee jerk movement; but he stopped himself before he ended up putting himself in a stickier predicament with you.

You suddenly looked more restless than he remembered just a few moments ago. All confidence gone and panic giving way to the previous complacent look on your face as you paced up and down the short length of the vicinity. A quick glance down your form told him that you weren’t armed. At least not with a gun. And that relieved his unease, that sour stewing emotion growing into a firm sense of superiority in his chest.

He raised his rifle, just barely, to establish some level of boundary that had been missing since he ran into you, eyes glimmering with confidence once again.

Your eyes shifted skyward almost as if you meant to roll them but decided otherwise, taking a step back with your palms held up in front of you, though not in a show of surrender; rather, with an irritated flair as your lips twisted into an ugly line.

“Just when I thought we were getting along—”

Sarcasm seeped through your sneer, turning then into a faint smirk as Jason stomped a step in your space, his gun now zeroing on in your neck. That barely there upturn of your lips unnerved him – some hint of smugness, some tinge of sharpness. As if you knew something he didn’t and it made the blood rage hot in his veins. His face crumpled with a scowl.

“Don’t get fucking smart with me. Turn around. And put your hands where I can see them.”

He motioned rudely with his gun and you obeyed, sighing exasperatedly as you faced the open balmy air that led down the precipice. The monster yet remained perched on the ground and absorbed in the corpse, ever oblivious to your presence despite the little situation you had only minutes prior. The sight was unsettling enough that made your impatience grow and you speak up as the man loitered silently – assuming with hesitation – behind you.

“Are you planning to stand around and wait for something to happen?”

He scoffed, accent thick with panic as he spat his next words. “I’m thinking.”

“And what do you have so far?”

“I’ll come up with something if you shut the fuck up!”

You rolled your eyes this time, lolling your neck along with it as you resisted the dire urge to groan loudly in disdain. You turned a glance over your shoulder.

“How about you listen to me instead.”

It was much less a question and more a curt demand. Jason opened his mouth to object and quickly jerked his gun higher, alarmed, as he watched you calmly brandish a combat knife from your belt.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?”

You ignored him, stalking closer to the edge of the cliff and still safe within the shadows behind the uneven wall. Truth of the matter was, Jason could fuss all he wanted but unless he wished to risk drawing the monster’s attention to both of you, he needed to keep at least some of his problems to himself. And you knew that very well.

He followed you, more so out of detested obligation and his covert fear of being left to his devices again; however, it was only his frustration that surfaced to his mouth when he slapped the back of his hand to your shoulder and hissed under your ear.

“You outta your damn mind?”

“You’ll have to excuse me. I don’t listen to loudmouthed idiots.” You mumbled apathetically as your eyes searched the vicinity, not even once turning to look at the man who might as well be frothing at the mouth from sheer anger. “Does that answer your question?”

Now you looked at him – now that Jason was red in the face and clenching his teeth as he, quite literally, ripped you a new one with his eyes. Only if looks could kill…

“You got some fucking balls. Know who you even talking to?”

You cocked your head with a small frown, eyes taking in his flushed dirty face, his flaring nostrils and his pursed lips. “What’s your name?”

Jason blanched, eyelids flickering and voice silent, as if assuming he heard you wrong. But your gentle face staring at him, waiting patiently for his response proved him otherwise.

“I’m (Y/N).” You said softly, offering a handshake.

“I ain’t here to make friends.”

You shrugged, looking away from him and ahead as you withdrew your rejected hand. “Well, I just assumed you wanted me to know who I’m talking to.”

Jason scoffed. Again. You gave him a look from the corner of your eyes, shaking your head slowly as a dejected smirk crossed your lips. He puffed out his chest, moving in closer to you as if you had just challenged him, chin lifted and eyes narrowed.

“Something funny?”

His tone was far from friendly. Testing, rather. But you stayed put, pinning him with that same scrutinizing look from beneath your lashes. He didn’t shrink back. He held your gaze with such defiance it was admirably stupid.

“Listen, when all hell breaks loose, I will be the least of your worries. So, the sooner you realize that, the better for both of us here.” You paused for the briefest moment, turning your face enough to leer at the man, voice dropping low and melodious. “As much as I enjoy watching you pop a vessel.”

You snickered to yourself, satisfied at the look of incredulity that struck his features.

“When shit hits the fan,” he started slowly, voice deep and rich with venom. “The only thing you gotta worry about is my damn gun far up your ass. So, don’t even think about crossing me.”

“I think you need to calm down a little.”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!”

“Then shut the fuck up and focus!”

That finally silenced him. He eyed your fingers which pointed your knife at him, the sharp tip barely even grazing his shirt. Somewhere in his mind, he felt justified to slap your hand away and throw you back against the wall behind you, your offending wrist held tightly in his grip by your head. And he did just that.

You cursed and squirmed, eyes burning with a fierce look as you scowled at the idiotic solider who pushed his weight against you with a grunt, his face, damp with sweat, hovering a hair breadth away from yours.

“Fucking hell—”

“Don’t like to smell your own shit now, do ya?”

He sounded unbelievably smug for the predicament you were both in – mere inches apart with an insatiable monster prowling just a few feet away. His smirk widened when you began to squirm again and he slammed your wrist once against the wall, loosening your grip until the knife slipped from your fingers to the ground.

“You motherfucker!”

“Shh shh shh! Let’s not try to alert the beast now. We’re having fun.”

“Like hell we are—”

You raised your free hand to go for a punch to the throat before he caught you firmly in his fist, pushing your arm to join the other up against the rough texture of the wall that scraped mercilessly at your skin. His fingers, almost as if without realizing, wove within yours as his eyes peered down at you and time suddenly slowed.

The strong knot of tension eased into a tingling air of titillation between you as you held his softened gaze, your own eyes flickering curiously up and down between the suggestive look in his dilated pupils and his parted, much too tempting, pink lips that beckoned you like a siren’s call. What the fuck was going on with you – why weren’t you fighting back anymore?

His warm body was pressed tightly against yours like burning coal, his erratic breaths on your face doing so little to soothe the mounting spiral of arousal within you. You felt your core grip at air as he eyed your mouth with his own lips fluttering slowly, silently contemplating whether to take that leap.

You took the initiative, driven by your impatience and growing need. He gasped into the kiss but it took him no more than an instance to reciprocate eagerly, his fingers tightening their hold as his hips moved restlessly against yours. He groaned, teeth hooking on your lip and coaxing an abrupt moan from the back of your throat.

“Shhhh,” he giggled, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Careful now, sweetheart. We ain’t in the clear, yet—” his mouth drifted from yours and down the length of your neck, leaving kisses and bites along the skin until he was at the hem of your collar. “As much as I love to hear you moan – mmm, fuck! You sound so fucking pretty though.”

It was impossible to not feel his firm bulge that pushed insistently into your thigh while he continued to grind against you. His hot breaths fleeted over your ear as he panted into your skin, a low growl riding along the breathlessness that escaped his lips.

“Fuck, I wanna hear you say my name – please, baby. Please, will you say it for me?” You were stunned at the plea and the stark desperation it clung to. “Say I’m your Jason. Tell me I’m yours. Even if it’s for a couple fucking minutes. Say you want me so fucking bad. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He whined his request in your ear. Over and over and over. Until your knees nearly gave from underneath you as his lips continued to leave a warm trail of kisses on every inch of bare skin they could find. You were breathless and unable to respond for a good few seconds until your lips opened to the litany of praises and filthy promises.

“Fuck… Jason… you’re mine… all fucking mine…”

Jason couldn’t hold the moans rolling off his lips at every instance you spoke his name. Soon, his grip loosened on your hands only for it to slide down your body and hook under your thighs, your own hands fidgeting with the buckles of his vest.

“Take these off.” You growled through teeth as your fingers proved useless to pry the man of his clothes. “Now.”

He drew his hands to himself only to quickly rid himself of the thick layers that filled needless space between you, leaving himself in only his blue t-shirt and his unbuttoned fatigue pants that were slowly sliding down his waist. His hands were back upon you to search your silhouette under his rough fingertips.

He looked much smaller now – less intimidating than when he had all that equipment crowding his frame. The status of danger having now turned into something entirely foreign; just another factor to play into the hands of that white hot desire churning deep inside you.

“Come on, sweetheart. Go right ahead and touch me. See how fucking hard you make me,” Jason took hold of one of your hands and pushed it gently against his bulge. Your warm fingers slowly closed around him and squeezed carefully. He let his head back to moan. “Fuck—yes. That’s it, baby. Keep going like that.”

“Keep it down, Jason.” You hissed.

“I can’t. I really—I fucking can’t.”

You clicked your tongue disapprovingly, raising a hand to his wet panting lips. “Open up.” And he did, accepting your fingers onto his tongue. He moaned through the mouthful, muffled yet still loud. You tutted again. “God, you’re so fucking pathetic.”

Jason sputtered and whined when you slipped your other hand into his boxers and cupped him firmly, sharp bursts of breath flitting through his lips as his palms braced by the sides of your head on the wall to support his trembling legs.

“Oh—fuck,” he mumbled around your fingers, a thick thread of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. His tongue continued to suck on your skin, noisily slurping and lapping up his own saliva that was slowly running down the side of your hand. “Fuck—feels good—it feels—”

“Feels nice, sweetheart, doesn’t it?” You finished for him and he moaned his agreement, albeit much too incoherently to sound like proper syllables but his sweet little whimper that was stifled on your digits was enough answer. “Sure, it does. Look at you. So needy just from my hand.”

Your playful taunts only stirred more noises from him. He began rutting his hips into your hand, making his throbbing cock slip clumsily through your fingers. You shushed him softly as his whimpers grew constant and more high pitched.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” You cooed and he nodded fervently, his eyes sweetly round and glistening. “Of course, it is. You’re already leaking through my fucking fingers.”

He began to go on a tangent of garbled words and desperate moans, trying to speak but failing to convey anything; his rationale so far deep beneath the heavy heap of lust that his thoughts hardly strung together. But the urgency in his voice was clear.

“What is it, sweetie? Use your big boy words. You can tell me what you want.”

“I wanna cum—”

“What was that?” A feigned frown of confusion pulled at your brows as you neared your ear to his lips as if to hear better. “I didn’t quite catch that.” He whined petulantly and you shushed him again. “Come on. You can do it.”

“I wanna—I wanna cum inside you. So fucking bad. Please—Can I?”

You hummed, as if deep in thought and pondering the decision before you offered him a cheeky grin.

“Are you gonna be good?”

“Mhm, yeah—” He nodded, shifting impatiently against you. “I’ll be so good for you. I promise.”

You smirked and cocked your head. So adorably pathetic. All reason gone and replaced by that one simple objective fogging his brain.

Slowly withdrawing both of your hands from him, Jason let out a shaky sigh, rigid shoulders growing visibly relaxed as his eyes found yours, his gaze more clear and focused now. His fingers made quick to unbutton your pants, his lips returning to yours with their feverish kisses.

Once your pants slipped down your legs, he slid a middle finger along the crotch of your panties, his fingertip finding your clit through the fabric, rubbing firm tight circles over the swollen bud. You gasped, hands flying to brace against his strong shoulders as your weight grew light on your feet.

Jason pried past the slip of barrier and with small inches into your soaked folds. A choked moan rolled from his lips as your slick gathered on his skin, two thick fingers pushing with ease inside you. You plastered a hand over your mouth as a sudden moan erupted in your throat, head lolling back against the wall.

“Fuck—so wet already? Your pussy practically sucked up my fucking fingers.” He began pumping his fingers. Slow and careful. The empty tunnel echoed the obscene wet noises of your cunt. The crooked grin that grew on Jason’s face made blood rush to your ears. “Hear that? Who’s the needy pathetic one now, hmm?”

“Shut up.”

He cooed mockingly at you, lips puckering into a moue of pity. “That all you got for me? You can do better, sweetheart. Hurt me like I know you damn well want to.”

You snarled, eyes narrowed and brows drawn deep. Your hand was reaching for the back of his head then, the movement so hurried it flicked his hat off of his head. Your fingers buried tight into his soft hair. He hissed, the pressure of your grip jerking his head back and revealing the swell of his throat. He met your gaze with a scowl of his own.

“Shit—you li—shit!”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. Pulling the man closer by the hair, your lips began a descension of kisses down the span of his neck. The movement of his hand stuttered inside you the longer you went on, gasps of moans coaxing through his parted lips. A string of curses tipped off his tongue as your teeth scraped harshly across his neck, digging in and abusing the skin with every bite. You were adamant to leave your mark on him.

You only leaned away when you were wholly satisfied and could see the growing bruise that blossomed across Jason’s skin where your mouth had been. The smirk on your lips quickly parted for a moan when he resumed the movement of his fingers inside you. You covered your mouth as moan after moan bubbled up your throat. It was his turn now to leer complacently at you.

“Why go all tough on me when you’re just gonna give up that easy? It’s so fucking cute that you even try.” He buried his nose under your ear, a hand wrapping gently around your throat as he sucked your earlobe between his lips. “Wanna know what I’m gonna do to you? I’m gonna stretch you open with my big fucking cock. I’m gonna fill you up till your pretty little pussy’s dripping with my cum.”

You swallowed. Hard. A delicious shiver ran down your spine as Jason kissed your jaw and breathed a taunting chuckle into your skin. Your fingers coiled tighter in his hair and a faint growl vibrated under your ear, rousing a sharp gasp from you.

“Are you gonna just keep running your mouth like that?”

He didn’t respond. Not immediately. He guided you carefully out of your pants, kicking the heap of fabric aside with one foot before removing your panties next. He lowered to his knees, his palms cradling your hips as he peered up at you.

“You got a better use for my mouth?”

You blinked, lips fluttering wordlessly at the sight of this man knelt at the ready for you before you mustered up a proper response.

“I do now.”

A knowing smile crossed his lips as he leaned in with a sensuous kiss to your clit before sucking it loudly into his mouth. He moaned, low and delirious, his fingers digging into your skin and eyes fluttering shut. As if you had just satisfied a seething hunger deep within him and he needed a moment to savor the flavor before it disappeared.

His mouth then molded hot against you – fast and eager. His tongue fluttered along your swollen lips, lapping up your slick and gliding over your clit. Over and over. A steady rhythm that only picked up in pace.

Your fingers, once again, sunk in his hair and grabbed a fistful. He groaned between laps of his tongue as you pulled tightly at the roots, the deep sound resonating deep within your core. You struggled to rein in your moans, pushing another hand to your mouth to smother the noises that escaped much too freely, your will worsened by Jason’s breathless demands.

“Shit, baby. Fuck yourself on my tongue. You wanna use me, don’t you? Be a good girl and grind on my fucking face.”

You moaned louder through your fingers as your orgasm rose high like a rogue wave, only instances from crashing over you and swallowing you whole. You squirmed against Jason’s mouth, meeting his tongue with your cunt as he panted and downed you hungrily, pushing you closer and closer to falling through the tidal walls of your climax.

Jason whispered dirty praises into your pussy as your stifled moans rose in pitch, your breaths growing much more quick and stuttered – until you cried into your palm with the first pulses of your orgasm rippling through you like wildfire.

Your fingers flexed in his hair, your other hand pressing deeper to your mouth. The dark of the cavern turning even duller before your dazed vision as your mind only focused on the now intermittent aftershocks of your climax quivering inside you.

You let your hand fall from your face moments later. Once your thoughts slowed to an easy pace and the trembling of your body grew calm, you looked down at Jason who was now staggering soft kisses to your thighs; up – on your stomach then higher and higher – until he was in between your breasts, smearing your arousal all over your skin before his lips finally collided with yours.

His small content moan slipped into the kiss as he held your face in his long fingers, offering you kisses sweet and desperate until his gasps turned into rough groans; his leaking bulge pressing persistently into your thigh as he bucked his hips with pleading urgency to be satiated.

He hardly managed to pry himself away to speak his question, stealing kiss after heated kiss and muddying his words as he muttered against your lips with eyes shut.

“Could I—should we—can I please fuck you? I need to feel you ‘round my cock. So so fucking bad, baby. I need to feel this gorgeous pussy stretch out for me.”

“I—fuck, Jason. Just—dammit—just do it, you needy fuck.”

Jason stopped all movement. He leaned back far enough to take in your face; sweat beaded at your brow, hair disheveled and dampened against your forehead, lips parted and panting. You were truly a sight. He raised a stern brow at you despite the grin fighting to take over his face, one of his hands slowly tugging his boxers down.

“You keep giving me that attitude and see what I’ll do to you.”

You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to throw back a gibe at him before the words withered into a shrill gasp. That was when he hoisted you on his hips with a small grunt, his large palms curling firmly into your skin. Instinctively, you hooked your legs around his waist moments before he thrusted you back against the wall and stole the air from your lungs.

Jason pressed his mouth to your ear, already pushing his hips up to yours to tease your soppy cunt with the head of his cock, giving you just the slightest taste of what was to come.

“I’ll fuck you sore, sweetheart. Don’t fucking try me.”

You clicked your tongue, noticing how Jason went stiff against you at the small sound, anticipating whatever clever remark that was going to roll off your tongue next.

“You’re all talk, Jason. All bark and no fucking bite.”

He scoffed under your ear, offering you only a false lull, leaving you waiting for his reaction with burning thrill building up deep in the pit of your stomach, as if he was planning his next move in that moment of silence that you spent trying not to squirm in his arms.

Jason lifted you silently before sitting you back down, the swollen tip of his cock prodding into your slit. Your walls clenched instinctively around him as his thick length tried to plunge deeper into you. You whimpered. God, he was so big.

“Mmm—so fucking tight—” he cut himself off with a loud gasp as you squeezed him again. “Sto—stop it. I’m gonna fucking cum already if you keep doing that.”

But you couldn’t help it. Your cunt burned and stretched, making much needed room for Jason’s size. He barely moved. And when he did, a loud moan would stop him again. You could feel him throbbing, his cock hardly even half way inside you, yet.

“Shit. Don’t think I can make it, baby—please. Just—just try to relax a bit. You’re fucking killing me.” A defeated groan escaped him. “Fuck it. Come here.”

He tugged you forward, his lips finding your neck and restarting the trail of warm kisses along your skin. His mouth teased your earlobe, his heated breaths fanning across the shell of your ear and waking goosebumps down your back.

“Touch yourself.” A vague noise of confusion caught in your throat. His kisses didn’t once let up when he spoke again. “Go ahead now.”

You slipped a tentative hand between the crammed space between your bodies until your fingers found your clit, sensitive to the touch now. You grimaced but, nevertheless, let your fingers press firmly down on yourself. Jason began whispering hoarsely against your ear.

“Start making circles ‘round that clit for me. Nice and slow. That’s it. Just like that. Good girl. Take it easy now. Don’t make yourself cum, yet.”

Your throat gripped with short piercing whines as the dull ache in your core waned into pulsating pleasure and you had to resist picking up the speed on yourself as Jason continued to guide you patiently.

You were slowly loosening up. You could feel yourself slowly sinking farther down on Jason’s cock the longer you touched yourself. He carefully tried again, sliding his cock deeper into you only to be faced with much little resistance this time.

Jason pressed his mouth to your neck to smother his moans as he began moving at a steady pace, bucking his hips up to yours and heaving a small grunt each time you glided back down on his shaft. You felt delightfully full, your walls perfectly framing his cock, easing more and more into taking more of him inside you.

He could hardly manage a word through the heavy pants that left his mouth, the praises on his tongue broken by each thrust and gasp of breath. Yet, he remained generous with them, not once neglecting to remind you how good you were doing.

“Good fucking girl—taking my cock so well. Yeah, keep—touching yourself like that.”

And you only listened and followed, bouncing up and down in Jason’s arms as he fucked himself senseless into you and your next orgasm loomed over you. A muttered succession of curses rushed through his teeth as he felt your walls tightening around him again.

“You close?” He croaked. You nodded, a soft moan punctuating your response. His voice swooped high and staggered with gasps, turning into a quivering whimper as he spoke his next words, “I can feel you fucking throbbing. Shit.”

Soon, Jason’s breaths have grown loud and erratic, his chest heaving unevenly against yours as his own orgasm approached rapidly. His pace was relentless now, his arms holding you tightly against the wall for leverage.

His moans slowly tapered into an accension of melodious whines in your ear as he finally came apart inside you, brimming you whole with his thick cum. His filling warmth was enough to propel you over with him; and you buried your face in his neck as the crushing wave of your next orgasm took hold of your body in shuddering pulses.

His pace gradually slowed, his damp forehead pressed tenderly against yours as he drank in generous gulps of air. His body trembled, breaths ragged yet finally returning to an even pace when he finally set you back down on your feet, wincing with a hiss as he freed his cock from your pussy that still gripped tightly onto him.

You could feel yourself gush with his cum when he, at last, released from you, the warm trail rushing down your thighs. Jason eyed the pale stream and swallowed, pupils visibly blowing wider again as his lip rolled back between his teeth, his cock already reacting to the sight. But he shook his head and smiled softly at you, raising his chin to look at you with a newfound admiration in his eyes.

“That was crazy…” you muttered, voice roiled with a breathy chuckle, already reaching for your pants on the ground. “Good crazy?” You heard him ask as you began to dress and you offered a simple but jovial “mhm-hmm”, peeking over your shoulder to smile at him.

You craned your neck to peer over the slope of the precipice at where the vampire once was only to find the corpse to be now on its own.

“Looks like it got bored and left.” You remarked, finishing fastening your vest.

Jason stepped up beside you, now fully clothed and his arms cradling his rifle once again, and followed the path of your gaze down the opening of the cave. You heard him hum dryly and when you turned to look at him, a pursed smile was on his flushed lips.

“Let’s hope it stays that way. Come on. Let’s move.” he said curtly, his tone loud and demanding as if he was speaking to his subordinate soldier; already walking ahead of you to the edge of the cliff. He paused momentarily to turn his shoulder and address you again. “Stay close. You got a weapon—besides that knife right there?” He waved a hand at the glinting blade that flipped absentmindedly between your fingers.

Your silence was all the answer he needed to reach for his holster and brandish his pistol, twirling it on a finger before handing it to you handle first. A courteous smile adorned his lips as you took the gun and cocked it, taking the cue to lead the way out of the tunnel.

You followed close behind, cautioned eyes watching for movements in the shadows until you made it into an opening – a vast room of debris. Up ahead in the darkness of yet another cavern came rushing two orbs of pale light and a set of hurried footsteps. Jason quickly turned to you to say something but it was already too late for any assurances.

You cowered back a few steps, gun clutched tightly as two American soldiers hastened into the dull light of the vicinity; one of them – you assumed to be the leader – immediately demanded for you to drop your weapon but you held your ground with a scowl.

Jason stood between you and his comrades, arms raised and shielding you from their assaulting barrels. As if he could protect you from the bullets once they came soaring at you.

“Hey, hey, hey! Calm down. She’s with me.” He tried to pacify the tension but to no avail.

The fair-haired man didn’t yield, only lifting his head slightly to address Jason with a curt tone. “With all due respect, Lieutenant, we can’t let an enemy soldier walk freely when we have bigger issues at hand. Tell her to drop her gun or I’ll shoot.”

Jason looked back at you, utterly defeated. His wide eyes glowed dully, mouth hanging agape with unspoken words. He then heaved a sigh, shaking his head as a dirty look crossed his face.

“Fucking shit—fine! I’ll take care of her.”

“What—”

His glared turned to you and you swallowed back your complaint, your fingers growing loose on the pistol. He accepted the coil of rope from the other soldier before walking closer to you, another hand stretching out and beckoning the gun in your hands with a twist of his fingers.

Perplexed and frustrated, you dropped the weapon on the man’s palm and watched it slide back inside his holster. He circled you, taking your arm and pressing it close to the other before wrapping the rope around your wrists.

Panic simmered deep in your chest even though your face showed otherwise. You gritted your teeth, fingers flexing into fists against your back.

Jason’s fingers brushed past your shoulder blade. You would assume it was merely accidental until you noticed the lingering warmth of his skin over your shirt. As the two other Americans turned to walk away, Jason leaned into your neck, his whisper against your ear raising goosebumps along your back once again.

“I won’t let ‘em lay a finger on you. You’re my responsibility.”

You released a long sigh. “How romantic of you.”

“Can’t help it,” you could hear the grin in his voice – and his warm breath on your neck before his lips pressed a slow kiss to your skin. “I’m a damn good lover.”

⛓️❤️‍🔥 Taglist!

@kassiekolchek22 @yellowroses-world @house-of-kolchek @yeslieutenant @katsufairies @ptichkayago @gaypanic1 @wadiyatalkinabeetmate.

#jason kolchek x reader #jason kolchek x you #jason kolchek x y/n #house of ashes jason #jason kolchek

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riderofblackdragons · 4 months

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Day 22: Slowly Running Out of Air

And now, the challenge of figuring out how to make them run out of air when they're literal vampires! I've done my best with this prompt, but seriously, vampires don't need air. And the other option was I enjoy writing the angels, who , surprise, don't need air either! So we're going back to the Runaway Treasures AU, bc I can trap Elijah in a place without air for that!

Enjoy!

If he was truthful, Elijah hadn’t expected to catch up to Katerina. Innocent she may have portrayed herself as, and certainly more human than either him or Niklaus, but Elijah hadn’t missed the sharp intelligence in her eyes, nor her general sense of self-preservation.

As such, Elijah could only assume that the reason he was able to find her, although miles ahead of the other men and vampires his brother had sent out with him, was because Katerina had let him. He’d been all or bringing her back, even though she was now a vampire, so his mate could get closure on it, and Elijah wouldn’t have failed his task, but.

Katerina wanted to talk, and so, in the name of their former friendship, Elijah agreed. And he didn’t like what she was saying. Things about Niklaus, about their relationship. She wasn’t really trying to explain why she’d run from them, he’d realised quickly. Still, he’d stayed, letting her talk.

Eventually, he wasn’t quite sure of what Katerina had said that had convinced him, but Elijah ended up going with her. Avoiding all of his mate’s attempts at guilting him through their bond, and ran with her.

And where had it gotten him, he mused. Trapped inside a church, under it, even, after being cornered by the vampire-hunting townspeople who were convinced they were doing the right thing. Without his friend, the one he’d spent some 300-odd years running with.

Oh, Katerina had arranged for the escape of both of them. They were still friends, and she did still care for the Omega, despite their rocky beginnings. But Elijah had given it up for a younger vampire, little Anna, and so he was stuck here, whilst Anna and Katherine, as she’d decided to go by, were running free.

The upside, Elijah mused, to being vampires, was that they didn’t require air. There were a few townspeople who were caught up in the spell, and were now trapped down here with them, but they had quickly been devoured, before they’d even had the chance to run out of air.

Still, breathing was a comfort to many, after they’d turned, and the air in the tomb quickly ran out. Elijah could spot a few newer vampires struggling with the lack of air, as they desperately tried to inhale whatever was left of a substance they no longer needed.

It amused him, Elijah supposed. And it was fascinating, to see how they hadn’t quite grasped the vital thing they were missing down here, something he had noticed as soon as he’d realised the others weren’t dying in the fire.

It wouldn’t be long, he reckoned, before they started attacking each other for the blood in their systems. These young vampires, they wouldn’t be thinking rationally, trying to stay alert the longest, as opposed to merely waiting. None of them would be getting out any time soon, by Elijah’s estimate. They would all desiccate, no matter how much blood they stole from each other, before the spell upon this tomb was released, and they could walk free.

And it wasn’t as though it was easy to tell time in here, either. It was cold, and dark, and Elijah could tell when he tried breathing that he’d be long dead if he was a human. It had been easier to track, when there was still some oxygen left in the room, but given it was all gone now… He couldn’t be completely sure of how long it had been.

Only Elijah’s bond with Niklaus, still thrumming along the back of his mind, despite their centuries of distance from each other, kept him awake. Far longer than the others in the tomb, long after they’d even stopped twitching, from the lack of blood in their systems, Elijah remained conscious, even as his body shut down.

But it was something, at least. A little push and pull with his mate’s emotions, over the centuries. Just enough to keep him with a vague sense of what was happening, purely based on Niklaus’ emotions. A little fear here, a little caution, a little love… It served to make his time as a corpse more interesting, at least.

And then, over a century after he was trapped inside this tomb, Elijah tasted fresh blood on his lips, and saw moonlight stream into the tomb, and knew that his freedom had come.

#tvd #the vampire diaries #to #the originals #elijah mikaelson #katherine pierce #katerina petrova #whumpay #AU - Runaway Treasures #my fanfic #abo dynamics #abo au #omega elijah mikaelson

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mistresslrigtar · 1 year

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Reposting Yearning for @zelinkcommunity Zelink Week 2023 July 10

Rated M for blood, implied consensual sex (off page), one curse word

Summary:

Link is an embittered soldier fighting a losing battle in a holy war against the Demon King Demise, who is determined to claim Hyrule and the Triforce. When the goddess, Hylia, reenters Link’s life, his hope for victory is renewed. Their reunion rekindles their love for each other, but will it be enough to emerge victorious?

An AU origin story of a future princess, hero, and a magical sword

Chapter One - Yearning

“You have over-stepped your bounds and broken our most sacred rule!” Nayru’s blue eyes burn with an ire so intense Hylia fears actual flames may flare out to smite her where she stands before her three sisters in the central garden of their celestial palace.

The setting sun casts long shadows over the marble floor, and Hylia’s gaze drifts to the clouds, tinged pale pink and yellow, drifting past a nearby balcony railing. So peaceful as opposed to the tension settling between her and her sisters.

Din looks at Hylia with cold amber eyes, her lips curling. “How could you consort…. with a mortal?”

Of course, her sisters will never understand what it is to yearn for something beyond what they are and have been for eons. They cannot comprehend the joy of loving and being loved unconditionally. Link expects no more than what Hylia is willing and able to give. But what she feels for him — she would give him the sun, moon, and stars if he asked.

“Nayru. Din.” Farore steps in, her green hair streaked with gold that shimmers in the waning light, holding her hands out to appease them. “She is a child.”

“Do not defend her, dear sister!” Nayru spits, turning her anger upon Farore. “The mortal is the child, and you encouraged her to pursue him!”

“I offered her counsel.” Farore’s green eyes return Nayru’s hard look with a firm one of their own.

“To do as she wills?” Nayru sweeps her hands in a broad circle indicating the landscape below them. “Toy with the affections of this mortal who is little more than a clay puppet of your creation, Farore?”

No. That is not what Hylia did. She never subjugated Link. She gave him the choice, and he chose to see her of his own free will. They began as friends, enjoying each other’s companionship and learning from each other. He taught her simple things like how to fish and hunt. And more complex things when they forged a sword together. He shared his hopes and dreams with her, and she shared stories of her life with her sisters and her love of music, teaching him to play her harp. Nayru knows nothing of Link’s kindness of heart and purity of soul.

“His depth of feeling far outstrips yours, dear sister! And I love him!” Hylia’s hands fly to her mouth, but the words of truth have already been spoken.

Nayru’s sharp intake of breath stills them all. Face paling in stark contrast to her midnight blue hair, her lips form a thin line that preludes a lecture. “To feel is to lose focus and the will to be decisive when action is necessary. Worse, to love is to lose your objectivity.”

“You will bring downfall to us all with this reckless behavior!” Din growls, tossing her flaming red hair over her shoulder, eyes wide with barely contained fury.

Hylia’s love for Link has nothing to do with the chaos threatening the earth, and she has never allowed it to interfere with her sacred duties. “My love does not feel wrong to me.”

Nayru walks to the balcony railing and gazes at the landscape far below. “The point is moot; your mortal received notice today and is being sent across the continent.”

Hylia’s heart drops into her stomach at Nayru’s words. The other side of the continent is where the battle against Demise rages. It is a death sentence to any mortal sent to fend off the demons and monsters who lay claim to the land.

“Nayru! No!” Hylia rushes over and falls to her knees at Nayru’s feet, clutching at the hem of her pale blue gown, not caring how she looks. Hylia turns her eyes upward, pleading for mercy. “Please, dear sister, you can stop this!”

“Your spectacle is unbecoming!” The words drip with Din’s anger, always simmering beneath the surface. She grabs Hylia’s arm and hauls her back to her feet. “The boy has a warrior’s heart; he may do well there.”

Hylia sways to regain her balance when Din releases her and reaches for the railing. It feels as if the room is spinning off its axis, for surely this cannot be happening. Perhaps it is all a dream. But no, Hylia feels the ache where Din squeezed her arm too tightly.

“You know we cannot interfere. Our duty is to observe.” Nayru cocks her head to the side, her hair rippling in the slight breeze. “His love for you will keep him strong and determined to fight in your name.”

Hylia turns to Farore, who has been frustratingly silent during the exchange. Surely she can be a voice of reason and convince Nayru to change her mind and intercede this one time. “Farore, please!”

Farore’s face falls as she shakes her head. “It is out of my hands, dear sister.”

Moments ago, Hylia had been in Link’s arms, the pair professing their undying love and sharing a kiss. The dream of building a life with him crumbles before her eyes. How foolish of her to think she would ever have been able to balance her relationship with him and her sacred duty without her sisters' knowledge. Now that the truth was revealed, there was no need to hide. Swiping angrily at her eyes, Hylia looks upon Nayru.

“You cannot stop me from going to him.” Hylia resolves that she will protect Link one way or the other.

“Oh, dear sister.” Nayru reaches over and takes Hylia’s hands, holding them tightly. She pulls her away from the railing and over to the pedestal where the Triforce hovers. It spins on an invisible axis, surrounded by hanging vines of ivy. “You will not be able to. The battles being waged are increasing, and the demons are winning. We must act swiftly; therefore, we are leaving this plane and taking as many demons as possible.”

Panic swiftly replaces Hylia’s anger, and she looks between her three sisters to verify Nayru’s words. “What? When was this decided?”

“While you were neglecting your duty to liaise with your mortal.” Din purses her lips around the final word as if it leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

“The Triforce cannot be moved; it is allied with this plane. Are we to leave it unattended?” Hylia reminds Nayru.

“You speak truth.” Nayru's gaze does not waver, and Hylia’s hands begin to tremble in her sister’s firm grip. “Therefore, one of us must remain behind and devote her life to protect it at all costs against those that will continue to battle for domination below.”

The blood drains from Hylia’s face as she realizes they have already decided who will remain behind. “You would sentence me to a life of loneliness and misery chained to the Triforce for one transgression?”

“Sacrifices must be made in the name of love,” Nayru states. “By guarding the Triforce and saving the earth from demons, your mortal may be saved.”

Her mind reeling, Hylia looks between her three sisters. Words fail her, and bitter tears spring to her eyes, trickling down her cheeks to splatter on the marble floor. How can she refute the wisdom of Nayru’s words?

Joining hands, her sisters encircle her and begin to chant. The timbre of their voices blends as they recite the binding rite, dulling Hylia’s senses. A ring of light grows until she is engulfed, and she must close her eyes against blinding brightness. She feels her feet lift from the floor, and her back arches when the light coils around her body and limbs. Her mouth opens in a silent scream when an invisible chain tethers her to the Triforce.

Plummeting to the floor, Hylia barely hunches over on her hands and knees before she retches. Nayru’s expression softens, and kneeling before Hylia, she pulls her long, golden hair from her face. “Dear sister, do not think this means we love you any less. Our sacred duty must come first. It has always been the way.” Hylia nods, shackles tightening about her heart as her power leeches away to form an impenetrable shield around the sacred relic.

Nayru lifts Hylia’s chin with her fingertips. “I will not leave you completely bereft.” Closing her eyes, she places her palm against Hylia’s brow. “I grant you the power of my wisdom; may its truth guide you along the critical path you must take. My favor goes with you, always.”

Rising, Nayru backs away, beckoning Din and Farore to join her. As they leave her, Hylia reaches out before Farore passes, gripping her hand. Her heart aching that she will be too weak to go to him anytime soon, she must try again to plead for mercy for Link.

Farore looks down with shuttered eyes, her bottom lip trembling. “Farore.” Hylia presses her hands together, beseeching her. “Please cast your blessing upon Link, and offer him your protection. Do this final act for me, sister favored above the others?”

Farore hesitates, conflicted, more than likely fearful of overstepping her bounds concerning mortal life. Hylia has always been closest to Farore, and Hylia can only hope the bond they share will speak to Farore’s heart. Holding her gaze, Hylia silently pleads that Farore’s love for her will sway her to acquiesce.

Finally, Farore’s eyes soften, and she nods. “For you, dear sister, I will grant him my blessing. May my strength guide his hand in the battles that lie ahead and my courage shield him.”

“Thank you.” Hylia squeezes her hand one last time before releasing Farore. With a watery smile, Farore steps back to join Din and Nayru. As they fade from existence, Hylia calls to them one last time before she falls into a healing slumber. “I will honor my sacred duty and safeguard the Triforce in your name, dear sisters.”

Her sisters' plan works somewhat, and most of the demons depart, but the most powerful and persistent of all, Demise, the Demon King, remains. Hylia spends her days in meditation, focusing only on restoring her divine power once more. Once she does so, she can travel down to the surface to aid the Hylians in their cause. Until then, she can only stand helplessly by and watch from the astral plane as Demise’s monster horde ravages the land.

And Link does possess a warrior's heart, as Din had said. Hylia witnesses his transformation from the gentle boy who taught her to fish, hunt, and forge a sword into a force to be reckoned with, fueled by bitter rage. He undoubtedly thinks she has abandoned him in his greatest hour of need. The darkness will inevitably seek to claim him and do everything within its power to extinguish the light that burns within him.

The weight of his suffering nearly rips him apart, and Hylia weeps bitter tears. She aches to mend the fragments of his shattered spirit and unravel the shadows that claim him. Day after day, she dreams of cradling him in her embrace and easing the pain of his wounds - in flesh and spirit. She envisions a world where their love can blossom, flourish, and overcome any obstacle. Her passion for him burns ever brighter, despite the years that pass as she grows stronger again.

She yearns for the day she can go to him. To finally lay beside him under a moonlit sky, sharing stolen kisses and breathless whispers of affection. She will kiss each scar won in battle and mend his ravaged soul. She will enthrall him into sweet submission, and he will worship her as he once did…. so long ago.

Closing her eyes for one final healing meditation, Hylia senses him and hears his fierce battle cry. She reaches out to him with a promise – Soon, my love. Soon.

Present day:

“In the name of Hylia!” Facing a monster stronghold, the battle cry moves like a wave through the ranks of the troops rallied under Link’s command. The name tastes like ash in his mouth, but not because of the enemy fortress’s bonfires that rage in the distance. It’s been five years since he professed his undying love to Hylia, only to never see her again.

Since that sunny day that feels like a lifetime ago and belonging to someone else, he’s lost his mother and father. His sister married, only to become a widow while expecting a child. She now lives with her husband’s family on the opposite side of the world. Link has yet to see his nephew and doubts he ever will. He can only hope his sister remains healthy and has found happiness in her child.

Hylia’s loftwing pendant, her gift to him when they first met, bounces against the bare skin of his chest as he runs. He gave up calling to her three years ago, but he can’t bring himself to part with the necklace. When he can rest, his head fills with thoughts of her sitting by the pond at sunrise. Her beauty and grace are hazy memories that can still take his breath away. And his heart aches for her as strongly as it had when he was young and naive.

If she did return, he doubts she’d want the scarred, battle-hardened soldier he has become. So longing for something that was never meant to be only makes it more challenging to go on. The battlefield is no place for his youthful fantasies.

Soon enough, Link and his men are in the thick of a deadly fray, and the screams of men falling around him drive any further thought of Hylia from his mind. It isn’t long before his sword arm aches from striking and slashing so many of their foes that he has lost count. And still, it is to no avail; the horde just keeps coming. For every monster they kill, two more take their place. Through the smoke, Link sees the orchestrator of the chaos, the Demon King, Demise overseeing the carnage. With each passing day, he and his army grow more assertive, while the Hylians that remain to fight the war struggle to regroup.

A blow to Link’s head sends him reeling, teeth clattering, biting his tongue. The iron taste of warm blood fills his mouth. Wheeling about, he viciously slashes his sword at a horned two-legged creature that had once been a wild boar until Demise’s magic turned it into a slobbering monster. Blood splatters across Link’s face and tunic when his blade slits the animal’s throat.

“Fall back! Fall back!” Link shouts as the animal topples to the ground. Chest heaving, sweat from the flames, and his exertion dripping in his eyes, Link sweeps his sword in an arc as he retreats. The smoke shrouds Demise, but his horde rages on, pushing further into the diminishing ranks of Link’s men. By the time they retreat to the neutral zone of their camp, over three-quarters of Link’s men are either dead or wounded.

The stench of blood hangs heavy in the air, and the cries of the wounded and dying rend another gaping hole in Link’s ragged heart. Their forces are severely diminished, and they cannot withstand another assault by Demise. Already the Demon King has plunged this part of their continent into darkness. A darkness that threatens to encroach into all of the surrounding regions. What will happen when the last of the Hylians falls?

Link sees that the wounded are cared for and that the men still standing receive sustenance before reporting to his commanding officer.

“What happened out there?” The general shouts, white mustache and mutton chops quivering angrily before the tent flap falls behind Link’s entrance. The older man takes an unhealthy swig of whiskey from a bottle before slamming it on a desk covered with battle plans. Liquor splashes over his hand to spill across the parchment.

“What do you think? You sent us into a slaughter. Same as always.” Link spits blood on the floor at the general’s feet. He stares the man down, the animosity palpable between them. Days of friendships and camaraderie are long past. The souls of all that have passed weigh upon those that survive. Coughing and the moans of the wounded filter through the tent’s thin canvas walls.

“See here, boy! You may wear a captain’s colors, but your insolence has no place here. Those men’s deaths are on your head!” The general’s one good eye burns, while the other, lost to battle long ago, is an empty socket covered by a patch. “And yet, you always prevail. One would think you were favored by the goddesses. If not them, then the demons themselves. Eh?”

It is not the first time this commander and others have insinuated that Link has divine protection. When he first joined the army, he was as green as they came, and no one thought he would last a fortnight. But as he prevailed, growing stronger and more skilled daily, Link also began to believe the rumors. That was before he found himself gravely wounded after a battle that left nearly everyone else dead. Link supposes he should consider himself lucky he survived. If only this was a world worth surviving and living for. Clenching his fists, Link’s jaw aches with suppressed anger that boils to the surface.

“Fuck you!” Link yanks at the forest green sash adorned to his tunic. “And you can keep your captain’s colors! I never wanted them or any of this!” With a ripping of fabric, he tears the sash free, exposing his chest and a jagged scar that runs the length of his torso. “I wear the scars of battle, same as you, old man.”

The general’s lips curl into a sneer, his steely grey eye brittle and mean, rakes over another scar stretching from Link’s ear down the side of his once smooth, boyish features. “Yes, not so pretty now, are you? If the goddesses ever did shine upon you, they certainly don’t anymore.”

“The goddesses abandoned us all long ago.” With a final defiant glare, Link turns on his heel and storms out of the tent without waiting to be dismissed. He welcomes the feel of the cool evening breeze against his burning skin. His boots thud on the uneven ground as he walks through the tumult of the camp. The suffocating smell of iron, and the charred flesh of the bodies being burned in bonfires at the edges of the battlefield, mingle with the rotten stench of all the decaying carcasses of Hylian and monsters that remain in piles to meet the same fate. Surely, this is what hell looks and smells like.

Longing for a moment of peace and quiet, he continues walking past his tent and enters the surrounding forest. But he can’t escape the turmoil of his mind and the thought that his commander is correct. Any favor Link may have had with Hylia is gone. Sometimes he wonders if any time he spent with Hylia was real or a figment of his imagination.

However, the sword that bounces against his back as he walks and the pendant around his neck are bittersweet reminders of the life he once had and the moments he had shared with Hylia. He should have parted with both long ago but could never bring himself to do so.

Slowing his pace, Link hears the faint sound of a babbling brook and heads in that direction. Dim moonlight filters through the canopy of the tall trees surrounding him, and in the distance, a wolf howls mournfully. The trees begin to thin, and soon he finds himself in a clearing with a stream running through it. Crouching on the sandy bank, Link splashes the cool water on his face. He dips his hands in the water again, washing the blood, dirt, and grime from his arms and chest. But no amount of scrubbing can cleanse his tarnished soul.

Link stares at his reflection in the rippling water. He doesn’t recognize the blurry visage of a man with unkempt long blond hair and vacant eyes staring back at him, a ghost of someone he used to be. The moonlight reflects off the polished loftwing pendant resting against his heart. His lips form a grim line as he reaches up and yanks the charm, snapping the leather lanyard about his neck.

He grips it tightly, the pointed wings digging into his palm's flesh, but Link barely acknowledges the pain. He had told Hylia long ago he understood that her sacred duty came before him, but somehow he never thought she would actually have to choose. Uncurling his fingers, he looks down at the crimson bird resting in his palm. Maybe if he lets it go, he can finally find some peace. Slowly, he turns his hand over and watches as the weight of the pendant pulls the leather lanyard through his fingers. It falls into the brook with a quiet plop and disappears beneath the surface. He watches as the ends of the rope swirl in the eddies as the movement of the water pulls it downstream. Regret wells up in his throat, and Link swallows it down to lie heavily in his gut.

Wiping his hands on the skirt of his tunic, Link rises, reaching behind him to grab the hilt of the sword. It is the last weapon he forged at his apprenticeship, with Hylia by his side, eager to learn the craft. The blacksmith sent it with Link when he was called to the front lines, hoping it would bring him luck. Perhaps it did, as it had served him well, and Link was still standing. He releases the handle. He’ll keep the sword until death or the war's end - whichever comes first.

When Link turns, Hylia stands there, a white vision glowing in a shaft of moonlight, and a quiet gasp escapes his lips. Long golden blonde hair cascades about her slender shoulders, and shining sea-green eyes look expectantly at him as if it hasn’t been years, and she is patiently waiting for him to teach her something new.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Link drinks in the sight of her, knowing she is probably an apparition but cataloging this moment all the same. She drifts with fluid grace across the clearing toward him, and he can’t seem to make his leaden feet move. His heart and mind war within him, one wanting her, the other wanting nothing to do with her.

“Link.” Her melodic voice is like a sweet caress to his ears, and the pointed tips prick, straining to hear more.

But the spell is broken when Hylia tenderly touches the scar on his face. The tendons in his neck stand out, and his jaw clenches. Swallowing, Link exhales a shaky breath through his nose. “Don’t.” His voice rasps as he jerks back his head and roughly grabs her hand with his callused one. “Don’t touch me.”

Dropping her hand as if it scalds, he turns away, seeking distance from her effervescent beauty. It hurts too much to look at her. So pure and bright like a fallen star standing in this dark and dismal place. He sullies the air that she breathes just being near her. If Link thought he didn’t deserve her before, he knows he doesn’t now. Not anymore.

He reaches the tree line and stops, staring into the darkness beyond. Darkness that encroaches further within him with each passing day. Why did she come now, after all this time? After he was broken?

“Link.” Her voice is a whisper now, just behind his shoulder. He can practically feel the frisson between them, her hands raised, wanting to touch but refraining.

“Why are you here?” He can’t look at her again. Whatever bit of sanity he has left will surely break if he does.

“Let me explain what transpired between my sisters and me.” An unspoken plea behind her statement begs him to understand and forgive. Link isn’t certain there is room in his heart for either, but he will listen. Goddess, be damned; she owes him an explanation.

#legend of zelda #zelink #the legend of zelda #artists on tumblr #loz link #hylink #loz skyward sword #zelink week 2023 #yearning prompt

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draconic-ichor · 2 years

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If I might make a request, could we be graced with something fluffy, like Mohg playing with Morgott's tail when they were kids?

Yessssss!

Some art to go with too!

Always Loved

Young Morgott/Mohg dabble

Warning: strong language, blood/gore, mentions of animal death, light mentions of wounds

It had been a hard few weeks: scraps from the surface dwindled now that the seasons became cold, and the bitter chill twisted down into the darkness of the shunning grounds.

The omen twins grew desperate, having to hunt more dangerous game for food. They were not opposed to eating rats, but here the creatures grew giant and deadly.

Their hunt was fruitful, but came at a cost. Mohg, the younger of the two, had a chunk taken from his arm during the fight.

Morgott had patched him up, using bits of his own robe to bandage his forearm. Mohg watched him with wet eyes, a little grimace from the pain creasing his face.

Morgott frowned, insides ate up with guilt. He softly touched his twin’s face, “It’s alright…”

Mohg gave a little nod.

“I’ll cook for thee.” Morgott soothed, standing to drag the rat back to their makeshift home. It was slow going, the young boys careful to mask the trail of blood so no unwanted visitors would be had.

Morgott knew a small bit of magic, taught by the older omen that roamed the pipes, just enough to make sparks. After the fire was made he roughly butchered their kill and began to cook bits of it at a time.

Mohg ate everything handed to him ravenously, sharp teeth making short work of the charred flesh. Morgott watched him from across the meager fire. He took a few small bites before handing the rest of chunks to the other.

Once full, mohg retreated to their nest to rest and heal. Morgott tended the fire for a while longer, watching the shadows dance over the stone. He eventually joined his twin, sharing warmth and comfort.

Morgott sat, looking over his little collection of dried erdleaves, some still held small hints of a golden glow to them. He picked one up, turning it over in his clawed hand. His tail began to flick a bit, horns scraping hollowly along the stone floor.

Mohg rolled over in their makeshift nest, rubbing at his injured arm absentmindedly. His orange gaze locked onto his twin’s tail, following it back and forth. He slowly rose to all fours, crawling forward as silently as he was able.

Morgott heard him instantly, but decidedly didn’t react, keeping his eyes on his leaves.

Mohg crept closer, tilting his head to the side to study the movements. His pupils expanded, butt wiggling a bit in his excitement. Morgott’s lips curled, swishing his tail enticingly, still pretending not to notice.

The other’s muscles bunched before he pounced. He grabbed Morgott’s tail, falling heavily on his side to gently bite at it.

Morgott jolted a bit, giggling and trying to pull his tail free. The movements spurred mohg on, kicking and rolling around, playing like a young kitten.

After a particularly rough bite, Morgott gave a little squeal, pulling his tail away. Mohg huffed, sitting up.

“Thou art feeling better.” Morgott laughed, rounding on the other.

Mohg went back on all fours, dropping into a position akin of a playful hound. He smiled with too many teeth, wiggling. Morgott mimicked the stance, tail fluffing up. Seeing the other join in made the younger twin’s eyes sparkle.

He made a little growl before jumping. The twins wrestled a bit, all playful bites and rolling about the cobbled floor.

They scuffled for a time before chasing one another. Morgott dove into their nest, Mohg hot on his trail. They shuffled around until comfortable, Mohg giving the other a headbump.

Morgott smiled, returning the gesture. They began to settle, bodies a tangle of gangly limbs and a long tail. Mohg huffed, cuddling into the other’s warmth. Morgott softly pressed his lips to the other’s forehead before tucking into sleep.

History would record that the Omen King was never loved: not by his gods or the Greater Will, that his curse alone branded him a pariah. But that was all a lie, for he was always loved. For no one loved him more than his dear brother, Mohgwyn…

#morgott/mohg #the omen twins #morgott #Mohg #tiny little dabble #fluffy dabbles #elden ring dabbles #them as kids

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booksandchainmail · 2 years

Text

Pale 8.3

I like the furry animal-influenced drawings of the girls in this extra materials. Also makes me more confident in gold as a theme color for Avery (like purple for Verona or red for Lucy). And it's neat that hers have her wind shoes

THE WOOHOO

Avery sighed. Her breath fogged. The snow came down in quarter-sized dollops, wet and ice cold, each bit hitting her like a sharp jab with a finger or pen.

I can't tell if there's something supernatural going on, or if this is just what Canada's like, even in summer

Felt good, being trusted. And when so much of this place felt bad, it was like a much-needed light in a very dark place.

I think Avery has needed to feel competent and trustworthy for a while. Must also be nice that it's coming from older teens she looks up to.

Jessica had described the ruins as being like a cube. The side they were closest to and most familiar with was at the edge of two sides, wet and dark. Close to depression and apprehension. The things that lived here in this cold were well past depression and into grief and despair.

Okay, so I'm picturing this as having six sides, each a different vibe, and the familiar area of the Ruins is wet/dark, and now they're around a vertex that adds in a third side of cold. And each has it's associated emotion. I'm wondering what the other three are? I'm thinking opposites, so dry/light/hot. Those seem less intrinsically wearing down than the three we've seen, but I'm sure that a bleached bone-dry desert would suck in it's own way. Alternatively, if the other sides aren't opposing, I'm betting one is windy.

Then the waifs started appearing. They rose up out of the snow around her. A girl in a bunny hat, a boy with a bike helmet, and a girl with a leather jacket covered in zippers.

I wonder if we'll ever see Gabe or Reagan in there

There. She had a time-delayed smoke thing, for cover so she could use the black rope. Little ‘h’ with a curl on the one leg and a cross at the top.

I can't remember what planet that symbolizes, but from the time aspect I'm guessing Saturn

Gabe. Shirtless, vomit streaked across his lower face, mouth ajar, with a mushroom cut. Ten or so, skinny.

welp. That's got to be disturbing

“I liked what you said, before we did Jessica’s ritual. We chatted for a minute or so, we talked about wanting things to be better, to share, to support. More like friends are supposed to do.”

this is why Avery should be taking point this arc, if they're trying to build connections. I think the Kennet Trio have thoroughly made an impression of strength, what they need now is that genuine desire for connection.

“My best guess is this is Hunt,” Jessica said.

what is this, the Magnus Archives?

Okay, so bullet for hunt and lens for inquisition. And both are broken and wrapped in cord. The third one is a ring with a heart-shaped hole and twisted ends, goes along well with the other two. Love or romance is the obvious association, but I don't get how that fits into a triangle. Maybe binding of some sort? Thinking of a bleak twist on a wedding ring. And it would work as find -> follow -> catch with the other two.

“The Tedds? America and Liberty aren’t that strong, and their reasons are a bit shallow and stupid, but they absolutely would gun for you.”

aww, I was hoping working together/helping America get out/Toadswallow connection would make them allies

“They hear us. Do you hear me? We’ve found you. You can stop looking now, boy and girls. Life is a long and empty search…”

diversity win! The incarnation of the Hunt stalking you through the Ruins isn't transphobic

Bangles like the ring encircled the arms and rings were at the finger, and they looked heavy enough that they kept the arms from swinging as the lesser incarnation walked.

maybe rings as representing chains/shackles? Weighing someone down

“Good thing about it being Hunt is it’s about the pursuit, not actually catching,” Jessica said. “Same for Yearning.”

oh, that's the thematic link. Makes sense with what we've seen, not quite what I was guessing but that's why we have an expert

She expected a firm grab, those rings digging into her arm. Instead, a soft touch on the cheek. Avery stopped running, eyes locked to the figure, looking past the hair to eyes that had stars in them. Yearning smiled, hand resting against the side of Avery’s face.

... I think Avery in particular might be vulnerable to Yearning

Zed remained where he was, The arrow stuck through the sleeve of his leather jacket and attached him to the tree.

not the leather jacket! It's so hard to find a good one, and I'd say it's vital to Zed's aesthetic

“I see the world the Hungry Choir brought me into,” Brie said.

oh that must suck. Every time you need to look closely, see something magical, you see the world reflected through the worst nights of your life.

“Oh. Sorry.” Avery felt her face flush. Zed was mad and Jessica was offended, and Brie had her own stuff to deal with. She shouldn’t have come.

need to do some work on Avery's self-esteem. It can't be helping that her close friends are better friends with each other, and that her other social interactions are with teenagers who are significantly older

“When she kissed me. She was my friend and then she kissed me, and asked me to think on it before saying anything. So I did. And now we’re together.”

possibly the least helpful queer awakening story for Avery to get guidance from

“I’m trying to improve myself, and become someone better, that attracts cool people, but that feels shaky when we’re currently struggling with half the school hating us.”

I get the teenage (and beyond) fixation with coolness, and I get Avery wanting to improve, and a lot of the areas she's focused on seem worthwhile (confidence, assertiveness). But I think she's underestimating how well being genuine and earnest and kind and gallant will get her. Also, for romance specifically, how far being athletic will get her.

“Yeah. You could always ask those other students outright, if they want to make a connection. It’s awkward if you’re leaving, but things can be established long-distance.” “Kind of,” Avery admitted. “That’s more Lucy than me, though.” “Is it?” Brie asked, sounding surprised.

Connections are your whole thing! Take point on this one! Avery has been really good at dealing with people and convincing them to be friendly, or at least not enemies.

And I think her own lack of confidence is sabotaging the group in a way, because it means she doesn't put herself forward for things she would be good at (aside from movement), and lets the other two not notice what she's done

Though I get that the Kennet Trio are currently approaching this as a question of alliances and negotiation, which Lucy often handles, rather than friendship which is more Avery's thing. I just think that approach is a mistake.

“Fernanda?” Brie asked, interrupting.

If she's blaming the Kennet Trio for Laila's death, that could get very ugly. Best case scenario is she likes them for avenging her, but somehow I don't think that's hat's going on.

“And they gently made sure we were already aware you were gay before broaching the topic of your crush on-” “Fernanda?” Avery interrupted. “Crush? No.”

...or that. Well. I still stand by what I said

“Verona. Verona talked to you.”

dammit Verona

#booksandchainmail reads pale #pale #wildbow

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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 2 years

Text

Killjoys Never Die 1/15 - Zombie

Chapter Summary: Alone in the Zones, years after your friends, the Fabulous Killjoys had been killed, you meet someone you had never expected to see again. Reader: fem!Reader Chapter Word Count: 3 875 Series Warnings: mentions of drugs; poor mental health; suicidal tendencies; insecurities; throwing up; jealousy; slavery (?); experiments on living humans; graphic descriptions of: violence, injuries, torture, death A/N: At this point I would quickly like to mention, that the Zombie Mask design popped into my head about a week before Gerard pulled off Meta Man... It’s nice though that Gerard sticks to my headcanons

Series Masterlist

Killjoys hardly feared anything. Not DESTROYA, not the Phoenix Witch, not DRACs, and not the SCARECROWS, not even death. Maybe they feared being turned into a DRAC, into a mindless killing machine that thoughtlessly obeyed Better Living Industries' commands; falling into the hands of the company that had divided the world into Battery City and everything outside. Battery City with its white skyscrapers of metal and glass, where work was the only goal in life, and happiness swallowed as daily pills. Battery City, where those who didn't obey the rules, ended up as DRACs, or in the underground, breathing in toxic fumes, sharing their blankets with rats, and freezing to death at night. Battery City that locked its citizens behind its tall walls like animals in a cage.

The outside was free.

And that was worse.

The Zones surrounding Battery City were the DRACs' hunting grounds, a never ending battlefield between BLI and those who opposed them, the Killjoys. If you survived the day under the burning radiation of the sun, and did not freeze in the bitter cold of the night, you could easily die of thirst or hunger, in the desert, where hardly anything grew. And then you still had not survived the thunderstorms of acid rain, or the sandstorms that often enough had suffocated those who had not found shelter fast enough, and rasped the skin and flesh off its victims with grains of sand that were as sharp as a scalpel. Killjoys feared none of that, except maybe being turned into a DRAC.

But they did fear you.

They did not know who you were, a witch, a mad scientist, a mad man, a god. You captured DRACs and SCARECROWS alike, and most never were seen again after having fallen into your hands. Sometimes Killjoys turned up who claimed to have been created by you. Some thought your work was the origin of the legend of the Phoenix Witch, others called you her daughter.

The truth was much less glorious and much sadder than anything the Killjoys were able to come up with.

You had run with the only people you had been able to trust ever since BLI had destroyed the world. Day and night you had fought against DRACs and SCARECROWS, against BLI and – most importantly – their technology, trying to protect your friends, people who had become so much more than just friends, who had become the only family you knew anymore.

Party Poison and Jet Star had been several years older than you, and had always looked out for you. Jet had patched you up, whenever had gotten hurt. Party had made sure you ate enough, and got some sleep, even when you had been able to think only about your experiments, no matter how little he liked them. Kobra Kid had loved teaching you how to build weapons, and how to use them, and when you had begun taking apart the DRAC Masks, he had always been by your side, helped you with cables, and explaining electronic circuits to you. He had been the only one who ever had directly helped you with your work.

And then there was Fun Ghoul. Things with him had been... different. You had not talked much with him, often reduced your interactions to watching him work on the car, fool around with the others, or train his fighting techniques.

One day, not long before everything had gone to shit, he had offered to help you with your own shooting practice. He had put up some empty tins of PowerPup, and had stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, and taken your hands in his, lifting the ray gun you had been holding. You remembered having tried to focus on shooting, but instead you had been distracted by his hushed voice, whispering advice, had been distracted by his breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

You did not like that memory.

It taunted you with all you might have gotten, if only you had been a little braver, a little more honest with yourself. But before you had been able to admit your feelings, even to yourself, the Girl had been abducted. For years you and the Fabulous Killjoys had raised her, had taught her how to fight, always with the vague knowledge that one day she would be the one to bring about the fall of BLI. So the others had gone after her, had driven the TransAM into Battery City, to never return.

You had wanted to come with them, but they argued that you were not experienced enough in close combat, that you would only put yourself at risk. Believing them, you had stayed behind, had watched them speed off towards a fate you had not been able to foresee, otherwise you would have gone with them.

For days you had waited for them to return, for a sign of the old car, of your friends, of the Girl, who was like a little sister, or even daughter, to you.

Eventually you had gotten the news over Doctor Death Defying's broadcast: the Girl was saved, a victory paid for with the lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. You were the only one left, but hardly fabulous at that. Nobody seemed to know you were still alive. And quite honestly: you didn't want to be anymore.

So you locked the doors to the Diner, in which you and the Fabulous Killjoys had lived in for the past years, and had committed your entire time and energy to one goal and one goal only: learning everything there was to learn about a Killjoy's worst nightmare, the DRAC Masks.

Shortly after you had lost everything you had ever held dear in the Zones, a new type of mask had appeared. The DRAC Masks so far had been put on living humans, turning them into mindless killing machines who only obeyed the command of BLI. The masks could not be taken off without force. And when they were, the people died.

The new type of masks, Zombie Masks, as you called them, were a game changer, looking almost exactly like the old masks, only with an infinity symbol on the forehead. They were put on the dead, reawakening them as the same mindless killers as the normal DRACs, with one major difference: when the masks were taken off, the people stayed alive.

But there were conditions to it. The people could not be dead longer than a few hours, before the masks were put on, otherwise they did not work. You assumed it had to do with decomposition. Were the masks put on early enough, the cause of death, usually wounds, slowly healed. Were the wounds not healed enough before the masks were taken off, it was like the person had still been severely injured and eventually died off these wounds. But were the wounds healed completely? The person lived.

What was the most amazing thing though was that after the masks were taken off, the people did not seem to be influenced by BLI at all anymore. They returned to being the people they had been before they had died. And: masks did not work on them anymore, neither the normal ones, nor the Zombie Masks, after they had been killed again.

It had taken you years to gather all these information, mostly through experiments with the desert being your laboratory. You had made sure to never harm a Killjoy, but over the years your hands had been more than stained with blood of BLI. They had been drenched in it.

Some of the people you had freed of the Zombie Masks had been Killjoys, or more than happy to join the rebels in the desert. Many had offered you their assistance, but you had never allowed them to learn more about your work than they had up until that point.

Your best and closest friends had frowned upon your work, at your experiments with humans, about how you willingly allowed people, even if formerly BLI, to die. How could you expect strangers to accept this, and even help you?

You preferred working alone, especially after having lost your crew. This way you never had to rely on anyone who could disappoint you, could not lose anyone you had started to get attached to. You had lost too much for that. And so you ran by yourself, lived in the tiny underground shelters Party and Jet had helped you build into the earth all over the Zones, as long as they did not contain any of your ongoing experiments, drove one of the bikes Fun Ghoul had fixed for you, lived by the rules of the desert which Kobra had taught you.

Once a week you drove to the old Diner, making sure no other Killjoys took it as their base, keeping it in shape, should you ever have a reason to move back in there. But for now driving the old bike was painful enough of a memory. Living in the old Diner, which was filled to the brim with memories, would have killed you.

And it was on the way to the Diner that day when you got ambushed by DRACs. Usually you had gotten good a spotting the patrols, even able to create traps for them on the less often used routes. But that day they got the better of you.

Just like always these past years, there were three DRACs and one Zombie-DRAC. Two of the three DRACs were down already, black holes burnt into the white fabric over their chests, where the blast of your ray gun had hit them.

The Zombie-DRAC was heading for the boulder behind which you were hiding, panting, crouched over in the sand. You did not really notice the way the itchy sand got stuck on your sweaty skin, did not care. You hated fighting against the Zombies. There were still people underneath those masks who you could safe. If it came down to your life or theirs, you would not hesitate to shoot, but if you had a chance to capture them alive, you had to try.

Trying to quiet your heavy breathing, you glanced around the edge, seeing how close the Zombie had already gotten. Looking up the boulder, you thought about climbing it, attacking from above, but the surface was too smooth. There were no rigid edges to hook your fingers or shoes into, at least not in time before the Zombie spotted you. So there was only one option.

Getting on your feet, you exhaled and listened. The Zombie was close. Three more steps. Two. One. You launched yourself forward. The Zombie was taller than you by a whole head, but while it was stronger, additionally fuelled by BLI‘s anger, you were faster.

You grabbed its wrist, the one holding its ray gun, and in one quick motion slammed it against the boulder. A groan of pain sounded from underneath the mask, but it did not drop the gun.

You were about to repeat the action, when you heard the last alive DRAC approach. At first it was difficult to determine the direction it was coming from, but a moment later, you were certain it would attack from behind. Instead of knocking the Zombie‘s wrist against the boulder again, you twisted until you had enough control over the ray gun, and were able to look behind you. Not a moment too late, as it turned out, because just then the DRAC appeared. Not hesitating, you pulled the trigger, the Zombie still trying to win back control.

The blast hit the DRAC clean in the head, but you did not wait to watch it go down. The Zombie was a lot stronger than you, and beginning to win control over the situation. Using all your body weight, you threw yourself sideways against the bolder. Your shoulder ached dully from the impact, but the Zombie‘s arm, which you had trapped between your body and the stone, took most of the blow. A scream came from underneath the mask, not human, more animal, and it dropped the gun.

The moment its fingers had loosened around the weapon, you grabbed its wrist, and spun around, making it stumble and go down without any problems, at least until it had hit the floor, while you held its arm in an unnatural angle so it could not move.

But neither DRACs nor Zombies had any regard for physical harm. So it began struggling, and when you reached one hand for the dusty white mask, pinning its hand to the ground with the other and your knee, you felt the panic radiating off of it.

It was not the same cool headed panic you felt in a fight; it was the red, burning hot panic a cornered animal might feel when it knew it was about to die. You wondered if Fun Ghoul had felt that way when he had known he would die.

But you would not end this person‘s life, no, you would save them.

So you closed your fingers around the strangely oily material of the mask, right where the infinity symbol was, and pulled. The masks came off a lot harder than one might have thought, as if they were glued to its victim‘s head, and the more you pulled, the more the Zombie struggled, it reached out for you, tearing at your clothes, ripping one of your sleeves, and leaving deep scratches in your skin, but you did not give way.

The longer the struggle continued, the more the mask began slipping, the more the Zombie struggled, the panic oozing off of it increased tenfold. It was pitiful, almost you wanted to let it go, but you could not give in. In a desperate attempt to finally end this deadlock, you took a deep breath, and yanked as hard as you could, using your body weight once more to throw yourself backwards.

And just like that the mask came off, letting you fall on your behind, your head missing the boulder by inches. Immediately the person you had fought calmed down. It was a man, as you had assumed from his height, his hair, which BLI had shaved before putting the mask on, had grown out. Considering how long it was, the poor guy had been stuck underneath the mask for at least two years. If not more. It was hard to tell with his curls. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned away from you, his cheek pressed into the sand.

For a moment you watched him, how he just lay there, breathing heavily, and wondered if you had hurt him enough to immobilize him. Pushing up on your hands, you sat up, discarding the mask behind you. It was useless to you now.

You did not know who you had freed. For all you know this might be some BLI-believing bastard who just waited for you to come closer to knock you out, and present you to the heads of BLI as a present on a metaphorical silver plate. So you carefully got up, and took a step back, your eyes quickly searching for the ray gun that had been dropped somewhere.

Suddenly the man moved, pushing up on his hands, and sitting back so he was kneeling in the sand. Against the sun, shadows covered his face, but your heart started racing nonetheless. You were not sure why, but there was the creeping feeling that you knew him.

He wiped the sand off his hands, and reached into his face, brushing the sand there away as well, all while you watched him carefully, dreadfully. Somehow it felt, as if just now everything had changed, as if everything you had known until this point had gotten turned upside down, but you could not place your finger on it.

Then the man looked up at you, and your world spun out of control.

You should have recognised this brown hair, these little curls, should have recognized his face even in the shadow. But three years were as long as three eternities out here in the Zones.

For a moment Jet Star just looked up at you, his eyes wide, his face pale, even against the white fabric of his BLI issued suit. You could not move, just felt the floor give way beneath you, and you dropped. How was that possible? Your friend, who had died saving the Girl, out here in the Zones?

The Zombie Masks had appeared after the Fabulous Killjoys had died, but here Jet was, dressed as a Zombie, but alive and well. Had he been the first Zombie? And if BLI had turned him, what about the others? Were they out there, in the Zones too? Had you clashed with them before? Were they hunting you? Had you… had you killed one of them without knowing?

But that did not matter, you reminded yourself, it did not matter, not right now. Not when you had Jet back. For three years you had let the guilt for their deaths eat away at you, but now one of them was here. Five minutes ago you would have given your life to have one of your friends back.

You could not fight down the strangled cry that left your lips as you launched yourself forward, and tackled Jet in a hug, which he returned immediately, admittedly surprised, but he returned it. His arms, dressed in tight, stiff, white fabric wrapped around your torso as you threw your arms around his neck, and pressed your face against his shoulder.

You could probably count the number of times Jet had hugged you on one hand, but you knew this hug would be burnt into your memory for forever. It was desert dust and BLI disinfectant and something warm, that made you feel safe, like only your friends had ever been able to make you feel safe out here in the Zones. But Jet himself was still cold, almost like ice, just as all those people were, who came out from underneath the masks. It would take a few hours until his body warmth would have returned.

Before you knew it you were sitting in his lap, reduced to a puddle of tears, crying out all the pain of the last three years. Jet seemed a little confused, not quite sure what was going on, but he held you tight, and did not let go until you pulled away.

“You’re alive,” were the first words you were able to breath out, and Jet nodded. You were so close to him; you could see the small freckles on his nose. “You’re alive.”

“I am,” he nodded, but while your voice carried relief, his was full of wonderment. “What happened?”

“What are you asking me that?” You pulled away and got up. The floor seemed to sway underneath your feet. “You’re the one who suddenly turned up as a Zombie! I thought you were dead!”

Jet blinked at you, staying seated in the sand.

“Zombie?”

You walked to the discarded mask, and held it up.

“See that,” you pointed to the infinity sign on the mask, “these are put on dead people, bringing them back to life as a DRAC.” You could see the colour draining from Jet’s face. “Remember the normal DRAC Masks? When they’re taken off, the person dies. Take off the Zombie Mask, and you’ll live.”

You would have to explain it in more detail to him later, but this was enough for now.

“I died?” Jet turned his head away, and lifted one of his hands to the middle of his chest. “I died.”

You walked back over to him, and knelt down in the sand by his side.

“How are you feeling?”

Jet’s gaze was a little absent as he looked around, his face pale from years of no sunlight. His eyes flickered over the scene, over the dead DRACs, the white BLI car in the distance, and back to you.

“Dizzy,” he admitted, “sick.”

“You need something to drink,” you nodded, quickly jumping up, and heading to where your bike had fallen over in the sand. “Here.”

Running back to him, you offered him an old, metal bottle, but his hands were shaking too much to open the cap.

“Let me.”

Opening the bottle you held it to his lips, tilting it, until he could drink. Thirstily he gulped down what was left in the bottle, his eyes closed in relief. The water had to be warm and stall, but he drank as if it was the best drink he had ever had. You watched him, watched his lashes flutter against his cheeks, how one of his hands was still clawed into the fabric over his chest, the other halfway lifted up the bottle, as if to support your hand.

When he had finished, he sighed deeply.

“Better,” you asked, quietly, screwing the now empty bottle shut again.

He nodded, sinking in on himself. You had seen this phenomenon a few times now, the exhaustion of coming out from underneath a Zombie Mask.

“We should get out of the sun,” you reminded him after another few moments, gently putting your hand on his shoulder.

With still closed eyes, Jet nodded once more, and both of you began getting up, even though he needed a little help from you, still shaky on his feet.

You asked him to wait by the boulder, and went to fetch your motorbike. At moments like these you would have loved to just steal the BLI car, but that was dangerous for two reasons. One, if other Killjoys saw the car before you had the chance to paint it, you might get attacked. Two, the cars had a GPS installed, constantly transmitting its location, and nobody had figured out where it was, or how it could be disabled. Maybe if Kobra still had been with you, he might have figured it out. But he wasn’t with you anymore, and so you had to limit yourself to raiding the car for now.

Pushing your bike with the big bags over to the other vehicle, you began with the front seats, immediately finding two bottles of fresh water. It wouldn’t be good to drink, since all the bottled water was poisoned with BLI’s drugs, but good enough for washing your body, apart from the fact that it smelled sour. In the backseats you found a bunch of pills, which you packed for your experiments. The trunk turned out to be a real treasure chest. More water, canned PowerPup, a first aid kit, some unused DRAC Masks, and a blanket.

As soon as you had stored everything away on your bike, you pushed it through the gravel and sand over to Jet, who was leaning against the boulder.

“I can’t wait to see the Diner again after all this,” he grinned as you helped him onto the bike.

“We’re not going back to the Diner,” you informed him, kicking your machine to life.

“What? Why not?”

“Too many ghosts.”

He did not ask anything after that, but grabbed tighter onto you as you began speeding away from the side of the ambush.

Next Chapter - A New Normal

Taglist:

@alexstyx @jayloverthe3rd @robinruns @lookalivefrosty @butterflycore @omgsuperstarg @fivelegance @deadlovers @kpopchangedmylifesstuff @casmustdiee @moisheee @layla2-49 @thewordworrier @prty-poisxn

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thecyrulik · 2 years

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Kosta The Purring Vampire - Feeding Time

This is not a comfort piece :( Poor Kosta can't enjoy himself just yet (He'll get there soon, I swear!)

CW: needles, dehumanization, it as a pronoun, med whump, lab whump, restraints, blood, doctors being creepy and sadistic fucks

They dragged him out of the cage a little bit after sunset. He barely had time to enjoy the reprieve of not being constantly burnt through the coarse material he wrapped himself in when a couple of hunters arrived. They tore the cloth off him and grabbed him under his arms. He did not oppose them, weak as he was from the sunlight’s effect on him still lingering.

Hope rose in Kosta’s heart when he got pushed through the door and downstairs. A basement sounded rather promising – could they be tired with his whining presence outside and just decided to keep him down here so that he wouldn’t bother them with his screams? During the days he heard human voices intermittently, some of them very old, some childish. It was quite obvious he was held in a regular human settlement and not just a hunter base. Could it be that the wives and children of the hunters ordered them to keep Kosta away from them? If so, they would find no complaint from him.

He recognized the room they dragged him into and his blood froze in his veins. The table with restraints, the cold white light on the ceiling, the white tiles on the floor and the walls. He started to struggle, without a plan or a goal, he just wanted out, out, as far away from there as possible.

He pulled and scratched as much as he could with his hands bound and he snapped his teeth under the muzzle. There were shouts and barking orders, rough hands pushing him into the examination table, others pulling at his legs, ignoring his kicking and snarling. Sun-weak as he was, it didn’t take them a long time to bind him to the table yet again.

“Do I really have to do this?” A whining voice Kosta recognized came from the centre of the room. Ah, Jim the hunter boy.

“Son, don’t get me angry. We discussed it. Who else is it gonna be? One of the experienced hunters? So they will be rendered useless during the next hunt? Me? I have to run this experiment, none of you savages understand what we’re doing here. Yes, it has to be you.” The creepy doctor’s voice was another one Kosta recognized. He didn’t understand what the doc meant, though.

Not until he smelled it, at least. The blood overwhelmed him instantly. He raised his head, twisting and turning until he finally saw the man who smelled of fresh hay, the one from earlier, with a needle in his vein. The blood was pouring out into a shallow dish just below the end of the needle, giving off the delicious sweet-sour smell that made Kosta salivate.

“Let’s see if a less risky way of feeding it is gonna work.”

Feeding? They meant to actually give him blood? Kosta stopped struggling; if they meant to feed him, there was no sense in fighting. Restraints were mostly fair game, he wasn’t exactly at his best. He might snap at the weirdest moments and fuck things up.

“See? Clever beast, it knows it might get some food soon, if it’s good for us.”

He shuddered at being called a beast, but said nothing. The doctor moved to the hay-smelling hunter– Jim, his name was– and moved the blood bowl away. Kosta followed the bloodied needle as it was thrown in a bin, a drop falling on the floor with a plop he felt more than heard.

“Alright. Let’s see if this works. You see, I don’t feel like getting anywhere near its mouth if I don’t have to, so I hope it’s a good alternative to classic feeding.”

Kosta didn’t get a chance to ponder at the doctor’s words when he felt a warm hand on his throat, pressing and poking, quickly followed by a sharp stab. He flinched and grunted, making the doc jump back, leaving the needle buried in his neck.

A soft curse and a hard hand on his forehead followed. He was kept still despite his growls of displeasure. The humans didn’t exactly care, it seemed. Not the ones whose opinions mattered, at least.

“Jimmy-boy, can ya help? Or did a bit of blood loss get to you that much?” The doctor asked sweetly and Kosta felt his stomach turn.

“It’s James, not Jimmy. And not Jim, either. Of course I can help, it wasn’t even that much,” said the fresh hay hunter, plainly annoyed, and grabbed Kosta’s head with both hands, receiving a venomous glare in return. The stabbing pain in the vampire’s neck eased, but a burning one followed quickly. It was slow and a bit tingling, but it felt wrong and Kosta was burning up in no time at all. There was a reason he only ever drank blood and not injected it. It seemed like his body wasn’t exactly adjusted to this way of administering food.

“No! N-no, ahhh, it’s- bur-burnin.. gh!” He struggled, hoping it would make it obvious to them that it was a bad idea. The muzzle made it harder but not impossible. Still, none of the men present reacted to his protests until the doctor pulled the needle out.

“Now we wait. I honestly thought it would go better, but maybe it just looks so nasty but still works fine,” the doctor said and left his side. There were still the hunter’s hands on his head and he didn’t think fighting him right now would end well. He just listened carefully to the sound of a chair being moved on the floor and some paper rustling as the doctor got to his desk. James the hunter stared down at Kosta with an expression so intense the vampire would have believed it if he were told that look alone made his whole body burn, and not the blood injected into his neck.

Kosta tried to ignore the hunter’s stares and the discomfort, and instead focused on healing – or lack thereof. Not one of the burns that marked up his face, neck, arms and feet did close. None of them even started to get better – and they would have, if he were allowed to drink that tiny amount of blood.

“Son, you can let go for a moment. It won’t go anywhere.” The doctor sounded amused. James stepped away from the vampire with visible relief and sat beyond the range of his vision.

“What if it doesn’t work? What if it has to drink blood to heal? It doesn’t look like it’s getting better.”

“It won’ w’rk,” Kosta croaked, not sure anyone could understand him through the muzzle. It seemed that Jimmy did, though, because he got back to him in a split second.

“Doc, he– it says this won’t work!” The boy was wide-eyed above him yet again, and Kosta was unsure if it was him speaking their language or the realization that their actions were just pointless torture for the vampire. Neither reason sounded plausible; Kosta talked to them before, and the doctor was not hiding his pleasure at the vampire’s suffering.

“Or it just says it won’t so that we give it more blood. They’re deceitful creatures, remember.” The doctor got closer and Kosta growled before thinking it through.

“Still feisty, huh? I suppose I have to feed you if I want to proceed with my work, but believe me, vampire, I will make it as unpleasant for you as possible,” he said, a dark joy in his voice making Kosta’s skin run icy cold. It was not an empty threat.

“You’ll feed and heal soon enough, right? So I can just–“ the doctor pressed the sharp tip of a knife next to Kosta’s eye. Oh God, not my eye, please, the vampire thought, but kept his mouth shut, unwilling to let the doc win. The blade slid down his cheek, jumping over the muzzle straps, slipping under his chin, burning, stinging, making him shake just a little.

The stab took him by surprise. Right through his left bicep, scratching the bone there and coming out on the other side with a clink when the knife point hit the metal table he was strapped to. Kosta shrieked, aware he was sounding more animal than not. He screamed and whined and growled as the doctor started talking again, barking orders and moving back as other men, the ones that dragged him here, put their arms all over him.

Someone even unlocked a couple of clasps of his muzzle and pulled it down his chin. A metal tool was pushed inside his mouth, keeping it open like before and Kosta froze. Surely they wouldn’t try to extract more venom? The glands haven’t healed yet, it was pointless and cruel. He growled at them again as the metal thing kept his mouth open.

“I told you we’d feed you, vampire. You don’t have to enjoy it, though,” the doctor said, his sickly-sweet voice and his white wine smelling blood getting close, so close Kosta could just snap his fangs and drain the man if it wasn’t for the bite-guard and all the restraining hands and straps.

And then there was something being pushed inside his mouth, down his throat, making him spit and choke, eyes watering with discomfort, the need to cough or throw up barely contained. Through tears he saw it was a rubber tube, the doctor pushing it even deeper as the vampire struggled and growled and whined, too scared and humiliated to stay his usual dignified self.

A funnel got attached to the end of the tube and the doctor left, only to return a moment later with a bowl of what must have been James’ blood, drained earlier. Kosta could smell it coagulate, cool down, get gross and clotty. Still, it was blood, delicious, healing blood.

The first clotted lumps that went down his throat and he sighed almost dreamily. Just for a moment the doctor, the restraints, the knife in his arm disappeared, leaving only the blissful sensation of his stomach filling with lifeforce, tingling with energy, with power, with a promise to end the pain.

He heard the hunters laugh and express their disgust, but he paid them no mind at all. The knife got pulled out of his bicep and the would closed up in a couple of seconds, his body prioritizing it as one of the most severe damages he bore.

The tube got yanked out of his mouth too soon and too quickly. He didn’t manage to react fast enough before the muzzle got fastened back again, the straps too tight and scratchy, the bite guard taken out of his mouth carelessly, hitting the one fang he had left.

“Great, now bring it down into the basement. I need it in prime condition for when I start actual work,” the doctor instructed the hunters as restraints keeping Kosta tied to the table got removed only to be replaced with heavy chains that burnt. He got dragged on the floor, his legs refusing to work, warm human hands under his arms. Ignoring the muzzle, he tried to snap at either of the men but was purposefully ignored.

He saw James look at him with a strange expression on his face as he was being dragged out of the room and downstairs to the basement. The blood he got wasn’t enough to heal him fully and everything hurt when his half-limp legs bumped on every step of a stone staircase, and he actually cried and hissed until they threw him on the floor and locked a barred cell door behind him.

Kosta didn’t move at all for a little while. First, he had to calm his breathing, let the pain all over his body subside, and rest as much as he could. He curled himself up to a ball and let out a soft whine yet again. Soon, some light purring filled the cell, making it easier for him to power through the humiliation he had just experienced and the pain that still lingered in his raw throat and on his wrists and neck. Kosta crawled as far away from the door as possible, his chained arms making it hard, if manageable.

The moment his arm hit the stone wall, he slumped down and pulled his knees up to his chin again. He would break free from here, he had to, but first, he had to rest. Just a couple of minutes, just a little bit more, and he’d be ready to kill every single hunter that ever lay their hands on him.

His single fang throbbed with the need for revenge as he purred himself to sleep.

Taglist: @ceph-the-writing-spook @whumpy-writings @whumpsday @hold-him-down @deluxewhump @aswallowimprisoned @melancholy-in-the-morning @wolfeyedwitch @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @redwhump @endless-whump @afrosarah @hold-him-down

#vampire whump #vampire whumpee #needles tw #blood tw #forced feeding tw #restraints tw #dehumanization tw #vampires

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selkiewife · 3 years

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Theon Month || Day 14: Guilt

I’ve seen the debate that book Theon does not feel guilt about the things he has done. I’ve also seen it argued that book Theon doesn’t ever take responsibility for his crimes. I really disagree with this and I’ve collected some quotes to explain why.

In A Clash of Kings, it is true that Theon does not yet take responsibility for the things he is doing. He always blames it on someone else- Reek (Ramsay), The other Ironborn, or the victims themselves. However, you can see the guilt he experiences, even if he is trying to deny it, through the many nightmares that he has about the people he has harmed:

The sky was a gloom of cloud, the woods dead and frozen. Roots grabbed at Theon's feet as he ran, and bare branches lashed his face, leaving thin stripes of blood across his cheeks. He crashed through heedless, breathless, icicles flying to pieces before him. Mercy, he sobbed. From behind came a shuddering howl that curdled his blood. Mercy, mercy. When he glanced back over his shoulder he saw them coming, great wolves the size of horses with the heads of small children.

All his dreams had been cold of late, and each more hideous than the one before. Last night he had dreamed himself back in the mill again, on his knees dressing the dead. Their limbs were already stiffening, so they seemed to resist sullenly as he fumbled at them with half-frozen fingers, tugging up breeches and knotting laces, yanking fur-trimmed boots over hard unbending feet, buckling a studded leather belt around a waist no bigger than the span of his hands. "This was never what I wanted," he told them as he worked. "They gave me no choice." The corpses made no answer, but only grew colder and heavier.

The night before, it had been the miller's wife. Theon had forgotten her name, but he remembered her body, soft pillowy breasts and stretch marks on her belly, the way she clawed his back when he fucked her. Last night in his dream he had been in bed with her once again, but this time she had teeth above and below, and she tore out his throat even as she was gnawing off his manhood. It was madness.

~ A Clash of Kings

His guilt is also apparent in the way he dwells on the things he has done, even if he is still trying to pass the responsibility onto someone else such as with Farlen:

It took three more cuts to hack through all that bone and muscle and sever the head from the body, and afterward he was sick, remembering all the times they'd sat over a cup of mead talking of hounds and hunting. I had no choice, he wanted to scream at the corpse. The ironborn can't keep secrets, they had to die, and someone had to take the blame for it. He only wished he had killed him cleaner. Ned Stark had never needed more than a single blow to take a man's head.

~ A Clash of Kings

And then there is also the dream where he predicts Robb’s death at the Red Wedding. I am going to save that for later into Theon Month since I believe it is a prophetic or green dream as opposed to a guilt dream. Although the guilt he feels does play a role in it:

Mikken and Chayle sat together, one dripping blood and the other water. Benfred Tallhart and his Wild Hares filled most of a table. The miller's wife was there as well, and Farlen, even the wildling Theon had killed in the wolfswood the day he had saved Bran's life.

Along the walls figures half-seen moved through the shadows, pale shades with long grim faces. The sight of them sent fear shivering through Theon sharp as a knife. And then the tall doors opened with a crash, and a freezing gale blew down the hall, and Robb came walking out of the night. Grey Wind stalked beside, eyes burning, and man and wolf alike bled from half a hundred savage wounds.

It is because of all the evidence in A Dance with Dragons that I completely reject the idea that Theon does not take responsibility for what he did. I think that him taking responsibility is intrinsically linked to his identity arc. It happens gradually however. In Reek I, while still in the dungeons of the Dreadfort, he is haunted by what happened to Kyra but he is still trying to run from the guilt he feels:

Reek remembered the desperate, frightened look in Kyra's eyes. She had never looked so young as she did in that moment, still half a girl, but there was nothing he could do. She brought them down on us, he thought. If we had separated as I wanted, one of us might have gotten away. The memory made it hard to breathe. Reek turned away from the torch with tears glimmering in his eyes.

The memory of Kyra being brutally slaughtered fills him with helplessness and guilt, so he victim blames her and turns away from the memory. It is the same thing he attempts to do with Jeyne at first when he is still in the Reek mindset. It is not until he is gradually becoming Theon (and given a reprieve from some of the worst torture- that’s important) that he is able to accept responsibility. Theon taking responsibility for what he has done and understanding why he did it is intrinsically linked to knowing who he is. It is also intrinsically linked to his reprieve from constant torture and captivity. Granted he is still a prisoner and the abuse is ongoing. But while he was being tortured with flaying as well, he had no ability to do this at all.

Here are some of the moments in A Dance with Dragons where Theon takes responsibility:

His head snapped up. "Who said that?" All he could see were the trees and the fog that covered them. The voice had been as faint as rustling leaves, as cold as hate. A god's voice, or a ghost's. How many died the day that he took Winterfell? How many more the day he lost it? The day that Theon Greyjoy died, to be reborn as Reek. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with shriek.

A ruined man, a ruined castle. This is my place.

“I never … I took this castle from them, my lady. I had … had Bran and Rickon put to death, mounted their heads on spikes, I...”

He was trapped here, with the ghosts. The old ghosts from the crypts and the younger ones that he had made himself, Mikken and Farlen, Gynir Rednose, Aggar, Gelmarr the Grim, the miller's wife from Acorn Water and her two young sons, and all the rest. My work. My ghosts. They are all here, and they are angry. He thought of the crypts and those missing swords.

They know. The gods know. They saw what I did.

And Robb. Robb who had been more a brother to Theon than any son born of Balon Greyjoy's loins. Murdered at the Red Wedding, butchered by the Freys. I should have been with him. Where was I? I should have died with him.

“I have done terrible things … betrayed my own, turned my cloak, ordered the death of men who trusted me … but I am no kinslayer.”

#theonmonth2022 #theon greyjoy #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls #theon meta #theon quotes

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lepusrufus · 3 years

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As promised, a little thing about Cassandra being well...herself. Plus a sketch to go with it bc I don’t like posting lots of text by itself.

Warning ths one’s gory y’all

"Entertain him for just a bit," her mother had said. "Just take him down to the winery and I'll meet you there shortly."

And that's how Bela found herself leading one of Alcina's business partners through the castle's hallways. Her mother had to do some urgent calls and leaving a guest by himself would have been quite impolite. And who else to do the task really? Cassandra would probably scare the man to death and Daniela would take him down to the wrong winery. As much as they all reveled in killing and maiming, sometimes they needed to show some face and one such occasion was when the family business was involved.

The man, Emile, has been working with their family for a few years now. If memory serves her right he came from somewhere in France, looking for rare luxury wines. He wasn't exactly a pleasant person, but luckily he didn't talk much when her mother wasn't around, settling for admiring the decorations and paintings adorning their home.

The long route they were taking, staying well away from the dungeon's entrance, was taking them along one of the castle's outer walls. From the windows you could see the beautiful mountains stretching far in every direction and, down blow, the town bustling with activity.

"Quite beautiful weather today no?"

Bela couldn't help a small scowl, invisible under her hood but there none the less, when watching the snow piled on the ground outside. The sun was indeed shining today, but it's warmth didn't quite reach the ground, feeling more like sharp teeth on one's skin.

"I prefer the warm seasons."

The man hummed in response, still looking out the large windows while they walked.

"Come to think of it, I never saw any of you out during winter."

Bela narrowed her eyes at the remark. His tone came out jokingly, but there was something else in his voice, almost testing the waters to see how much he can poke and prod at a wolf before getting his hand bitten off. Bela decided to fall back in step with him, wanting to keep an eye on his every move.

"You're just never here long enough," she answered flatly.

They walked in silence once more, the only audible sound being their boots walking on the hard floor. Until Bela caught glimpse of a quick movement, only to turn and see Emile quickly grab one of the windows' handles and open it fully.

"What the-"

Bela's surprise died in her throat when the cold hit her, instantly chilling her to the bone. She screamed through gritted teeth out of frustration and pain, feeling the little exposed skin cracking already. Her attempt at backing away failed as her back quickly hit the wall and any logical thought of moving left or right was quickly leaving her mind.

"Oh, somebody will pay good money for your heads." He barked out a laugh.

Bela wanted to snap back at him, tell him he was so stupidly wrong and no, you can't literally chop our heads off even if you tried. But the pain caused by the cold left her unable to do much more than double over and grind her teeth.

Until a black blur of robes and insects came slamming against the window, shutting it in the process. Daniela then approached her shivering form while Cassandra materialized from a swarm of insects a moment later. She knelt in front of Bela and grabbed her face.

"Hey. Hey dummy look at me. Are you alright?"

Bela only let out a low growl, narrowing her eyes at her. Cassandra pursed her lips, taking that as a no, and got up.

"Take care of her Dani, I'll be right back."

She moved past her sister, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder and started walking down the hall that Emile had run through a couple seconds prior. Daniela wanted to ask if she needed help, but before she could open her mouth she saw Cassandra whip out her sickle which only meant one thing: hunt's on.

Cassandra's features were hardened into a deep scowl, looking every little bit like the bloodthirsty killer the townspeople feared so much. She wasn't running, as opposed to Emile who just took off. It was pointless. He was heading towards a dead end anyways.

When she rounded a corner only to see him a little further ahead, she wasted no time in bringing up her sickle and throwing it towards her prey. The blade cut the air forcefully with a quick whoosh and embedded itself into the man's shoulder. He let out a pained yelp and lost his balance, landing face first on the marble floor. He tried to scramble to his feet but Cassandra gave him no time to escape.

She grabbed the weapon's handle and pulled it free from the man's flesh, turning him towards her in the process. She then planted one foot on his chest, stopping him from getting up.

Her eyes narrowed and she brought the tip of her sickle to one of the man's eyes, letting out a short chuckle when his expression turned to terror.

"How did you know?"

"The real question is how do other people not know? It's pretty obvious once you think about it."

The answer was anything but satisfactory. Nobody who knew about their weakness was to be left alive, and if killing a bunch of smartasses was what it took to keep her family safe then so be it. Starting with one particular smartass.

She was snapped out of her thoughts with a loud bang. Looking down at Emile she noticed the gun that he managed to take a hold of and fire up at her. Cassandra didn't move, her eyes merely widening in mild surprise. His expression however contorted from smug to horrified upon noticing that the bullet flew straight through her, only dispersing a small swarm of flies that quickly flew back into her form.

"You know, I was really considering making this quick and clean since I have other things to do. But you-" she growled, grabbing his face "-you pissed me off."

He let out a muffled scream when Cassandra's fingers clamped down on his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. After a few stubborn moments she decided to use her sickle too, pushing the blade in between his teeth and prying them open. His muffled protests turned into full on screeches when she suddenly pushed the hooked weapon downwards, it's tip piercing the tongue and neck muscles and poking out through the underside of the jaw.

The screaming soon mixed with gurgling due to the blood now pooling into his throat and mouth. But that too died down when Cassandra forcefully yanked her sickle back, pulling the bottom jaw that it was still hooked to and ripping muscle and bone with a sickening crack.

Emile was writhing on the floor for a couple of seconds, unable to make any sound other than the chocked gurgling of the blood now blocking his airways. But soon he stopped moving, dark blood forming a growing pool around his now jawless head. She grabbed him by the hair and started dragging him towards the dungeons. On any other day she would bring him to her mother and have a feast with the rest of her family, but the seething anger that was still coursing through her veins gave her a different idea.

Down in the bowels of the castle, where she even had a space designated as her "working area" Cassandra looked up at her handiwork. Emlie's body was sprawled out on a scarecrow frame, limbs tightly attached to the wooden poles and jaw dangling from his neck attached with a rope. She couldn't go and put the new "decoration" outside herself but she could always have someone else do it.

With a satisfied smile, she spun on her heels and started to make her way back towards the upper levels of the castle to check on her sisters and inform her mother of what happened. While walking, there was only one thought ringing through her mind.

Nobody touches my family.

#in which bela can't take one single break #lady dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #fanfic #gore #blood

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purplecatthirst · 2 years

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10 Follower Special: The First Meeting (nsfw)

I mentioned that the 10 follower post was going to be SFW, and for that I am sorry, I'm marking it NSFW just in case.

This was requested by one of my fine followers over DM, I thought about it for a while and figured I just had to oblige.

I actually don't have a headcanon for how Mewtwo met his beloved human. So instead I've workshopped a couple of scenarios that I think make sense.

Content Warning: Blood, Injuries, Depression, Mentions of suicide, general angst.

First things first. You are not a trainer that beat and captured him in the Cerulean Caves. That would earn his obedience and, just maybe, his respect. But not his love. when fates aligned so that you two did meet, you left an impression on him. It might not have been love, not at first, but you made emotions well in him that he was unaware he could even feel. I've drafted up 3 possible scenarios, I'll keep some of the details vague, so you can fill in the gaps yourself.

An Unexpected Rescue

While in the woods, you spot an injured Vulpix, they are wounded and bleeding. And being chased by a couple of Weville's, their natural predators.

You spring into action with little thought, scooping up the injured Pokemon, before trying to flee to safety.

The pair of Weville's aren't far behind you. They don't usually attack humans, but you stand between them and their prey. You are nearly cut to ribbons by the hungry pokemon's sharp claws.

You clutch the Vulpix to your chest, trying to protect it. Your vision getting blurry as you start to feel cold, quickly losing blood. You were stupid to do this, but you had to. You couldn't let this lost kit suffer.

Unbeknownst to you, Mewtwo hovered nearby, watching. Why weren't you throwing out your own Pokemon? Why were you letting these two Wevilles kill you?

It only takes a couple of more moments for him to realize that you DONT have any Pokemon. Either you never had any at all, or you didn't have them with you. He huffs, "Silly human."

Well, he can't just there and just let you die. He descends, sending both Wevilles scurrying with a well timed move.

You see him descend, and trivally fights off the predatory pokemon, before turning and looking at you. You weakly look up at him, unsure of what he is. Hugging the scared, injured Vulpix to your chest to try and protect it, in case he was another predator.

Seeing you throw yourself into mortal danger for a wild pokemon, with no way to defend yourself. It almost makes him laugh. Your either very brave or very stupid. But he can't help but be touched and impressed, as he uses the items in your bag to patch your and the Vulpix's wounds.

It's been so long since he's talked to anyone.... You seem nice enough, for a human. It might be nice to exchange some words with you.

To Protect The Innocent

Ever since your first run in with Team Rocket, you have sworn yourself to opposing them at every turn, for one reason for another. You've saved a lot of Pokemon, a lot of people. You are something of a local hero.

This has, as expected, put you in a lot of danger. Things have more then once escalated from Pokemon battles to hand to hand brawls to having to take cover from gunfire. You have some scars to your name as a result.

You hear that they are moving something BIG, that Giovanni was going to be making a move to try and capture a Legendary. No matter what specific Pokemon it was, that much power in the hand of a madman. You inform Officer Jenny, and the two of you move to stop his dastardly plan. Maybe you have your own small adventuring party, Just like Ash and his friends.

By the time you arrive, Things have already begun. Your not sure WHAT your really looking at, deep in the Cerulean Caves, but it's surrounded by grunts and their mons, attack from all angles. This is not a battle, this is a hunt. One that the psychic type pokemon was slowly losing. They came prepared.

After sending you and Jenny send your own Pokemon out, you manage to turn the tide, you and Jenny both knocking a few heads yourself.

The cat-like legendary is hurt bad by the time everything is said and done. But alive, and uncaptured. Goons and fainted Pokemon liter the cave floor.

You act Quickly to patch up the wounds on Mewtwo, using potions and banadges, while Jenny rounds up the criminals. He pulls away from your touch. He's confused, a rarity for him. Did you know he was down here? He know's Jenny's place as a police officer, but you are a mystery to him. Most people don't so openly oppose team rocket.

You talk some as you both rest. You explain who you are and the vendetta you have against Team Rocket.

You don't really notice, but his lips twitch up in a half smile. A human who stands up against the cruel actors of the world. And who's not afraid to get their own hands dirty, fighting right alongside their companions...

That's someone he can respect. He will be keeping a close eye on you....

Finger on The Eject Button

You are a broken person. Tragedy after tragedy has eaten away at you. You are tired, tired of the barren wasteland of this reality. I will leave the exact details up to you. You are helpless, scared, and just so, so tired.

You decide it's finally time. You've thought about it plenty, maybe for years. But something happens, and you break. This is the end.

You travel into the Cerulean Caves, somewhere deep and dark where you won't leave a mess for people to clean up. You sit, pulling out a small syringe full of dark liquid. Seviper venom. More then a lethal dose. You might get a stomach ache, but then you will slowly drift off. It's clean, near painless, and guaranteed. You spent what little money you had left on it.

You hesitate, a natural reaction, knowing what's to come. Your thumb slowly over the plunger, needle hovering over your skin. Your breath quickens. Your finger is on the button, you just need to give it a push.

Mewtwo watches you from a distance, at first completely unsure of what you are up to, travelling so deep into the cave, so late at night, with no Pokemon. It's a miracle you've made it here without any trouble.

His confusion only grows more as he sees you pull out the needle. At this point he is curious of the human who stumbled into his lair, seemingly obliviously. He peers into your mind to try and see just hat your doing here...

His stomach flips as he realizes what your about to do. He's not sure what he should do. He shouldn't care about you, your a single human. While he no longer harbors an all consuming grudge, a single human life is not something he would normally worry over.

But seeing you there, so vulnerable. So broken and damaged by the world that this is the only real option you see as being viable. It brings out some kind of new emotion in him. Something protective. You remind him of himself, on his darkest days. Cursing his existence. It's horrible. Something he wants nobody to go through, not even a random human.

He does the only thing he can think of, revealing himself, softly talking to you. 'Human. You seem like you could use someone to talk to.'

His surprise introduction, soft as it might have been, was enough to startle you. You gasp as he introduces himself. Kneeling down to meet you at eye level. After calming down, you talk for a while. He can't help but feel some sort of affinity to you. Two broken souls who's shards fit together to create something whole....

woah shit. I just sat down for 2 hours and just HAMMERED that one out. Sorry if it seems odd or angsty, I don't really care for "Mewtwo falls in love with his trainer" type of stories. Anyway, these are only some of the ideas I had. Like I mentioned before, I don't normally think on this topic, so it took me a minute.

Please, let me know what you enjoyed!

#mewtwo x reader #nsft #angst #cw.blood #tw.suicide #tw.depression #bullet point rambles #gn!reader

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2goth2moth · 3 years

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What Kind of Fun do Vampires Have? (M!Vampire x M!Reader, NSFW)

Pretty sure that “willing blood bag for colony of vampires” is my new dream job. This is probably going to turn into a series, let me know if you’d be interested in me uploading versions with an AFAB reader :)

Word Count: 2436

Includes: Blood, biting, consensual aphrodisiac (kind of), coming untouched, mild d/s overtones

Every second that you spent standing in front of the old building was another second you questioned your decision to come at all. It loomed, dark and imposing in the dusk, looking like the kind of place that would take a great deal of joy in eating up a person like you. You had gone looking for the mysterious building because of a rumour and an address handed to you by your friend, a piece of paper slipped into your hand with a wink and a quip about your “taste in lovers”. As if she had any room to judge…

But the rumours were about an entire vampire colony, and you just couldn’t help but be intrigued. Historically, vampires tended to be solitary creatures and actively hunted for their prey (and some still did), but modern colonies were said to actually keep humans in their fold, like employees.

Or pets, your brain supplied.

A shiver went through you. It was impossible to deny that the thought was appealing. Now that you were here, though, you were starting to second-guess yourself, no matter how much the idea of being kept by a vampire colony set your nerve endings buzzing.

“Looking for something, pretty boy?”

A silky voice sent you nearly jumping out of your skin. You whipped around to find its source, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a young man dressed in a dark green shirt leaned against a tree. He pushed off the trunk and started making his way towards you, each movement steeped in easy, confident grace.

“H-hello,” you said shakily.

“Hi,” the young man replied, voice tinged with humour. He stopped a pace away from you and smiled, a charming thing made of slightly crinkling eyes and very nicely shaped lips. “Looking for something?”

“Um...yes? I was told...I heard about a vampire colony. They live here?”

The young man’s eyes widened a touch. “Looking for a colony? You don’t look like the type to hunt monsters.”

“I’m not. I’m here for...a different reason.” Your face heated, almost embarrassed by the implication.

The young man raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “‘A different reason’? And what might that be?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you grumbled.

“You don’t?” he asked. He stepped closer to you, so close that you could see each one of his fine, dark eyelashes. His lips split into a grin. Long fangs, pure white and wickedly sharp, snapped down over his teeth. “How about now?”

Your mouth went dry. “Umm…”

The young man-- the vampire-- chuckled quietly and stepped even closer, now almost chest-to-chest, and ran his pointer finger along the neckline of your sweater. You tried to look anywhere except for those gorgeous fangs in that very nice mouth, focusing instead on the small golden buttons on his shirt. They contrasted nicely with the bottle green fabric, and the first two were undone, exposing the very top of his chest. You absently thought that it was a good place to focus.

“My name is Sana, pretty boy.” His voice snapped you back to attention. “Are you going to stand out here all day, or do you want to come inside?”

“Come-- can I come in?”

He smirked at you. With practiced ease he hooked his finger into your collar and led you into the imposing building. He walked you through the doors, and into a room with a plush couch. He rounded on you, stepping close again. You swore you could feel his chest brushing up against yours through your clothes.

“Now, what’s this ‘different reason’ you’re looking for vampires?” He asked, voice saccharine-sweet and dripping with innocence. “You said you weren’t a hunter, but I can’t possibly think of why you would come looking for a colony.”

It couldn’t be more obvious that he was teasing you, that he wanted to make you spell out why you were there.

You pushed through the embarrassment of having to explain. “I, um...my friend told me about this...your colony. And I know the rumours about how…”

“How we keep human members?”

The way he cut you off in such a matter-of-fact way made you snap your mouth shut.

“Uh, yes?” You stammered, feeling your face heat up. “And I wanted...well, I was wondering if you needed a new...human.”

A little overwhelmed by having to admit it out loud, your eyes dropped away from Sana’s and back to the inches of skin exposed by his open buttons. It was still a very good place to look. A hand, shockingly cold in the already cool room, gently grasped your chin and tilted it up, forcing your eyes to meet his again.

His thumb rubbed soothing circles into your skin. “And you wanted to…’apply for the position’?”

You nodded.

Sana smiled sweetly, and turned your head back and forth with that same tender grip, looking at you with an appraising gaze. He made a quiet noise of approval. “I know that I wouldn’t be opposed to having a pretty little thing like you around the house, and I’d be shocked if anyone else would complain about it.”

A whimper threatened to escape from your mouth at that.

“But I’m the only one here right now. And it’s very rude to take on a human without the whole colony wanting them.”

Your heart dropped. “O-oh. Okay, I can leave then. Sorry to intrude…”

“Hey.” The hold on your chin tightened. “Who said anything about you leaving?” Sana stepped towards you, making you back up until the back of your knees hit the beautiful couch you had noticed earlier. His hands, firm and steady against you, guided you to sit down. He settled down next to you. “I can’t decide that you’re our human all by myself, but there’s no rules about us having a little fun while we wait for everyone to get back.”

He let himself drift closer to you, and you could feel his cold presence raise goosebumps on your skin.

“What kind of ''fun”?” You asked.

“I’m a vampire. What kind do you think?”

Those beautiful fangs flashed across your mind again. “If you want to bite me...I’d like that too.” The awkward wording sent embarrassment through you, and you dropped your gaze again.

Sana laughed, the sound clear and sweet. “I’m glad that you’d like it too.” He shifted even closer, and his voice dipped sharply, suddenly low and sultry. “Because it’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

His cold breath fanned out over your neck. You groaned under your breath, lifting your chin to expose more of the warm skin for the vampire to nose up against. The tip of a tongue flickered over your jugular. The trail of saliva tingled slightly, sending sparks into your fingertips. A thought crossed your mind. “Sana?” A quiet hum into your neck was his only response. “Is your spit an aphrodisiac?”

He pulled back from you, a thumb replacing the tongue rubbing over the side of your throat. “Kind of,” he said. “It numbs down pain and heightens pleasure, but it doesn’t mess with your head. And it doesn’t absorb through skin.” A slow drag of the pad of his thumb sent a shiver rippling down your spine. “Do you still want this?”

There was no question in your mind. “Absolutely.”

A soft kiss was pressed to the column of your throat before those fangs sunk deep into your neck. Even though you had been prepared for it, the sudden pain of it made you gasp. It lanced through you sharply before slowly melting into a gentle warmth. The feeling was comforting as it thrummed through your veins. You couldn’t help but sigh and lean closer to Sana. He worked his fangs a little deeper, and sucked lightly.

“Ahh.”

The moan slipped out of your mouth unbidden. The barely-there suction felt unbelievably good, and you pushed even closer to Sana. He smirked against your skin. His hand-- skin still cold to the touch-- came up to cradle your face, tugging your head backwards to expose even more of your neck. The touch made you moan again, and you could feel your cock start to harden, pleasure coiling deep in your stomach. The grip on your throat loosened and his fangs slid out of you. Something warm and wet-- probably blood, maybe spit-- dripped down before Sana’s tongue darted out to lick it up. The flicker and drag of the tongue against your skin pulled more quiet sounds of pleasure out of you. The hand not occupied with holding your head in place crept down to grasp at your hip. The chill seeped through your clothing, and the pressure made your hips buck involuntarily. A dull throb settled in around the still-bleeding bite.

“Are you okay, darling?” Sana crooned to you.

That sinful tongue ran over the shell of your ear before his mouth lowered to suck lightly on the wound again.

“It just feels so good.” Your chest was starting to heave with heavy breaths. Every touch on your skin felt electric, like a livewire connected to each of your nerves.

“I told you it would.”

The hand that was holding onto your head tightened suddenly and pushed you to the other side. He licked his bloodstained lips before lowering his mouth to the unmarked side of your neck. Lips, warmed to room temperature by your skin, just barely ghosted over you, raising goosebumps in their wake and sending more heat pooling in your gut.

Your moans were breathy and muffled as you bit down hard on your lip, trying to be as quiet as possible. “I didn’t know it was going to be like this."

“Is it too much?” Sana asked, pulling away a little bit. The loss of contact made you whine and arch towards him.

“N-no,” you groaned, “I just don't think I’m going to...last much longer.”

The hand that had been gripping your hip trailed up to slip under the hem of your shirt. His fingers stroked teasing circles into your abdomen, tightening the pleasurable coil in your belly. “I didn’t expect you to.”

You didn’t have time to react before he once again sunk his teeth into your undamaged flesh, lovely mouth finding its place right where your neck met your shoulder. The pain was almost nonexistent, just sharp, deep-seated, irresistible pleasure. Sana’s soft lips suckled on your skin with hellish gentleness, pulling blood from the wound around his fangs. Your hips bucked up again, thrusting into nothing, trying desperately to get some friction against your cock. He unclamped his jaw from your shoulder, fangs slipping free. Warm blood flowed down from the bite, catching briefly at the base of your throat before sliding further down and touching your shirt. A delicate, cool finger hooked into your collar and pulled it down before it could get more stained. His tongue chased the blood back to its source, lapping it up with intoxicating deftness. Each stroke left a trail of chilled spit over your skin, cooling even further in the air of the room. Choked-out noises of ecstasy fell from your lips with every slick drag. You wriggled about, trying to twist far enough to get Sana’s leg between yours, so riled up that you would happily hump yourself to completion on the thigh of a vampire you just met. It was a hopeless pursuit, his hand returning to your hip to keep you pinned to the couch with superhuman strength. His thumb stroked the crease between your hip and thigh as his mouth went back to sucking on your neck.

“Please…” you began begging. Your hips were stuttering up into the air and your gut tightened even more.

Sana’s lips disconnected from your throat. He kissed the wound and then the soft skin behind your ear. You were practically drooling at this point, your hips twitching constantly into the air. All of the feelings were getting so overwhelming that you felt the slightest push in any direction would make you completely unravel. The hand that still pulled your head back tightened, fingertips digging into your skin. The one at your hip began stroking the area through your clothes, straying up under your shirt, drawing torturous loops over the side of your stomach. His mouth landed over his bite once more and he sucked hard on your neck. You could feel the moment when that lovely tongue flicked out of his mouth and swirled over your heated skin.

The coil snapped.

You arched violently off of the couch as you climaxed with a broken, sobbing cry. Waves of impossible pleasure washed over you as you came in your pants, completely and utterly untouched. The world went fuzzy around you, warmth and ecstasy still coursing through your veins. All you could feel was the world around you melting into a syrupy haze in the aftermath of such an intense orgasm.

Something icy-cold touched your lips, and a sweet and tangy liquid was poured into your mouth. Orange juice. You noticed a hand cradling your head, and a gentle voice speaking quietly.

“Drink this, darling. You just lost a lot of fluid.”

You opened your eyes slowly, and saw Sana sitting next to you, holding a bottle of juice to your lips. The corners of his mouth were stained red with your blood, and his skin had taken on a warm, flushed appearance that you hadn’t even noticed it was lacking.

“How was that, sweetheart?” He asked with a voice drenched in fondness.

Taking the bottle from him, you took a few more gulps, steadily feeling much less wrung-out, though the wonderful afterglow remained. “Mmmm, it was amazing.”

Soft fingertips smoothed over the bite marks on your neck. “Are you in any pain right now?”

“None. It still feels so good.”

He chuckled, moving forward to kiss your cheek. “It will for a bit longer. They’ll heal fast, probably by tomorrow, but you’ll feel pretty achy and bruised in a few hours. I won’t need to feed for a week at least, but you shouldn’t let anyone else feed from you until the bites are healed.” He absentmindedly rubbed a finger along your earlobe. “That is assuming that you’re still interested in staying to meet the rest of the colony?”

Draining the orange juice, you put the bottle down on the floor and leaned into his touch. “Of course I am.” The statement was simple and to the point, disarming in its honesty.

The smile he gave you was pink at the edges and could have outshone the sun.

#exophilia #terato #monster lover #monster fucker #tw blood #tw aphrodisiacs #enthusiastic consent #monster x human #vampire boyfriend #smut #nsft #minors do not interact #terfs dont fucking touch #bigots dni

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