#damn flickering torches | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingrock · 23 days

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the tale of two lovers [1]

pairing: barbarian! katsuki bakugou x reader (female) summary: a bard approaches a lone barbarian in search for a story to tell. Who could have known that the barbarian end up being such a romantic tale.

notes: fantasy au, fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn, bakusquad, barbarian bakugou

word count: 7.1k

part list

part one: chapter list

a/n: I told myself this would be a oneshot and now it's accumulated to six chapters with no end in sight.

In the heart of this simple town, a rambunctious group of adventurers stumble through the night. Seeking refuge from the cold night. A towering barbarian leads— His broad shoulders clad in woolly animal fur that puffs upwards adding height to his figure. Over his red cape, a scimitar slings over his back serving as a warning to all. Irritation grows with each step, his red eyes darting around his surroundings for shelter.

“Tch.” a grumble leaving his throat as they trudged on, “How hard is it to find a damn inn?” annoyance laced the blonde’s voice. The pink skinned fighter and dragon shifter exchange glances, silently communicating through their facial expressions on how to mitigate Katsuki’s temper. After a brief and wordless discussion, Mina turns to the barbarian.

Attempting to ease the tension, she speaks gently. “Don’t blow a fuse just yet, we’ll find one soon,” Her bright pink skin stood out even in the dim setting, blush pink curls bouncing as she walked, “you’re not the only one who’s exhausted ya know.”. The barbarian rolls his eyes as he moves forward.

Their mindless bickering fills the cool air as they traverse through the town, searching for somewhere easy and simple to stay for the night. Folks that happened to pass by the group could feel their agitation seething from them. Their frustrations would be understood if one simply knew what they’ve been through. Heavy grunts and whiny complaints left their mouths as they searched for an inn. Exhausted from finishing their recent commission that brought them on a long-winded journey.

Finishing their commission feels like a heavy weight has been lifted from the group’s shoulders. They’ve returned to town to meet with their employer for their reward. Despite how antsy the group is for their pay, they’ll have to wait until it’s day. At the very least, they can get some deserved rest after such a long journey.

A warm glow stops them in their tracks. There’s a bustling inn standing with pride in the centre of the town. The windows are aglow with a golden light, casting a warm, inviting hue onto the weathered cobblestone street below. To them, this inn is a warm haven against this cold night. It appears that their earlier frustrations seem to vanish with this finding. Atop the thatched roof there are wisps of smoke curling lazily from the chimney, carrying the comforting scent of wood smoke and roasting meat. The smell alone causes their stomachs to grumble. Hunger finally hit them. Flickering lanterns hang on either side of the heavy wooden door, their flames dancing within their confines. Hanging above the entrance is a creaky sign emblazoned with the tavern’s name, “The Tipsy Hippogryph”.

The heavy wooden door creaks as it swings open, allowing the sounds and scents of the tavern to spill into the night. The tavern's walls, made of sturdy stone and timber, are adorned with flickering torches and a few faded tapestries. There is a cosy, golden glow over the room. Wooden tables and benches, scarred by years of use, are scattered across the floor, most occupied by patrons enjoying their evening. The low hum of conversation and occasional bursts of laughter create a comforting, lively ambiance. The tavern keeper, a burly man with a thick beard and a booming voice, moves deftly behind the bar, filling tankards with frothy ale and serving plates of hearty stew. His wife, a kind-eyed woman with a quick smile, greets the weary travellers.

“Evening.” She greets warmly, “Looking for rooms or just here for a bite?” It’s clear she’s experienced with her work. There’s a homely touch to her that puts one at ease. Her voice is pleasant with a maternal tone, it welcomes all that step foot into the inn.

Bakugou strides up to the counter, his imposing figure catching the attention of a few patrons. He simply ignores them and speaks to the innkeeper. “Two rooms, we’ll share.” He wastes no time getting straight to the point. Not really keen on small talk or talking in general.

The innkeeper gets to work immediately, flicking through the log book to search for the requested rooms. Her hands are fast to hand the barbarian the keys and inform him where they are located. “If yer hungry, our kitchen is still open.” she gestures to the busy meal area by her side. The place is scattered with patrons from all walks of life. Townsfolk, travellers and merchants. They sit hunched over their mugs, deep in conversation, while others sing raucously, their cheeks flushed from the ale.

At the sound of food, the adventurers do not waste any more time. They find a table by the fire. The fire roars in the large hearth, its crackling flames adding to the tavern's warmth. The air is thick with the mingling aromas of roasting meat, fresh bread, and the sharp tang of spilled ale. The scent alone sends them to the edge of their hunger. Eagerly ordering a feast with an abundance of ale to satisfy their stomach. A barmaid weaves through the tables with practised ease, balancing trays laden with food and drink. She exchanges friendly banter with the regulars as she serves them.

In the corner, a minstrel plucks at a lute, singing a cheerful ballad that competes with the din of the crowd. His nimble fingers dance across the strings, and his voice, though not perfect, adds a layer of charm to the tavern's atmosphere. A few patrons clap along, and a couple of children, likely the tavern keeper's, dance near the hearth, their laughter ringing out above the noise. Candles set in iron sconces flicker, casting long shadows that shift and sway with the movement of the patrons. The wooden floorboards creak underfoot, worn smooth by countless feet over the years. The bar is a hub of activity, with patrons jostling for the keeper's attention, coins clinking as they pay for their drinks.

It wasn’t long for the barmaid to come by with their order. As she approached, the enticing smell of the fresh food made their mouths water. Swiftly, she begins to place the platter onto the round, wooden table. In the centre, golden-brown turkey legs are piled high on a simple steel plate. The skin is crispy and glistening with savoury juices. The sight teases the group as they wait patiently for the maid to finish her job.

A basket of freshly baked bread is placed beside the turkey legs. The bread was still warm, the crust crackling slightly as it cooled. The innkeeper had sliced the loaf thickly, revealing a soft, fluffy interior that begged to be torn apart and slathered with butter. Following that is a large bowl filled with baked potatoes. Each potato was perfectly roasted, the skins crispy and slightly salted. A dollop of melted butter pooled in the centre of each potato, seeping into the fluffy interior and releasing a heavenly, buttery fragrance.

Finally, the barmaid props down a wooden pitcher of ale, frothy and cold, with a rich amber hue. The most exciting addition to the meal. She hands out the sturdy mugs. The ale foams up to the brim, a few droplets spilling over the edges and onto the table.

“Thank you pretty lady.” Denki shoots a charming smile at the barmaid, earning a laugh from her. She waves him off before going back to tend the busy bar. The impatient one, Bakugou, grabbed a turkey leg first, tearing into the tender meat with a satisfied grunt. Kirishima and Mina followed suit, each reaching for a leg of their own. In turn, Sero and Denki dove into the bread, slathering it with butter and passing around the baked potatoes.

They settle into the warmth of the inn, enjoying the hearty meal. Laughter filled the air as they recounted the day's journey, from the close calls during their journey to Denki’s less-than-graceful attempt at flirting with the local from earlier. Bakugou, as usual, mostly grunted in response, too focused on his food and drink to indulge in much conversation. As the night wore on, the group began to grow tired. They’ve satisfied their hunger and now it’s time to turn to other needs. Kirishima stretched and let out a loud yawn, his dragon scales glinting in the firelight. "Alright, I’m beat. Think I’ll hit the hay."

Mina nods, agreeing with Kirishima’s words. She pushes herself off the chair and straightens up, “Busy day tomorrow, we should all get some rest.” The other two members rise from their seats except for one. Bakugou stays in his seat, looking down at his ale. Admiring the deep amber colour. It looks rich and inviting under the flickering light of the hearth. A thick, frothy head crowned the top, with bubbles rising lazily to the surface, creating a satisfying hiss as they popped. The ale clung to the sides of the sturdy wooden mug as Bakugou tilted it slightly, leaving a thin, foamy residue in its wake.

“I’ll be here a while longer,” Bakugou doesn’t look up, “Don’t wait up for me.” He tosses the keys onto the table, keeping the spare for himself. Usually, he’d be the first to hit the sack. Always emphasising on the importance of sleep for the body. But his comrades already know the reason for the sudden change. He needs to be alone. Denki and Sero exchange a glance.

"Don’t stay up too late, Bakugou," Denki teased, slapping the barbarian on the back as he walked past. "We need you in top form tomorrow." As he skips over to Denki, Sero manages to ruffle Bakugou’s hair. Not that it changed much, it’s still a mess.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, taking another swig of ale. "Just.. get outta here." He doesn’t have the energy to be foul. The others laughed as they headed upstairs, leaving Bakugou alone at the table. He leans back in his chair, savouring the quiet and the last few bites of his meal. The inn had began to empty out, with only a few patrons lingering near the bar, their voices low as they finished their drinks.

He stays in his seat, lost in thought, with his pint of ale. Mindlessly watching people leave the tavern, lost in thought. Warmth spreads through Bakugou's chest as he takes a long sip. There was a subtle sweetness from the roasted barley, balanced by a hint of bitterness from the hops that lingered pleasantly on his tongue. The finish is smooth, with a slightly smoky aftertaste, leaving a satisfying sensation that made him reach for another sip almost immediately.

Just as Bakugou was about to take a sip, a figure approached his table. It’s a bard, a lithe man with a lute slung across his back and a curious glint in his eye. He wears a wide-brimmed hat adorned with a single feather, and his fingers were adorned with rings that glinted in the firelight. Bakugou has the intention to ignore the man, he isn’t in the mood for company. Especially from some halfwit in a dumb hat.

The bard gives Bakugou a respectful nod before speaking. “Mind if I join you for a moment, sir?”

Bakugou looks the bard up and down, his expression unreadable. “I mind, now fuck off.” he gruffly replies as he takes a sip of his ale, “Go bother someone else.”

The bard’s smile remains steady, unruffled by Bakugou's gruff tone. "Forgive me for intruding," he speaks, his eyes twinkling with genuine curiosity. "I couldn’t help but notice you and your companions earlier. You strike me as a man with stories to tell, and I’m always on the lookout for inspiration for my songs. Care to share a tale or two?" His gaze is earnest, carefully assessing Bakugou’s mood, hoping to coax a story from the reluctant barbarian.

Bakugou leans back, grumbling as he takes another swig of ale. "I don’t tell stories. It’s not my thing."

The bard chuckles softly, sliding into a chair without waiting for an invitation. "Everyone has a story, even those who claim otherwise. Perhaps a tale of a great battle, or a quest that brought you to this town? A man like you must have seen his share of adventure."

Bakugou’s eyes narrow, studying the bard. His instinct is to brush off the intrusion, but something about the bard’s easy confidence and genuine curiosity makes him pause. Maybe it was the warmth of the ale or the unusual openness of the evening, but Bakugou found himself surprisingly open to the conversation. He did have a story— one that weighed heavily on him.

"Why do you care?" Bakugou asks, surprised by his own willingness to engage. On any other night, he’d have tossed the bard out or shouted him away.

The bard shrugs, resting his elbows on the table with an air of quiet conviction. "Stories are what keep us alive. They remind us of where we’ve been, what we’ve survived, and inspire others to forge their own paths. Besides," he adds with a grin, "I have a feeling your story is one worth hearing."

Bakugou is silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to the flickering flames in the hearth. He thinks back to all the battles he had fought, the friends he had made, the enemies he had faced. He isn’t one to dwell on the past, but he couldn’t deny that his life had been anything but ordinary. Especially with the most recent chapter of his story: you.

Finally, he sets his mug down with a decisive thud and meets the bard’s gaze. Perhaps the ale has made him loose-lipped. "Alright, I’ll tell you one story. But just one. Don’t expect me to get all sentimental or anything.”

“I met a woman, her name was …”

Your name was scribbled on the back of a map. That was Bakugou’s first introduction to you. He scowled down at what was supposed to be an intricately drawn parchment, then back up at the merchant. “You’re telling me this costs eighty gold and twenty silver?” His teeth clenched, barely containing his frustration at the absurd price. This flimsy, poorly drawn map isn’t worth half that. The barbarian’s patience was wearing thin—this was the twentieth merchant he’d approached in search of this damned map, and all he had to show for it was what looked like a cheap knock-off.

They were hunting for the map of Niniel’s Veil, an ancient, mysterious elven forest known for its dense, enchanted woods. Those who dared venture into it often wandered lost for years, if they ever returned at all. Information about the Veil was scarce, and what little existed was shrouded in myth and legend. All most people knew about was how difficult it was to go in and out of the forest alive. Bakugou was furious to find that after all this effort, all he was offered was this questionable scrap of parchment.

Niniel’s Veil was more than just a forest—it was a vast, sprawling labyrinth of nature. A forest shrouded in ancient magic and mystery, its reputation known far and wide as both a place of wonder and peril. The towering trees, with trunks as wide as castle towers, reached impossibly high, their dense canopies weaving together like an impenetrable tapestry of leaves and branches. The forest floor was an entanglement of twisted roots and thick underbrush, where sunlight barely penetrated, casting the entire woodland in perpetual twilight. Swallowing anyone who dared to enter. Every step inside the Veil felt like stepping into another world, where the air was thick with the scent of moss and the whisper of ancient secrets carried on the wind.

This forest had once been the sacred domain of elven ancestors, a place of refuge and mystery. It was said that within its depths lay countless treasures and artefacts, hidden away by those ancient elves who had stolen them in times of war and turmoil. The promise of these lost relics had lured many adventurers into the forest, but few had ever returned. Those who did spoke of twisted paths that led them in circles, illusions that played tricks on their minds, and creatures that seemed to be made of the very shadows that filled the Veil.

For Bakugou, entering Niniel’s Veil was not a choice but a necessity. He needed to find a lost piece of his draconic artefact, a relic of immense power that had been passed down through his family for generations. Without it, the artefact was incomplete. The artefact was not just a tool; it was a part of him, tied to his very identity and strength. The thought of it being lost forever gnawed at him, driving him to desperation. It’s been left missing for too long and he intended to do something about it.

He stared at the map in his hands, frustration and doubt warring within him. This map was his best chance of navigating the cursed forest, but its authenticity was questionable, and the price was absurd. Eighty gold and twenty silver for a flimsy piece of parchment that might not even be accurate? It felt like a cruel joke after all he had gone through.

But the alternative was wandering the Veil blind, with nothing but his instincts to guide him. The thought of spending years lost in the forest, of never finding the artefact, made his stomach twist. The merchant watched him carefully, sensing his hesitation, but Bakugou was too focused on his internal debate to notice. As he reached for his coin pouch, a pink hand halted him from doing so.

Mina crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently as she watched Bakugou wrestle with the decision. The merchant’s smug grin only made her more irritated. Eighty gold and twenty silver for a flimsy map? It was a rip-off, and she wasn’t about to let her friend get swindled.

“Bakugou, we’re not paying that,” she said firmly, stepping forward. She shot a glare at the merchant. Her voice cut through the tension like a blade, drawing the attention of the entire group. “This is daylight robbery, and you know it. We’re leaving.”

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to her, a scowl forming on his face. “Mina, we need this map. I don’t have time to play around.”

Mina grumbled under her breath, thinking of the possible choices they could make. That is until she takes another good look at the map. That name scribbled on the map. It seems so awfully familiar.

All of the sudden, it clicks in her head. “Thanks for your offer but we’ll have to say no!” Mina stepped in abruptly.

What was she thinking? They needed that map to better their chances of going through the damned forest. Bakugou was about to bark at her but she cut him off.

Without waiting for further argument, she grabbed Bakugou’s arm and yanked him away from the counter. “Come on, guys. We’re out of here.”

“What the hell Mina? We needed that map!” Bakugou barked, fighting Mina as she dragged him out of the shop.

Sero was the first to react, a grin spreading across his face as he watched the scene unfold. “Guess that’s that, then,” he said with a shrug, casually following Mina’s lead. He was more amused than anything, enjoying the way Mina took charge. “Gotta admit, it was a pretty steep price for a piece of paper.”

Denki, on the other hand, looked a bit disappointed. “But what if that was the only map?” he protested, jogging to keep up as Mina pulled them out of the shop. “We might have just walked away from our best chance!”

“Or we just saved a ton of money,” Sero countered with a laugh, clapping Denki on the back. “Relax, Denks. We’ll find another way.”

Kirishima, ever the loyal friend, looked between Mina and Bakugou, his expression torn. “Mina’s right, Bakugou. That map didn’t even look legit. I know you’re desperate, but we’ve been through worse without needing to pay through the nose for something like that.”

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t resist as Mina practically dragged him out of the merchant’s shop. He hated to admit it, but Kirishima and Mina had a point. The map was overpriced, and there was no guarantee it was even real. Still, the thought of wasting more time searching for another lead made his blood boil. He was a man of action, and every delay felt like another step further from his goal.

Once they were outside, Mina finally let go of his arm and spun around to face the group. “Look, I have a better plan. I know how to get the actual map!” She seemed confident. It raised some eyebrows. What did Mina have up her sleeve to guarantee a rare map?

Bakugou glared at her, his frustration evident, but there was no real anger behind it. “You better be right about this, Mina,” he muttered.

As the group walked away from the merchant, Mina could feel the tension still radiating off Bakugou. She knew how important this quest was to him, but she also knew something that the others didn’t. With a sly smile, she stopped the group and turned to face them.

“I didn’t mention this before because I only just realised it, but I actually know the author behind that map.” Mina began, catching their attention. “I took a good look at that dumb, fake-ass map and recognised the name on the back.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. “You what?”

A few months ago, the others had been busy with their own tasks— Bakugou training with Kirishima, Denki and Sero fooling around in the market— Mina had taken some time to explore the outskirts of a small town they’d passed through. She hadn’t meant to wander too far, but something had drawn her deeper into the woods until she stumbled upon a naturally formed dungeon hidden beneath a thick canopy of trees. The entrance had been nearly invisible, covered in moss and overgrown vines, but she’d caught sight of it and felt an irresistible urge to investigate.

Inside, the air had been cool and damp, the walls of the dungeon shimmering with faint traces of ancient magic. As she ventured further, she heard a weak voice calling for help. Instinctively, she followed the sound until she found a small chamber, where a person was slumped against the wall, barely conscious. Their mana and health were dangerously low, and it was clear they wouldn’t survive much longer without assistance.

Mina had acted quickly, using what little healing magic she knew and offering her own supplies to help the stranger recover. As she worked, she couldn’t help but feel a connection to this mysterious individual, and when they finally regained consciousness, she was shocked to learn their identity. The person she had saved was none other than one of the most renowned cartographers in the land, famous for their unparalleled skill in mapping even the most treacherous and unknown territories.

Grateful for her help, the cartographer had offered Mina a unique artefact as a token of thanks—a small, intricately carved crystal pendant. It glowed with a soft, blue light, and the cartographer explained that it was enchanted to allow them to communicate with Mina at any time, no matter the distance. “You’ve shown kindness when you had no obligation to,” the cartographer had said, placing the pendant in her hand. “If ever you need guidance or help, you need only call, and I will answer.”

Sero whistled, clearly impressed. “You’ve been holding out on us, Mina. That’s one heck of a connection.”

Bakugou’s frustration began to ease as he listened, his interest piqued. “And you think this cartographer can get us a real map of Niniel’s Veil?”

Mina nodded confidently. “Absolutely. If anyone can, it’s them. And since I helped them out, they’ll probably do it for a fraction of what that greedy merchant was asking. Or maybe even for free.”

Bakugou finally let out a sigh, nodding in approval. “Fine. Contact them. But this better work.”

Without wasting any more time, Mina reached into her pouch and pulled out the crystal pendant. It was a small, clear gem that glowed faintly with a soft, bluish light. Holding it in her hand, she whispered a few words, and the crystal began to hum gently, a sign that the connection had been made. The blue light pulsed gently as the magic connected, and soon a voice came through, calm and familiar.

“Your name and what you need?” the voice asked, tinged with a hint of curiosity.

Mina smiled, her fingers tracing the edges of the pendant. “Hey, this is Mina from a few months ago.”

There was a brief pause, then a soft chuckle. “Ah, yes, I do remember you. Calling for a favour?”

Mina nodded, even though the cartographer couldn’t see her. “So, I need a map for Niniel’s Veil. Could you get me that?”

The line went silent, the only sound the faint crackling of magic in the air. Mina’s heart skipped a beat as she waited, anxiety creeping in as the seconds ticked by.

Finally, the voice spoke again, steady and thoughtful. “Where are you currently?”

Mina quickly glanced around at her friends, who were watching her intently. “Oh, um—we’re at the town of Leford.”

There was a pause, then the cartographer’s voice returned, sounding pleased. “How fortunate, I’m in Khela. I’ll go over to Leford tomorrow. Let’s meet, Mina.”

Mina’s face lit up with excitement. “Really? That’s great!” She could hardly believe her luck, and her grip on the pendant tightened in gratitude.

“Don’t mention it,” the cartographer replied, their tone warm and reassuring. “See you then, Mina.”

Mina exhaled, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as the connection faded and the pendant dimmed. She tucked it back under her shirt, looking up at her friends with a triumphant smile.

“Looks like we’re meeting them tomorrow,” she said, her voice brimming with confidence.

Bakugou gave a satisfied nod, and Kirishima patted her on the back, beaming with pride. “You really pulled through, Mina. Thanks.”

Sero grinned and Denki let out a whoop of excitement, the tension from earlier completely dissipated. They had a plan, and thanks to Mina, they were one step closer to finding the path through Niniel’s Veil.

You look down at the pendant in your hand, watching the soft blue glow fade away. The magic within it settles, leaving only the cool touch of the crystal against your skin. You turn back to the view of Khela, the prosperous town sprawling before you, its beauty tinged with the golden light of the setting sun. You had just finished your business here, so Mina's call was perfectly timed.

Niniel’s Veil. The name stirs something deep within you, a mixture of pride and apprehension. Your mind drifts back to that forest, the memories of navigating its treacherous paths still vivid. That place was hell to map— an ever-shifting labyrinth of ancient trees and hidden dangers. It had taken you and your father five long years to chart every inch of it, and even then, the forest had resisted your efforts, as if it had a will of its own.

Being a cartographer wasn’t just a profession for you; it was a legacy, woven into the very fabric of your being. From the moment you turned ten, your father had taken you under his wing, guiding you through countless expeditions, teaching you the secrets of the trade. Every line on a map, every curve and symbol, held a story—a story your father had passed down to you.

Your thoughts shift to Mina’s request. Niniel’s Veil. It’s not a place one simply wanders through with just a map in hand. You know this all too well. The forest was a living entity, a place where the unwary could lose themselves for years, or forever. Sending them in with nothing more than a piece of parchment would be a death sentence. And after what Mina did for you— saving your life when you were at your weakest— there’s no way you could let that happen. Besides that, you knew your principles wouldn’t allow you to abandon them like that.

Your conscience won’t allow it. You owe her more than just a map. You owe her your guidance, your expertise. She and her companions would need more than directions; they’d need someone who knew the forest’s secrets, who could navigate its shifting trails and hidden perils. With a resolute nod, you make up your mind. You’ll be their guide through Niniel’s Veil. But first, you’ll have to convince them to accept your help.

When you arrived at the inn in Leford, you found Mina and her companions huddled around a large wooden table, deep in conversation. Their chatter halted the moment you stepped closer, their eyes flicking to the pendant hanging around your neck—the very one Mina had described to them. You could feel their wariness, especially from the blond barbarian who fixed you with a hard, scrutinising stare, as if he were already imagining how he might take you down if needed.

“So, you must be the cartographer,” Kirishima said with a friendly grin, his dragon-like features softened by his genuine warmth.

Bakugou, however, was more reserved, his sharp eyes sizing you up. “You got the map?” he asked, cutting straight to the point.

You nodded, but before you could reach for your satchel, you raised a hand to pause them. “I do have the map, but… I’m not just here to hand it over.”

That got their attention. Bakugou’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Sero tilted his head curiously. “What do you mean?” Sero asked.

You gave them a small, knowing smile as you pulled up a chair, sitting down without waiting for an invitation. “Are you guys really planning to brave Niniel’s Veil with just a map?”

Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at you. “What’s it to you?”

You chuckled, leaning back casually in your chair. “Everything. That forest is no joke. I know because I’m the one who mapped it. If you think you can just waltz in there with a piece of parchment and come out in one piece, you’re either fools or far too brave for your own good.”

Mina shot Bakugou a look, clearly trying to defuse the tension. “We appreciate the concern, really, but we’ve been through a lot together. We can handle it.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt your abilities,” you said, your tone still light but with an edge of seriousness. “But Niniel’s Veil isn’t like anything you’ve faced before. That forest has a mind of its own. It twists and changes to trap you, to keep you lost. I’ve seen seasoned adventurers disappear there, never to be seen again. And frankly, I’d rather not add your names to that list.”

Denki looked a little nervous at your words, glancing at his friends for reassurance. “So, what are you saying? That we’re doomed?”

“Not doomed,” you replied, waving off his concern with a smirk. “Just…in over your heads. Which is why I’m offering to be your guide.”

Kirishima leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What’s the catch? People don’t just offer to lead groups into dangerous forests for fun.”

You shrugged, pretending to think it over. “Well, I could ask for some gold, but honestly, this is more of a personal matter. I don’t like seeing good people get themselves killed when it can be avoided. Plus, Mina here did save my life, so I figure I owe her one.”

Mina blushed slightly at the mention of her good deed, while Bakugou’s scowl deepened. “We don’t need charity,” he growled.

“Who said anything about charity?” you countered, meeting his glare with a challenging look. “This is about survival. You need someone who knows that forest inside and out. Someone who’s already spent years mapping its every inch. Like I said, you can try it on your own, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

The group exchanged glances, each of them weighing your words. Finally, it was Bakugou who broke the silence, his voice gruff but grudgingly accepting. “Fine. But if you slow us down, you’re on your own.”

You chuckled again, nodding. “Fair enough. Just try to keep up, and we’ll get along just fine.” You could tell your words struck a nerve with Bakugou—no one tells him to keep up. With a smirk, you tossed the rolled-up map across the table to him, watching as he caught it and unrolled the parchment. The group crowded around the map, eager to take a look.

The moment Bakugou spread out the map, the difference was clear. The shoddy, overpriced map the merchant had tried to sell them was nothing compared to this. Your work was meticulous and precise, every detail painstakingly drawn. The map was likely the best they had ever seen, a masterpiece of cartography. Bakugou’s scowl softened as he took in the craftsmanship, a flicker of something like respect in his eyes. He was relieved they hadn’t wasted their gold on that flimsy knock-off.

“Looks like you really know your stuff,” Kirishima commented, impressed, to which you slightly nodded.

Bakugou said nothing, but his silence was telling. His crimson eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, scrutinising every inch of your expression as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. But the map in his hands, its detailed lines and intricate markings, spoke louder than any words could. He might not admit it, but the quality of your work had earned his grudging respect. For someone like him, that was saying something.

With a huff, he rolled the map up with practised precision and rose from his seat, the chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. “We’re leaving at first light. Don’t be late,” he grumbled, his tone more of an order than a suggestion. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the stairs leading up to the rooms, his heavy boots thudding with each step.

As Bakugou disappeared from view, the atmosphere around the table shifted. The rest of the group visibly relaxed, the tension that Bakugou’s presence often brought fading away. Kirishima chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t mind him. That’s just how he is. He’s actually a good guy—just takes a while to warm up.”

Sero leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, once you get past the scowl and the growling, he’s practically a teddy bear. A really, really angry teddy bear.” Denki snickered, nodding in agreement. “Just don’t tell him I said that. I like my head attached to my shoulders.”

Mina, ever the peacemaker, smiled warmly at you. “He’s right to be cautious, though. We’ve been through a lot together, and he’s just looking out for us. But I’m glad you’re here. I think we’re going to need all the help we can get in Niniel’s Veil.”

You couldn’t help but appreciate their camaraderie, the easy banter and the unspoken trust that bound them together. It was clear that they had faced their fair share of challenges, and the way they talked about Bakugou revealed a depth of loyalty that went beyond mere friendship.

As the conversation flowed, they began sharing stories of their past adventures, tales of battles fought and enemies vanquished, of close calls and hard-won victories. Each story painted a picture of a group that had seen the worst the world had to offer and come out stronger for it. You listened intently, absorbing their words, getting a feel for the dynamics at play.

But amidst the laughter and reminiscing, there was also a word of caution. Kirishima, his expression serious for once, leaned in and said, “Just one thing: Bakugou’s on a mission. It’s personal for him. He won’t tolerate anything—or anyone—that gets in his way. So just…be aware of that.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. They had told you briefly about their journey to Niniel’s Veil. The draconic artefact, the quest they were on—it wasn’t just about survival or adventure for Bakugou. It was about something deeper, something that drove him relentlessly. They didn’t really tell you details. You respected it quietly, not wanting to pry over something private.

Despite the thrill that tingled at the edge of your senses, there was a weight in your chest as you thought about Niniel’s Veil. The forest was no ordinary place—its dangers were real, its curse tangible. Returning there as a guide was a challenge that stirred something deep within you, but it was tempered by the sobering knowledge of what awaited. You knew the risks, the treacherous paths, the way the forest itself seemed to conspire against those who dared enter.

This wasn’t just another expedition. It was a test of survival, a journey where one wrong step could mean the difference between life and death. And yet, you had accepted the responsibility to lead them through it, to navigate the shifting shadows and ancient traps that had claimed countless lives before.

Tomorrow, at first light, the real journey would begin. You steeled yourself for the challenges ahead, knowing full well that what lay beyond the veil was as deadly as it was unknown. But this was your path now, and there was no turning back.

You had long grown accustomed to the early mornings, a discipline hammered into you by your father from a young age. He believed that a cartographer had to rise with the sun, to seize every bit of daylight for the work ahead. Expeditions didn’t wait for anyone, and neither did the maps that needed to be drawn. Over the years, waking before dawn became second nature, ingrained into your very being. So there you were, seated alone at a worn wooden table in the inn’s common room, the first rays of morning light filtering through the dusty windows.

You tore off a piece of buttered bread, savoring the simplicity of the meal as you waited. The inn was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old floorboards or the distant sounds of a town beginning to stir. It was a moment of solitude you had come to appreciate—a calm before the storm that was sure to follow once the others arrived.

Bakugou was the first to appear, his heavy boots thudding down the stairs. You glanced up from your breakfast as he entered the room, surprised to see him pause when he spotted you already seated. It was clear from the flicker in his eyes that he hadn’t expected you to be awake, let alone waiting. There was a brief moment of mutual acknowledgment—him noting your early rise, you noting his surprise.

“Hmph,” he grunted, more to himself than to you as he strode over to the table. “Didn’t think you’d be up before the sun.”

You shrugged, popping a bit of bread into your mouth. “Old habits die hard. Besides, I figured I’d give you lot some extra time to get your beauty sleep.”

Bakugou snorted, dropping into the chair across from you with a scowl. “We’re not here for pleasantries, so don’t think I’ll be impressed by your early wake-up calls.”

“Good,” you replied, leaning back in your chair with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want to set any unrealistic expectations. But I’ll warn you—Niniel’s Veil won’t wait for anyone, not even you. Early starts might just save your hide.”

He narrowed his eyes, but there was a grudging respect in his gaze, as if he was weighing your words. “Just make sure you don’t slow us down. I’m not in the mood to babysit anyone.”

“Babysit?” you echoed with a laugh. “You’ve got it backward, Bakugou. I’m the one making sure you don’t wander off and get yourselves killed. That forest isn’t going to play nice just because you’re loud and stubborn.”

“Loud and stubborn gets results,” he snapped, but there was an edge of amusement in his tone. “But we’ll see if you’re as good as you say you are.”

You locked eyes with him, the challenge hanging in the air between you. “Oh, I’m good, alright. Just try to keep up.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension taut but strangely invigorating. Then Bakugou huffed, breaking the silence. “Don’t get cocky. We’ll see if you’re still talking like that when we’re deep in that cursed forest.”

You chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “I’ll be fine. Just worry about yourself, barbarian.”

Bakugou leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a grunt, but there was a flicker of something that might have been amusement in his gaze. “Tch. We’ll see. Sthyarli.”

The word rolled off his tongue with a sharp edge, his tone laced with disdain. It was clear he didn’t expect you to understand it, let alone respond. But you had spent years travelling the continent, picking up languages like a second skin. Draconic, while not your strongest, was one you had made sure to grasp. It was a necessity when mapping regions native to dragonborn. What began as a practical skill soon became a weapon in your arsenal. One you were now thankful for, if only to wipe that smug look off his face.

You scoffed, unimpressed by his attempt to catch you off guard. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

The surprise in his eyes was brief but unmistakable as your retort slipped out in his own tongue. “Tiamash.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, his expression darkening for a moment as the insult sank in. He hadn’t seen that coming, and for a split second, you caught the barest hint of respect mingled with the irritation in his gaze.

“Hmph,” he grunted, his voice low and dangerous. “Careful. You might just bite off more than you can chew.”

You grinned, unfazed. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Bakugou’s lips twitched as if he was fighting back a smirk, but instead, he just shook his head, rising from his seat with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Keep running that mouth. Just don’t slow us down.”

As he turned away, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. Matching wits with Bakugou might have been risky, but it was also undeniably rewarding. The tension lingered in the air as he stalked off, but it was clear that you had earned a small measure of his respect. There was a sense of mutual understanding between the two of you now—a recognition that while you might not be friends, there was respect born from the knowledge that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy for any of you. And as you sat there, finishing the last of your bread, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps this journey, dangerous as it was, might just be worth it.

next chapter

a/n: thats the first chapter, the next one will come next tuesday !! be ready for the next one @chocogoldie

sthyarli: idiot tiamash: asshole

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

#x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #x fem!reader #x female reader #x female y/n #barbarian bakugo x reader #barbarian bakugou #fantasy au #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #fantasy fanfic

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wokelander · 2 months

Text

THE FIRST TASTE !

ft. re2r!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v sex, canon typical gore/violence, zombies, non-con, dub-con, leon gets held at gun point, slight age gap, leon is infected but not fully a zombie yet

note. awful attempt at breaking through writers block I hate this so bad the reader changes personality like 8 times and the smut is dry.. feedback n rbs always appreciated um again sorry ab the monotony.. um the beginning part is meant to be like a flashback but idk! also this might be gender neutral reader? I haven’t gone back and checked but I put fem just in case 😭

You’re thirty years old and a virgin. This is important for two reasons.

It’s the end of the fucking world.

The only man left in the world, that you know of, is succumbing to a zombie virus.

“Leon S. Kennedy!” He had said, stuck his hand out for you to shake - didn’t get the hint until you reached over to physically lower it for him.

“Yeah, okay, I don’t need your life story—Can you back off a little, rookie?” You had asked, and he frowned, something that looked out of place on a face like his.

For a moment, you thought that you never wanted to see him sad again.

“I told you my name,” Leon pointed out, it was nothing more than genuine confusion, but his perfect teeth irked you.

“I didn’t ask for it.”

He stuck to you, less like glue and more like grease on a kitchen backsplash. He grew on you in all the wrong ways. Like leg hair.

So you told him to back off, that you weren’t a team, and this stubborn little shit refused. You didn’t like his boyband haircut

“I don’t need a guide dog.” You shouldered Leon out of the way when his body eclipsed the entrance into the kennels. “Or a guard dog.”

You didn’t like the way his uniform fit so well. It took you years to grow into yours, to not look like you were playing dress up in your father’s closet.

Ultimately, he shot the dogs in the head, you didn’t have the heart or the stomach.

You told him their names.

Duke was a month short of his first birthday, Toffee was his mom. Alice wasn’t fit to be a police dog; she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

He said that he always wanted a dog, a bloodhound to be specific, but his mother was never fond of them and he loved her too much to go against her wishes.

You said that it was better off he never got one. “‘Cause look where you are now, rookie.”

He agreed and soldiered on.

The flickering sewer bulbs cast a halo on the crown of his head, twilight glow shifting shadows over his face. You had to take a breather, back thumping against the wall, a film of mucousy slime coating your uniform.

“Are you okay, Sarge?” Leon sloshed towards you in the water, and then his eyes went wider than humanly possible, white-knuckling his torch, the beam of light trembling as he struggled to shine it on a fixed point.

“Rookie, are you okay?” You edged towards him, caution lining your every move, a hand placed on your holster.

You heard it before you saw it.

The wet and somewhat primal sound of lifeless hunger.

You were trembling too much to grasp your gun, so you crushed its skull under your boot like a snail shell.

It left a blackened tooth in his calf, you pluck it out and it skims the water like a pebble.

You don’t care for him past his face.

You don’t.

You really, honestly, seriously couldn’t give a damn about the rookie. If you weren’t such a good fucking person you’d leave him here to rot with the rest of Raccoon City.

“Shit, Leon, we need to get you out of here.” You support him to the best of your abilities, he grasps at your shoulder - he’s as heavy as he looks.

“You remembered my name.” Leon’s smile is all shiny teeth, you count every last one, and then you start to pray under your breath. “Are you religious, Sarge?”

“No, I’m fucking scared, rookie.” You can’t help the nervous laughter that racks through you like a shudder, it splits you down the middle.

“So why are you praying?” Is he dead fucking serious right now?

“Because I’m scared—Jesus, Leon, this isn’t the time for fucking questions.” Your boots are soaked in sludge, nothing but trench foot is on the horizon as you force him up that ladder and back onto the streets.

His bite mark oozes something nasty, something old and new and borrowed and blue.

Jesus Christ, is it pulsing? That thing has a heartbeat.

You feel sick, tearing your sleeve to craft a bandage as you kneel down to wrap his wound up. The blood soaks through, he smells sick. Hot like he wasn’t before. Hot like humans aren’t meant to be, like the last spark in a furnace before it goes out.

“But if it means nothing to you then it won’t help.”

“It’s just… It doesn’t matter right now, okay? We can talk about that some other time.” There won’t be any other time. He’s going to die here and you won’t know what to do. You still say it to him like a promise.

You retrace your steps no matter how much he insists for you to go on without him.

Get out of here—Go find Ada, please. Claire, I met a girl named Claire, she might still be out there, Sarge, please go.

But he doesn’t understand that his hope is misplaced. You were never trying to find your way out of this place, you were going to find a nice hole to crawl into and die. You were looking for a good wall to splatter your brains on. You don’t care about who did this, who started this, you don’t want to find Ada.

Ignorance is bliss and you live by that.

You didn’t join the force to save people - you joined the force because it was the only place that had an opening.

Fuck, you’re a fucking virgin.

You’re going to die a virgin.

And the thing is, you were at peace with your virginity, your pussy is past its sell-by date, you were cool with that.

Then you had this stupid fucking thought that maybe you could get out of here and fuck the rookie silly—It’s the end of the world, he’d have no choice but you.

Now he’s gone and ruined it all.

Leon S. Kennedy with his watery blue eyes and fuck-me moles and doll lips and stupid fucking chin. He’s like Clark Kent, but you’re definitely not Lois Lane.

“I’m only—“

“Please, stop talking,” you cut in before Leon has the chance to say something stupid and endearing to make him all the more lovable and missable and fuckable.

He’s cycling through his grief. That’s the thing about Leon, he’s on autopilot, for a split second he’s mad and then he’s sad and then he’s back to where he was. It’s like he deliberately chooses not to think about things until he absolutely must.

The faraway gurgling groans of undead officers befallen by some cinematic illness and the buzz of the light bulbs give the main hall a liminal quality. You set him down on the seat where Marvin’s laptop is, congealed blood crusts over the keyboard.

He lays dead a few feet away, his head blown off by a gun you find is affectionately named Matilda. The rookie is a movie buff - you pegged him as a sports fan, but you misjudged him. He’s like the lead in a fucking rom-com, they always have to be a little sentimental, have some weird quirk that makes them seem down to earth.

“Sarge.”

“Leon.” You squeeze his shoulder, begging him to be quiet, to let you think, to just give you a split second. “Fuck, we need to get it off before it spreads.”

“No way,” Leon huffs out a laugh, it rattles in his chest, ricocheting off his ribs like a bullet.

“Yes, Leon, it’s literally the only fucking thing I can think of right now—“

He takes your hand in his clammy one, the pink is gone from his cheeks. “You need to go on without me.”

No, no, no.

This isn’t fair. It’s not meant to happen like this. You’re supposed to get your happy ending and ride off into the sunset for once in your miserable fucking life. You’re meant to find a safe house or an evacuee camp and fuck the shit out of him in one of those flimsy tents where everyone can see your silhouettes, where everyone can hear you and they know what’s going on, but it’ll be hush-hush by the morning.

“Don’t say that, Leon, if I find something—Maybe from, shit, I don’t know, from the STARS office, we could hack it off—“

Leon cups your cheeks, you feel his breath on your face, he smells of the sewers and something worse. You blink at his pallid face, the feverish gleam of sweat in the yellow lights, cloudy eyes—Holy shit, he still looks good enough to eat.

In a matter of minutes, he might think the same of you.

“You can make it out of here if you follow Ada, she wouldn’t let you down like that, I don’t want you to stay here and, and die here, Sarge, I really like you—You’re so cool, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be actually.” Leon takes a shaky breath, you look for comfort in the lines of his palms - his life line is broken.

“Rookie… You don’t seriously think she meant it, do you?” You pretend he didn’t say all those things, it’ll only make what you’re about to do to him harder.

“Of course she did, she has no reason to lie to us, to me.” Whether he’s blinded by her ass or he’s just plain stupid, you don’t know.

“You’re so… You’re too nice, Leon.” Part of you aches for him, he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. The blackened underbelly of the RPD, your shitty chief and his knack for girls that don’t ever look legal.

Maybe this is for the best.

“I’m not—You need to find her, she can get you out of here.” He’s not taking no for an answer. He never has, he stuck to you like a shadow and now look where he is.

“She was dressed like fucking Inspector Gadget, rookie, are you kidding? I’m—“ A chill runs up your spine, you shudder visibly when you press your gun to his forehead. His skin is sagging. You could wear the bags beneath his eyes on your arms, you could stretch his skin like spandex. “I promise I’ll be quick, Leon.”

Leon takes Matilda from his holster and offers her up, you cock her and take aim.

“Oh, Leon.” You almost feel bad. Almost. “I’m sorry.” For what happened to you, for what’s about to happen to you.

“It’s not your fault,” Leon says softly, his eyes are more grey than blue. Gunmetal grey.

Your plan is stupid. Whether you shoot or not - Leon is dying. There’s no need for him to fear a bullet—Christ, the bullet is better off, he might as well beg for you to kill him.

“Take off your shirt, rookie.” You tap Matilda against his temple, her muzzle is a cold warning or a feint.

“What?” He blinks at you, wondering if that’s really what you asked of him. “Sarge, I don’t think I…”

“Take off your shirt, rookie,” you repeat in a trembling voice.

“What has that got to do with this?” He’s making that face again, tilting his head to the side like he’s a dog, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep that fogs his head.

“God, Leon, you need to stop doing that, y’know?” Your jaw is offset, back teeth pressed together in a show of agitation. He plucks at your last nerve.

“Doing what?”

“Asking questions!” The metal is growing warm in your sweaty hand. He’s exhausting. Being handsome must go hand in hand with stupidity. “You ask too many fucking questions!”

“Because I'm confused, Sarge!”

“What is so confusing about that, rookie?” You ask him, brows knit together, “I’m asking you to take off your fucking shirt, if you can’t follow that I don’t know how you’d last a day on my team!”

That seems to shut him up. Leon hesitates and then he pulls the riot vest over his head, it drops to the floor with a dull thud.

“Good… Good boy.” You sound like you’re praising a dog, nothing like those raunchy older ladies in pornos. “Now the, like, all the accessories.”

Leon’s face twists in confusion.

“The fucking hip pouches and belt rookie.” You wave the gun around like a conducting baton. “Then your shirt, your actual shirt, not the fucking vest, the shirt, okay? Understood?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says shortly.

“Don’t get snippy with me, rookie.” You’re good at the bossy old bitch voice though. The belt drops to the ground and the pouches follow, a few bullets clatter on the marble.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, I thought you were…” Leon shakes his head, as if the thought of you doing this to him is too much to bear. His movements are erratic, he can’t undo his buttons and one of his fingernails peels off in the process. He doesn’t notice until you point it out.

It won’t stop you.

Look at you, following in the footsteps of your good ol’ chief. He’d be proud of you, forcing a man ten years younger than you into sex. You’re lucky you’re not especially pretty, you didn’t have to suck his jacked up dick to get a place on the force.

“Stand up, rookie.”

He stands, swaying from side to side as he tries to focus on your face.

You place a hand on his chest, he’s clammy like a dead fish, sweat beading his forehead, there’s a spidery vein running along his forearm. Leon’s softer than you thought, his body gives way to your touch, dimpling beneath your fingertips when you grasp at his pec and squeeze.

“Sarge—“

“Shut up, rookie.” You’re breathing harder than he is. Holy shit, this is like real. You’re touching him for real.

“It hurts, Sarge, I’m sorry.”

“I’m being gentle,” you tell him, curious hand groping at his other pec, thumbing over his hard nipple.

“I know, but it hurts, I don’t know why.” Probably because he is turning into a monster beyond your scope of understanding. Probably because his skin is going to rot off his bones.

“Hey, don’t cry, rookie.” You ease up your hold on his pec.

“I’m not crying,” Leon says, he stares at you, unflinching.

“It’s okay to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” he hisses.

“Are you annoyed at me or something, rookie?” You shift from one foot to the other, like you just asked him on a date and you’re waiting for him to say no.

Leon looks at you like you’re crazy, the words settling in his eyes now wide with disbelief.

Bad question. You would be pretty annoyed if some ugly dude held you at gunpoint mid zombie transformation and forced you to strip.

You wouldn’t mind if it was a cute guy though. You bet he wouldn’t mind if it was Ada.

“Okay, rookie, the pants now.” You point your gun at his dick. “Ah, ah, the boxers too.”

His silence is more terrifying than anything, it’s not much of a defeated silence, it’s quiet loathing and the weight of betrayal.

“Look, I’m sorry, rookie,” you say in the voice of someone who isn’t sorry at all. But that’s just your voice, you just sound a little bitchy, honest to god, you’re sorry as hell. “You’d get it if you were me.”

“I thought you were cool,” Leon says quietly, looking down at his wet socks or his soft dick. You can’t tell.

Cool.

God, that’s such a juvenile word. Cool is what you wanted to be in middle school. Cool is what you wanted to be all throughout high school, and now a whopping twelve years later you’re getting validation from the guy you’re about to rape.

In the middle of a zombie fucking apocalypse, might you add.

“I think you’re cool too, rookie.” You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it swells and persists. “I think you’re really fucking hot actually, rookie, I kind of...”

Your voice falls away.

I hated you for it at first, but then I really started to like you, and now you’re dying and I don’t know what else to do.

Leon’s frown is more of a pout. He’s so young. There’s no wrinkles on his forehead, but he has a smattering of freckles on his cheeks, they give a somewhat healthy appearance despite the greying of his face.

“Sit down, rookie.”

He pulls a face and then sits, crossing his arms over his chest. His dick hasn’t fallen off yet, you’re glad about that. Leon’s body still being in one piece is simply an added bonus.

You make quick work of your water-soaked trousers, and your underwear follows, doing your best to toe out of them in your heavy boots.

You might be wet, or you might be sweating, or is this sewer slime? Whatever it is, pussy juice or not, it’ll do as lube.

That dick of his is soft. Embarrassingly so. You’re naked, shouldn’t that be enough to get Leon going? Or are you seriously that undesirable?

Your weight on his lap makes him groan, you pretend not to hear it, blaming it on the virus making him weaker. You’re not that heavy. You’re not. He’s just trying to make you paranoid.

“Oh, wait, wait, wait!” You stand back up and relief floods his face. Rude. Fumbling, you take the pair of handcuffs from your belt. If you can’t use them to get laid or while getting laid, then what use are they? The former has certainly never happened, so you’re going to make the latter come true.

Leon doesn’t say a word while you secure his hands behind his back, his cheeks puff out, an expression you notice he makes when he’s in pain. The metal of the cuff erodes his melting wrists, it splinters his bones.

Now you don’t need to worry about him getting ahold of the gun, you place it on the side, lining his soft dick up with your slick pussy and feeding it into you like a straw. It’s very unsexy. The tip is velvety and the shaft is rubbery like a toy. His dick is mottled purple in the way dicks shouldn’t, you bet it was pink before. The same pink as his nipples and the tip of his nose.

You don’t feel anything.

It’s not special and there’s no sparks and all his dick does is make you feel a little less empty. So you roll your hips forward and he jolts, dick perking up and hardening inside of you. Against his will.

Leon refuses to look at you, he finds a fixture on the ceiling and stares at it while you find the right pace, lifting up off his cock, the head pops out wetly and then you sink down on it again, bottoming out with a squelch.

You brace a hand on his chest, the other between your thighs, a few fingers rubbing firm circles into your clit as you fuck him so hard you’re sure his cock is ready to fall off.

You would take it with you, keep it inside of you maybe.

“Leon…” Your lips ghost his when you whisper out his name, shuddering with the force of your orgasm, it starts in your tingling toes, warmth lapping at your ankles and then it washes over your body like a gentle wave.

His eyes are shut. He’s unmoving.

You think he might be dead, but then Leon’s dick twitches to love inside of your clenching cunt, and you feel him throb as the leaky slit dribbles a generous helping of cum.

Not the worst feeling in the world, you could get used to it, but there’s no time for that.

“I’m sorry, rookie,” you tell him again, panting as you shimmy back into your pants, “I’m sorry, I seriously am, I just need you to understand that I’m not… You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Spit bubbles spill from the corners of his cracked lips, Leon uses his arm to wipe them away. “I know I didn’t do anything wrong,” he mumbles.

“Okay… Well, I’m glad you know that.” You take Matilda and you point her at Leon’s head for real this time, it’s not an empty threat. “I like you a lot, rookie, I think you’re really cute.”

He smiles, albeit sadly, and you know he’ll never be the same again. But, you’re putting him out of his misery - Leon won’t need to go through anything at all ever again.

The gun clatters onto the floor as you’re lifted off your feet and into the air. It’s a man whose physical enormity is unimaginable to you. There’s no fixed point at which you can stare to look away from a face with all the colour wrung from it. His silence is more imposing than his size. Your bones crack in his grip, he squeezes the life force out of you and then he drops you on the ground.

The thudding of his footsteps fades, and you’re left to writhe on the ground, face to face with Marvin’s outstretched fingers.

You don’t hear Leon’s gun go off, but you do hear him cry, it’s out of frustration more than anything. The gun is by his feet, but he’s bound, forced to sit there and wait until he rots.

Dark spots appear at the edges of your vision.

It’s an hour later when you regain consciousness, something gnaws at your ankle. The pain that tears through you when you make the move to roll over is searing, your muscles spasm, but you push on. Breath coming out in ragged gasps as you push yourself up on your elbows.

At your feet, a grotesque perversion of Leon eats into you. Milky white eyes and hair fraying, falling from his scalp in gory clumps.

You’re going to lay here and he is going to eat you whole.

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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cambion-companion · 11 months

Note

could I request for you to write an scenario in which Raphael does not die to Tav nor their party, but in an other similarly humiliating circumstances, and Tav when learning about this desperately goes to save Raphael from his father by bargaining with Mephistopheles? (hilariously in a very sad way, I assume this, is the only moment that Mephistopheles would ever "value" Raphael's life, but then again that is devils for you) and Raphael's confusion at the whole thing, someone taking a terrible bargain to save him, just… because they… like him…??? (bonus points, if Tav still has a crown to willingly give Raphael XD)

It's beat up Raphael hours huh? (also Korilla will be fine)

Hi there love. This turned from a drabble into a oneshot haha

Have fun running to Cania to pick up your wayfaring devil!

Raphael x reader (gn)

Korilla had come to you.

Broker and bruised, battered and bloody. Her long curly hair matted with mud and dried viscous.

“Help him.” Her first words, rasped from a throat raw from screams.

“Korilla!” You caught her weight as her knees buckled, lowering her gently to the ground. The Dwarven woman wasn’t your friend by any means, but she had been your ally. “Who needs my help?” You couldn’t fathom who she might be referring to.

Surely it wasn’t Raphael. It couldn’t possibly be the enigmatic, self-assured cambion.

Korilla’s answering rasp dispelled any doubt. “My master.”

A fog of shock settled over your mind, your hands loosening around Korilla’s shaking form. She whispered the truth into your ear, her bruised lips trailing her blood onto your clammy skin. With fading voice Korilla told of the attack, Raphael’s demise and his imminent doom.

“Portal. Diabolist. Cania.” Korilla’s breaths grew short as she fought valiantly once more against the oncoming black.

“Hold on, Korilla. You’re going to be okay.”

“Save him.” She said again, her eyes slowly glossing over as the life left her broken body.

You cursed. The warlock’s last actions had been to find you in a desperate hope you’d help Raphael before he was consumed by his father. His father who just so happened to be an archdevil. Mephistopheles.

“Little shit could’ve mentioned that.” You grimaced, lowering Korilla’s body to rest upon the cold earth.

You stood, pinching the bridge of your nose as your thoughts whirled and clashed. Not only had the attackers killed Raphael, but they had also looted his house, stealing the Orphic hammer and the only hope you’d had of defeating the Elder Brain.

“Damn it.” You returned to your companions with the news. “Looks like we’re taking a rescue party to hell.”

“Who’s the damsel in distress?” Astarion asked, tilting his head as his red eyes flickered over your blood-flecked form.

“Raphael.”

The plan was to use as much stealth as possible. The vaults of Mephisto had been broken into not long ago, according to Raphael, so it was possible. A direct confrontation with the archdevil himself was out of the question.

The diabolist in Baldur’s Gate took some convincing, but in the end you were able to push enough gold across the counter to seal the deal.

“Very well. Though I warn you, you’ll not return alive or with your souls intact.”

“Yes, yes.” You waved the woman off, her visage reminding you of Korilla. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.” Your eyes scanned the musky shop. Do you have anything that will locate a specific fiend?”

With a Locate Creature spell scroll ready in your bag you watched as the diabolist created for you a portal. Ice crystals immediately crusted on the edge of the black abyss, the wind coming from the portal nearly freezing your shoes to the floor.

“Quickly, and remember the disguises!” She ushered you and your party through, the frigid darkness enveloping you with a grim finality.

Through cold halls you’d snuck, invisible fingers cold as death scraping along your back and through your hair as you passed beneath torches of blue flame.

Time lost all meaning here. Your eyes began to play tricks on you. The only thing keeping your mind focused was the spell lighting the edge of your vision with a warm glow, growing brighter as you hurried to where Raphael was being held.

An age, or an hour had passed.

The wrought iron door, so cold to the touch it burned, swung noiselessly inward, admitting you to an octagonal shaped room. On the far wall you saw him, his form dark, chained by one wrist to the wall.

“Raphael.” You hissed, unexplainable relief flooding your frozen veins when his head moved in response.

Your companions waited by the open doorway, keeping watch from the shadows. You snuck as quickly as you could to where Raphael was restrained. His glowing eyes looking down upon you with consternation before recognition slowly dawned across his sharp features.

You held up a hand, silencing him as he opened his mouth. Movement could be heard from outside the prison room. You were running out of time.

“Can you get us out of here if I free you?” You hissed, still keenly aware of the nature of the devil.

Raphael nodded, his tail moving to and fro in agitation. Something about his vitality seemed to be missing, you had never imagined seeing him in such a state. It was unsettling.

The matter of removing the singular shackle proved to be more challenging than you’d thought. Astarion’s lockpicking skills proved futile.

“It’s a magical seal.” Raphael breathed, his voice low yet sharp with anger born of desperation. “Now’s not the time to play the fool.”

You gave him a severe look which he matched right back at you, his eyes sparking flame.

You raised a hand to the ice-covered metal, about to dispel the magic surrounding the lock. “You owe me a favor. A big one. I don’t know yet what I will ask of you, but you will deliver. Understood?”

Raphael’s gaze scorched you for a moment, it was clear he was furious with his current predicament. But he had no choice, and both of you knew it.

He nodded curtly.

You cast your spell.

Raphael’s wrist broke free with the sharp sound of metal splintering. His hand closed tight around your arm, the dungeons of Mephisto melted away as you and your companions were yanked unceremoniously back to the material plane.

At least, your companions were. Deposited non-gently upon the hard ground of your camp.

Raphael kept hold of you. Taking you back to the foyer of his house. The house which still lay in semi ruin from its previous sacking.

He was angry. Each step he took crackled fire and promise of swift vengeance.

“Raphael…” You said hesitantly, following him down into the dining hall. “Raphael, Korilla-”

“Is dead.” Under the glow of firelight, you could properly see the state he was in. You winced when he turned to face you. “I know. Though not as dead as those who dared pillage my home, the fools.”

“Do you know who?” You remained wary as you watched him conjure an armchair and sink down into it.

Raphael ignored your question, he issued orders in the abrasive Infernal tongue, seemingly into thin air. His fingers clicked and a spark of flame licked around them. Unseen servants began bustling around, clearing the debris and wreckage. Setting the House of Hope back in order.

Raphael leveled his gaze upon you. His expression was not unkind, it was calculating. He had underestimated you and overestimated himself. Not a mistake he’d make again.

“Why?” No flowery words, no ado.

“I still need the hammer.” You had the response prepared, having known the question was coming.

“You could have hunted down the thieves without my help.” Raphael narrowed his hellfire eyes. “Why come to my aid?”

“Korilla asked me to. It was her dying wish.” You fidgeted under his piercing presence. “Besides, you’re a useful ally. I still need your help to save the world.”

Raphael arched a brow, unconvinced. “Half-truths are still considered lies, dear. But there are matters I must attend to.” He stood, restless.

“Will your father come for you again once he realizes you’re gone.” The question came before you could stop yourself.

“Concerned for me?” Raphael appraised you, a knowing tilt to his head. “No. He will not.”

You didn’t argue, Raphael was clearly on edge, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

You rubbed circles against your aching temple. “Well, seems we have some thieves to track down. A hammer to retrieve.”

Raphael looked as though he was biting back a sharp retort. He chewed on his words, looking you over. “Yes.” He growled, infernal fire flickering off his form. “You may watch as I peel their souls from the writhing mortal flesh.”

In an unexpected move, Raphael strode to you and took your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. His breath hot on your still chilled skin. “You may even assist me, if you so desire.” He straightened.

That was as close to a “thank you” as you were going to get.

You set your jaw grimly. “When do we start?”

#raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #fanfic #oneshot #bg3 one shot #house of hope #au

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daydreaming-nerd · 7 months

Text

The Bonds That Break Us (Rhysand x Female! Reader) Part 5

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 , Part 6, Final Part

Request: "Would you do a Rhysand x fem!reader series? Maybe fem!reader is Rhysand's mate and Tamlin's sister? So secret love?"

AN: Damn we really on part 5? Wild. Also y'all thought Tama Lama Ding Dong was a shithead in part 4? Light your torches and pitch forks then...

Summary: It was almost as if the cauldron liked to play games, as if it had sensed years of boredom and predictability and begged to be entertained. Its method of absolving its melancholy? Mate the High Lord of the Night Court to the younger sister of the High Lord of Spring.

Warnings (so far): physical abuse, mentions of SA, major sexisim.

Word count: 5462

(all photos are from pinterest)

I wake up the next morning to warm kisses being placed on my cheek. My eyes flit open and I can feel Rhys’ arms holding me tightly from behind, in front of me the sunlight drifts through the balcony windows and the snow on the mountain seems to glisten in the sun. I feel Rhys’ kisses trailing down my neck causing me to giggle.

“I knew you were awake,” he smiles, kissing my cheek.

I roll over to see him looking down at me, his eyes catch the sun and I can swear I see literal stars flickering in his eyes. The golden sunlight warms his face and I can’t help but reach a hand up to cup his cheek. His hand falls on top of mine and pulls it down a bit to place a kiss to my open palm.

“I haven’t slept that good in years,” I laugh.

“Well over 5 rounds will do that to a couple,” he grins.

“I suppose you’re right,” I laugh playfully, hitting his chest. “But that’s not what I meant, I liked sleeping here, with you.”

“I feel the same mate,” he smiles nuzzling my cheek. “When you’re in my bed I can sleep well knowing you’re as safe as you can possibly be.”

“That is very true,” I smile, running a hand through his hair pulling his lips to mine. “I love you Rhys.”

“I love you too y/n,” he smiles into the kiss. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.”

“I’ll never get tired of saying it,” I reply, kissing him deeper, the tension in the room shifting. I feel his arm snake around my back pulling me closer to him and I take it as an opportunity to snake a leg around his hips and swing my body over his so that I’m straddling him.

It takes him a moment to realize what has just happened but the second I start raking my hands down his chest his eyes light up in amusement.

“Where on earth did you learn that little move mate?” he grinned, rubbing circles into my hips.

“My so-called ‘dirty books’ you always tease me about,” I muse running my hands down his chest loving the feel of his velvet covered muscles under my fingers.

“Then my mating present to you is going to be a whole library full of dirty books,” he smiles and leans up to kiss me.

“Please stay,” Rhys begged again.

We had spent the rest of our morning tangled in a mess of morning sex and cuddles and then we utilized the abnormally large bath. As the afternoon started to roll around I felt my internal clock ticking and I knew I needed to get back to the Spring Court before anyone suspected anything.

“You know I can’t Rhys,” I answered as I finished tying the top of my dress off. “If Tamlin finds out what happened it won’t be good for either of us.”

“It makes my stomach sick to know you’ll be locked up in that house again, with him, with Lucien.” he pleads, taking my hands in his.

“I’ll be okay, I promise. The sooner I go back the sooner I can tell Tamlin.” I say remind him, placing a hand on either side of his face.

“And then you can come home to me.” he says warmly, pressing his forehead against mine.

“Yes, home,” I sigh, liking the way the word rolled off my tongue. I bury my head in his chest and hold him as close as I can.

“Let me go with you,” he begs, rubbing my back as his chin rests on top of my head. “We can tell Tamlin together.”

“I wish you could, but the second that you set foot in our court Tamlin will attack first and ask questions later. We won’t even get a chance to talk to him civilly.” I say.

“I hate that you don’t smell like me anymore,” he deadpans.

I knew that if I walked into the Spring Court with Rhys’ scent all over me there would be no way in Hel that Tamlin would let me explain. So I had thrown a glamour over myself to mask the scent.

“I promise when I get back you can rub your scent all over me you psycho alpha male,” I laugh pushing away from him so I can see his face.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he chuckles. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too Rhys’” I say, standing up on my tiptoes to give him one final kiss.

It’s unseasonably cold in the Spring Court when I arrive, though the sheer fabric of my dress didn’t do much to keep me warm. I walked through the gardens and up the front steps of the mansion. The closing of the door echoed throughout the house. Its sound reminded me of how empty this place truly was, how it held no love in it. Just pastel fabric and cold, echoing marble. It was never a home, hell it wasn’t even a home when my parents were alive.

My find wanders to Velaris. The warm inviting wooden walls, the cozy fireplaces, Cassian’s laugh. The lived in couches covered in all sorts of blankets, the amazing breakfast that had been served to us in bed. My mate, my beautiful wonderful mate, and how he smiled at me this morning. How it felt so good to wake up in his arms.

My heart already ached for home, and I wasn’t going to waste another moment.

“Tamlin!” my shout echoed off the marble walls as I started walking through the house looking for my brother. “Tamlin!” I scream again this time a little louder.

I peer into the tea room and find no one. I prance down the hall towards the dining room and don’t find him there either.

“Tamlin!” I scream even louder and begin walking towards his study.

“What?!” came a muffled response from behind the study door. I open the door and let myself in. I find him bent over spreads of papers adding up numbers and recording them.

“Tamlin, I need to speak to you,” I say, closing the door.

“Me first though sister,” he starts, standing up and rounding his desk to lean on the front. “I spent the morning negotiating with Beron and we’ve come to an agreement. You and Eris are to be married by the end of the week.”

“I already told you I won’t marry Eris!” I seethe. “I want to marry my mate.”

Tamlin laughs mockingly, “and who, pray tell, is that sister? Don’t tell me that after all this time you’ve grown to tolerate Lucien.”

“Lucien isn’t my mate,” I take a deep breath. “Rhysand is.”

The amused look on Tamlin’s face drops and he suddenly embodies the idea of ‘if looks could kill’ as he stands up straight.

“What did you just say?” he growls.

“Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, is my mate,” I say, trying to sound brave as I let my glamour drop and Rhys’ scent floods the room.

Tamlin’s eyes turn murderous and I know that there’s no going back now, no explaining my way out of this. There was nothing else I could say, the law of mates was as absolute as it got, he would be forced to accept it.

He charges forward and before I can move far enough away his hand is wrapped around my throat and the back of my head is slamming against the doorframe to his study.

“You let him fuck you?” he growled, and all I could do was whimper, as the hand around my throat wouldn’t allow me to speak.

“You’re a worthless fucking whore and you always have been,” he shouts slamming my head against the doorframe again. “I’ve worked far too hard and lost far too much to lose this alliance with the Autumn Court. I’ll be damned if Rhysand putting his cock in you changes that. You’ll marry Eris even if I have to chain you to the altar!”

Tamlin releases my throat and I drop to the floor unable to get my footing. I’m free for mere seconds before he’s grabbing me by my hair and pulling me down the hallway.

“TAMLIN PLEASE STOP!” I scream trying to rip my hair out of his hands.

“You’ll marry him even if you do so in a cell sister!” he bellows and I realize where we’re going. Where he’s taking me. My stomach pits. The cells below the Spring Court aren’t for the faint of heart. They are cold, wet, and musty. A stark contrast to the flowers that bloom outside.

Tamlin drags me down the steps, my knees scraping and cutting open on each one. As I feel the stone slice my knees the air around me gets colder and colder. The screeching of metal screams in my ears and I finally feel Tamlin let go of my hair. I scramble to the bars but it’s too late, I hear the lock on the door click shut.

“Tamlin, please don’t do this!” I plead, reaching through the bars for him but he moves away.

“You did this to yourself y/n, I’ve been a good brother. I raised you, clothed you and watched over you for years. All I asked is that you marry Eris peacefully and you couldn’t even do that. I’ve just lost parts of my land, I won’t lose this alliance. I’ll see you at your wedding.” he seethes and turns to walk away.

“Rhys!” I cry out hoping that saying his name out loud will be louder through the bond.

“He can’t hear you sister, these cells are so heavily warded, not even that so-called mating bond you think you have can get through.” he smiles before closing the door at the top of the stairs and leaving me to the darkness.

Rhys…Rhys…Rhys… I called down the bond but I heard no answer.

I had spent most of the morning and afternoon screaming for Rhys hoping that maybe verbally calling for him might strengthen the signal, but my voice ricocheted off the stone walls just like the mating bond did.

When the tiny sliver of sunlight went dark so had my voice. I could barely speak, so I resorted to calling down the bond. But just like Tamlin had said, it was hopeless. I tried to pick the lock with a nail I found on the floor but only succeeded in slicing my palm open. At this point my dress was so ripped up from being used as bandages and being dragged down here it could hardly be called a dress.

I screamed down the bond through the night until fatigue took over and I fell asleep. I woke to that tiny sliver of light again, which meant another day had passed and I was one day closer to my “wedding”. I stared at that sliver of light and continued to call down the bond but I was met with nothing but silence. I even tried tugging on that invisible string inside me, but I didn’t feel anything.

That night, the cell felt more like an ice box. The damp floor combined with the cold underground air had me shivering in a ball in the corner of the cell suddenly wishing I hadn’t used so much of my dress to bandage my wounds.

Rhys…Rhys…Rhys

I called and called until sleep took me, my body tired from starvation, and cold. And as I sat in the back corner of my cell, freezing and alone, I realized that no one was coming.

“Just give her time, Rhys,” Cassian told me. “Tamlin’s always been a bit of a hard ass, I’m sure she would say something if something was wrong.”

“Yeah she’s survived there this long, she can do it again,” Azriel chimed in.

It had been three days since I had seen or heard from y/n and I was beginning to worry. I know she wanted me to stay away from the Spring Court and give her time to reason with Tamlin, and I wanted to give her my complete faith that she could do this. But something wasn’t right.

“She should’ve contacted me by now, something is wrong.” I say pacing around my office.

“When was the last time you tried to reach down the bond?” Azriel asks, being uncharacteristically chatty today.

“Just last night, but I couldn’t hear her,” I replied.

“Tamlin’s got some pretty nasty wards on that place. I heard that Tarquin helped set them up,” Cassain replied.

“Maybe try to break into a few of them,” Az suggested.

“Worth a try I suppose, but that never stopped us from communicating before,” I say.

I allow my power to flow to the Spring Court and in my mind I can see the layers and layers of wards. I cut my way through the first few and I hear a faint crying but I can’t make out what it is. I use my power to dig in even further, straining against the wards, and then I hear her.

Rhys…Rhys…Rhys…

My knees nearly hit the floor as I hear her little cries. My heart nearly caves out from how hopeless she sounds, how weak.

“What is it?” Azriel asks, sensing my pain.

“She’s in trouble, I’m going to get her,” I say firmly, trying not to let my power rattle the very house we stood in.

“Rhys you can’t, Tamlin will see it as an act of war. Let me and Az go get her.” Cassian pleads.

“I don’t care, I won’t lose her.” I grit. “You both go get Madja I’ll be back.”

I winnow to the Spring Court as fast as I can and pray to whatever gods are listening that I’m not too late.

This morning Tamlin dropped a piece of bread and a glass of water into my cell and I didn’t even plead with him to let me out. His small offering of food when he knew I was starving was proof enough that all my screaming and crying hadn’t affected him at all. He was beyond compassion and beyond saving.

The bread was mostly moldy but I picked around the parts that weren’t and ate what I could, which wasn’t enough to cure my hunger. I left the rest to the rats who ran about the cell and crawled back into my corner to stare at that sliver of light on the floor all day again waiting for my wedding day tomorrow.

The smell of flowers and freshly cut grass had never smelled so sour to me as I waltzed up the steps to the Spring Court mansion. On the outside it was truly beautiful, but the inside was cold and barren, no warmth, no life and I couldn’t imagine my sweet y/n living in such a place.

I knew Tamlin was aware I was here, knew he felt me touch down on his soil, yet I didn’t yet see him. I used my powers to feel around for his presence and ended up walking toward the dining hall. I threw open the doors, hearing them crash into the walls behind them. There Tamlin sat, at the head of his empty table, and I swore fear flickered across his eyes.

“Where is she?” I growl stalking towards him.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Rhysand.” he glowered.

“Where is my mate,” I seethed, letting the last word bite.

“Ahh my sister, well she has a prior engagement and I do mean that quite literally,” he mused. “You see she’s to bear Eris Vanserra many sons and make me a very rich High Lord.”

My blood boils at the thought of her carrying Eris’ children and I feel my mental talons reach out to grab Tamlin’s mind. He falls to the floor in pain and it only seeks to fuel me further.

“You dare attack me in my own court?” he chokes out. “I will declare war upon your court Rhysand, and that whore will still be where Eris’ warms his cock when I leave your city in a pile of rubble.”

“Be careful how you speak about my mate Tamlin, I will cut out your fucking tongue and take a great deal of pleasure in doing so.” I growl, tightening my grip on his mind.

“She’s not worth this Rhysand, not worth your court, go home and I’ll forget this ever happened.” Tamlin rasps out.

“You forget that you are standing between a male and his mate Tamlin, and not just any male, me,” I glower and step closer to him. “I will melt your mind until all that is left is your rotted fucking corpse in this absurd mansion.”

I lean in close to growl every word to him loud and clear. “Where. Is. My. Mate.”

Tamlin doesn’t say anything. So I dig my talons so deep inside his mind so that his entire body convulses from the pain. I could shatter his mind right now, leave him dying and rotting in this mansion just like I promised. But then the whole council would declare war on The Night Court and I wouldn’t risk my family like that, wouldn’t risk y/n like that.

I dig my talons deeper until his eyes roll into the back of his head and I release him leaving him to fall to the ground unconscious, he likely wouldn’t wake up for hours. I think about killing him one more time for what he did to her, but I just turn my back and take off to find my precious mate.

I stare at the sliver of light on the floor and try to decipher what time of day it is. Try and figure out how many days until I legally belong to Eris and I’ll never hold Rhys again. I think about how my life will look, once Eris becomes High Lord. Will he allow me to attend council meetings with him? Will I have to watch Rhsyand from across the room and pretend I don’t know every inch of him? Will he one day show up with a High Lady? And I’ll sit there and watch him love and dote upon her like she placed the stars in his court?

I shutter at the thought and try to curl inward on myself even more letting my tears fall freely. There was no one here to tell me how pathetic I was anyways. I trembled to the point where I couldn’t tell if I was crying too hard, scared or freezing to death.

I hear the door to the dungeons open and I press my forehead against the wall and curl myself into the tightest ball possible not wanting Tamlin to get any satisfaction.

“Y/n?” that voice echoes off the walls and my head snaps to the cell door. There before me, Rhysand is kneeling on the other side of the bars. His voice is broken and so is the pained expression on his face.

“Rhys?” I rasp out, my voice still gone. I scramble over to where he’s kneeling and I reach my hands through the bars to touch his arms. The second I feel him I erupt into tears. “Rhys oh my gods,” I sob.

“What has he done to you?” he asks, taking in the state of me, I must be covered in dirt and blood, my dress ripped to shreds from makeshift bandages. “It doesn’t matter, stand back I’m going to break open the door.”

I do as he says and scootch back on my butt to the corner of the room where he found me. I cover my head and let my tears fall as I try to catch my breath. I hear the door blast off its hinges, metal crashing to the stone floor. Before I can even look up Rhys has me in his arms.

“Oh my gods you’re so cold,” he hisses when he touches my skin. “Come on, I'm getting you out of here.”

I feel him hoist me up and carry me up the stairs where there are no wards to prevent him from winnowing. The next thing I know my senses can smell the jasmine of Velaris and I open my eyes to find us in the foyer where Rhys first winnowed us.

“Cassian! Azriel!” Rhys bellowed an urgency in his voice I never heard before. I hear two sets of footsteps enter the room. “Where is Madja she needs help.”

“What the fuck happened to her?” Cassian balked.

“He locked her in the fucking dungeons,” Rhys gritted out. “Here take her,” he said, passing me off to Azriel and I let out a whine at the loss of him.

“Where are you going?!” Cassian bellowed.

“I left Tamlin alive before I found her, I’m going to finish the job.” Rhys seethed in a fit of blind rage.

“Like hell you are, y/n needs you Rhys. Your mate needs you, Tamlin will be handled another day, stay with her for now.” Cassian beseeched Rhys, and I could see Rhys trying to decide what to do.

“Rhys,” I cried, and I saw his heart melt at the sound of my cry.

“I’m right here darling,” he cooed, taking me from Azriel’s arms. “I’m gonna take care of you.” he said, pressing a kiss to my brow and taking me into a room where Madja was.

I felt her hands assessing me for any broken bones before she started cleaning the wounds on my knees and hand. Her healing magic is already making me feel better taking away the tightness in my chest so I can breathe without sobbing.

“She will be okay, she has a few cuts on her legs but her hand will need stitches. She seems to have some head trauma and severe damage to her trachea,” she begins. “Say ‘ahh’ for me sweetie.”

“Ahh,” I comply, the word barely a flicker of sound.

“Damage to her vocal chords, she must’ve been screaming for hours.” Madja says, helping me sit up again. “She’s cold, hungry and traumatized, but with some warmth, food and rest she will be okay,” she smiles at Rhys.

“Thank you Madja,” Rhys says, forcing a smile.

I stood and walked over to where a mirror was across the room, Rhys, Cassian and Azriel looked at me as if I might shatter on the ground at any given moment. When I look into the mirror I gasp, I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. Hair matted, tired eyes, dress torn to shreds and a large bruise around my neck from where Tamlin choked me.

I can see Rhys coming to stand behind me as I trace the bruise with my hand. I make eye contact with him in the mirror and I can see him trying not to cry. I turn to throw my arms around him and sob into his chest and though his arms come to wrap around me as well he holds me like I might break.

“Let's get you cleaned up okay?” he says sweetly.

I nod and allow him to pick me up and carry me to his, well, our room. When we arrive the bath is already magically filled and heated and I chalk it up to the magic that brought us breakfast in bed that one morning.

As I sit in the warm bath he kneels at the edge, sponging me off and washing my hair with jasmine scented shampoo.

“You don’t need to do this,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

“I want to,” was all he said in return and I didn’t have the voice to argue.

He dries me off in a warm towel and carries me to bed. Already waiting for me is a beef and vegetable stew. Rhys tries to pick it up and spoon feed it to me, but I take it from his hands to feed myself.

“I promise you I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself,” I give a hoarse laugh.

“I know, I just…I want to take care of you.” he says sadly.

“You are Rhys, I promise it’s not as bad as it looks,” I say, shoveling the stew into my mouth.

“What do you mean it’s ‘not that bad’, y/n look at you,” he pleads, eyes flitting to my neck.

“I’m safe now though Rhys, I’m with you.” I say setting down the stew to crawl into his lap.

I feel his hand graze my neck where the bruise is, “when Madja said you must’ve screamed for hours,” he stopped teeth gritting at the idea. “Did he torture you?”

“No,” I started. “When I got back to the mansion I immediately thought of you and Velaris and how much I missed this place already and I didn’t even think twice before barreling in his office and telling him. I was even stupid enough to let the glamour drop. He completely lost his mind and that’s how I got this,” I said, hand grazing the bruise. “He told me I would marry Eris even if I did it in a cell. And he dragged me down there and left me. The cuts on my legs are from being dragged, the gash on my hand is from trying to pick the lock with a rusty nail and slicing my hand open.”

“And the screaming?” he asked.

I sighed knowing that he wouldn’t give up until he knew the truth, “Tamlin told me the cells were heavily warded, that the mating bond wouldn’t be strong enough for you to hear me through them. But I didn’t care. I screamed your name for days until I lost my voice completely.” I admitted.

I looked up to see the hurt in Rhys’ eyes. Through the mating bond I could see him playing the image of me, cold, alone and screaming his name in a cell for hours. That name he begged me to say when we first met… I screamed it for days, and he didn’t hear me.

“You couldn’t have known Rhys,” I assured him, placing my hands on his face.

“Who's the mind reader now,” he quipped, trying to hide his pain.

“I’m safe now Rhys, I’m here with you.” I smile, wiping the tear from his face.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, I never want to be separated from you from this moment forward.” he said with promise and I could sense he was trying to assure himself more than me.

“Never again mate,” I say, pressing our foreheads together. I reach for the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.

“y/n no you’re hurt,” he murmurs, pulling his shirt back down.

“No not sex, I just- I want to feel you,” I say referencing the time he held my hand under a council table.

He takes his shirt off slowly and lays down pulling me into his chest. My cheek hit his skin and I’m flooded with his scent. My heart immediately calmed as I pulled the fluffy towel up on my body. Rhys reaches down and covers us up with the blankets and even though it’s not yet 4 o’clock we fall fast asleep.

The next morning I wake up in Rhysand’s arms and sit up to admire him sleeping. Somehow he’s still the most beautiful male I had ever seen. I run my hands down his chest and I can't help but lean down to place a kiss there. One kiss turns to two, two into three, three to four and before I know it the sleeping High Lord is waking with a groan.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” he smiles that devilish smile that brings me to my knees.

“I’m sorry to wake you, I just can’t get enough of you,” I giggle, kissing his chest again.

“That’s the frenzy starting, once we officially mate it’ll be much worse. So much worse in fact, I’m going to have to take you away to my cabin in the mountains for a bit.” he smirks and runs a hand through my hair as I pepper kisses all over his chest.

“Aww but I love this house so much, I don’t want to mate in a cabin,” I pout.

“Yes but if we stay here it's a safety concern for the citizens but mostly for Cassian. If he even looks at you the wrong way I’ll be inclined to rip his head off,” he chuckles. “I promise you’ll love it, it's not a ramshackle place, it's enchanted just like this one.”

“That’s right I forgot males can get all territorial after they mate,” I snort.

“It's true,” he laughs. “I’ve seen males of reason and education destroy a room and attack other males, only because a male looked too long in the direction of his mate too soon after their mating.” he says, kissing my brow.

“Then maybe the cabin is a good idea, I’m quite fond of Cassian already, I’d hate to see him decapitated.” I smile, giving him a short kiss.

“You and I both mate,” he smiles, kissing me back.

I lean in to deepen the kiss and he abruptly pulls away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling like I might’ve been too bold.

“It’s Mor, I just heard her thoughts and she wants us to come downstairs, says it’s urgent,” he explains begging to sit up.

I don’t ask questions, whatever Mor has to say must truly be urgent given the events of the past few days. I slowly realize I don’t have any clothes and reach to pick up one of Rhysand’s discarded shirts on the floor and slip it over my head. It’s big enough on me that it fits like a dress. He pulls a shirt over his own head and turns back to look at me.

“Shit woman, we're going to have to go shopping because if you’re walking around this house in nothing but my clothes I won’t hesitate to take you on every piece of furniture I own,” he smirks, grabbing me by the waist.

“Is that a promise mate?” I muse.

“You little-” he smirks before leaning in to kiss me deeply.

We reluctantly break apart and Rhys leads me down the stairs to where his cousin Mor awaits with a letter in hand, the wax seal already broken.

“Mor this is y/n, my mate. Y/n this is my cousin Mor.” Rhys introduces us, taking the letter from Mor’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m sorry I’m not wearing something more proper. I don’t have any clothes here yet,” I smile nervously, holding out my hand for her to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you too, I’ve heard so much about you,” she says, pushing my hand away and wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug. “And don’t worry about the clothes I’ve been dying to go shopping, and no one is better at spending Rhys’s money than me.”

I see Rhys roll his eyes as he pockets the letter.

“I’ll look forward to that, I’ve always longed for a girlfriend to go shopping with,” I say truthfully. “What was the letter about?” I say directing my attention to Rhys who already looks like he's scheming and brooding over it.

“It’s from the council, they are calling us in to question the validity of our mating bond and who you truly belong to, me or Eris,” he explains and I can tell it’s plaguing him.

“Beron definitely wrote that, he’s such a sexist asshole,” Mor ranted rolling her eyes.

“Do you think we need to worry?” I ask earnestly.

“With Beron backing your brother? We might.”

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#rhys acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand angst #rhysand fluff #rhysand smut #rhysand acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel shadowsinger #cassian acotar

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the-karma-cafe · 6 months

Note

Medium honor Arthur picks up character but it’s for a crime she didn’t do! Oh and outdoorsy love stuff

a/n: omg ok i dont know what you mean by outdoorsy love stuff is that SEX or is that FLUFF (im giving you both) thank you for the request !!

warnings: DID NOT PROOFREAD, sex (hell no !!!), spanking, he's a little mean but not really (as medium honor usually goes), mildly dubious consent

Warm | Arthur Morgan

It was the age-old story of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. When I discovered Mrs. Braithwaite on the floor一thick, wine-red blood pooled beneath her chest一I’d barely had a second to react before one of her sons screamed, tackling me to the ground. His fingers were bruising against my arms, shaking me, asking what the fuck was the matter with me, telling me I’d fucking swing for this.

I don’t even remember how I got away from him, slamming something into his skull and breaking free from that iron grip, leaping off the balcony without a second thought.

It was only miles away on one of their prized horses did it finally hit me that whatever case I’d had to defend myself with was long gone. I wouldn’t be able to show my face in Rhodes again一or really anywhere else一with a high-profile family like the Braithwaites on my ass.

I kept riding further north, hoping to put as much distance between me and that damn corpse as possible. Of all the people, it had to be her, and it had to be me.

By the time I reached Valentine, I’d felt more sorry for myself than I had in a long time. Thanked my lucky stars I always kept my money on me and bought some supplies there to… well, live on the lam, I supposed.

But for the first couple nights, I moped. Stayed in the saloon every morning and the hotel every night一not much else to do in a livestock town.

When I felt a bit better, I sold the Braithwaite horse. It was big and proud and all sorts of attention-grabbing. I bought a different one一drab and small, but fast.

Sooner than I thought, the news had travelled. A new bounty poster was slapped right on the wooden post outside the saloon, my sketchy reflection glaring back at me. MURDEROUS MAID.

I pursed my lips. They could’ve spared me the alliteration.

Tore it down, stuffed it in my bag, and left town. Wouldn’t take long for a small town like Valentine to put two and two together.

The bounty was nothing to sneeze at. I was almost flattered. Wanted alive, $500. I figured it’d take a lot to deter bounty hunters from $500, so I took to the mountains. It was likely just a matter of time, but by god was I going to make them work for it.

Now, here I was, having found some barn to hole up in, next to the remains of a torched homestead (I’d briefly picked through it and rescued a dented can of peaches and a lock box holding some fancy necklace). Would’ve preferred the house, but shelter was shelter. Peaches (affectionately named after said can) seemed to like it in here, at least.

“You want one, boy?” I held one out to where he sat a foot or so away from me. For only having just met me, he was a sweet horse, resting his head on my lap while I slept, following me around while I hunted (although I quickly found he loved to scare off game, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to just stay put, goddammit).

Peaches leaned his big head forward and sniffed at the proffered fruit. To my surprise, he snorted and turned away from it, flicking back his ears and giving me a severe side-eye. “What!” I laughed, bringing it back away from him. “Now you tell me.”

He huffed out of his nose, like it should have been quite obvious, thank you very much. I giggled and continued to eat, idly watching the flame flicker in one of the lanterns hung from the ceiling.

I eventually drifted off to sleep, still not any closer to figuring out my future than I was a month ago.

The next morning, I ventured back into the wilderness to hunt. So far, I’d been a bit less successful than I’d hoped, but I had done well enough for myself.

I breathed out slowly, my arm steadily following the movements of a buck a couple yards away. My breath puffed out white in front of me, warming my nose. This was the closest I’d ever gotten to game this big.

The buck lowered its head, nosing past the snow to the damp grass below. I kept my arrow aimed above, where I knew its head would return. A breath in. C’mon…

It raised its head, staring off to its right somewhere, and I stretched back the string, my grip still a bit wobbly against its force. Another breath out.

A whisk of air whooshed over me, and I startled, releasing my grip on the arrow. It flew a couple feet away before planting headfirst into the snow. Something forcibly tightened around my torso, crushing my arms against my sides. What the hell?! I yelped in surprise and wobbled from my perch, falling backwards.

My head dented the snow behind me, sending it down my collar and into my hair, freezing my neck and ears. “Ahh!” I struggled against the coil around me, simultaneously flinching away from the cold now assaulting my warm skin.

Footsteps crunched over to me, and an upside-down face and chest soon came into view. He looked down at me with a pleased expression on his face, or at least it seemed like it, it was hard to tell behind that high collar and tipped hat.

He rounded to my front and his gloved hands yanked at the rope, pulling me slightly up from the snow to face him better. He squinted at my face, now surely pinkened from the snow I could still see on my lashes. His chest rumbled with approval, and he nodded, more to himself than me. “Thought so.”

“What?” I exhaled, staring up at him dumbly.

He cracked a smile, and this time I could tell. “The murderous maid, I take it?”

My blood ran cold. Oh, fuck. I had almost forgotten, tucked away in this silent, snowy haven.

Apparently my expression was all it took to confirm things for him. His smile turned to a smirk and he tugged at the rope, bringing me up to stand. I instinctively pushed away from him, but he held me firmly to him, his arms thick and strong (my god this man was big). He looped the rope around me again before tying it securely at my front.

Then, he promptly threw me over his shoulder and began to walk.

“Let me go!!” I thrashed from my perch, kicking at him.

He growled and tightened his grip on my thighs. “Kick me again and I'll make you regret it, girl.”

A fearful whimper slipped past my lips and I stilled.

“That’s what I thought,” he grunted, but his grip didn’t loosen.

He whistled, loud and sharp, and I heard the familiar sound of hooves approaching. The image of Peaches by himself in the barn flitted through my head.

“Um, mister?” I whispered, my tone timid and polite. The tone I used to use with the Braithwaites.

He heaved a sigh, annoyed with me. “What.”

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to anger him further. “My… my horse. He’s in a barn nearby, I don’t want him to be stuck up here all by himself.”

He didn’t respond to that. I grimaced. If I’d kept the Braithwaite horse at least he would’ve saved it to sell it一Peaches was likely barely worth the walk to a man like him.

His horse slowed to a stop nearby, and the man none-too-gently threw me over its back. I winced, feeling its butt dig into my stomach.

The bounty hunter made quick work of me, tying my legs together and then securing me to his horse. He patted my thigh, “Comfy?” I could almost hear the smug look on his face.

“More ’n ever.” I grumbled, mostly to myself. He barked a laugh and pulled away from me, leaving me cold. He mounted up on his horse and began to ride.

I couldn’t see much from my “seat,” but I began to vaguely recognize the path he followed.

“Are you…” I started, my voice quiet. I turned my head to look up at him, and raised my voice. “Are you goin’ back for him?”

He didn’t answer, and made no move to indicate he had even heard me.

Not wanting to push my luck (or Peaches’), I stayed quiet.

Sure enough, we reached that barn and he dismounted. When he returned, Peaches was in tow, neighing happily when he saw me.

I laughed brightly despite the situation. “Hey, boy!!” The bounty hunter released his reins and Peaches bounded up to me, nuzzling and snorting into my hair wetly. I giggled and tried to move my head away. “Oh my god, Peaches, gross.”

“Peaches?” the man echoed, a note of disbelief coloring his tone.

I turned and smiled up at him. “What?”

He shook his head, gesturing to the horse. “Ain’t he a boah?”

“So?”

He snorted, but didn’t answer me, instead mounting back up on his horse. My smile faded from my face as we continued. My last days of freedom.

I stayed quiet as we rode, figuring that was the best way to get on his good side (I didn’t need to get smacked for yapping). The horse’s gait made me feel sick enough that I didn’t want to, anyway, its back poking into me, alternating between every corner of my stomach with each step.

Eventually, the snow began to taper off down the path, though a chill still hung in the air. I shivered, the back of my jacket still wet and cold against my neck. The sky was beginning to darken, subtly and colorlessly as winter skies often did.

Wordlessly, the bounty hunter turned us off the path and into the trees, likely seeking some spot to set up camp for the night. Peaches followed dutifully behind us, although he seemed to have sobered a bit, as if sensing my discomfort.

He must have found a spot he liked, as he dismounted and reached by my side for his tent and bedroll. He pulled them off and got to work setting everything up.

I felt my eyelids droop, my body finally able to relax with the horse stopped.

Not ten minutes later, I was jolted awake by hands grabbing me off of the horse and hoisting me up. I made a small noise of surprise in my throat, feeling him drop me back onto his shoulder, carrying me over to his makeshift camp. Truthfully, I had thought he’d just leave me on his horse for the night.

I wasn’t sure if this was better or worse.

The bounty hunter dropped me to the ground by the fire, and I huffed, adjusting myself to sit upright. The warmth wafting off of it confirmed that this was definitely better than being stuck on that horse all night. I leaned closer to it, and made to bring my hands up, but was cruelly reminded of the ropes keeping them by my sides. I heaved a sigh.

A bottle appeared in my vision. I blinked down at it in confusion, before looking up at the man who held it. “Whiskey?” I prompted.

“If there’s any time to drink, it’d be now.” He nudged the lip of the bottle closer to my mouth.

I held his gaze for a moment longer before turning to it. “…Can’t argue with that.” I pressed my lips against it. He lightly tipped the bottle, letting a good mouthful flow past my lips. I choked it down, then another, then another, then another, before finally wrenching my face from it, coughing. “Jesus!”

He laughed, corking it and tucking it into his satchel. He knelt down behind me and I felt a pressure on the ropes before they snapped away. I brought my arms forward slowly, rubbing my hands over them. He stood and rounded the fire, plopping down on the other side of it. I looked up at him in confusion.

He grinned. “Gave you enough whiskey that even if you try to hop away,” He paused, his grin turning wolfish, “You won’t get far.” He stretched out languidly, finally allowing himself to relax.

Heat crept up my neck, flustered at his reasoning. “You just get all your bounties drunk?” I spluttered.

He shrugged.

I huffed, holding out my hands towards the fire to warm them. “Creep.”

“I ain’t the one goin’ around killin’ old ladies.” He retorted.

I threw my hands in the air in exasperation. “I didn’t kill her!”

“Sure sounds like you did.”

I raked my hand through my hair. “Why the hell would I kill the woman payin’ me to live?” I met his gaze again.

He didn’t seem very sympathetic. Another shrug. “Lots of people wanna kill their boss.”

“Not me!”

He snorted. “I’m shoah.”

I shook my head at the fire, deflating. “I had it made working for her. Easy work, good pay, didn’t really have to talk to anyone, and,” I shrugged my shoulders, “best part of having a lady boss is she won’t let the men get away with being terrible to you.”

He stayed quiet, and I felt myself ramble more, “I mean, sure, she was a miserable old hag, mean ’n sour, but as long as you stayed out of her way and did your job, she was cordial enough.” The image of her on the ground flicked through my mind. “Shit.” I pressed my palms into my eyes, wiling them to cast it from my brain. “Can’t believe this is how it ends.”

The drink began to encroach further into my head, making my thoughts hazy. I cursed again under my breath, the reality of the situation truly, truly, settling in. This was it for me. Swinging from a rope for a crime I didn’t commit.

“You really didn’t do it.”

I scoffed, not meeting his eyes. “Been sayin’ that, haven’t I?”

“…That you have.”

Silence fell between us once more, each left with our thoughts. It felt nice to be believed by at least one person before the end.

A gust of wind blew by, and I shivered, reminded of the wet coat I was still shrouded in. I glanced over the fire at the bounty hunter, but he didn’t look up, eyes hidden under his hat.

“...Mister?”

He raised his head, and that piercing gaze met mine. I faltered, almost losing my voice to it.

He heaved a great sigh. “…Arthur.”

“What?”

He sighed, raising his hat momentarily to rake a hand through his hair before placing it back down again. “Call me Arthur.”

I smiled softly in spite of myself. “Okay.”

“…And what did you need?” Arthur prompted, as I had already forgotten. Perhaps he was right about that whiskey.

I rubbed my hands on my arms. “Do you have any… drier clothes I could wear?”

He nodded, pushing up from the ground. I watched him make his way over to his saddlebag, watched him rifle through it for something dry.

It had to be the whiskey. Or that he was the first to believe me. Or that he was really the first person I’d seen in weeks.

His back was just so… broad. My eyes followed how the muscles underneath his shirt moved, following his arms’ movements. My mind helpfully supplied how one of those big arms felt wrapped around my thighs, how that big hand felt patting my thigh, so close to…

He turned around, and I forcefully muted my thoughts, spreading a polite smile on my face. He made his way back to me, some bunched up garment in hand. I began to shrug off my coat, struggling with it as it snagged on my undershirt and held tight to my shoulders.

Arthur watched me try to figure it out, but eventually I just gave up, so fatigued from the day that I just didn’t care anymore. He chuckled, kneeling down next to me. “Outsmart you, did it?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “I’ll deal with it in a second,” I offered a small smile, “Thank you.”

“I got it,” he said, and at first I wasn’t sure what he meant. He dropped the coat in his hand and moved in front of me. I watched him wordlessly, suddenly feeling very tired of talking anyway.

Arthur’s eyes met my own for a moment, searching my face. Whatever he found there, he seemed satisfied with, and he moved his hands to the buttons of my jacket. He started from the top, unbuttoning each at an impossibly slow pace, or at least it felt like it.

He smoothed his hands up to my shoulders, and gently pushed off each sleeve, taking out my arms. I shivered again, my skin now freshly exposed to the cold. I spied the slightest twitch of his lips. He reached around me, his body hovering slightly above mine, his neck an inch from my lips. I felt myself lean forward, my nose brushing up against him. His hands pulled the rest of my coat off from behind me, and he sat back, bunching it into a ball. He then took his dry coat and pulled it over me in its place, rubbing his hands slightly up and down my arms. “There,” he said, and rested back on his heels again.

I blinked up at him, my lips slightly parted. His face softened, his lips pulling down into a teasing smile. He reached out and cupped my cheek, and I leaned into it almost immediately, not caring enough to be embarrassed by it. So big and warm. “Lookit you…” he cooed, his thumb stroking my skin. “Feelin’ that drink already?”

I hummed noncommittally, too focused on the newfound warmth from his jacket around me and his hand on my cheek.

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh, “Guess that’s a yes.”

He stood, dropping his hand from my cheek, and my head dropped slightly. I sighed, snuggling into his jacket to make up for it. It wasn’t the same.

“‘M still cold.” I complained.

“Yer insatiable.” He said, but knelt back down again nonetheless. I raised my head to meet his gaze. He thinned his lips. “Don’t think I’ve ever had such a whiny bounty.”

“Sorry, Arthur.” I mumbled, looking over at his tent longingly. It wasn’t my barn, but it would give at least some protection from this wind, as opposed to sleeping out here.

Before I could ask about it, air whooshed beneath me, and I yelped in surprise. Arthur had hoisted me up into his arms, and began to carry me to his tent. My eyes widened slightly. “A..Arthur?” I whispered, subconsciously snuggling into his chest. He was so strong, it was like I weighed nothing to him.

“You’ll just whine all night if I don’t let you stay in here.” He explained, ducking past the flaps to drop me down on the bedroll. He was probably right about that. Or maybe this was just another way of making sure I didn’t escape while he slept.

I rolled under the cover, snuggling into it as far as I could. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of him, so much stronger here than on his jacket. My eyelids fluttered closed.

I felt him sigh and enter the bedroll next to me. It was a tight fit, Arthur pressed against my back to keep any amount of cover atop him. His hand rested on my hip, heavy and possessive. “Warmer?” He whispered, his breath tickling my ear. He was so close.

“Mm-hm,” I hummed, my voice barely coming out.

I thought that was it, but then…

His voice dropped lower, quieter. “…You sure?”

A shiver ran through me. What? His hand squeezed my hip lightly, pulling me closer into him. His breath ghosted past my ear, against my neck. Was he…?

I exhaled shakily, some deep part of my whiskey-addled brain telling me that this was my chance. That if there was anything that would convince this man to let me go…

Lightly, I pressed back into him, sighing when I felt his hand smooth to the top of my thigh. “Could use a bit more,” I murmured.

It was all the prompting Arthur needed. Hot lips pressed against my neck, his hand insistent on molding my ass against the hard line in his pants. My breath hitched in surprise, and I felt myself rock back against him before I could think. He cursed under his breath, dragging his hand forward and between my thighs. I attempted to part my legs, allow him better access, but was met with resistance.

Oh, right. The rope.

He laughed behind me, smoothing his hand back to grab my ass instead. I squeaked in surprise, feeling him push me onto my stomach. “Don’t think you’re gettin’ out of those anytime soon,” he promised. I flushed at that.

Arthur yanked me back, forcing my ass into the air. I felt his hands palm me, smoothing circles into my pants. “Looks even better like this,” he muttered, and I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or himself.

Before I could respond, he reached around and unclasped my pants (much faster than my jacket), pulling down at the sides just enough. The rope bound me mid-thigh, so he could only get my pants down so far. A cool breeze blew past the tent, and I felt a bit of it ghost against me. My face reddened, feeling all at once how wet I was. Really? I felt surprised at myself.

I squirmed, rubbing my thighs together. “Arthur, are-“

A slap to my ass silenced me. I squeaked and jolted forward, the heat in my face increasing tenfold. “Dealt with enough of yer whinin’ for one night.” He bit, soothing his hand over where he slapped.

I exhaled, burying my face deeper into the bedroll, feeling my hips sway against his hand, begging for more.

His hands smoothed down my ass, reaching down to squeeze my thighs apart, to better see me, see how wet I already was for him. I hoped he couldn’t see. It was bad enough to have him feel-

“A-Ah…” my breath hitched, feeling his thumb drag down through my folds.

He hissed, sliding the pad of his thumb against my clit. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re soakin’,”

I squirmed against his touch, trying not to moan, unsure if I’d be punished again for it. He pushed his thumb back up, pressing it inside of me, and I felt myself try to part my legs again, to feel more of him, deeper, and almost cried in frustration when I couldn’t.

I heard him chuckle again behind me. “Aww, I’ll take care of you, darlin’, don’ worry,” he said, moving his thumb out to trace back down to my clit, pushing another finger inside of me in its stead. I muffled my moan into the pillow.

Arthur continued working at me, circling my clit with those deft, rough fingers of his, slowly pushing in and out of me. I pushed back against him, desperately trying to feel more, but every time he just shoved me right back where I was before, keeping up his torturous pace.

All at once, he pulled away, and I whined. Another slap to my ass as a result, and I let out a muffled groan, feeling my eyes roll back. “What’d I say about whinin’?” He admonished.

I wiggled my hips back, hearing him undo his own pants. Please, please, please. He was all I could think about, my legs desperately trying to separate, to take in more, more, more.

I almost wept when I felt him nudge against me, coating himself in the wetness he’d created. I pushed back, trying to take him in, knowing if I angled it right he wouldn’t even need to help me. His hand kept my ass steady, soothing circles onto it. “So needy…” he mocked, smoothing his hand down to my hips, to my waist, squeezing there.

Slowly, god, so slowly, he pushed into me, forcing me open around him. I moaned obscenely, unable to keep it back anymore. He didn’t seem to care this time, letting out a low curse of his own under his breath. Almost there, almost there… and he thrust into me, making me gasp at the sudden movement.

He pulled back and rammed back in, setting a bruising pace. I pushed back into him with each thrust, the ropes cutting into my thighs with how I fought against them, trying to take in as much of him as possible each time.

His hands gripped the tops of my thighs and part of my ass like a handle, using me like some kind of toy. “God-damn,” his voice came out staccato, matching his movements, “you’re so fuckin’.. tight.. for me…”

I whimpered, arching back, so lost in pleasure that I truly didn’t care what he did to me. He could have whatever he wanted, as far as I was concerned.

Drool dribbled out of my mouth, wetting his pillow. I felt limp under him, only kept upright by those rough hands of his.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his movements becoming less regular, more frantic. He swore again before pulling out of me, spending onto my ass and back.

We stayed like that for a moment or two, catching our breath, before he swiped off my back with something and collapsed next to me.

I flopped onto my side to face him, my legs still bound together. “Thank you, Arthur,” I whispered, “I’m much warmer now.”

Arthur snorted, snaking his arm around me to pull me to his chest. “My pleasure.”

The next morning I awoke alone in his tent, hearing him shuffle around outside. I blinked blearily, reaching up to rub the crust from my eyes. I yawned, laying onto my back, stretching my legs apart.

Wait. Stretching my legs apart?

I glanced down to visually confirm the sensation, finding my legs freed from the rope. I also noticed my pants had been pulled back up to cover me.

I sat up, peeking through the tent flaps. He sat at the fire, his back to me. Was he just letting me sleep comfortably before we left?

Despite the threat of death hanging over my head, I felt myself warm at the thought. This was a much sweeter awakening than I had expected.

Before I could think about escaping, or at least putting off our trip to the hangman, Arthur turned, as if sensing I was awake. "Mornin'," he greeted, his voice soft and low. I shrank a little under his gaze, and whispered a greeting back before creeping out from the tent.

Once outside, I shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around me. Arthur grunted, beckoning to me. "C'mere,"

I obeyed, walking over to where he sat. He spread his legs, patting the ground between them. I blinked down at him blankly.

He rolled his eyes and snatched at my hand, pulling me to the ground. I made a small noise of surprise, falling to sit between his legs. His arms and knees caged me in, bringing me back into his chest. This was so strange.

But not unwelcome.

I snuggled back into him anyway, not about to turn my nose up at the last physical affection I'd ever receive.

We stared into the fire for who knows how long. I almost didn't breathe, trying not to remind him that we had places to be.

Arthur squeezed me lightly, propping his chin on my shoulder. "Y'can relax," he sighed, his accent thicker now, in the morning. "'M not bringin' y'in."

What? My breath hitched, my heart beating faster. Was he serious? I turned in his hold slowly, craning my neck to look back at him. I didn't trust myself to speak.

He met my gaze, his expression unreadable.��

"...Thank you," I said dumbly, breaking eye contact. Well, now what?

Now, I certainly didn't want him to change his mind.

I turned a bit more in his hold to better face him, feeling his arms adjust around me. I smoothed my hands up his shirt and met his eyes again. He watched me carefully, suspiciously, like he was expecting some kind of attack.

I moved slowly, not wanting to startle him, inching my face closer to his. I watched his eyes drop to my lips, his own parting in anticipation. I hadn't noticed before, but I seemed to have some sway over this bounty hunter, readily accepting whatever touch I offered him.

I smiled softly at that, and closed the gap between us, gently pressing my lips to his. Warm.

He melted the slightest amount, his shoulders sagging, his chest leaning closer to me. He was sweeter, now, in the morning. Softer, more patient. I slipped my hands up behind his neck, scratching lightly at the hair poking out from beneath his hat. He sighed into my mouth, his arms squeezing me closer to him.

I wasn't sure how long we stayed like that, warm and close. When we broke apart, he cleared his throat, looking past me to not meet my eyes. "You..." his voice scratched out and he cleared his throat again, "Y'can stay with me, if you want. 'Till this whole thing blows over."

I had a sneaking suspicion it would be a long time yet. I nuzzled my nose against his jaw. Staying with him was safer than anything I would try on my own. "Thank you, Arthur."

He hummed.

a/n: on a scale of 1-10 how terrible is it that i posted this from class NOT WROTE IN CLASS posted from

anyway teehee hope you enjoyed and also hope it wasnt obvious that i kinda had no idea where to go with this teehee im just a girl

(also posted on ao3 under same user)

#fanfic #fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #rdr2 fanfic #bounty hunter #request #requests open #reqs open #writing requests

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willowed-wisp · 2 months

Text

THE WAYWARD AND THE WARDEN - part one

previous | next

Cregan Stark x female!OC/ x reader

WARNINGS: swearing, injury, threat… not too bad really

She was just a girl. Eighteen years of age.

A fresh university student on her Christmas holidays- venturing up to Scotland to be with her aunt and uncle.

Philippa had nothing. Parents gone…

At least the remaining family she had were kind, no children of their own to dote on.

She had living in Scotland for those past four years- venturing down south for her education - so she knew her way around.

Driving, “Just another left and then a right,” but the snow made it difficult to navigate; caught in a rife blizzard. One minute she was listening to rock music in her small Mini Cooper. Then the front bonnet was wrapped around tree bark. Philippa unaware as her skull bumped back against the seat’s head; she was dead to the world.

Not able to help a groan leave her lips, thrumming pounded against her temple. Philippa unable to feel the rest of her. Her lower half powdered with fresh fallen snow.

Where was her car? She had been wearing a seatbelt… why was she waist deep in the snow?

Philippa’s gaze burned by the iced haze, whatever she bored her eyes on happened to be a wasteland of frost. That wasn’t the same spot…

When she thought nothing of her body could be felt, fearing paralysis, a crackle of kindling spread her thigh. “Fuck…” looking down she found a bare leg, and a bare stomach… naked chest. And quite a splash of blood from where her fingers met her forehead.

But there was nothing except trenches of tundra for miles… “I’m gonna die here,” no she wasn’t, death would have to drag her by the ankles…

Despite the numbed ache waking throughout her skin, she laboured; dragging through knee deep snowfall and more piled up.

She could no longer feel that sting, unaware to the frostbite reigning of her flesh. “I’m not fucking dying here…” Toes numbed yet scorched. She had almost ignored the wall of ice up ahead, but it was the last thing she saw before a void of black.

It was warm?

Had she died?

Philippa felt at peace, crackling of a log fire to her left without the bitterness of the outdoors.

Fingertips wandered across soft fur while her eyes opened- wishful thinking came to an immediate shatter. A circlet chandelier, candlelit, above her with pure stone casting shadows above itself.

Similar to a castle- auntie Carol and Uncle Gyles made frequent day trips to visit historical monuments around the United Kingdom; her parents had shared that same interest, so she was well versed in the differences of Carlisle to Windsor.

She was in neither.

The girl sat up, covers gathered around her hips. She took in the room- plain yet plentiful. She found herself in a massive bed, standing candelabras casting light amongst the darkness of night. The fire place roaring prevented her from being frozen.

Snow dripped in flurries the other side of the windows.

Heaven nor Hell looked like that.

Where the fuck was she?

Eyes cast down into the folded pile of clothes, thick layers.

She wasn’t being tortured, it seemed she was a guest.

Philippa had been dressed in a simple white cloth gown. Alike the clothes placed down for her, they looked… medieval; lace-up dress and a thick cape which pooled on the ground.

Twas not an easy feat lacing the dress in lonesome, and she was pretty damned sure she had made a sham of it.

But she needed to get out of the room. No matter how calm she appeared on the surface, beneath she suffocated.

Along Philippa’s way down the intricate halls, barren stone. She bumped into a wide-shouldered, broad obstacle, “I’m sorry,” polite yet dismissive, she just needed to get some kind of sense.

She continued down the corridor. Lit by torched-sconces that flickered, while wind whipped behind her speeding paces.

‘Did that guy wear a wolf pelt?’ Shaking the thought to the wayside- not looking back.

It was a castle.

Not the largest she’s visited but that didn’t take away from the stone complex- mostly obscured by freezing mist.

Arms wrapped around herself, it felt like Scotland although it certainly was not. “Where am I?” She asked the neck-snapping breeze.

“The North,” A rough, rich voice boomed from the door behind. It was confident and foreboding- Philippa quivered in secrecy.

Ominous. “Of course I’m in the north, could you be more specific? Because it’s fucking chilly,” A hint of sarcasm and a sprinkle of jesting, wholly serious. Meanwhile her eyes focused on the silhouettes forward.

“You’re in Winterfell,” still as rough as steel.

That atmosphere was too heavy, “Is that near Glasgow? Because I need to be in Edinburgh…” Silence followed.

He didn’t seemed awfully amused.

Heaving steps- clanking of metal in sync. A charcoal section of fur had been the first thing in her peripheral.

That wolf pelt.

“I said I was sorry,” a squeaky to the man- almost a foot taller. And she wasn’t even short. Philippa couldn’t help but admire handsome features, made harsh and rugged by the murky light. That presence was unshakeable… a mountain of a man.

His eyes looked brown- though she could be mistaken. “Why were you over the Wall?” Philippa feared in utter bemusement. She’d never experienced that combination before.

“What-,” one movement made her flinch. But the one hand grappling her wrist, dragged her close to him- her chin raised staring into that icy gaze.

Teeth gritted while he spoke, “Why were you over the Wall?” Eyes made her cower.

Pleading with wide-eyes, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man let her go but that closeness remained.

“You sound like a southerner… what’s your name?” Brows crossed and lips scowling. Maybe that was just him.

“Philippa.” He circled her slowly- studying her.

He stopped in front of her again, catching her in his gaze, “And what is it that you do, Philippa?”

She tried to put it into basic terms, “I’m a healer, i think you do things differently.”

He still frowned, “Maester Samm will hone your craft,” she simply nodded- shaking whether it be from the cold or the nerves. “Those chambers you woke in are yours, we’ve been in need of a healer for a while now.” Without a second word he brooded off.

Nobody would understand her predicament- if this ‘Winterfell’ was anything like the history she knew she’d be burnt at the stake as a witch. And being a healer wouldn’t aid her, but she was a quick learner and knew holistic approaches.

Philippa just needed an education on the herbs and flowers they had because if medicine was anything like the medieval age… she needed to know what was potent and what was outright deadly.

And so she went back to her room. Twiddling her thumbs until the morning.

A knock at the door, “come in.” Like a mouse but the person heard and the door creaked open. A long mop of black- gorgeously glossy.

Smile on her face, “I’m Melaine, and you must Philippa. You’re training with Maester Samn,” an accent similar to those of her aunt and uncle.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get much information about that…”

A laugh. “Lord Cregan doesn’t mince his words, never has, even when he was a wee ankle-biter,” free speaking like a Scotsman. “He’s a good man, but the North shapes a lad even if they are eight-and-ten,” the woman was much older than Philippa, probably in her forties which meant she had been in service more than two decades maybe three.

“He looks older,”

“It shapes them to have rough edges, lass,” the sky was clear- and though snow had settled none descended upon them. And so she could take in the massive gates; one in front and one to her right. “It’ll change you soon enough. Get rid of that politeness, make you more bold…”

A quizzical look from the teenager, “I doubt that. My parents, even as a child, called me a stubborn mule.”

“We’ll see about that as a healer in Winterfell… lads here draw swords like us maids light matchsticks…”

Melaine reminded Philippa of her auntie Carol- comforting and a safety blanket while Cregan Stark was something she wanted to hide from but she had a feeling they’d have a few run ins with each other whether that be locking heads or weaving stitches.

——————————

If you wanna be tagged leave a comment or message me! x

Hope that wasn’t too awful, I’m getting into the groove of writing again.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd fic #hotd spoilers #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd s2 #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan fanfiction #hotd cregan #cregan x oc

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kingsnake101 · 4 months

Note

For the WIP game, Goth Four has me intrigued :))

SO this one begins with Time, Sky, Legend, and Wind getting captured by dark link. This is another one that I think can mostly speak for itself, so I'm gonna put what I have under the cut. Also I've never played any of Legend's games so I kinda just made up a magic item :/ sorry diehard legend fans

“Maybe if you pace long enough, it'll wear a hole through the floor and we can escape,” Wind commented, receiving a sharp glare from Legend.

Wind was leaning against Sky, who fiddled with his tunic anxiously. Time sat cross-legged on the other side of the cell, face creased in thought. Legend, meanwhile, resumed his pacing.

The walls were dark and cold, the smell of old stone bricks and dark magic permeated the space. It was humiliating, really, that they were captured so easily. It looked like any other shadow portal, why would he have assumed it would teleport them to some creepy dungeon?

Wind looked like he was about to say something, but was interrupted by a cool wind breezing through the cell.

“The hell…” Legend thought to himself, stopping to stare at the small magical tornado that had begun to form on the other side of the bars. It reeked of dark magic.

That seemed to snap Time out of his trance, the older hero rising to his feet and glaring at the disturbance. Legend shivered. He had seen a lot of things in his time, but damn if that wasn't a terrifying look.

The wind picked up, yanking his hair as it swirled around the small room. If Legend squinted, he thought he could see a small figure within the whirlwind.

Shiny black boots emerged from the storm, steps tapping gracefully on the stone floor. A silhouette appeared, form whipping around with the wind. Finally, the figure stepped forwards, backlit by the only light in the room, a single candle behind them. They looked… oddly familiar.

And then, with a snap of their fingers, the wind halted and torches flared to life. There, finally illuminated, stood a goth copy of their smith. His skin was an ashy gray, red eyes framed by dark purple hair. His tunic was similar to Four’s, if Four had an emo phase and dyed everything black. Dark, glittery eyeshadow shone on his face, pairing nicely with lipstick so black it seemed to absorb light. He stood in a dramatic pose with his back straight, not a single hair or thread out of place. A sly grin pulled at his face.

“Greetings, heroes,” dark-Four sneered, leaning forward into a mocking bow. “It’s a pleasure,” he purred, a black forked tongue flicking past sharp teeth as he spoke.

“What do you want with us?” Legend spat, sneering as he stepped up to the bars.

“Well, it wouldn't be any fun if I just told you, now would it?” Dark-Four grinned, a black claw tapping at his chin thoughtfully. A silver ring was wrapped around his finger, a delicate chain connecting it to a matching wristband. Legend swore that it wasn't there earlier. “No, I think I'll leave you guessing. I'm just here to have some fun before Dark Link rips you to shreds,” the grin widened, all the more sinister. Legend swore he could feel Time’s protective, angry aura increase. He didn't miss how the dark refused to look at their oldest member.

Legend heard shuffling behind him, and looked over to see Sky walking up to the bars. A tremor ran down Legend's spine. The skylian’s gentle features contorted into something sharp, something dangerous.

“I suppose they call him ‘godkiller’ for a reason,” Legend assumed, almost feeling guilty for the dark on the other end of that glare. Almost.

A flicker of fear and uncertainty flashed across Dark-Four’s face, before he steeled it back into a lopsided grin. Before Sky could open his mouth to speak, the dark cut him off.

“Don't worry, the prick upstairs specifically told me not to lay a finger on you,” The dark clarified, rolling his eyes. “What he didn't mention, however, were your things.”

Legend's scowl deepened. If that asshole even thought about touching his stuff he would-

Legend's worst fears were confirmed when his own pack rose up through a puddle of dark magic on the floor. The shadow saw his reaction and grinned.

“Ooh, sorry, does this bother you, Pinky?” He mocked, carefully flipping open Legend's bag and peered inside.

“I swear to Hylia, if you even think-” Legend's rant was cut off by some sort of dark magic gag slapping onto his face. He growled in frustration, which only seemed to make the dark smile more.

“If any more of you have any words to say on the subject, I have plenty more,” he warned, dark magic swirling around his fingertips.

Wind, unfortunately, seemed to take this as a challenge rather than a threat. “You bet I do, you slimy bottom feeder son of a-” Wind half grinned, half sneered, before a similar gag slapped onto his face.

“Anyhow, let's see what the so-called ‘Hero of Legend’ has in here~” the dark drawled, rooting through Legend's bag. Legend cursed at him through the gag. He ignored him.

The dark pulled out a familiar wooden box, shaking it slightly to hear metal bouncing against itself. The box was opened, and his eyes widened in glee. Legend cursed his luck. Out of all the things he could have grabbed, why did it have to be the box full of magic rings?

The dark began carefully picking through the rings, lifting a few up for inspection. He lifted up a particularly gaudy one, before looking Legend in the eye and grinning. Legend recognized that ring. It was one he rarely used, due to its headache-causing abilities and moral implications.

“I must say that I am impressed, Hero of Legend,” the dark smirked at him, holding the ring of mind reading in one hand and the box of rings in the other. “I really thought the most experienced savior of Hyrule would have better fashion taste.”

And if that didn't catch legend off guard.

“These are hideous! Why would you ever carry these around! Half of these clash, and the other half are eyesores,” he scoffed, holding the ring of mind reading like it personally offended him.

“Wait, can he not sense the magic? How?” Legend gawked internally, although he kept his face a mask of anger.

“Here, you can have this one. My eyes can only take so much,” he complained, dramatically shielding his eyes before flicking the ring into the cell. Legend practically dove to catch it. How a reflection of Four could be so stupid, he had no idea. Legend slipped it on.

A swarm of thoughts rushed over him, and Legend internally grimaced. Wind was still spewing some awfully creative insults, Sky was angry and worried, and somehow, the old man was just as unreadable as before.

Legend took a deep breath, focusing on the individual in front of him. He leaned away from the angry thoughts of his comrades and towards the smug cadence of Four’s doppelganger.

“Poor fools. They'll never find the exit, I can barely find it even though I know that it's behind a false wall at the end of the hallway. And even then, they'll never get past the guards watching their stuff. Sure, they tend to fall asleep after dinner at around 8 o’ clock, but the heroes don't know that. They also have no idea that Dark Link and I are constantly doing patrols, except for tonight because Dark is going to look for the other heroes and I'm leaving so I can have a spa day. I bet they don't even know that my Link likes to secretly sew lockpicks into his friend’s clothes. Fools. They'll never escape. Muahahahahahahahaha-”

Legend discreetly slid the ring off his finger. He was already getting a headache, and the maniacal laughter was like a stake being driven into his skull. Besides, he has already gotten plenty of information.

“Well, it seems our time must come to an end. It was an honor to meet you, truly. Hopefully I get to see you again before Dark rips you apart,” he sneered, bowing again. “I bid you adieu,” with one last dramatic twirl, he sunk into the shadows once more.

As soon as the shadow was gone, Legend turned his attention to Wind. “What? What's that look for?” Wind questioned, scooching away from Legend. It seems the gag had disappeared when the shadow did.

“Give me your tunic,” Legend demanded, holding out his hand.

Wind curled back, clutching his hand protectively to his chest. “No way! Ayrll gave this to me!” Wind huffed, scooting back.

Sky leaned forward, trying to seperate the two heroes somewhat. “Do you want mine?” he offered.

Legend nodded, scooting over to Sky. He ran his fingers along the hem, looking for anything that seemed out of place. Sky eyed him with confusion, but didn't comment. He found what he was looking for in the seam, right before the hem of the shirt. It seemed like a small piece of fabric had been added, with a wide stitch that could easily tear away with the help of the lockpicks inside. Legend made quick work of it.

“Wait, what? How did you know that was there?” Wind questioned, leaning forward. Sky picked at his tunic with confusion.

Legend stood up, wincing when his joints protested. He brushed himself off before making his way to the cell door. “I remembered that the smithy likes to hide lockpicks in our clothes,” Legend explained as he fiddled with the lock. He decided not to mention the whole mind-reading thing. Maybe another day. The door swung open with a soft click.

#lu shadow #lu legend #lu time #lu wind #lu sky #linked universe #linked universe fanfiction #tw kidnapping #tw hot topic #lu fanfic #lu crackfic #lu four

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nyrandrea · 1 year

Note

Yo! Not sure if you are accepting requests for Astarion x Reader and what not but if you are, here me out; it's known that it is possible for Astarion to be kidnapped by Cazador when you are fighting at the Inn. So what about if this happened and, to try and further break him and just be a total twat, Cazador sets it up that it seems the reader/Tav has come to save Astarion only to reveal that it was all a charade to break him and drag him to the ritual (could be a shape changer of succubus, whatever you like). Astarion is utter broken, THEN the real Tav comes charging in, tearing apart everything in their way to save Astarion. We have utter angst followed by utter fluff!

Ooh I very much liked this prompt as I've never written from Astarion's POV before so I hope it comes across alright!

TW for kidnapping and slight emotional manipulation

Word Count - 2.5k

Enjoy!

xxx

Astarion shifted his shoulders side-to-side while splaying his fingers, both done in attempt to free himself of the rope binding his wrists.

As he was ushered, his heavy breaths were muffled against the cloth that had been tied around his neck. As it obscured most of his vision, he couldn’t see a damn thing, but he knew exactly where his kidnappers—his so-called ‘brother’ and ‘sister’—were taking him.

Back to his old master.

Astarion had tried to fight the spawn – Gods know he did – despite knowing it was futile. His friends had tried to save him, you had tried so, so hard – he remembers the way you desperately crawled to him, weakly calling out his name before he was dragged away.

When fighting was clearly no use, he tried to convince them just to discuss their options, that surely they could figure out a way to work together to defeat Cazador, but it was all for naught. They thought he deserved this, and, in a way, so did he.

The longer they travelled, the more his struggles eased.

Even with the bag over his head, Astarion could tell when they reached the Szarr palace. The air within was thick with the musty scent of centuries past, a haunting aroma that seemed to seep from the very walls themselves.

Dimly flickering torches lined the uneven, moss-covered bricks, casting feeble, wavering shadows that danced with eerie grace. The stones, slick with moisture, whispered secrets to those who dared listen, their ancient whispers a chilling backdrop to the silence. The floor, uneven and cold, was a mosaic of cracked tiles, their patterns lost to centuries of neglect. Puddles of stagnant water collected in the lowest recesses, reflecting the dim torchlight like dark, unblinking eyes.

“I’m... sorry that it had to come to this,” Leon said. His voice was monotone, making his words sound like a cheap, hollow excuse.

“No, you’re not,” Astarion bluntly replied. “Whatever master wants, master gets. Just a shame we all must get slaughtered in the process, hm?”

Silence was his answer.

Astarion flinched as a door creaked open and a familiar stink filled his nostrils – Leon had brought him to the ‘Kennel’, where he had spent tendays being tortured by Cazador’s cruel and sadistic servant Godey – a vile creature that often haunted his nightmares.

The cloth covering Astarion’s head was ripped off and he was forced to gaze at that familiar, hideous skull.

“If it isn’t the nasty little runaway!” Godey all-too-cheerily announced. “Ah, but you always find your way back to Godey, hmm?”

Astarion grimaced.

“If I had my way, I’d saw off your legs - that’d put a stop to your wandering.”

“As pleasant as that sounds, I’m guessing the master said no?” Astarion said with a little smirk; a mask to hide his fear. “After all, I’m sure he needs all of my blood on the inside for the Mass.”

“But he needs you obedient too,” Godey growled. “And I should cut out that tongue of yours for a start.”

The skeleton brushed his fingertips on the hilt of his dagger, as if he was considering it for a moment.

“That means no barking, no biting, no struggling – a well-behaved little doggie.”

“I’ll never do what he tells me again,” Astarion sneered. “I’d rather die.”

“Oh, you’ll do both! You will do whatever he requires, and if you’re delusional enough to think any of your little friends will come and save you, well...”

As if on cue, the doors swung open behind Godey to reveal... you.

Astarion's eyes met yours, and a torrent of emotions surged through him. His lifeless heart almost fluttered as you bypassed Godey and approached him, a mix of apprehension and joy welling up inside.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you rushed towards him.

“Astarion, my love...!” you whispered. “I’ve come to save you; I couldn’t bear to be apart from you any longer.”

Astarion extended his arms to embrace you. Your touch felt warm and comforting, and it held him in an embrace that seemed so familiar.

For a moment, he was overcome with joy, believing he had another chance at freedom, that both of you could take down Godey and escape from this wretched place. But as seconds passed, something felt amiss. Your eyes were colder, your words more hollow, and a chilling unease settled in his bones.

“I missed you so much,” you continued, your voice wavering with a hint of deception.

But Astarion noticed the subtle differences in your gestures and expressions, even the way you spoke was... off. He pushed you away and stared into your eyes, searching for the truth.

“Who are you?” He demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and heartbreak.

‘Your’ facade began to crumble. In a flash of darkness, there was a revelation of a true, grotesque form. Its face twisted and contorted into a nightmarish amalgamation of shapes and shadows.

It was a shapeshifter, a creature of dark magic, cunningly disguised as you.

Astarion recoiled, his heart shattering into a million pieces. He realised the cruel trick that had been played on him, his eyes glistening with tears.

“A gift from the master,” Godey said all too smugly. “To remind you that you are not worth saving.”

The shapeshifter, grinning wickedly, vanished into the night, leaving Astarion alone in the darkness, his heart aching with betrayal and sorrow.

“Now,” Godey said, approaching him with a chain. “Be a good little mutt and tie this around your neck, it is time to accept the fate that has been chosen for you.”

The chains felt so heavy in Astarion’s hands that he merely let them slip and pile onto the floor with a heavy clang. He just felt so tired. Of running away, of daring to have hope, of falling in love, only to have it ripped away. Existence was... nothing but a cruel joke.

And Cazador was the one laughing at him.

Godey snarled as he bent to pick the chains up and thrust them back into Astarion’s arms. “Do not disobey! Or do I have to get the knee-splitter out for old time’s sake?”

The vampire wordlessly submitted and allowed himself to be led out of the Kennel and into the corridors of the dungeon.

A heavy, suffocating atmosphere hung in the air, as if the crypt itself held its breath, waiting for something unseen to stir in the shadows. It was a place where the echoes of the past whispered of forgotten sorrows and ancient curses, a realm where the line between the living and the dead blurred into obscurity.

"Astarion...!" a distant voice cried, slicing through the dungeon's oppressive silence. Determined footsteps reverberated against the cold, stone floor, the sound of clanking armour ringing in the eerie stillness.

Godey paused, appearing confused. “What...? Can’t be the shapeshifter again...”

The footsteps edged ever closer, and Godey turned to face these unexpected intruders, forcing Astarion to turn with him.

Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart and... you were rushing down the hallway. As you approached them, the ancient stone walls seemed to tremble in anticipation.

The groups’ menacing sneers faded into incredulous expressions at the scene before them, and an overwhelming shame punched Astarion in the gut at having them see him so... vulnerable. Humiliated.

They reached for their weapons, but your eyes met Astarion’s with a fiery, unyielding gaze. Your face was bloodied, and lips curled as you snarled like a feral animal – a far cry from the innocent but fake show that the shapeshifter had put on only moments before.

“Let him go!” you demand, your grip tightening on your sword, its blade gleaming with an ethereal light.

Godey flinched back, obviously surprised.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, the master needs him,” the skeleton said. “Leave this place and he may grant you enough mercy to let you live.”

“Afraid we can’t do that, bones,” Karlach snarled before turning to you. “Can we please just kill this thing and get our friend out of here?”

“Friend?” Godey scoffed. “This dog doesn’t have friends. Now leave!”

You meet Karlach’s furious gaze, and nod.

"Get back, Astarion!" she hissed, and in a dazzling display of athletics and brute strength, brought down her mace upon Godey, his skull splitting with a sickening crack.

Gale summoned bolts of lightning to dance around him. The damp air crackled with electricity, illuminating the dungeon in an otherworldly glow. All it took was one bolt to strike Godey down until he was nothing more than a pile of dust.

Your eyes remained locked on Astarion as Shadowheart raised her hand, and the shackles that bound him burst apart with a resounding snap. He stumbled slightly; disbelief etched across his face.

“Oh, thank Gods we found you in time,” you sigh in relief as you approach him. “Are you hurt?”

He said nothing. Just... stared at you.

“Can you walk?” you tried, holding out a hand to touch his shoulder. “We need to get you out of here.”

“Don’t touch me!” he winced back, and you instantly retracted your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you said, backing up to give him space. “What’s wrong? What can I do to help you?”

Astarion’s scepticism waned a little; this version of you was a lot more... convincing than the last one. The way your eyes crinkled in distress, those little twitches your fingers did when you were nervous, even your scent was... almost enough to convince him you were the real deal.

Yet, doubt clawed at the edges of his mind like a persistent, haunting whisper.

"You can't be real," Astarion whispered, his voice laced with a soft tremor.

Your eyes welled with frustration and hurt, but your voice remained gentle as you replied, "Astarion, I am as real as the air we’re breathing and the ground we stand on. I'm right here."

Astarion shook his head, his disbelief lingering like a stubborn fog.

"No, this isn't possible," he insisted, his voice rising. "This is another trick, isn’t it?”

“Trick?” Karlach tilted her head.

“Cazador sent you,” Astarion said, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled in disbelief, almost hysterically. “Not one shapeshifter, but five? I mean where... where did he even manage to find you all?”

“Not how I would thank my rescuers, but each to their own, I suppose” Shadowheart said incredulously. “We need to leave, unless you fancy waiting for the cavalry to arrive.”

Karlach bumped the cleric’s shoulder. “Just give him a moment, yeah? He’s obviously a bit... confused.”

“Oh, it’s all as clear as day to me, darling,” the vampire spat, making her flinch. “Put on the act as much as you want, but I will not be going anywhere with you.”

He glanced down at the dust pile beneath his feet and gave it a good kick. “Though I suppose I should thank you for getting rid of him, nasty little thing.”

“That was... Godey, right?” you tentatively asked, and his red eyes flashed back up as you slowly edged forward. “I remember you telling me about him, that night we spent near the underground lake, do you remember? We stared up at the rocks and pretended to point out constellations.”

“How on earth could you... know that?”

When you were close enough, he reached out tentatively, his trembling fingers brushing against your cheek. The warmth he felt was real, but his mind refused to surrender. “You can’t be real,” he repeated, his voice a whisper and laden with desperation.

Part of you wanted to use the tadpole to reach into his mind to convince him you were real, and it would have been the quicker option. But you couldn’t—wouldn't— invade his privacy like that.

A whirlwind of emotions tore through Astarion—love, hope, fear, and an overwhelming sense of longing. He wanted desperately to believe you, to pull you into his arms and never let go. Yet, the scars of his master that etched deep into his soul held him back.

You reached out and gently took Astarion's hands, placing them on your chest, your touch warm and reassuring. "I understand your fear, but you have to trust in us. Trust in the way my heart skips a beat when I look at you. I am real, Astarion. Our love is real."

Tears welled up in his eyes as he finally allowed himself to believe. With a trembling hand, he cupped your face, his thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped your eye. “It’s really you,” he breathed, a mixture of awe and relief in his voice.

You leaned into his hand. “It’s really me.”

“As much as I would love to recite the perfect poem to encapsulate this heartwarming reunion,” Gale said, putting a hand on both your shoulder and Astarions. “I do believe we should make tracks.”

Astarion didn’t even have it in him to make any quips or comebacks, so he merely nodded, allowing you to take his hand as you led the way.

With renewed determination, the group made their escape, leaving a trail of chaos in their wake. Fire and lightning clashed with steel, and the dungeon's oppressive darkness was pierced by their resolute will. Together, they left a burning path of retribution in their wake, until they emerged into the moonlit courtyard and didn’t stop until they made it all the way back to camp.

“Woo!” Karlach cheered, turning back momentarily to hold up her middle finger up to the Szarr Palace as it disappeared over the horizon. “Can’t believe we actually managed to pull that off.”

“Neither can I,” Shadowheart deadpanned, her expression softening as she looked at Astarion. “But... I’m glad we did.”

“So am I,” Gale smiled. “This team wouldn’t be the same without your... well, let’s say charm.”

“You have such a way with words, Gale,” Astarion weakly joked. “But... know that I am grateful for you rescuing me, even if it didn’t seem like it at the time.”

“Aw, that’s alright!” Karlach gave him a thumbs up. “You’re with us now, and that’s all that matters.”

“I appreciate that, darling but...” his voice trembled slightly. “Cazador, he’ll... he needs me for the ritual. He will come after me again.”

“I’d like to see him try,” you said, your confident smile betrayed by your eyes as you clutched onto his hand like a lifeline. “He may be a vampire lord, but he doesn’t even have a slither of Karlach’s strength, or Shadowheart’s resolve or Gale’s power. And if all else fails we’ll just throw Lae’zel at him.”

You pause for a moment.

“I know we fucked up tonight but... that won’t happen again, Astarion. We’ll do better. I’ll be better. He... that bastard won’t get you.”

The corners of his lips twitched up into a smile as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze in kind. He felt the warmth of your love wrapping around his dead heart, like a protective cloak. In that moment, Astarion didn’t know what path lay ahead for him, but he knew that Cazador wouldn’t have any say in it, or anyone else for that matter.

His future... belonged to him.

xxx

eh... sorry the ending's a tad cheesy but hope you enjoyed anyhow!

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

Request - Astarion tries to save you from kidnappers

Request - Astarion helps you to see that you're beautiful

#astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #fanfiction #request #tw kidnapping #bg3 gale #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 karlach #bg3 godey

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minzis · 11 months

Text

The Devil Has A New Lover

Art Credits: colin_3dart

✞❘༻An obsessive König one shot༺❘✞

✦❘༻My first time attempting to genuinely write so if it’s not the best be mindful of that! Semi graphic? A bit suggestive as well König is a bit of a perv in this so… About 5.8k words give or take.

✦❘༻The german in this is fairly rough I tried my best in researching properly for it so if there’s any mistakes in translation let me know.

✦❘༻I’ve had ‘Take Me To Church’ on repeat while writing this so take that as you will. Lowkey fulfilling my own obsession with obsessive/yandere König tbh.

✦❘༻ ─────•~✞~•───── ༺❘✦

Your finger flicker off the match, his bloodied clothes engulfed in bright flames. It seemed to have extend to your aching heart, tainting your soul a deep black. A color that used to only suit König alone. A fire that endlessly burned torching your skin on more then one occasion.

The flames dancing and crackling like a broken song similar to the one that played so beautifully every time he kissed you, every time he touched you. Lifted and held you in his arms as if he was some knight in shiny armor. How well you fit into his hands, molded into a pure perfection of his own making.

A gaze that burrowed beneath your skin like a fatal infection. One that had already picked you apart and pieced you back together more times then you’d ever know.

You knew from the beginning what type of person he was, wether it was subconsciously or not. Everyone knew how he was always a moments away from his next nervous breakdown. He was a terrifyingly beautiful force to be reckoned with on the field.

Death was this man’s best friend like a shadow that followed him even on the brightest of days.

The way he killed with his bare hands would’ve been enough to damn his soul for an eternity. A weapon in his hands only made him evolve into a worsening form of himself. He knew no amount of cleansing or repenting would save him.

Everything about him wasn’t normal, he was never normal. But by god did he make the devilish acts feel like a degraded version of heaven. His actions showed that he was some form of nasty demon but his touch was that of a saint. The voice dipped in honey, brewed in ecstasy. It was beautiful, and he made it feel beautiful. The blood on his hands that never truly washed away.

He had to be some sort of drug that constantly intoxicated you from the pretty skin he left marks on to the veins he lit on fire. He filled every sense in ways no normal man could ever hope to achieve. They could never be him, ever amount to him.

Sometimes you wondered if the feelings you had for him scared you more then the man himself. Why did the devil make evil look so enchanting? If you held him surely you’d be dragged down with him by the many sins he committed on the battlefield.

You’d feel the many ghost that haunted his thoughts, the innocent, evil, and everything in between. Maybe that’s why you enticed him so much, the ghost’s screams who sounded less prevalent when he was near you.

His life an endless cycle of what was, never a moments thought of an after or before. He was a mere animated corpse with a heartbeat. That’s why they loved him so much, his soullessness.

There was no mission too evil, even if he was damned to hell for eternity not even the devil could stop him. He was who they sent on the missions nobody dared to considered, the hushed ones hauled off in the dark. The ones that leave you awake on a cold summer night praying you’d simply forget it all but they’d forever haunt the deepest parts of your mind.

Like a chained dog thrown a bone when his existence was needed but never wanted.

He hoped on many countless night that on one of the dreadful missions a stray bullet would find its way embedded into his skin, or a simple slip up that left him bleeding out on the floor. Maybe that’s why on some missions he wouldn’t wear his bulletproof vest just to test his favor with death. He didn’t care how painful it was just that he was relived from this horrid existence people dared to call living. He was never truly living to begin not with what he’s done.

Just a dead man walking.

Karma was going to come for him it was only a question of when.

But then there was you, the new sergeant on the force who was known to have worked her ass off. And of course you were a fucking sniper, a hell of one that even the men who disliked you couldn’t mouth a word.

Something about it pissed him off, you were what he wanted to be. What he should’ve been and you were damn good at it. You were kind, too kind. How odd that you could hold such a level of optimism and humanity in a job like this.

How easily your peers flocked to you, people enjoyed your presence. A refreshing one compared to the one he brought every time he entered the room. Silence always fell over the laughter, eyes stuck to him like he was something unbearable to be around. He was respected through fear not his achievements.

Glances and words that were a coldness whenever it came to you. It was even more aggravating that despite it all, it was you that kept him up late at night.

The last thing he thought about before he went to sleep and the first he thought of when he awoke. Day in day out it was all you. No matter what he did you never left, he had to see you every damn day of the week. Nearly 24 hours a god damn day.

You were who he yelled at the loudest, punishments the made no sense compared to the fuck-up. Yet you still smiled at him, tried to laugh with him. Treated him with kindness and respect that wasn’t out of fear but admiration.

Why? What made him worth even being allowed in your vicinity.

A mission arose eventually like they always do. A two man job, one he sure as hell didn’t want to go on. Nobody’s hand raised, nor any voices raised to be his partner and everyone suggested you. How thoughtful? He was damn near seething when he had to approach and inform you of it. He practically threw the papers on your desk, “Ready in twenty Mäuschen.”

Your eyes searched over the papers in confusion before looking back up at him. You almost expected his words to be a weird sense of humor he had, but his eyes read he was far from joking. He narrowed his eyes at you like a predator stalking it prey. It was honestly quite terrifying how small he made you feel from a single glance.

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to smile or form some bullshit of a sentence that he’d rather not hear. You nodded your head shuffling the papers together, by time you had gathered your thoughts enough to look back up he was long gone. A sigh fell out your mouth as you slumped back in your chair, head resting in your palms.

It’s fine right? I mean sure he has an obvious distaste towards you but a mission is a mission. Wether he possibly hated you or not his work ethic wouldn’t allow him to let his personal feelings get in the way. If that’s what he even felt if anything at all, distaste or hatred? It’s all the same when it comes from him.

Shouldn’t you just give up? Call it quits? It’s been almost a month or two now since you’ve joined the team and he showed no signs of changing the relationship between y’all anytime soon. Let alone allowing you any type of close to him especially anything beyond a coworker type bases. It was obvious he only tolerated you cause he had to not because he wanted too.

What was supposed to be an in and out minimum contact mission ended up going completely haywire, nobody was supposed to get hurt, not on your side at the least.

Sure you’re on the field but never in immediate danger sure as hell not trying to save that monstrous of a man. A sniper, mere specter of the battle watching it unfold, finger firm on the trigger as König commanded your every move.

It was a bit of a surprise how well you flowed together. Synchronized movements with yards between y’all, moving as one. From the looks of it you’d almost have assumed you two had worked together for years but you two accomplished what would have taken some weeks of practice.

You trailed his every move through the scope becoming his eyes from the sky, the light blooming in the dark as his passion for blood seeped from him.

You weren’t sure if you should call it a passion or an obsession. Bloodlust even? He wasn’t just killing for the purpose of the mission he was doing it cause he enjoyed it. Yet for the most maddening of reasons he made it look beautiful.

Often or not people tend to forget the devil was once an angel, written out as this demonic being so atrociously evil. The devil dresses in ethereal dripping in sins so intoxicating you’d be fooled into falling for the fallen angel. He makes evil look heavenly as if there would be no price to pay for taking his hand.

Make no mistake there will always be a price to pay for dancing with the devil.

Something about it was enriching, exhilarating of an experience. To be tempted by the devil, by him. What did it make you? A craving coursed through you like a toxin as your watchful eyes admired him from afar. What you don’t know can’t hurt you right? It shouldn’t matter if you kept it to yourself. Just spectating like you always have would’ve been enough.

But like they always say careful what you wish for.

If it weren’t for the extensive training you went through you probably would’ve never seen the glint in the distance. Brief and quick you knew it all to well, the glare of a sniper. Within the brief thought process your finger pulled the trigger immediately downing the other sniper. They weren’t aiming at you though. Before you could fully understand the situation König’s voice rung out over the radio.

“Verdammter scheiß,” he cursed out through the radio, your hand immediately clicked too your own.

Your eyes searched the field where he had just been and he was nowhere to be seen. “Sir where are you, I took out the sniper but I lost sight of you?!” Your panicked voice called for him as you hurriedly gathered your gear. Leaving the sniper behind you rushing down from the spot you had been at. Slipping out the small pistol you carried along your belt.

You shoved through the trees towards where you assumed he had been. Overlooking the field from your current position it was damn near impossible to see him now with the cover of darkness. You cursed to yourself beginning to rack your brain for whatever the fuck you were gonna have to tell your team on why only one of you came back. Let alone your own personal feelings that lingered past the depths of a simple coworker relation.

It was your job to watch him the only reason you were brought along in the first place was to watch over König from the tree line assuring him cover as he infiltrated the building. “König you’re gonna have to tell me where you are or we’re both fucked,” you huffed at the radio as the dread clawing at you.

His voice cracked back over the radio, “Side building.” A hissed followed after the information as you worried over how much time there was before the loss of blood would kill him. You attempted to brush any of the thoughts out and focus on finding him first.

Sprinting through the shadows for cover, occasionally scanning the area. Your movements were quickly and fluid downing whatever men that managed to evade König’s wrath. It was fairly easy to locate the man considering the bodies he left in his wake.

“König?!?” You yelled as you darted around corners in search of him. A soft pained groaned echoed nearby in response from beside you. Your eyes immediately shot over to the sound only too find the man slumped up against a wall. A sizable pool of blood beside him a grim expression grew on your face at the sight.

The man was painted in the crimson decorating his entire uniform in it and for once it was mixed with his own. He could hardly tell the difference between what blood was and wasn’t his own.

There were no words as you rushed to his side searching for the wound on his body. It was what he was longing to feel. His body draining of its life. He was content with having died then and there but how could he when someone was so desperately calling out for him?

Someone who he had never shown an ounce of kindness too. Such a worried expression painted on her face, for a demon like him? A man who thought he didn’t deserve nor thought to ever receive such kindness, such warmth.

He grunted loudly choking harshly on his own blood, his eyes burned through his hood at the woman before him. He hadn’t spoken a word as you tended to the bullet that ripped a hole midway through his abdomen. The bleeding was a large amount staining your hands a dark red.

The thought had made him sad, his soiled blood tainting your skin. That’s not right your hands should be cleaned, cleansed of him. He feared his monstrous blood would only infect yours like a deadly disease, he was only dragging your soul from heaven.

Anytime you asked a question or spoke it was only met with a meek glance from his side. You quickly learned to read the emotions within his eyes. “Dammit you scared the shit out of me you know?” You whispered yelled your complaints making haste on stuffing the wound with the bandages you had on hand. At least so could make it back too some form of safety without worry of him bleeding out before then.

You motioned for him to stand up as you hurriedly helped him out of sight and to a near by building. It was funny to him someone of your size practically struggling to keep him up shuffling together through the building. Nether the less getting him back safely.

A loud grunt fell out your mouth as you searched for something he could lay on. You found a nearby table shoving the mess of items off it. He groaned half hazardously sitting down on the thing as you glanced around before finding a med-kit to properly treat his wound.

You had panicked eyes as you flipped through your brain for the shit you half listened to during basic medical training. Your shit memory never doing you good as parts of the information blurred out. Especially considering your new position and usually if ever directly in the middle of the combat.

You muttered multiple sorry’s after every sound he made his hand occasionally slamming at the table signifying you were more then likely doing something wrong. Your attempt was surely not the best but decent enough to keep him alive before a evacuation team could get too you.

In truth it did hurt like hell but it wasn’t something he hadn’t been through before. He probably could’ve stitched it himself but you were desperately offering your help. Soft gentle hands that were steady but a shaking voice as you made apologetic comments towards him. For once he thanked having always worn his hood cause you would’ve seen the nasty look on his face.

He was smiling, fucking smiling. He was enjoying this. You helping, tending to him.

It was a pretty damn sight to as you sat bent down looking over his abdomen. Hand pressing tenderly at his skin before pulling the needle through making up a half decent stitching job.

You’d occasionally glance up towards him sending this man into a frustrated frenzy. You shouldn’t look at him like that not this close. That worried glassed over look in your eyes. You were trusting him too much, what if he decided too just grab hold of you? He could couldn’t he, snap that pretty neck with ease. Could you be anymore naive?

That made him sick didn’t it, a freak of nature probably. He understood long before he wasn’t going to be save, the thoughts he had flooding in his head. What he was thinking of you, what he wanted to do too you. Yet here you were blessing his body with care and stitches made from nothing but pure kindness and compassion with a reassuring smile.

Maybe it was then when your fate had been decided, when he decided you were going to be his. The angel that was made just for him, just how he was made for you. You weren’t just any angel. You were his angel, his saving grace from the hellish life that threatened to drive him right off the edge.

It was almost like a light switch in his changing behavior, it’s was rapid. Too quick that it should’ve been a sign then but you were happy excited even. It’s what you had been wanting, he was finally accepting towards you.

For you it was a new friend made but for him it was a vast difference. As if his world had stopped turning only to revolve around you. The gift bestowed upon him by god, had it been some apology for casting him out? Surely it was why else where you so kind to him?

“I brought us both coffee,” you’d exclaim with a soft smile offering him the large cup that looked like a small in his hands. That means you feel the same right? It had to be the little favors you did for him and nobody else. Feeding his deranged fantasy of the love between you.

Bits of small talk you’d offer rambling about whatever crossed your mind as he hovered over you. He’d simply listen to everyone taking note of anything you’d mentioned you liked or hated that would randomly pop up on your desk or at your doorstep. A soft look in his eyes that’d narrow if another man even dared to look your way, which was more often than he could handle.

The occasion praises of adoration you’d spew as he’d showed off the knife tricks he’s taught himself over the years. Your praise alone was enough to fulfill him. Tricks that seemed to always fascinate you. He would continued to do anything you asked of him if it made you happy in any sense, all you had to do was ask. Over time he began to realize your focus never on the knife but his hands. Eyes darting around after every flip and flick. A small perk of a smile on your face, lips parted slightly as you shamelessly stared at the man.

And by gods did he use that to his advantage, you need something of a higher self? Oh but of course but his free hand will mange to find its way to your waist squeezing every so gently. He needs by? “Entschuldigung,” he’d whisper in that gentle tone as he pressed his hands at your sides moving you himself.

Eyes that went wide as you’d give a quick apologetic nod unable to form a proper response at times. A soft shudder that followed every time despite the seemingly endless amount of times you just so happened to be in his path. Your sweet voice echoing desperately in his ears on the few occasions you would apologize.

‘Oh I’m sorry.’ ‘My apologies sir.’ ‘Sorry sir.’

As if he wasn’t the one planning every action down to the bone just cause he knew it’d get a rise out of you.

‘Haven’t you been taught not to play with your food?’

For you it never applied to him, a brushed of his hands as you put your gear on insisting it would make it easier on you. He’s happy to help he’d say. Smiles, he was all smiles under that damned hood of his. It was almost impossible how far the man could smile but you could debate the sheer size of the man was simply impossible. Nearly twice your size, at the very least a foot taller. Like always you’d gracefully accept his helping bounder-less hands, only ever further indulging his desires. He was having fun with this, with you.

Seemed to understand and know everything you liked. That new song you mention unable to find it again, “Oh you mean__?” He’d tilt his head as you as you’d scoff in surprise. “Yeah actually, how’d you know?” he’d only ever follow up with a shrug walking away as you chalked it up to some funny coincidence.

It never would be though cause he already knew that about you, every core details you ever posted, wrote or tweeted about. If it was public he found it, he knew exactly who you were and it only depended his affection. Despite the man’s age he was not stupid by any means especially technologically wise, it was a terrifying level of understanding.

Stalking every corner of your socials, hell even old ones you forgot about that were assumed to be deleted. Every photo or video you’ve ever posted he had seen them all, downloaded and saved. That nice little folder for you on his personal computer named, ‘Engelchen.’ It was mostly for him to gawk at on the days it had been too long since you last posted anything new. There were a few other uses for the photos he stole found of you.

A handful on his new phone he bought just for the times he’s deployed for a long period of time unable to access his computer. He wouldn’t dare to have them on his work on, what if others seen you? He couldn’t have anybody else’s greedy eyes on what was his.

Probably why on a deranged night he broke into your apartment, that day that photo you posted and it had garnered a bit too much attention for his liking. He tired to talk himself out of it multiple times, it should’ve only been for his eyes alone. He was growing needy, possessively dangerous.

“Mien engel, warum hast du das getan?!” It drove the man mad. It was this uncontrollable craze he’d never felt before. Anger and adrenaline flooded his veins as he found himself in your living room. Shouldn’t you be a lot more careful I mean an open window? Seriously?

It was so obvious you need him to protect you, care for you and be that knight in shining armor for his angel.

His soundless footsteps treaded through the rooms, his head tilting as he knelt down in-front of your bed. Your sleeping form entangled in the sheets, a peaceful expression that was just as he imagined. He reached his gloved hands over your face brushing the stray hairs from your eyes getting a clear view. He couldn’t bring himself to feel your skin with his bear hands, he wouldn’t be able to control himself then.

He stared a few moments more before tearing through your dresser digging through the drawers finally finding what he came for. That damn outfit you wore in the god forsaken photo, simple solution. You can’t wear something you don’t have right? So he’ll just hold on to it for you! Until he knows for sure you’d only wear it with him, and him alone. A few other keepsakes as well.

It was only after that late night he spent at your apartment that it had truly worsened, out your sight of course. He knew better than that. His hands that began to kill all for your protection, or jealousy it was all the same to him. Persistent recruits who suddenly returned home on short notice only for their photos to later be plastered on their hometown news. Even friends you’ve know for years, he knew the look of a man’s lustful stare better then anyone. Cause it was the same look he followed you with.

He kept track of everyone you’ve ever mentioned making a mental note to fill himself in on any information he could find on them. Occasionally using his rank to pull background checks on someone’s presence that really ircked him. It was never hard to find information anyways. It didn’t matter what he had to do all that matters is making sure you only seen him.

König’s face was painted in a bloodied smile at the sight of the man’s fettle attempts at defiance. The blood poring from the finial cut along his throat. He preferred to do it slow. Painfully slow edging the various men to their deaths. What they dared to do? Trying to take something that was his. The first time he talked to you in front of him he tired to leave it be. What if his death upset you, Oh it upsets you?

It’ll be perfect, you slumped crying in his arms as he soothed your cries. Being there right when you needed it. Arms that you found comfort in when you rushed to his office when you made discovery of the death. Having no one else to turn too, it pains him more than anything to cause you such suffering. But it was necessary measures, to ensure you seen just how perfect he was for you. How much you needed him to care for you.

It was enough of repeating occurrences that you began questioning the nature of the sudden disappearances. All men who attempted to flirt with you. “I can talk to them and scare ‘em off for you, ja?” he suggested when you half heartedly complained about them. Surely not, could he have? It didn’t make sense to you, or was it that you didn’t want it to make sense.

The same man who took you out on heart throbbing dates, that left you with a fluttering feeling. They were perfect in every sense, exactly what you’d imagined that perfect teenage love story you missed out on as a kid. It was the first time you’ve ever been show such a level of devotion. Not the man who cluttered your gallery with the photos you had taken of or with him, he made you happy.

Someone who you were falling head over heels for, accepting that seemingly darker parts of him that didn’t bother you. Who knew they were this dark? He’d never do anything to hurt you, not on purpose at the least. He said he wanted to be with you build a life together. Brought you little gifts during works hours despite the list of rules discouraging dating ranks higher then you. It made you feel like a love sick school girl all over again, excitement that only filled you when he was around. How he’d swear to come back in one piece if a mission forced separation between y’all.

Your body was still damn near motionless as you felt your body go stiff at the images. You should’ve minded your business, why’d you have to be so damn nosey. König had just brought you back to his house for the first time after one of your dates together suggesting he could make dinner for you. You sat at the bar near his kitchen as he said he’d only be a minute. His laptop that has been left open was across from you, you tilted your head a bit in curiosity as the photo on it looked familiar. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t know.

It was of you, at first a giggle left your mouth as you began clicking through the said photos. Recent ones of you two doing various things, mostly you though. A smile was beaming on your face at the sight, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It was cute how he kept these goofy photos of you two. Your hand miss clicked as you accidentally exited out the previews of them causing your smile too immediately fade.

There was more, to many too have been all taken recently. Why was there so many? You began to feel sick as you scrolled down. “Oh my god…” you choked out as you clicked on photo after photo ones you’ve never given him. Shivers went down your spine as footsteps sounded from behind you.

It was him wasn’t it?

“I love you,” is what he had said but why were they laced with such venom, and why did it feel so unsettling. You should be overjoyed right? Someone gave a shit, how he loved and cared so deeply. Yet the words left you in a cold sweat, veins coursing with this thing he considered love.

That’s why his computer was filled with photos, painted in his love for you. “Du bist wunderschön,” your eyes darting along the screen in a slow aching feeling after each click of the next photo. Mouthing running dry as a nasty taste flooded over your tongue.

It was fear, pure unbridled fear.

Every word was dripping in terror, what were you supposed to say? It made you sick, those twisting knots in your stomach. Your hand crept over your mouth as you tried to hold back the sudden wave of nausea. This was the first time you had feared the man before you.

Sure he’s done some odd shit before but this? This was only showing the beginnings of the man’s sheer lack of sanity. “You love me too right?” He spoke with that same reassuring tone but it suddenly made your skin crawl.

Confusion flooded judgement as you tried to process what was even happening. Love? You loved him right you always have. But at the same time it feels terrifying to love a man like him. His eyes looked over you in anguish as you doubted what words you were going to say next.

Your eyes dared to say as if you didn’t and it showed in his that it wouldn’t be an answer he’d willingly accept. “I love you too,” the words simply fell out your mouth, wether it was the truth or not had long been gone. It hadn’t mattered if you did or not he would show you anyways.

His hands moved to hold your cheeks as he shushed you the tears beginning to pool in you eyes, assuring you it was fine. “It was you wasn’t it?” your voice broke as you began to understand what he had done. That it was only acts of love, why he had blood on his hands in that name of his love for you. His gaze was simply deranged in itself. He did not understand nor want to understand why this could be so wrong, why it made you sick to your stomach. How it made you consider the idea of run away from him.

Not like you’d get far anyways.

He wiped are your tears as he explained how this wasn’t anything to worry about. He even suggested deleting all photos if it made you that upset, he never meant to hurt you. “I didn’t know this would upset you my love,” his eyes wore a saddened worried expression, hushed sorry’s as he soothed your worries.

I mean maybe he’s right you know, simply being irrational it was all photos you’ve publicly posted so it wasn’t necessarily private information. Definitely not the hardest of things to find. You keep photos of your favorite idol plastered all over your bedroom walls, now isn’t that the same thing? It’s fine you love him and he loves you it shouldn’t matter if he has a few photos of you. It’s not like it’s some stranger with these photos, it’s him your lovable sweet König.

“It’s okay,” a mumbled of words you made in a stupid belief that this man wasn’t borderline criminally insane. How he didn’t mean any harm no not him, sweet König wouldn’t do that. He’d never lay a finger on you, the man practically praised the ground you walk on like some goddess offering him salvation.

What’s a few photos if it means loving him? Nothing that’ll ever compare to the drug of his love.

This shouldn’t be so appealing you shouldn’t be wanting this, craving for him. Heart and mind were claiming their own reasons as to why you should and shouldn’t. He cares for you maybe he cares too much? A few bodies isn’t anything new, you’ve killed with your own hands before. Is there really any difference between what you and him do? The reasons are just slightly different.

Similar times to when you pitied Eve for the blame she had taken as her teeth sunk into temptation of the devil. He lies decorated it all your known desires. He’s terribly good at what he does isn’t he?

Your hand reached out at the disheveling flames, hovering over. It burned and stung like the same feeling his love for you gives. Its strange, you almost thought you were crazy yourself, probably would be too anybody else. But they’d never understand the relationship you two had. Nobody ever understands what the devil chooses to take and leave.

“Mein Schazti, what are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold,” König spoke from the doorway, you turned to face him as his hair hung with wet droplets. The scars he boar on his face or else where along his body, each a different life that was taken and fought till their last breath. You glanced back over at the clothes that had turned into mere ashes of what was.

How many times was this now? Covering for the being before you, the man that replaced your shadow. Creaked his way into your life seeping through the cracks like the devil on your shoulder. He knew everything there was to know about you. Wether it was sone sick part of you the enjoyed the affection he gave you. You were okay with it, choosing to love him in every sense. Nobody could ever love someone like you the way he can is what he said.

“Nothing my love just getting rid of some old clothes is all,” a gentle reassuring smile following your words. He looked down behind you humming at the sight. He lifted off the doorway taking a few steps towards you before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

For better or worse you were forever his, as he was yours.

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