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herlondonboy · 3 months

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love at first sight, clarisse la rue

summary: from the moment she first saw you, she became knew you were hers and vice versa. based on this req.

warnings: y/n playing hard to get, ooc clarisse, clarisse pining like a loser (it’s me, i’m the loser), fake dating an apollo kid, clarisse tries to kill him.

wc: 2.1k

your first camp experience unfolded at the age of fifteen. as you walked the unfamiliar terrain of camp half-blood, luke, a seasoned demigod, took on the role of your guide. the lush greenery and the scent of pine surrounded you as you explored the various cabins. unbeknownst to you, clarisse la rue, observed from a distance.

clarisse found herself captivated by your ethereal beauty. the moment you entered camp, it was as if a spotlight had illuminated you, catching the attention of both demigods and nymphs alike. clarisse, though intrigued, remained silent, watching as you interacted with your newfound friends.

in the training grounds, your grace and charm didn't escape clarisse's notice. clarisse, with her keen instincts, sensed a different aura around you– an aura she associated with the children of aphrodite. the way you effortlessly enchanted those around you left clarisse both irritated and fascinated.

despite the silent admiration, clarisse struggled to approach you. the clash of your godly parentage– ares and aphrodite– seemed like an insurmountable barrier. clarisse, usually assertive and bold, found herself at a loss for words in your presence.

throughout camp activities, your popularity grew, and clarisse's internal conflict intensified. the daughter of ares, accustomed to asserting dominance, felt a strange vulnerability when it came to you. the unspoken tension lingered between you, creating an unexplored connection.

as the days passed, your impact on camp life became undeniable. clarisse, torn between her warrior instincts and newfound feelings, remained on the sidelines. you, oblivious to clarisse's internal struggle, continued to shine in your own unique way.

the story of your first camp experience unfolded like a tapestry, woven with threads of divine complexity. clarisse la rue, found herself entangled in emotions she never anticipated, all because of a chance encounter with a child of aphrodite, possibly, who, unknowingly, had entranced her from the very beginning.

despite the magnetic pull between you, clarisse and you continued to dance around each other, your connection remaining unspoken. clarisse, burdened by her own uncertainties, perceived a subtle distance in your demeanour, interpreting it as a sign of disinterest.

as the days passed, clarisse found herself yearning for the courage to bridge the gap. she wished she had spoken to you, for the silence between you grew like an insurmountable wall. in moments of solitude, clarisse questioned whether her own hesitations had painted a false narrative, leaving her with the impression that you harboured indifference.

while you navigated camp life with grace, the daughter of ares grappled with her internal conflicts. clarisse's heart longed to unravel the mystery of your feelings, wishing she had seized the chance to discover the truth instead of succumbing to her own insecurities.

as the final days of your first camp experience unfolded, clarisse's regret deepened. the unspoken connection, once poised on the precipice of possibility, now seemed like a fleeting mirage. clarisse yearned to rewrite the script, to alter the narrative that lingered between you, regretting the silent dance you had shared.

one bright morning at camp half-blood, you found yourself at the centre of an unusual spectacle. as you sat with luke at the communal table, enjoying a breakfast, your senses caught the unwavering gaze of a mysterious girl across the training grounds.

curiosity tugging at you, you turned to luke, “hey, who’s the girl over there? the one staring at me?”

luke, his expression shifting into a cautious tone, replied, “that’s clarisse la rue, daughter of ares. a formidable warrior, but she’s known for her… intensity. just be careful around her, y/n.”

you rose your eyebrow.

“she’s a bully.”

“ah,” intrigued rather than deterred, you couldn’t resist the allure of the enigmatic clarisse. a mischievous spark danced in your eyes as you waved at clarisse, who, caught off guard, looked like a deer caught in headlights. blushing, clarisse nervously shifted her gaze downward, focusing on her siblings training nearby.

two years had passed since that encounter at camp, and the connection between you and clarisse lingered like an unresolved melody. you, despite the passage of time, remained unclaimed by your godly parent, a fact that stirred whispers of speculation and anticipation within the camp.

clarisse, determined to reignite the flame of connection that had flickered in that fleeting moment, had spent the intervening years trying to catch your attention. the daughter of ares, usually fearless in the face of battles, found herself navigating unfamiliar terrain when it came to matters of the heart.

one afternoon, you found yourself amidst the lively atmosphere of the archery range, surrounded by the apollo kids. laughter filled the air as they playfully flirted, arrows hitting their targets with precision. clarisse, observing from a distance, couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as she watched your infectious laughter and easy connection with the apollo demigods.

unable to contain the simmering emotions, clarisse decided to take matters into her own hands. she stormed onto the archery range, her presence demanding attention. "y/n!" she called, her voice cutting through the jovial atmosphere.

you turned, eyebrows raised in surprise as you saw clarisse approaching. "hey, clarisse. what's up?"

"enough with this archery nonsense," clarisse declared, her eyes flashing with determination. "let's spar. now."

the apollo kids exchanged knowing glances, sensing the tension in the air. you, always up for a challenge, agreed, and they moved to the sparring area. the clash of swords echoed as the two of you engaged in a fierce battle, each determined to assert dominance.

after a round of intense sparring, you found yourself on the losing end. however, instead of conceding defeat gracefully, a mischievous glint entered your eyes. "you know, clarisse, maybe you're just upset that you're not the one making me laugh like that," you teased, a sly grin playing on your lips.

clarisse's jaw tightened, her jealousy fuelling the fire of determination. "quit the games, y/n. let's finish this."

as the sparring resumed, you strategically used every opportunity to distract clarisse. mentioning shared memories and playful banter, you exploited the opening, knocking clarisse's sword out of her hand. you stood victorious, but instead of revelling in your win, you chose to add a final twist.

leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to clarisse's cheek, catching her off guard. "thanks for the spar," you whispered with a smirk before skipping off, leaving clarisse stunned in the aftermath.

the archery range fell silent, the demigods exchanging bewildered glances. clarisse, still processing the unexpected turn of events, touched her cheek, her heart racing with a mix of confusion and something else– a spark reignited from the past. the mysterious connection between you and clarisse continued to weave its complex narrative, leaving the camp in anticipation of the next chapter in your entangled tale.

the next day dawned with an unspoken tension hanging in the air at camp half-blood. clarisse had discovered that you were dating one of the apollo kids, a revelation that sparked a simmering irritation within the daughter of ares. as preparations for the upcoming capture the flag game began, clarisse found herself fixated on the perceived betrayal.

the familiar call for capture the flag echoed through the camp, and demigods assembled with an air of anticipation. however, this time, clarisse approached the game with a different strategy in mind. instead of camping out in the woods, she decided to actively seek out the apollo kid, her rival in both love and war.

venturing into the forest, clarisse wielded her electric spear with an unwavering determination. she followed the trail of the apollo kid, her steps fuelled by a mix of anger and frustration. as she approached, the sound of clashing metal rang through the trees, revealing the intensity of the confrontation.

clarisse burst into the clearing, catching the apollo kid off guard. the clash of their weapons echoed, a symbolic battle fuelled by unspoken emotions. the apollo kid defended himself, but clarisse's attacks were fuelled by a burning rage.

just as clarisse prepared to strike a decisive blow, you stumbled upon the scene. shock and horror painted your face as you realised the perilous situation. without hesitation, you shouted, "clarisse, stop!"

the daughter of ares froze, the electric spear poised mid-air. you rushed forward, your voice laced with urgency. "what are you doing? he's defenceless!"

clarisse's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and defiance, but she didn’t say anything.

you cursed clarisse, your anger boiling over. "this isn't the way to handle things!" you hurriedly helped your boyfriend, injured from the skirmish, and together you made your way to the medical cabin where the apollo kid's siblings could tend to his wounds.

clarisse's siblings, witnessing the scene, approached her with concern. "what's going on, clarisse? why did you attack him?"

clarisse scoffed and pushed them away, a wall of defensiveness erected around her. "mind your own business. he had it coming."

as the medical cabin door closed behind you and the injured apollo kid, the aftermath of the confrontation hung in the air. clarisse, wrestling with her own emotions, stood alone, surrounded by the echoes of a conflict born from love, jealousy, and the complex web of relationships that defined life at camp half-blood. the unspoken chapter of your and clarisse's intertwined destinies continued to unfold, leaving the camp in anticipation of the resolution that awaited you.

“that wasn’t supposed to happen,” you heard, making you turn to see him smiling.

“i’m sorry,” you said. “are you okay?”

“peachy.”

a week had passed since the encounter during capture the flag, and you had been avoiding clarisse like the plague. the tension between you hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. sensing the avoidance, clarisse, never one to back down, decided it was time to confront the situation head-on.

cornering you in a secluded spot, clarisse crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "what's your deal, y/n? you've been avoiding me all week. we need to talk."

you scoffed, a sarcastic smile playing on your lips. "oh, now you want to talk? after you tried to kill my boyfriend?"

clarisse's expression shifted from frustration to a mix of guilt and longing. "y/n, it wasn't like that. i just—"

"save it," you interrupted, your tone cutting through the air. "what did you expect? some grand confession of feelings after you tried to take him down? you've had a stupid little crush for years, and now you decide to act upon it?"

clarisse, surprisingly, found you more attractive than ever in this moment. stepping forward, she closed the distance between you, a determined look in her eyes. "you think it's just a crush, y/n? you're wrong."

you, unfazed, pushed clarisse away. "save the drama. i don't care about your feelings. i have a boyfriend, and you-"

clarisse, undeterred, seized the moment and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. you hesitated for a moment before succumbing to the intensity of the moment. when clarisse finally pulled back, she looked you in the eyes and declared, "you're mine. i don't care about your boyfriend. you're mine, y/n. you always have been and always will be, okay?"

you, surprisingly, didn't argue. instead, you leaned in for another kiss, mumbling against clarisse's lips, "it was an act. to get you to say it."

clarisse rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "you're impossible."

your lips met again, the storm of emotions swirling around you dissipating as the two of you surrendered to the undeniable pull between you. in that moment, beneath the canopy of camp half-blood, you and clarisse found a fragile balance, your destinies intertwining in a way that defied logic and expectation. the echoes of unspoken desires and the complex dance of love continued to shape the narrative of your entangled hearts.

after the prolonged kiss, clarisse slowly pulled back, looking up with a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “i knew it,” she declared with a teasing glint in her eyes, revelling in the unexpected turn of events. you, still caught in the haze of the moment, furrowed your brows in confusion.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your gaze locked with clarisse’s.

clarisse’s smirk widened, and she simply pointed upward. you followed her gesture, looking up at the sky, only to see a shimmering glow above you. you squinted, trying to make sense of what was happening.

aphrodite’s symbol materialised above your head, a clear indication that you had been claimed by the goddess of love. realisation dawned upon clarisse, and she burst into laughter. “well, well, looks like cupid’s arrows finally hit their mark.”

you rolled your eyes, a mix of annoyance and amusement in your expression. “the history book on the shelf is always repeating itself, huh?” you quipped.

clarisse rolled her eyes at the lyric and pulled you along to chiron’s office.

it was love at first sight. at least on clarisse’s half.

#clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue #clarisse my beloved #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x you #clarisse pjo #elijah writes #please reblog

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dreams-of-cerulean · 1 year

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[[ So might be semi-low activity. Celebrating birthday today aha.

Also made the mistake a long time ago of making Lev’s birthday my own dsjkasflf (since my default go-to character birthday is 4/21 but that’s now Chi’s). But Lev never announces it on account that her family only knows, and it’s typically a quiet affair. But now there’s Sato who knows.

As for the missed b-days for her, the start of the Grotto Incident happened on Lev’s birthday. Year before that was the actual restart of the blog itself. Aha. ]]

#the precipice || OOC

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lastlycoris · 2 years

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[[ happy birthday to me 🎂 🥳! 1 year older 😅🤣 ]]

#the precipice || ooc

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ldgsfk · 1 year

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⚡️ - How often does inspiration strike you to write your muse?

((

Chi's a bit difficult because it's dependent on her whim to draw, and the things that pique her interest tend to be very niche or nonsensical, sometimes both. That being said, there's a very long collection of drafts I keep just for the sake of Chi's shitposting ahaha.

))

#the precipice || ooc #asks ;;#q ;

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enveine · 5 months

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when doves cry - s. clegane: chapter one (pilot)

pairing: sandor clegane x f!eldest stark reader summary: your loyalty to your family is unwavering, a steadfast commitment that defines your character. however, navigating the turbulent waters of newfound, intense emotions for a man devoted to a family starkly opposed to your own will challenge the foundations of this loyalty. as you stand on the precipice of conflicting allegiances, the question looms: what sacrifices would you make in the name of love? rating: 18+ word count: 4.4k chapter warnings: smut, "we just met but I want to fuck you", kinda ooc sandor, language, story loosely follows the timeline of S1, semi-public sex- very risky, rough sex, reader probably cares more about what's happening then sandor does, hickeys in hidden places, unprotected piv sex, angst, "we just fucked and now we're practically going to be living together".

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The great hall of Winterfell buzzed with activity as the Stark family prepared for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon and his entourage. You were the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, so you knew all eyes were going to be on you; a young woman of noble birth, at an age desperate to be married well. You moved gracefully through the throngs of people, your eyes keenly observing the bustling preparations. You wore a simple but elegant gown, the Stark colors proudly displayed.

A little nervous, to be expected. Nothing a little ride couldn’t fix.

On the way back, you noticed that winter truly had begun its descent upon the land, the air frigid and the wind mighty. The crunch of snow beneath the hooves of your horse echoed through the trees as you headed back towards Winterfell. You were eager to greet the royal party.

As you approached the stable, you hear the unmistakable clatter of hooves against the cobblestone. The royal retinue had arrived. Intrigued, you watch closely to see the beautiful ocean of golden banners, curiosity piqued by the impending arrival of the king.

The gate swung open, revealing the group of visitors. Your gaze was drawn to a towering figure at the back of the party. A man of imposing stature, his face hidden beneath a twisted helm, and clad in dark, rugged armor. He radiated an air of danger that made the other courtiers instinctively give him a wide berth.

Still mounted, you took a step back, closer to your direwolf Nyx. You watched him with a curious gaze. As he sat there, a silent sentinel also mounted upon his horse, you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze met your own.

"Who's that?" you inquired, directing the question to a nearby stable boy.

The boy hesitated before answering, "That's the Hound, my Lady. Sandor Clegane, the King's dog."

You clicked your tongue, “King’s dog, huh?” a small laugh, “Interesting title.”

You watched as the man dismounted, your eyes narrowing with interest. He moved with a certain controlled grace, his movements deliberate and purposeful. An unexpected shiver ran down your spine as you observed the mysterious figure. There was something about him that defied the norms of courtly behavior, an untamed quality that set him apart. In a sea of polished knights and well-mannered courtiers, he was a dark anomaly.

You couldn't help but be intrigued by the mysterious figure. Your eyes lingered on him, studying the scars that marred his face. There was a hardness in his gaze that suggested a life of brutality, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the man beneath the armor.

Your eyes met for the briefest moment, a flicker of connection that sent a jolt through your spine. Quickly averting her gaze, you tried ignoring the heart pounding feeling in her chest. The Hound continued on, seemingly indifferent to the glances and whispers that followed him. After his eyes left yours, you couldn’t help but watch his every move again. That man, Sandor Clegane, he was beautiful.

And he was coming right towards you.

As you dismounted her horse, the Hound's attention shifted briefly to her. You felt a twinge of discomfort under his scrutinizing gaze, but being the strong-minded Stark you were, held your ground. Nyx, ever vigilant, growled softly at the Hound, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You a Stark girl?" he grumbled, his voice rough and devoid of warmth.

You nodded, a defiant yet humorous spark in your eyes. "Well I stand before you wearing Stark colors. I’d hope so. (Y/N) Stark. And you are?"

"The Hound. Sandor Clegane," he replied with a hint of mockery. "King's dog, they call me."

You arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "A dog, you say?” In a bold move, your eyes slowly moved up and down, taking in a good look of his entire figure. “I don’t see a collar.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a reluctant smirk. It was a rare sight, a crack in his stoic facade.

“Well, dog, I hope you’re house-trained.”

Your exchange was brief, but in that moment, something shifted. A connection, unspoken and unacknowledged, lingered between the two of you. The Hound turned away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you with a lingering sense of curiosity and an unsettling awareness that even though you’d just met that man—you wanted more of him.

Later that night, the great hall of Winterfell resounded with the clinking of goblets and the boisterous laughter of the guests. You found yourself drawn into the festivities, attempting to put aside the enigmatic encounter with Sandor Clegane. The feast in honor of King Robert Baratheon's visit was in full swing, and the Stark family showed they knew how to put together an extravagant feast.

As the night progressed, you caught glimpses of him across the crowded hall. His presence was ominous, and whispers of him still followed like shadows. Your curiosity mingled with a sense of unease, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that your brief exchange held a significance you couldn't fully comprehend.

You continued to mingle among the noble guests, trying to keep your eyes away from Sandor. But to no avail, you watched in-between pointless conversations as he stood at the outskirts of the celebration. His gaze fixed on the revelry with a mix of disdain and disinterest and you felt a peculiar pull, as if the currents of destiny were nudging you toward the enigmatic man.

An unexpected voice interrupted you in the middle of your thoughts. "(Y/N), you seem quite taken with the Hound," spoke your younger sister, Sansa Stark, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.

You raised an eyebrow and snorted out a laughter, attempting to conceal the obvious interest written in your eyes. "Taken? No, my dear Sansa. Merely curious. He is a formidable figure, after all." You put your arm between hers, nudging her body in the direction of the man who looked quite bored. “You know what mother always tells us. We are wolves, we must be the ones to pounce before the others.”

Sansa's gaze flitted between you and the man in question, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Well, just be careful. Rumors say he has a fearsome temper."

You chuckled at her, feigning nonchalance. "Rumors are just that—rumors. I'm sure there's more to him than meets the eye."

“Rumor has it that I think you’re full of rubbish.” She replied, a playful laugh falling from her lips.

“Oh Sansa, run off. Father needs you.” You nodded in the direction of your father, clearly enjoying his conversation with King Robert and his son, Joffrey.

Poor Sansa, you thought, that boy looks like nothing but trouble.

As the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were destined to cross again. And fate intervened sooner than expected. The King's squire, Lancel Lannister, approached you with a cup of wine.

"From the Hound," he declared, offering you the goblet.

You hesitated, fingers brushing against the cold metal. You glanced in the direction of the Hound, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. Taking the wine, you nodded back with a small smile, and Lancel retreated into the shadows.

As you sipped the wine, the rich flavor lingered on her lips. As you found yourself drawn once more Sandor, you wondered what he’d taste like lingering on your lips. As your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between the two of you—a forming connection, born from the flames of need for passion.

Eventually, after a few more cups of wine, you found yourself standing at the edge of the hall, watching the dancers twirl to the music. A deep voice behind you interrupted your thoughts. "You fancy dancing, Lady (Y/N)?"

You turned to find Sandor standing there, his burned face impassive. "I can dance if the occasion calls for it," you replied, your eyes meeting his with something you couldn’t describe, but you could definitely feel it.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s a wolf with claws, then."

You were undeterred by his nature, offering a playful smile. "You sure seem to enjoy lurking in the shadows, Ser Clegane. Is that where you find your solace?"

He grunted, a low sound that could be mistaken for a chuckle. "Solace is overrated. I prefer the edge of the firelight."

You tilted your head, curls cascading over your shoulder. "A mysterious man, I see. Are you afraid the light will reveal too much?"

Sandor's lips twitched into a half-smile, a rare sight on his scarred face. "Some things are better left in the dark."

Leaning in, you whispered, "But not everything. Some things are meant to be uncovered." You caught the glint in his eye, a flicker of something lustful beneath the rough exterior.

The conversation continued, the banter growing more flirtatious with each exchange. You teased and prodded, finding amusement in the unexpected connection you felt with the man. He, in turn, responded with a gruff charm that surprised even himself.

Eventually, he left you with short instructions, “Broken tower.”

At last, you found yourself in the quiet solitude with the idea of getting to know Sandor better. In a way you’d known nobody before. The anticipation of his presence weighed on you, and a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. The air was charged with a different kind of energy, one that held the promise of a connection that transcended the boundaries of right and wrong.

A soft knock on the door signaled his arrival, and when you opened it, there he stood, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over his scarred face, softening the harsh lines that had witnessed battles and hardships.

"I thought we might continue our conversation," he rumbled, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that caught you off guard, especially when he roughly grabbed your cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. Your heart raced as you welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, trying your best to close the door.

The room pulsed with palpable tension, igniting like a fervent flame, as your hands yearned to make contact with him in every possible manner. The warmth emanating from your skin created a contrast against the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. Restless and eager, your hands became a silent testament to the unspoken urgency of your desire.

Sandor's gaze remained fixed on yours throughout, ablaze with a passion you had long yearned for—a fervor you couldn't fathom experiencing with the man standing before you.

Your teeth sank into his lower lip, coaxing a resonant, primal groan from him, prompting his reluctant withdrawal. "She's a wolf with claws and teeth," he chuckled, wiping away the trace amount of blood that had emerged from the newfound wound.

Rather than offering a response, your body found itself pressed against the wall, his calloused hand gently mitigating the impact on your head. "Couldn’t very well carry our conversation with your lips against mine," you remarked at last, tilting your head to the side as his lips met the tender skin of your neck.

He stopped for a moment- another faint chuckle coming before continuing, “aye, that was the point.”

Sandor persisted in tracing kisses along your neck, momentarily pausing only to leave subtle bites in places known only to him. In this moment, he recognized that he was on the brink of losing all restraint, evident in the autonomy of his hands, which seemed to explore every inch of your body with a desire you willingly indulged. Oh, how willingly you would allow him to continue.

“Sandor, please, I need-” you were cut off mid sentence by him grabbing your right leg and wrapping it around his waist. The cold metal hid his hardening cock—the feeling of it against your warm skin made you anticipate his every move. “If we’re g-gonna do this.. we need to hurry..”

“You need to keep quiet.”

His lips descended, caressing the delicate fabric of your dress. His fingers deftly maneuvered to release you from its confines with a sense of urgency; there was an animalistic quality to his actions—rough fingers, accompanied by soft growls, responding to the rhythmic dance of your body against his determined hold. A silent plea resonated, a tacit acknowledgment that you craved everything he was willing to bestow upon you.

A hushed stillness enveloped the space for the next few moments, broken only when he skillfully lowered your dress, unveiling your tits. Sandor's fingers delicately traced the contours of each nipple, his unwavering gaze captivated by their response. With each circular motion, they seemed to intensify in firmness, a testament to the heightened sensitivity your body exhibited in mere minutes of his touch. He reveled in the allure of your immediate responsiveness.

If anyone were to walk in they’d see such a pornographic sight: the beloved, eldest daughter of Ned Stark, nipples hard and swollen, dress hiked up to her waist while the Prince’s hound let her hump his armor. By this point, you'd wager that the burgeoning dampness in your silk panties had left its mark on the cool silver surface, a silent proclamation of your possession of the man. Yet, the mutual understanding between you both acknowledged that any unsuspecting onlooker venturing in would be treated to an undeniable spectacle.

If this were your first time, perhaps a hint of nervousness would have crept in, particularly as you sensed his hands gently sliding your panties down to your knees. Yet, even in such a moment, his adept handling imparted a profound sense of security. This man, bound by oath to safeguard his King, was now silently pledging to protect you with equal devotion.

But, fortunately, nothing could protect your body from what Sandor was about to do.

Seating himself on the ground after loosening his leather pants, he then drew you down to join him. As you settled onto his lap, he playfully grazed against your entrance with his cock, all the while continuing his descent of kisses along your neck. With a stern tone, he uttered, "My Lady, speak the word and I’ll stop."

Gazing into his eyes, you found them ablaze with desire, mirroring the fervor you sensed within yourself. His captivating eyes, the unsteady cadence of his breath, and the formidable frame enveloping you in its embrace—you desired nothing else in that moment.

“I don’t think such words exist.” You whispered.

At last, your lips met again with an intense passion, and as he slowly pushed his cock inside, his kiss carried a raw urgency that you eagerly reciprocated. Midway, a soft moan escaped as an indescribable sensation stirred in your stomach. Gazing down, your eyes caught a glimpse of your warmth enveloping him voraciously—a hunger akin to a famished wolf.

Sandor wasn’t even in completely.

His hips moved gradually against yours, a measured rhythm aiming to acquaint you with his full length. Pressed chest to chest, he sensed the rapid cadence of your intense heartbeat, but as his fingers traced small circles on your thighs, he felt it gradually subside. Sandor understood that in due course, he would sense the resurgence of your elevated heart rate, particularly when he ultimately filled you entirely. The connection was palpable, your pelvis intimately aligned with his.

He sustained a consistent rhythm, guiding your hips in a reciprocal dance of thrusts. The entire encounter was swift and purposeful, each thrust delivered with a sense of urgency, as if time were a constraint. In a sense, it was, considering the uncertainty of someone stumbling upon you at any moment.

Yet, beneath it all, an undercurrent of passion prevailed. The symphony of your gasps harmonized with his occasional groans, creating a melodic atmosphere. Your hand remained anchored on the back of Sandor's neck like a steadying handlebar, providing support as his thrusts intensified. It felt fitting that this was how Sandor Clegane fucked his women—clothed, he embodied roughness and intensity; how could one become tender and affectionate when undressed?

The familiar sensation of tightness formed in your stomach, and truth be told, there was a hint of disappointment in how swiftly the entire encounter unfolded. Yet, the lack of surprise lingered; he had proven to be the quickest in getting you into bed. The inexplicable allure he held over you remained a mystery, but in this moment, such thoughts were irrelevant—especially when you stood on the brink of blissful release.

Suddenly, a surge of sensation swept over you as his hand enveloped your throat. Sandor felt the subtle tightening of your walls around his cock, a telltale sign that you were teetering on the edge. He sought to bring you to that exquisite pleasure. Amidst the crescendo of your growing moans reverberating against the tower walls, his grip tightened, not to stifle your ecstasy but to cloak the sounds and shield the secrecy of your rendezvous.

As tears cascaded down your cheeks in response to the overwhelming pleasure, he spoke, "That's it, (Y/N), that's it…" It was as if he momentarily shed his usual demeanor, softening as he observed you in your vulnerable state. However, amidst the whirlwind that had your head spinning and everything fading to white, the only thing you could truly register was the profound impact of your orgasm.

Sandor wasn't far behind, withdrawing as you caught your breath, leaving your back adorned in ribbons of white cum. A soft whine escaped you as you felt it trickle down, accompanied by his heightened groans that surpassed those from when he was inside you. The aftermath left both of you in a hushed stillness, contemplating who would break the silence first. It was him, rising to his feet after moving your body off his lap and discreetly tucking his softening cock back into his trousers. He handed you a handkerchief, a gesture to cleanse the now drying traces from your back.

You wondered whether he would abandon you in the tower, retreat to his quarters, or perhaps rejoin the now dwindling party. To your surprise, he didn't. Instead, he extended his hand, helping you rise and assisting in the process of reclothing yourself. It was a considerate gesture, you acknowledged, yet it only added to the palpable tension that seemed to be mounting. You were certain Sandor could discern it in your expression—the subtle frown betraying your disappointment that the encounter had concluded. As you gazed at him, you searched for any sign of shared sentiment, any indication that he, too, would miss the intimacy you had just shared. Regrettably, you found nothing.

The air outside the tower was crisp, and the moon cast a silvery glow across the surroundings as Sandor led you down the winding path to your quarters. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the tension between you two lingering even in the cool night air.

The journey was silent, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft echo of your footsteps on the cobblestone path. Sandor's hand, firm yet strangely comforting, guided you through the dimly lit passages of the castle.

As you approached your quarters, a mix of conflicting emotions washed over you. There was a longing for something more, a desire to bridge the gap between the intimacy you'd just shared and the reality of the castle walls around you. The silence between you spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in.

Upon reaching your door, Sandor released your hand, and for a moment, it felt like a sudden loss. He stood there, his expression unreadable in the muted moonlight. You searched his eyes for any sign of what lay beneath the surface, but they remained enigmatic.

"Goodnight, Lady (Y/N)," Sandor gruffly uttered, breaking the silence. The words hung in the air, a simple farewell laden with unspoken complexities.

"Goodnight, Sandor Clegane," you replied, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of something unsaid. As you entered your quarters, the door closing behind you, the weight of the night settled in.

Alone in the hushed sanctuary of your quarters, the echoes of the night's encounter reverberated through the room. The emotions, like an unruly storm, swirled within you, and the dam holding them back began to crack.

As you stood there, the weight of what had transpired bore down on you. The tears, uninvited, welled up in your eyes and spilled over, tracing the contours of your cheeks. It wasn't just the physical intimacy that left you shaken; it was the tangled web of emotions that accompanied it.

Regret gnawed at you, and confusion settled in like a heavy fog. What had led you to this precipice, and where did you stand now? The vulnerability of the moment washed over you, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

Fumbling with the fastenings of your dress, you sought solace in the act of undressing, as if shedding the layers would somehow alleviate the burden you carried. The moonlight filtering through the window cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the isolation you felt.

Laying on the bed, your tears soaked into the fabric beneath you, a silent lament for the choices made and the uncharted territories navigated. The intimacy, though a fleeting connection, left a profound impact, and the aftermath left you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

As the night wore on, the tears eventually subsided, leaving behind a quiet ache and a lingering question of what the dawn would bring. In the solace of your room, you found yourself wrestling with the complexities of desire, regret, and the uncertain path ahead.

The morning sun painted Winterfell in hues of gold, casting a warm light over the courtyard. Despite the tender touch of dawn, the echoes of the previous night's emotions still sat within your heart.

A soft knock on your door signaled the entrance of your father, whose countenance bore the strength of responsibility. "(Y/N)," he began with a softness, "gather your sisters. There's something we must discuss."

Compelled by both curiosity and a lingering sense of unrest, you summoned Arya and Sansa to join you in the family chambers. As the three of you assembled, a somber atmosphere enveloped the room, foreshadowing the gravity of your father's impending words.

Ned stood before you, a stalwart figure. "My daughters," he started, his voice bearing both love and gravitas, "a change is upon us. I have been offered the position of Hand of the King by King Robert."

Sansa's eyes widened, Arya's skepticism palpable, and you exchanged a glance with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"We will be relocating to King's Landing," Ned continued, his gaze encompassing each of you. "It is an honor, but with it comes great responsibility. The court is a labyrinth of politics and intrigue, and I need my family by my side."

Arya's rebellious spirit simmered beneath the surface, while Sansa's excitement mingled with trepidation. As for you, the events of the night before lingered, making the move to King's Landing feel like an unexpected twist in the intricate tapestry of your life.

Amidst the familial exchanges, there was another silent dance occurring—one between you and Sandor. His eyes constantly drew your gaze. It was as if an invisible thread connected you, and in those moments, the world around you blurred as your eyes met his, wordlessly conveying a shared understanding of the complexities unfolding.

Ned Stark, seemingly oblivious to the subtle interplay, continued to outline the responsibilities that awaited the Stark family in the capital. As he spoke, your eyes frequently found Sandor's, and each exchange carried a weight of unspoken emotions. His gaze, normally guarded, held a hint of something that transcended the stoic exterior he presented to the world.

When Ned mentioned the unity of the Stark family in facing the challenges ahead, your eyes involuntarily sought out Sandor's once more. In that shared gaze, there was a recognition that echoed the uncertainties of the path ahead and the uncharted territories that lay before you.

The air seemed heavy with the weight of impending change as you sought out Sandor in the quiet corners of the castle. You found him in a secluded courtyard, the familiar hounds of House Stark milling about nearby. The atmosphere was tense, and the silent exchange of glances from before lingered in your mind.

"Sandor," you began, your voice cutting through the stillness. He turned to face you, his expression guarded but expectant.

The words tumbled out, the night before demanding acknowledgement. "What happened between us… it was unexpected, and now with the move to King's Landing, I don't know what this means."

Sandor's gaze, normally impenetrable, softened in a rare display of vulnerability. "It means nothing, my Lady. Just a moment in time, and we move on."

But you couldn't shake the lingering questions. "Is that all it was to you? Just a moment?"

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty. "It was more than that, but it's not something that fits into our worlds."

A surge of frustration mixed with a tinge of sadness swept over you. "Our worlds? What does that mean, Sandor? We're both headed to King's Landing. We're both a part of whatever is coming next."

His gaze held a complexity that mirrored the conflict within. "In King's Landing, there's a different kind of game being played. I’m not the one to bring into your world, and you sure as hell don't belong in mine."

The words stung, but there was a resignation in his tone, as if he sought to shield you from the harsh realities he faced daily.

You took a step closer, unwilling to let the unspoken linger. "I can decide what world I belong to, Sandor. And right now, I want to understand what this is between us."

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and reluctance. "We're just two people caught up in a storm. Best not to overthink it."

Before you could press further, the sound of footsteps approached, and the courtyard suddenly felt less secluded. Sandor's eyes met yours once more, a silent understanding passing between you.

"In King's Landing, things will have to change," he muttered, his tone a gruff acknowledgment of the challenges ahead.

The bittersweet taste of truth lingered in the air as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead. A silent understanding passed between you, a farewell woven with unspoken regrets and the inevitability of parting ways.

As the distance between your bodies widened, the courtyard seemed to stretch infinitely. The angst that clung to the parting moments left an indelible ache, a silent ache that would resonate in the chambers of your heart long after the echoes of Sandor's footsteps faded into the shadows.

"I don't want to lose you," you confessed in your mind.

#sandor clegane smut #smut #sandor clegane #sandor the hound clegane #the hound #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you #the hound x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #reader insert #got smut

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hvshinas · 4 months

Text

Devour

Summary : Your King was absolutely insatiable.

Warnings : sexual themes, grammatical errors

A/N : Akaashi might be OOC to some, but I think I just made him even more cheeky than usual. Historical AU, but some of the dialect might be wrong

“This is a horrible idea Your Highness”

You say as you back away slowly. Arms held out as you try to keep the force in front of you away, but your back meets the cold surface of the brick wall behind you and you know that you can’t escape. You’re trapped.

“My love, just a little taste wouldn’t hurt '' he purrs as he presses your hands to his chest before sliding his own to your waist, blue eyes glimmering with mischief.

To the public eye Akaashi Keiji, the newly crowned king of the Kingdom of Ashshire, was the paragon of dignity and respect.

He commanded a room with little to no effort due to his imposing figure. His shoulders were always facing forward, never slouched. He looked directly into the eyes of those that spoke to him, and his confidence and pride never faltered in the presence of those considered of higher standing than him, but he was humble. Never believing himself to be better than others. He was kind. Always going out of his way to take care of the people of his new kingdom and it was one of the reasons you fell in love with him before you even knew that he was your betrothed, however that’s a story for another day.

But what the kingdom didn’t know. What the castle and all its employees didn’t know was that their new king had an insatiable appetite and he would eat whenever he felt like it — even if that was at the wedding of one of his closest friends.

“King Akaashi, this is neither the time nor place for such activities we both have duties to perform” you say with bated breath pushing against his chest to try and distant yourself from him

You feel his grip tighten around your waist as his lips travel down the length of your neck to the exposed tops of your breasts.

“Keiji ~” you whine “Keiji we truly do not have the time”

“My queen, I no longer have the patience to see you out of this dress. I need just a taste before we return”

His lips are on yours in an instant, tongue making a home in your mouth as he tries to memorize how you taste. Your tongue begins to move in time with his own, you’d like to believe that it’s against your will, but as you taste the remnants of the mulled wine he drank during dinner you can’t help the way you press your body into his and throw your arms around his neck, tangling your hands into the loose hair at the base of his neck

He soon pulls away, a smile tugging at his lips

“All that protest from you my queen, yet you’ve stopped trying to escape from my embrace. Wasn’t this, to quote your earlier statement, “neither the time nor place for such activities when we both have duties to perform”?

“Keiji, if you don’t put your lips against me I swear,” but he’s already on his knees before you, tossing the skirt of your dress over his head to claim his prize — your cunt.

He groans at the sight of you bare, glistening with your arousal. You wanted this just as badly as he and he would make sure to deliver.

He pulls his head from under you skirt, eyes blown in lust before he speaks

“Were you yearning for this my love? Your lips said differently, but your cunt, your cunt is weeping for me.”

And before you can respond to his brazen words he slips two fingers into your pulsing channel, ripping a moan from your throat that is far too loud for this tiny corridor to contain.

“Kei, your mouth, please your mouth”

“Whatever, my queen desires”

And then he’s back under your skirt, sealing his lips to your clit and moving his fingers against the soft, spongy wall of your vagina, pulling a pitiful cry from your throat.

You feel the coil in your stomach wind tighter and tighter at his ministrations and before you can even warn him that your about to tumble over the precipice you feel the coil break and you’re cumming all over the King’s face.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try and steady your breathing, but it’s once again stolen from you as Keiji looks deep into your eyes as he sucks your essence from his fingers

“I can’t get enough of your taste my Queen. You’re sweeter than the finest wines and honeys. I could just devour you”

And as you see how strained he is against his trousers you know that there’s no possible way you’re going to make it back to the banquet hall on time to complete your duties

You would make sure to thoroughly apologize to Bokuto and his wife at a later time, you think as you line Keiji’s cock with your aching cunt.

Yes, you would definitely make sure the two of you apologized.

End note : Thanks for reading

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celtic-crossbow · 5 months

Text

Series Masterlist

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Chapter 11

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA. Please venture forth with caution. Typical TWD violence and gore; blood; injury.

A/N: I don’t know why but I feel like Daryl is extremely OOC in this chapter. Maybe I’m just being a bully to myself. I’ll try to rein him back in with future chapters. I’m sorry.

Daryl’s feet carried him at a slow pace, seemingly knowing where he was headed. He ended up outside of the cell Hershel would use for medical purposes. Reluctantly, he tapped his knuckles against the bars and waited for the veterinarian to invite him inside.

The curtain was moved aside and Daryl noticed the absence of you and Carol immediately. “She okay?” He asked gruffly, not willing to show any fondness toward you. You likely knew exactly how he felt, at least in a physical sense. He didn’t need everyone else donning those knowing smiles like they had any clue of the turmoil he was battling inside.

Hershel stood with the help of his crutches and hobbled his way to the archer. “She’s just fine. A little shaken up but that’s to be expected for someone with her background. She said she was going back to the fences.”

Daryl nodded. “Okay then.” He turned to leave— to find you —pausing when a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“She trusts you, you know.” Hershel said with his gentle smile. The hunter enforced his unreadable mask. “She has a lot of fear and rightfully so. But she trusts you.”

“She shouldn’.” Daryl replied, blue eyes dropping toward the floor before he presented another nod and left the cell. It wasn’t that he didn’t want your trust. He didn’t deserve it. The archer knew what had been done to you, yet when he lay awake at night, it was you that he envisioned while stroking himself to the precipice of pleasure.

It was wrong.

It was immoral to fantasize about how it would have felt to have you that night beside the fire. You were willing but it wasn’t real. You wanted him because of obligation, not because you felt anything toward him. Not even because you just needed to be fucked. But because you had been brainwashed to think that was what you were supposed to do.

Guilt sat like a stone in his gut and he didn’t know how to process it; how to move past it. Maybe training you— building you up to take care of yourself —would absolve him. He could give you that, asking for nothing. You could move forward with knowing that someone could show you kindness with no strings attached.

Daryl heaved an intensive sigh and stepped outside. You would be waiting for him with those wide, pretty eyes. When he was closer to his destination, however, he found that you weren’t there. He continued regardless and collected your knife, slipping it behind his belt. You had probably wandered off with Carol when he didn’t show. It was probably for the best.

He was about halfway back to the prison door when he saw Carol exiting. Alone. Something didn’t sit right. “Hey!” He called out, waiting for her to find him when she began looking around.

“Hey, yourself!” She shouted back.

“Y/N with ya?”

“I thought she was with you.”

Fuck. Carol’s expression mirrored his own, communicating without speaking as they often did. “I’ll check the cells.”

“I’ll check the towers.”

Daryl hated running. It was all he had done since the world ended. He ran for his life or someone else’s. The latter only amounted to anything half the time. “Y/N!” He yelled the minute he stepped foot inside the prison walls.

Beth stepped up to the cellblock door with baby Judith in tow. “What’s the matter?”

“Y/N been in there?” He asked breathlessly.

“I haven’t seen her. She doesn’t spend a lot of— Daryl! What’s going on?” The young blonde yelled at his retreating form.

He didn’t answer, didn’t even stop when he snatched up his crossbow and sprinted back outside. If you had gone beyond the fence, you were as good as dead if he couldn’t get to you in time. Carol had forbidden you to enter the tombs. Surely you wouldn’t have. Would you?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He muttered, pacing back and forth in front of the door. Either scenario would mean death if he didn’t act quickly. The thought alone left a hollow ache in his chest that he was too panicked to give any attention.

You stood less of a chance in the tombs. He would start there and pray to some deity that he made the right call. His fingers had hardly brushed the door when his keen hearing picked up a sound. A shout. Daryl froze, tilting his head to listen. There was no other noise but his gut told him he needed to go investigate.

He kept his steps light but quick, crossbow loaded and ready to aim. The closer he got to the opening in the outer wall, he could hear voices. Two males.

“Don’t fuck it up too much, man.”

“Looks like someone already did that.”

Daryl’s back was pressed to the wall, about to lean around the corner for a look. The voices belonged to two men that had been allowed in that very day. Lonny and Marvin. He hadn’t felt right about them but Rick vouched for them along with the rest of the group. They could be engaged in innocent conversation, but something about the whole thing was making the archer’s teeth itch. As discreetly as possible, he peered around.

In a span of mere seconds, Daryl went through an onslaught of three intense emotions. Firstly, he was in shock. You were facedown on the concrete, blood pooled around a portion of your head while your nails scratched at the concrete. Then came the guilt. There was the smallest whimper accompanied by an utterance of ‘ow’ that made his eyes sting. Lastly, came the anger. No, it was fury. The men had ripped off the clothing from your lower half. Marvin had a hand pressed hard into the middle of your back while his other hand moved aggressively between your legs. Lonny stood just behind him, stroking his cock with the most vile expression Daryl had ever witnessed.

He didn’t hesitate to step around, crossbow level with his eyes. The weapon trembled in his grip. His blood was boiling just underneath his skin. “Ya got less than one goddamn second ta move away from her ‘fore I put a bolt in yer brain.” The low growl of his tone added intent to an already very clear threat.

Lonny moved first, releasing his dick to put his hands in the air and step back a few paces. Marvin hadn’t moved, actually smirking at Daryl. The archer gritted his teeth, really really restraining himself.

“Daryl.”

It was the tiniest whisper of a breath and the anger disappeared in an instant, his expression shifting, softening. “M’here.”

“This here your pussy, man?” Marvin’s arm moved, bringing three blood-coated fingers to his lips. “I mean, maybe we could work something out and sha—”

The bolt pierced through the side of his middle finger, into his mouth, and out through his cheek. The screams were bound to bring reinforcements, not that Daryl needed them. His blue eyes shifted to Lonny. The man hadn’t moved and continued standing stock still while another bolt was loaded.

“Ya got any propositions fer me, asshole, cause yer givin’ me a helluva target.”

Lonny shook his head vigorously.

Daryl glanced down, wanting nothing more than to run to your side but he couldn’t let his guard down. Not yet.

“Both’a ya, back the fuck up.” The archer stepped forward and Lonny stepped back while Marvin continued to scream.

“Oo choht ee ehn uh ouhth!” He attempted to complain while using the hand that wasn’t bolted to his jaw to clamber to his feet. Daryl took another step forward.

“I said BACK!” He roared. His patience was wearing thin. Marvin finally reacted and stumbled away.

“Daryl!” Carol called from just around the corner.

With help so close, Daryl abandoned the crossbow and dropped down beside you, stripping off his vest to at least provide a little coverage for you.

“Hey, ya with me?” He placed his hand on your back as gently as possible, bending forward so you could see him without the need to move. Carol, Rick, and others had arrived and were handling the men but the archer was paying them no mind. The moment your eyes blinked open, you were his sole focus.

“I… I…” You attempted before your face contorted in pain.

“Need ta getcha inside. Getcha ta Hershel.” He was trembling again, anger threatening to resurface amidst all raised voices. Keeping his hand on your back, his wild gaze searched out Rick in the flood of people. “Get ‘em the fuck outta here!”

“Hey, hey. Calm down.” Carol kneeled on your other side, sweeping your hair away from your face. It took Daryl a moment to realize she was talking to him. He nodded, gaze back on you. You hadn’t moved but your eyes remained open. “I’m gonna get a blanket.”

The archer nodded again, leaning back down after she had gone. “Yer gon’ be fine. Yer safe.” A broken sob escaped from your lips, the sound ensnaring his heart and squeezing. You moved as if you were going to push yourself up, sending Daryl into a panic. “No, don’. Stay still. M’a getcha there. Jus’ another minute.” You didn’t respond but the quiver of your lip told him you were still conscious.

The hunter heard the pounding of Carol’s boots well before she appeared with an off white sheet. His vest was tossed aside, giving him the briefest look at the blood smeared on your inner thighs. He knew then that he would murder someone that day. But you came first.

“Roll her this way.” Carol instructed, helping him move you into a position from which he could easily lift you. “Easy, easy.”

You gasped and whimpered and tried to curl in on yourself. It was all Daryl could do to keep you still. Once you were on your side, Carol brushed your hair back again. You flinched at her touch.

“You…you promised.”

His friend looked as if you’d punched her in the gut, a hand flying to her mouth; her eyes heavy with gathering tears. “Get her to Hershel.” She commanded softly.

Daryl slipped an arm under the curve of your neck and slid down to your shoulders while his other maneuvered under and around your thighs. When he lifted you, a broken cry worked its way from your throat. He was left cradling you awkwardly but you were shielded by the blanket and he could make the position work in order to get you inside. His feet were moving before his brain even registered he’d given the order.

“Daryl.” You whimpered. Your fingers, with their broken and bleeding nails, curled into the front of his shirt. “Hur…hurts.”

“I know.” He didn’t know how to reassure you; how to make this better. Carol had promised you a better life there. He had brought you there under the same assumption. If he was honest with himself, he took you out of the frying pan and tossed you right into the fire. His pace continued to increase only to slow when you’d start to cry harder. “Jus’ a lil’ further.” Was that for you or himself? He didn’t know.

When Carol caught up, she didn’t touch you. Daryl knew it wasn’t out of anger or cruelty. She felt as if she had failed you. He knew that because he knew her better than anyone.

He knew that because he had failed you too.

Daryl sat on his mattress, legs outstretched and arms lying limply in his lap. It had been hours since he’d found you. He’d taken you to Hershel and was quickly ushered out due to the location of your injuries. Carol had remained, although unsure if you even wanted her there.

The archer, with nowhere to release his guilt and anger, had headed straight for the cell where he knew Lonny and Marvin would be kept. Rick had temporarily taken his keys after the former sheriff and Glenn had finally managed to drag Daryl off of both men.

At least he had retrieved his bolt from Marvin’s face. It was now lying on the floor below his feet.

He was told to stay back when Carol had come from the medical cell and a decision was made on the fate of the two bastards. They counted his vote which was just shy of flaying them open and tossing vital organs over the fence. He had wanted to ask about you but there was no time. Everyone wanted the issue dealt with and the perpetrators out of the prison, one way or another.

In the end, they were stripped of their clothing and put outside the fence. Carol wanted them to suffer as you had suffered. Rick had disagreed but was outvoted.

Lonny and Marvin would now be two more walkers snarling at the fence.

It wasn’t enough, in Daryl’s opinion. He would have tortured them, willingly chipped away at his humanity to hear them scream; to watch them writhe and see them bleed. Regardless, the anger had given way to all encompassing guilt. He wanted to blame Rick for bringing the assholes in based on the answers to three questions that anyone could respond to with a lie. But he couldn’t.

He was the sole reason you were even there at the prison. He had gone against Rick and traded valuable assets to free you. He’d never know what would have been the better option for you. Still…

He selfishly wanted you to stay.

It would never be worth the risk of your wellbeing to explore the urges he had been feeling. He’d never put you in that position; subject you to that confusion. He just wanted you to stay for reasons he couldn’t even grasp himself. What was wrong with him? He didn’t do emotions. It was always easier to remain closed off.

Footsteps echoed from the bottom of the stairs. Carol. Daryl pulled himself from his defeatism, only to see your blood dried on his arms; his busted up knuckles.

“Hey.” He didn’t look up. “Brought your vest and crossbow.”

He still didn’t acknowledge her. He wasn’t angry with her in the slightest. He just didn’t know how to verbalize all he was feeling. He didn’t want to. So, when the mattress dipped beside him, he sighed.

“Hershel says she’ll be okay. There were…lacerations that will take some time to heal. And she has a nasty concussion.” Carol fiddled with the hem of her shirt for distraction, allowing silence to permeate the room. “She won’t talk.”

Daryl scoffed. “She thinks ya broke a promise.”

“No.” She countered. “She won’t talk to anyone. Just lays there and stares at the wall.”

He hated how that image settled in his chest, causing an unfamiliar ache. How could Hershel say she’d be alright when she had been subjected to behaviors straight out of the hell from which he’d taken her. He couldn’t do more than hum in reply.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Nah.” He lied. “Jus’ wanted her ta be safe.” That much was true, at least.

“I’d like to think I know you better than anyone.” Carol whispered sadly. “And everything in me says that you like that girl.”

“Wha’s it matter?” He would usually snap at her, but he didn’t have the energy; lacked the bite. The memory of you lying there, broken, had stripped all that away.

“It matters.” She squeezed his shoulder and stood, dragging her feet toward the stairs where she paused. “You should go see her.”

“I ain’t what she needs righ’ now.” Or ever.

It was her turn to hum. “Maybe you’re exactly what she needs.”

He listened to her steps fade the further she walked. Carol did know him better than anyone, but that didn’t make what she knew right. He needed to stay away, for your sake and his own.

So why did he find himself taking a shower to scrub away the blood you didn’t need to see? Why did he walk to the medical cell? And why was he standing in the doorway, staring at your back?

Now that he was there, he had no idea what he was supposed to say. ‘Hey, sorry ‘bout those two dickheads that took advantage of ya’? Eventually, he chose just to seat himself in the chair behind you and remain silent. He couldn’t be certain if you even knew he was there.

You looked so small on that table, the thin blanket pulled up to your shoulders. The sheet he had wrapped you in was wadded up in the corner, the crimson splotches scattered like a grizzly design. Daryl’s hands curled into fists. He wished he could have watched the walkers tear into those two depraved assholes.

He remained that way— a coiled spring of anger and self-loathing —until you stirred. It was the slightest shift accompanied by a nearly inaudible mewl. The archer straightened his spine but otherwise remained still. He still couldn’t understand why he was there; couldn’t even attempt to sort through the sentiments stirring inside. They were slowly consuming him, confounding and confusing in their ambush. All he knew was that you were there, breathing and heart beating, and the sight of you provoked the overwhelming emotions. They threatened to swallow him whole. He’d gladly allow them if it meant he’d gain understanding.

You shifted again, turning your head slowly to peer at him with tired eyes from over your shoulder. Daryl felt his lungs attempt to freeze while his pulse fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings. Carol had said you refused to speak. He wasn’t refusing. He simply couldn’t. He settled with offering a slow nod.

His breath stuttered when you responded— not verbally —but with a small smile. It didn’t meet your eyes, but it was new and not unwelcome. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair, knuckles white. He wanted to run. This wasn’t him. For Rick, for Carol, he’d do this. He’d stay. They had become friends. No. They had become family. You? You were different. You weren’t an enemy. You weren’t really a friend. You were a stranger, a newcomer. Yet somehow, you had managed to slither your way right under his skin.

That was terrifying. He’d rather be thrown into a pit of walkers with only a toothpick to protect himself than deal with matters of the heart. He was out of his depth, alone in unfamiliar territory. And at that point, it was sink or swim.

Daryl cleared his throat. “How, uh, how ya doin’?” He managed to relax enough to free the chair from the death grip. The corners of your mouth turned down, your eyes beginning to shine with moisture as you looked away. The archer didn’t know how to interpret that. “I should go.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, finding himself hesitant to leave you alone. But it was for the best. He shouldn’t have come in the first place. He wasn’t sure what else to say. The silence made him feel even more awkward.

Hands on the wooden chair arms, he pushed himself up to stand. Grunting was apparently Daryl-speak for ‘goodnight’ or ‘feel better’ but that’s what he went with. It never failed him before. Quick to turn his back, he made it two whole steps.

“Daryl?”

The archer’s eyes closed, a curse sitting on the tip of his tongue. Of course he’d be the one you chose to talk to. Dixon luck at its finest. He turned his head toward his left shoulder, purposefully keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Stay?” Your request came softly, but powerful enough to shatter any resolve he had managed to muster within his inner battlefield. Daryl found himself easily turning back to you, taking back those two steps, and lowering into the chair.

“Okay.”

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@royaltysuite @thegeorgiahuntsman @livingdeadblondequeen @deansapplepie @feral4daryl @walker-bait-1973 @lazyneonrabbitt @bizquake @littlelovingideas @ririi-3 @ankhmutes @blackvelveteen1339 @sokkasimp101 @lehhos @1ivinqdeadqir1main @loganlostitall @callmeyn @lilyevanstan1325 @the-lonely-abyss @gutsby @eljaynosine_triphosphate @abbyreedus @wifeof-barnes @bananafire11 @hutchersonsgurl @the-milk-is-rotten @she-could-never @Kenzimae67 @nessa-mayfield @ilovedilfs4eversthings @richardsamboramylove55 @annhells @abi67sblog @nessieart @imgeorgeclooney @brinteylovesaliens @eduardast4rgirl @daryldixmedown @willowaftxn83-87 @atyourmomshouse01 @bultamer @mia051 @memphiscity69 @flowerspetalsthorns @riya12044 @ariacraigggg @morgan556 @carley12041 @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @twdislifee @bae-live-0 @elbellmam @aleemendoza2425-blog @randomhoe @ren9sstuff @pandarooooo-blog @let-love-bleeds-red

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kittievampire · 1 year

Text

Okae so like I know that I have a lot of requests waiting to be written but I had to get this off my mind immediately. I hope you like~

Click here if you wanna request!

My Little Shrimpy~

Warnings: Smut, Floyd Leech x F!MC, Bloodplay (?), Cockwarming, Degradation, Edging, Pretty short ngl, Maybe ooc Floyd (this is my first work with him, don't hurt me)

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

Enjoy.

"Neeee~ Look at that cute little face you're makin', Shrimpy~" Your boyfriend cooed tauntingly at you, his hands holding your hips in place so that you wouldn't move. He'd told you once and you tried it anyway, now he couldn't trust you not to move while cockwarming him!

A blush formed on your face as you turned your head away, trying to avoid his gaze. "F-Floyd, please..." You whined, legs trembling from the stimulation. Or rather, lack thereof. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock, which snuggled right against your cervix, trying so desperately to coerce him into moving.

The twin simply chuckled, one of his hands moving up to squeeze your breast. He hummed, shaking his head. "I told you, if you make me wait for you to come over for a little playtime, I'm gonna make you wait for me to cum first." He pressed a kiss to the skin between your shoulder and neck before dragging his tongue over the supple flesh. "You had me waiting forever, Shrimpyyyy." He slurred the nickname he'd given you, almost as if trying to emphasize how tired he was of waiting so long for you to be done running around with those two weirdos from Heartslabyul and the little seal you share a dorm with.

His tone changed, cock twitching inside of your quivering cunt as he bared his teeth. "Those three eat up all of our alone time, MC, and you just sit there and let them!" Floyd's hand traveled down to your neglected clit, rubbing quick circles along the sensitive bud. "Do you like seeing me jealous, huh? Is that it, Shrimpy? You get off to it knowing I'll be mean to you?" You threw your head back, letting out a loud cry of pleasure as tears began to form in your eyes, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter. "You're such an attention-seeking slut, aren't you?" He ground his hips against yours, thrusting harshly into your pussy as his brows furrowed, sharp teeth biting down at your shoulder, making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

The iron taste of crimson filled his mouth as all of his movements slowed to a halt, arms slowly wrapping around your waist. He gently lapped up the blood that spilled from the bite mark, kitten licks serving as apologies for the harsh treatment, despite your obvious enjoyment. You mewled in frustration, arching your back to try to get some friction between the two of you, but the precipice was already far from your grasp, and your orgasm would have to wait.

"But you'll make it up to me, right?" He pressed a tender kiss to your neck, hugging you close to him so that your nude form would be pressed against his.

"You're so cute, I just wanna squeeze your adorable little body. Maybe I should do it in front of them next time, just so they can see who you belong to, My Little Shrimpy~"

Masterlist

#twisted wonderland #tw floyd leech #floyd leech smut #tw floyd leech smut #floyd leech #tw floyd smut #tw smut #twisted wonderland smut

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welcometowhore-rrorville · 11 months

Text

𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝐻𝑜𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎

Featuring: Lester Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: don’t trust strangers, implied drugging, pretty tame until the end, you crash your car, don’t text and drive, watch out for animals on the road, yandere-ish themes, may be ooc but i tried my best, southern accent source: born in alabama, edited but i make mistakes so let me know

It was nothing but in character for your friend to ghost you for a few days—phone going straight to voicemail until the small device was filled to the brim with your annoyed messages. You hated when she didn’t reply, but she would always text back, hungover and begging for a ride back home from miles out of town.

This time, however, it had been almost two weeks with no sign of her. Sure, she made bad decisions, but you hoped that she would surface, maybe a little drunk but unharmed.

You slid your flip-phone back in your pocket after checking for messages, the device barely fitting into your high-waisted shorts. You would one day find and murder whoever made the sizings on women’s pockets.

Rolling your eyes, you continued down the road in your beat-up car. It wasn’t much, but it got you where you needed to go and that’s all you could ask for. You just prayed it wouldn’t break down out here—you had been following a winding country road for miles, trying to spot any sign of your missing friend. There was some kind of party going on way out in the country, and of course she just had to go.

It was stupid—you shouldn’t be so worried, and you definitely shouldn’t keep acting like her babysitter, but you couldn’t just not look for her.

Your eyes scanned the shoulders, checking for any mailbox or sign somebody actually lived out here. You’d never gone this way before—the highway was much quicker—but your friend couldn’t make it easy for you.

You closed your eyes for just a moment, letting out a sigh, before opening them again.

You screamed as you slammed on the brakes, seeing a dog wander out into the road. It wasn’t on your side, but you couldn’t live with yourself if something happened to it on your account.

You slid harshly as you veered off the road, tires squeaking on the rough asphalt. You felt yourself hit dirt, and finally came to a sudden halt—the front of your car firmly dented with a tree blocking your vision. Smoke emanated from the hood.

Luckily, you didn’t slam your head into anything, but you still felt the force of the impact, letting out a breathless sigh as you fell back against your seat.

You switched the car off, wincing just thinking about the damage. Still, as you exited your now ruined vehicle, your mind was on one thing—was the dog okay?

You scanned the road, spotting the black and white dog sitting on the other side of the road, tongue out as it looked at you.

“Oh, thank God,” you mumbled, clutching your head. You turned back to look at your car, not even bothering to attempt to open the hood. You’d need a tow, that’s for sure.

You pulled your phone out, popping it open. No signal. You groaned. This just wasn’t your day.

Stumbling to the edge of the road, you looked both ways before crossing. The dog had to have an owner somewhere—maybe they could help you out?

By the time you made it to the other side, the pit-mix was standing a few feet away, already trotting back into the woods.

“Wait!” you called after it, following the dog as best you could through the overgrown forest. Branches scraped at your bare arms and legs, and suddenly you wished you were in something other than a tank top and shorts.

Finally, you stopped at the edge of a precipice, looking down the steep hill where the dog was now trotting around a large pile of road-kill. You screwed your face up at the smell. You supposed it all had to go somewhere, but did you have to stumble upon it?

The dog sat patiently next to a beat-up truck, and you watched as a man exited the vehicle.

“Jonesy, there you are! Where d’ya think you’re runnin’ off to, huh?”

The man looked like you expected someone who hung out next to a road-kill pile all day would look. Not that he was ugly, but he just—he had the look of someone who was always working and nothing else. His jeans were ripped and the t-shirt he wore had too many stains to count. The flannel he had on top was fraying at the edges, but his attire suited him.

“Hey!” you called from the top of the hill, trying your best to work your way down without falling face-first into a pile of road-kill. “I wrecked a little ways away from here—anywhere you know that can give me a tow?”

The man met your gaze, a toothy grin on his face. He met you just before you got to the bottom of the hill, holding out a hand to lead you around the pile. You smiled back at him, taking it as he guided you back to his truck.

“Sure, I know a place. Just up the road. What’re you doin’ all the way out here?”

“One of my friends is missing—I’m trying to find her,” you replied, finally releasing his hand as you stopped in front of his truck. He smelled of dead animals, but you supposed that came with the job. You watched as he shut the trunk of his truck.

He gestured to his vehicle. “Well, come on, then. I’ll give you a ride. Can’t have you runnin’ around out here gettin’ lost.”

You hesitated only for a second but soon realized you didn’t have another choice. You took a deep breath, grabbing the handle and popping the door open. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, just Lester’s fine. I don’t look like much of a sir,” he said with a laugh.

Jonesy hopped in before you had the chance to slide in yourself. You smiled at the dog who was probably used to riding shot-gun. You climbed in next to her as Lester jumped into the driver’s seat.

You shut the door next to you, all the while trying not to startle the dog who seemed very much content with spreading out over the small seating space.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” he said, giving her a pat on her side as she lay against his lap. “She’s spoiled. Give ‘er a few pets and she’ll never leave your side.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to place a hand against her side. She lifted her head up, turning to look at you, tail wagging against your thigh.

“She’s a cutie,” you replied, beginning to pet her softly. For a dog out and about in the woods, she sure had some soft fur. You thought it was endearing she was better groomed than he was—what a kind guy, taking care of his dog so nicely.

“Oh, and she knows it, too,” he said, shaking his head as he laughed goofily. He gave her head a pet.

“So,” you started, looking up from the dog to look at the road—well, dirt path, you should say. “What’s this place? I didn’t know anybody lived back here.”

“It’s an old town—used to be pretty popular ‘til that highway was built. Still, Bo’s in town—he should get you all set. Think he’s still got his tow-truck runnin’.”

“Thanks again for driving me,” you replied, any anxiety soothed by the happy dog who had now turned to place her head in your lap. You gave her a scratch behind the ear causing her leg to start thumping. You laughed. “Must not get many strangers around here.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lester replied. “Every now-n-then some new city folks come around, all off-put by what we do out here. They never stay long. It’s a real shame.”

You shrugged. “Might not be the best job, but someone’s gotta do it,” you said, hand resting against Jonesy’s head. She let out a soft whine, nestling further into your shirt. “AT least you don’t deal with people much. I’d prefer hanging out with this sweetheart than dealing with customers any day.”

“Guess that’s true. Seems she’s takin’ a real likin’ to ya, too. Don’t steal her away from me now!”

You laughed. “D’aww, plans foiled,” you joked. She was a cute dog, but you’d never take a beloved pet away from its owner. Especially when he seemed like a genuinely nice guy who was trying to help you out.

You watched as he stopped in front of a rather large puddle in the dirt track, and you could spot the tire tracks running through it before submerging beneath the murky water.

“That’s not good,” you replied. “Can you get through that?”

He shrugged. “Lemme lock the hubs right quick and we’ll see. Might take a few minutes but it shouldn’ be a problem.”

You bit your lip, debating something. “Oh, it’s alright. The town is just up ahead, yeah? I’ll just walk. You’ve already helped me out enough. I don’t want to put you out any more.”

“You sure?” he replied. “I ain’t in any rush.”

“It’s nice out—some exercise will do me good anyway,” you responded. Jonesy whined, seemingly aware you were about to leave.

“Tell ya what. I gotta few things to do before I head in—why dontcha take Jonesy with ya—it’ll make me feel better that you’re not out here alone. I’ll meetcha at Bo’s shop in a few.”

It was your turn to protest. “Oh, you don’t have to—” you were interrupted when the dog nosed at your hand.

“See, she wants to come with, anyway. She’s a good girl—will even lead ya straight to the town.”

You nodded. “Okay, if you say so. You said Bo is who I’m lookin’ for?”

“Yup,” he said, hopping out and walking over to your side. He popped the door open before holding out his hand. “Tell ‘em Lester sent ya.”

You took his hand, hopping out as Jonesy stretched before following behind you. She stuck to your side, taking a seat.

Lester bent down, giving her a kiss to her forehead. “You take care of the lil lady, gotcha? Go straight to town. No more chasin’ rabbits.”

You smiled. “Thanks again. I’m (Y/N), by the way.”

“Nice to meetcha,” he said, tipping his hat goofily. “Now go on—just follow Jonesy.”

You did as he said, looking to the dog as she stood up, now trotting along the side of the washed out path.

You followed, making sure to stay out of the mud as much as possible. You would hate to slip and fall, and this time there was no sweet man to guide you.

Still, you managed to make it all the way to the town with no issue, tagging behind Jonesy as she pitter-pattered down the street, tail wagging behind her.

She looked like she was leading you straight to your destination, even now that you were within town limits.

Lester was right—it was quiet here. It was like a ghost town. Still, it was relaxing in a way. No traffic. No angry honking or screaming children. Just cute little shops and quaint houses.

You spotted a few sleeping puppies in a window of a pet store, but forced yourself to keep going. You had a wrecked car that might’ve been on fire by now—you didn’t have time to buy a dog.

Speaking of dogs, you noted Jonesy was now stopped in front of a body shop, paws scratching against the door. Music sounded from within.

You trotted up behind her, opening the door to let her in. She looked back at you before continuing deeper into the shop.

You cautiously entered, door shutting behind you.

“Hello?” you called, staying near the entrance as you paced around. You didn’t bother looking at the shelves—you knew damn well there’d be nothing you recognized. You weren’t a car person, but you knew when you needed a tow. So that’s what you hoped for.

“Is anybody here?” you called again, waiting in the now empty lobby. Jonesy had trekked off somewhere. Maybe to fetch your guy?

Sure enough, you heard the music shut off and the sound of boot steps coming closer, and you spotted a man come out from one of the back rooms.

He reminded you of Lester, though certainly more cleaned up. Clean shaven. Neatened hair that still fell messily against his face. A jumpsuit with a few stains on it zippered against him let you know he must’ve been working when you showed up. He still held a wrench in his hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he spoke, confusion in his words. “How’d you wind up all the way out here?”

“Umm, Lester sent me. Said to look for someone named Bo who had a tow truck. I crashed my car avoiding Jonesy here,” you said, reaching down to pet the dog who was now standing next to you. “But, she led me here so no hard feelings,” you joked.

“Well, you found ‘im,” he said, slipping the wrench in his pocket before taking off his hat, “And I did have a tow truck. As luck would have it, I’m tryna fix the damn thing right now.” He brushed his hair back with his hand before popping his hat back on.

You tried not to show your disappointment. Great. What the hell were you supposed to do now? “I see. . . Think it’s gonna be fixed any time soon?”

He gave you a half-smile. “Maybe—once I figure out what’s wrong with it. Thing just stopped on me.”

You weren’t sure what to do, hands resting nervously on your belt loops. “Well, uhh, think I could borrow a phone? I don’t have any signal out here.”

“Phone’s haven’t worked here in years,” he said, letting out a soft laugh. “Hell, this place ain’t even on the map anymore.”

You clicked your tongue. What now?

He noted your dismayed expression. “Hey—don’t make that face, honey. Have a little faith in me. I should have it good-as-new by tomorrow.”

You thought about your options—which weren’t many. The only thing you could think of was staying somewhere in this town until you could get your car towed, but who-knows how long it’ll be until it can be fixed, or if it can be. What then? Ask someone to drop you off at the nearest phone-booth? You were stuck. Still, you had to take it one thing at a time. First-things-first—”This town have a hotel?” you asked.

He stifled a laugh. “Sure—right next to the McDonald’s and the roller skating rink.”

So no. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You hadn’t seen but two people the whole time you were here—including the one you were talking to.

“There’s that frown again. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a spare bedroom up at my place. Nothin’ fancy, but enough to get you through until I can get my truck runnin’.”

If you had a nickel for every time you met a kind stranger who offered you help despite not knowing you or having any reason for doing so, you’d have two nickels. Which wasn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice today.

That feeling of anxiety bubbled up again. “I don’t want to intrude—”

He waved you off, walking past you to open up the door. “What’d I say about worryin’ about things? C’mon. I’ll show ya. The room’s got a lock on it in case yer scared I’ll try somethin’.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, I just—” he cut you off, giving your head a gentle pat as you walked out behind him.

“Just teasin’, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna mess with ya.”

You let out an awkward laugh. You certainly didn’t feel safe staying in a stranger’s home, but followed him, nonetheless, listening as he described the few places you passed on the way. Jonsey trailed next to you, bumping your leg every once-in-a-while. At least you had another girl with you—sort of.

Another girl. . . A sudden thought struck you. If something happened to your friend around here, she probably ended up here at some point.

“Hey, sir,” you said, causing him to slow down and match your pace. He walked beside you. “Was there a woman here any time in the past two weeks? Long blonde hair, brown eyes, attractive and also probably drunk?”

“Two things, honey. One—just call me Bo. I ain’t yer teacher. And two—we haven’t seen anybody in at least a month ‘til you showed up. Sorry. I’ll keep an eye out, though.”

You nodded. “Thank you, sir—err, Bo. For all of this. I was an idiot coming out here alone.”

“‘S’not so bad? Ya ran into me, didn’t ya?”

You laughed. “I guess I did. Y’all are good people. Thank you.”

“You can quit thankin’ me—I ain’t even done anything yet.”

You didn’t reply and the rest of the short walk went in silence. You glanced beside you to look at him—Bo. This whole town was bizarre, and you wondered how he wound up here. You figured he had to be born here. You doubted this place was booming in the immigration industry.

Still, you didn’t pry, and before you knew it you reached a house. He reached into his pocket, grabbing a key and sticking it in the lock. You heard a click and the door swung open with a creak. Jonesy quickly trotted inside, vanishing behind a door frame.

“It’s dark in here—old house ‘n all. Lights don’t work like they used to. Just watch yer step.”

You nodded, but almost as soon as you entered, your foot clipped against a stray shoe, and you let out a gasp as you tripped forward, bumping into Bo. Luckily, he’d turned around to shut the door behind the two of you and he steadied himself in time, arms wrapping around you to stabilize you.

You were met with the smell of gasoline and oil as your face pressed against his chest. You quickly held your hands out, pushing against him as you backed up. Your face burned.

“Careful, now,” he chastised, hands moving to rest on your shoulders. He moved a finger to tuck underneath your chin, pulling your head upwards to look at him. He smirked. “Wouldn’t wantcha gettin’ hurt. ‘Specially that pretty face.”

“Sorry,” you stuttered out, eyes avoiding his gaze. “Didn’t mean to bump into you.”

“Never said you did,” he teased, winking before turning back around after shutting the door. The whole house was engulfed in darkness. “Now c’mon. I’ll show you the guest room. If you can make it there without killin’ yerself.”

Face burning from his teasing, you didn’t reply, too embarrassed. Your hands were out on either side, trying to feel for the walls. He carried on confidently, seemingly used to the dark hallways. Finally, he stopped at a room, swinging it open. Light flooded in through a window, and you spotted a few matching furniture pieces along with a small bed with floral bedding. It was cute. And also dusty. Like it hadn’t been used in years. You supposed they didn’t have many guests.

“Make yerself at home, sweetheart. I’ll be back. I’m gonna wash up. Want any coffee, tea?”

You shook your head. “No, thank you.”

“Alright. Bathroom’s down the hall if you need me.”

You nodded, watching as he turned and vanished down the hall. You took a seat on the cozy bed, bedding sinking underneath you. You felt a thin layer of dust coat your hands when you pressed into the fabric.

Deciding to do a little cleaning, you stood back up before grabbing the blanket and sliding it off the bed, shaking it off as you held it out in front of you. You watched the dust fly off, floating in the air as it caught the window light. You scrunched your nose. It was a solid minute of shaking before no more dust fell, and once you were content, you lowered the blanket back down, only to scream.

In front of you was a man—a tall and strange man, with long black hair and a pale mask covering his face, mimicking his features. He stared at you, a clay-working tool in his hand as he stood in the doorway.

He took a few steps forward, leading you to toss the blanket back on the bed and scramble away, shooting past him and running down the hall.

“Bo!” you screamed, spotting the door in which steam was cascading out from under. He must’ve been in the shower. You knocked on the door hurriedly. “Bo! There’s someone else in the house!”

You heard the running of water shut off, followed by the sound of the door creaking open.

You stared at the wet face of Bo, hair drenched and dripping down, splattering against his bare chest and shoulders. “What’s all the fuss?”

You almost forgot why you knocked before realizing the stranger still lurked just out of arm’s reach, standing down the hallway. You looked on the verge of tears.

“There’s a man,” you said, pointing a finger down the hallway.

Bo opened the door wider to peer out, spotting the looming figure, still clutching his tool. He rolled his eyes, frowning.

“Vincent! What do you think yer doin’, scaring her like that! She’s our company. Now get outta here and make yerself useful! Start dinner.”

The masked man didn’t reply, only tilting his head slightly. His shoulders were slumped like a child scolded. He began to lift a hand, but Bo’s glare stopped him.

“What are ya, deaf? I said get to makin’ dinner! And feed Jonesy, too.”

The lumbering man turned around slowly, making his way back down the hallway and away from you. You let out a sigh, hand on your chest.

“Didn’t think to tell ya about him—that’s my brother. Doesn’t get out much. Hell, I don’t see him most of the time—he’s always workin’ on something up in that house of wax.”

You had no idea what he was talking about but hummed in acknowledgement, anyway. As long as you weren’t in danger, you didn’t care.

“It’s okay, just scared me,” you said. You stepped away from the door. “I’ll let you get back to your shower. Sorry.”

“Don’ worry about it. Yer my company—I’m here to help ya. Need anything else or he becomes a pain in the ass, just holler.” With that, he shut the door again, though not enough to click it shut. “I’ll leave it open just in case,” he said with a wink.

You forced yourself to turn away from the slit in the door, instead nodding. You trotted back to the guest room, but spotted Jonesy turning a corner and decided to follow. You’d rather hang with her than be alone.

You wound up in a living area and kitchen, seeing the dog curled up on a well-used couch. You started to make your way over but paused when you spotted the masked man in the kitchen, large figure reaching to grab some spices from the cabinet. He carefully seasoned a pot of something on the stove.

You didn’t know if you should say anything, and so sat silently down next to Jonesy, giving her a few pets.

Without hesitation she clambered onto your lap, and though you couldn’t breath nearly as well now, you forced yourself to remain still as she made herself comfortable. You weren’t about to disturb her.

You absentmindedly combed through her fur, eyes closing as you leaned against the couch.

You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until you awoke to Jonesy clambering off of you, tail wagging as a metal bowl was placed down in the kitchen.

You opened your eyes, looking around. You spotted Bo and Vincent in the kitchen behind you, talking about something you weren’t close enough to hear. Lester was there, too, though he was preoccupied with feeding Jonesy, who was digging into some kibble.

The smell of warm spices filled your nose, and you stood up from the couch, slowly walking towards the kitchen.

“Hey, sleepin’ beauty,” Bo commented, leaning against the kitchen counters as he shooed Vincent away. “Have a nice nap?”

Your cheeks burned. “Sorry.”

“Don’ apologize, you didn’t do nothin’ wrong. In fact, Vince just finished cookin’ up dinner. Take a seat.” He pulled out a worn chair from the dining table, gesturing for you to sit down. You thanked him with a nod.

“You guys are the perfect picture of southern hospitality,” you said, watching as a plate of wonderful smelling chili was placed in front of you. “Glad I stumbled onto the good kind of strangers.”

The others took their seats, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Vincent would remove his mask. Maybe he was self-conscious about something? You’d been there.

Bo and Lester each let out a laugh. “We’re far from angels,” Bo quipped, sticking a spoon in his chili. “But it’s nice to have some company around. Well, company that’s not a douchebag.”

“Well thanks for having me,” you replied, lifting your utensil to your mouth. It was seasoned beautifully, and you had to stop yourself from slurping the whole bowl down, taste warm and homely on your tongue. “This is really good,” you complimented. “You’re a good cook, Vincent.” You nodded in the direction of the man.

He made no move to touch his food, mask still firmly on his face. You frowned. “Are you alright?”

“He’s a shy bastard,” Bo chimed in. “Hates to be seen without that mask on.”

“Is it because I’m here? I can go somewhere else if you’re—”

Bo cut you off. “You don’t gotta do that. He’s just a baby. He’ll get over it.”

You shot Vincent a sympathetic look. It seemed like Bo was the one in charge of things. You wondered if that contributed to his secluded attitude.

“He made the food,” you replied. “I’d just hate for him to not eat because of me.”

“He’ll live.”

You went back to eating, but occasionally looked to the quiet brother, still sitting frozen in his seat, fiddling with his long sleeves.

“So,” you started, “What’s this house of wax that you mentioned earlier? Like a wax museum?”

“Pretty much,” Bo replied. “The whole damn thing’s made a’ wax. Somethin’ of an engineering miracle. Not that anybody comes ‘round to see it anymore.”

“Could I see it sometime?”

“Vincent’s up there all the time. Sure he won’t mind if you tag along. Hmm?”

You watched as the pair stared at each other until Vincent finally nodded gently.

“It’s a little late for it tonight, but you can go up there tomorrow. I’ll see if I can get my tow truck up n’ runnin’.”

You nodded in agreement, pausing as a yawn left your lips. “Sorry. Been a long day, I guess,” you said, covering your mouth with your hand.

“Don’ worry about it. Go ‘head and get to bed. We’ll clean up, darlin’.”

You wanted to argue, but suddenly felt too tired to do so, barely able to support yourself as you stood from the table shakily. You wobbled only a few feet before collapsing onto your knees.

Lester got up, hand on your back. “‘Ey, you alright?”

“‘M fine. . .” you slurred, vision going black. “Just. . . tired. . . “

With that, you slumped completely forwards, leaving Lester to pull you against him.

“That worked fast,” Bo commented, standing up from the table. He kneeled by you, hand sneaking into your back pocket to pull out your phone. He stashed it away in his own pocket. “Put ‘er in the spare bedroom. But don’ be rough with ‘er.”

Lester did as told, Jonesy whining behind him as he carried you down the hall.

Vincent remained seated, eyes glued to his brother’s back as he left with you in his arms. He turned to look at Bo, head tilted. He didn’t speak, but it was obvious he wanted an answer.

“What? I ain’ gonna kill this one. I like ‘er. ‘sides. Might be nice with a lady around here.”

Vincent sighed underneath his mask. Something about you intrigued him, but unfortunately, it seemed like his brothers had that same feeling.

He just hoped you’d stay with them willingly. He would hate for more drastic measures to be taken.

161 notes · View notes