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pandora-writes-one-piece · 30 days ago

Note

first off, happy happy birthday to you!!!! Thank you for spoiling us on your birthday.

That being said, my heart is feeling angsty so I wanna request the prompt "Stop pretending that you care! We both know you don't." for a fem reader x Kid (NSFW)!

Again, happy birthday lovely! :3

Hello! @limitlesstildil thank you sooo much for your birthday wishes and for your awesome prompt! Now, I've taken some liberties with it, but I do hope you don't mind! It's now a three part fic of Highlander!Kid, sharing the spotlight with another prompt (to be seen in the last chapter). The NSFW part was pushed forward too, okay? I hope this is still okay! Thank you so much for participating! ❤️

Source for Pic

Mine to Protect

Word Count: 4969

Tags for the whole story: Highlander!Kid; Fem!Reader; Alternate Universe - Scotland 13th century; Gore; Blood; Violence; Death; Mild Angst; Fluff; Nudity; Cursing; Sexual Tension; Explicit Sexual Content; Protective!Kid; Possessive!Kid; Soft!Kid; Feral!Kid; Jealous!Kid; Happy Ending; Sort of Enemies to Lovers; Teasing; Banter; NSFW; MDNI; Mature Audiences;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Your father and his allied clans are at war, and you're a liability. When you're assigned a guard to protect you - against your will - you do everything in your power to infuriate him. The problem is that he can be more infuriating than you, as you're about to find out.

Notes: Okay... it's finally here! I coudn't hold out any longer. It turned out to be 16k words, so I've divided it in three (not equal parts because the splitting would be weird, obviously). I edited the first part and plan on editing the rest soon. I will have the entire fic out by the end of the week! Gosh... I'm very proud of this one, I do hope you enjoy, let me know!

Part 1 of 3

“I don't need a guard!” Your angered cry echoes down the halls of the keep, but the stationed guards at the entrance barely even flinch at your outburst since it’s a regular occurrence.

You have been at odds with your father, the laird, since early morning and, as night approaches fast, he’s tired of arguing with you. But no matter how much you argue like a wild thing, plead as if he were a deity or present your arguments politely as a lady, he doesn’t budge.

“You need a guard!” Your father says with a firm growl of your name. “We are at war and you're an easy target, daughter!” You scoff, outraged at the insinuation. You might be a lady, but you know how to defend yourself and you’re a feisty creature. “I don't want to hear any more of what you have to say! Out with you! You'll meet your guard later.”

With a screech so loud it could make a banshee blush in embarrassment, you leave the chamber, stamping your feet like a bratty child, feeling much like one since, apparently, you need nannying. And, well, if you’re to be nannied like a baby, you might as well act like one, while you still can.

Passing by the kitchen, you grab a hemp sack and fill it with anything you can get your hands on: bread, fruit, salted meat and grains. It weighs like hell but you couldn't care less. You have a point to prove.

You don’t need a guard. You can handle yourself.

Night falls quickly and you use the waning light of the sickle moon to guide your steps, the same ones you’ve taken since you were a child. The only difference is that now you’re facing wartime and the streets aren’t as safe as they used to be.

But the people need you and you won’t sit idly by while children starve.

-*-

He was supposed to introduce himself to you as soon as he arrived at the keep, but Kid likes to observe first, so he stuck to the shadows. Despite being big, bulky and muscular, he can move like one. When Kid spots you leaving the keep just as the moon appears in the sky, he realises you're going to be trouble.

Kid’s sick and tired of being a nursemaid to stuck-up, entitled ladies who think they alone rule the world. Yet, here he is again, his body too broken to be a proper warrior, but not broken enough to be able to retire peacefully.

With a heavy sigh and a curse, Kid follows you into town, all the while realising just how reckless you’re being with your actions. Your father hired him because of the war, which means nowhere is safe. Especially after nightfall. Especially if you’re a noble lady.

But you don’t seem to care.

He follows you around town while you knock on doors, delivering food and even some jewellery. He hasn’t even spoken to you and your actions are already intriguing him. He’s never met a noble lady who would willingly part with jewels, let alone give them to townspeople.

Yet, he doesn’t let that cloud his judgement. You think you’re being inconspicuous as you parade around town wearing your expensive velvet cape, with an air about you that clearly states you’re regal. No town girl would have such perfectly braided hair, and fair skin, poised grace, and natural beauty, as well as an elegance to your movements. You’re a dead giveaway for who you are.

And that’s dangerous in these streets.

Tutting silently, Kid watches as you traverse a dark alleyway and, immediately, a group of brigands follows you, their eyes already glinting with greed and something else. Kid approaches, ready to intervene as he’s being paid to do. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the way you pull out two daggers from your thighs and start fending them off.

A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as he realises you aren’t as defenceless as he thought you to be.

Slicing your way through the brigands, you manage to cut one on the arm and another across his torso, which only makes them more enraged, but Kid nods approvingly from the shadows. There’s more to you than just a pretty face.

Then you make a mistake. You lose sight of the largest man in the group and he gets behind you, locking your arms and incapacitating you immediately. With a grunt, Kid pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on and grips his Lochaber axe with his good arm. Time to intervene.

It takes only the blink of an eye for him to reach you. His weak arm slams a punch to the jugular of the man pinning you, causing him to let go and fall to his knees, gasping for air. Pivoting, Kid slices another brigand with a swing of his long axe, his guts splashing to the floor with a sickening sound as the man screams himself into shock. With a thrust of the weapon, Kid immediately kills the remaining brigand by piercing his neck.

He didn’t even break a sweat.

“I’m not scared of you!” You say, breathing hard, pants escaping your parted lips and Kid can clearly see your fists trembling as you grip the handle of your blade. You mistook him for another brigand. Smirking, Kid takes one step forward and you gasp. “Don’t come any closer.” Your voice is firmer now, a hint of aggression in your words. Good.

He still takes another step, and with a swing of the axe, he lunges. You shriek and tense up but open your eyes as soon as you hear another sickening slice and the unmistakable gargle of a man drowning in his own blood. Kid sliced the neck of the brigand who had pinned you at the beginning of the skirmish and was getting ready to run away.

“I said back away!” You lunge, place your foot wrong and throw your weight like an amateur. Kid scoffs and easily disarms you, raising an eyebrow as if asking if that’s all you’ve got. You huff and puff like a wild beast and lunge empty-handed this time, landing a punch on his chest which he barely feels. He chuckles again and you seethe, swinging again, trying to hit his jaw, but this time he stops your mid-air, twisting your body and pinning your arm behind your back.

“Yer swingin’ like ye’ve never thrown a proper punch, lass.”

-*-

You blush from the tips of your ears to your flaming cheeks as the man twists your arm further, making you wince. Who is he? He easily took down the brigands who attacked you, but he doesn’t look like a common thief. He moves like a warrior, even though his left arm seems slower and heavier.

“Let me go!” You hiss, feeling his taut muscles press against your back.

“Ye did alright with the daggers, but there’s a lot to be said about yer footwork. Also…” His large, calloused hand reaches out as he pulls the hood of your cloak down, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck. “If yer gonna walk the streets of a war-torn town at night, ya better do it dressin’ like a commoner, no’ a noble, aye, lass?”

The nerve!

“Who are you, trying to tell me what to do? Let me go, right now!” He twists your arm more, and your hiss turns into a groan, but you refuse to scream in pain. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction, though it almost feels like your arm is about to fall out of its socket.

“Who am I?” He chuckles. “That’s rich. I’m the one who just saved yer spoiled ass from gettin’ robbed. Or worse, lassie.”

You lower yourself, sensing a slight give in your arm as he loosens his grip, and elbow him hard in the stomach as you manage to break free from his grasp, hearing him grunt slightly. “I didn’t ask for your help, you brute.” You take two steps back, swiftly scanning the floor, hoping to find your fallen dagger. Since you can’t locate it, you focus back on the enemy, and your eyes widen as you finally take a good look.

He’s huge. Tall, bulky and built like a warrior, full of scars. His eyes and his hair are what make your breath catch in your throat: they’re fiery red.

“Ye did no’, but ye sure as hell needed it.” He grins and takes another step forward, just to see you falter. “I’m no’ gonna harm ya, lass. I’m yer new guard. Yer da hired me.” He picks up the dagger you’ve been looking for but missed and hands it to you, handle first, along with the one he took. “Eustass Kid, at yer service.”

By the resigned sound of his voice, he’d much rather be anywhere else but here. You snatch the daggers from his hands with a scowl. You’d much rather he be anywhere else as well but, alas, here you both are.

“I don’t need a guard.” You grimace as you manoeuvre around the dead bodies, your stomach already used to the stench of blood by now, walk around Kid, and out of the alley, not even bothering to see if he’s following you.

But of course he is. How is he so silent when he’s built like an Angus?

“Ya sure about that, lass?” His voice is clipped and dripping with sarcasm which just makes you grit your teeth as you quicken your pace. “Seemed like ya needed one back there, nae?”

“I had it covered!” You snap back, hands balled into fists as you stomp your way back into the keep.

“Aye, I saw. Maybe I should’ve let ya finish, then. Were ye gonna use yer witty words on them? Pray they let ya go just because ya have a sharp tongue?” He scoffs and you stop abruptly, pivoting with a finger in the air, your eyebrow raised high.

“I don’t appreciate the mockery, you don’t even know me.”

He leans down, his face inches from yours with that infuriating grin on his lips. “Aye, I know ya well enough tae paint a pretty picture, lass. Stubborn, reckless, proud.” His hand rises and he stabs a finger against your forehead, pushing you back with just the strength of that one digit. “Prancin’ around a war-torn town in fancy clothes, screamin’ yer noble and ready tae be robbed… aye, real smart, lass!”

You swat his hand away with the swing of your arm, growling as your temper flares. “You don’t know shit!”

“Ohhh.” He laughs, this time, a hearty laugh that sends a tingle down your spine. “Witty and foul-mouthed? What cannae that tongue do?”

“What am I supposed to do, then? Behave like a proper lady and stay in my keep, filling my belly while my people die of starvation? I don’t think so.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise your chin high, defying the infuriating man to say something else.

“No’ what I’m sayin’, lass. But at least have some sense about it.” The grin fades and his voice hardens as he becomes serious. “There’s a war ragin’ and the street’s nae place for a noble woman. And there’s a difference between bravery and stupidity. Guess which one yer tippin’ on, right now?”

Is he serious?

You don’t even grace that remark with a proper answer. There’s no use fighting with this man. You told your father you didn’t need a guard and he went and got you the most infuriating one of the lot!

Just my luck.

-*-

You’re so pissed that you have a shadow following you everywhere, that you don’t leave your room for the next three days, hoping he gets bored and just leaves.

He doesn’t.

On the fourth day you’re the one who’s bored so as the sun rises, so do you. You take your breakfast in peace, your guard nowhere to be seen because you’re in the keep where it’s safe. You can almost feel him as you walk around your own home. It’s a prickling at your nape, a sensation that makes you want to caress your neck. It tingles.

Days pass and you avoid making conversation with him at all costs. You keep running away from him, trying to evade his ever-present shadow, but you fail every time. More than once you think you finally did it, only to find him leaning against a wall –trademark, infuriating smirk in place– or for him to appear whenever you're about to be robbed.

That is also why you now avoid going into town delivering food. The increase in attacks gives your guard the satisfaction of saving you and it only infuriates you. He shadows you everywhere, always wearing that smug smirk or his infinitely bored expression. He’s insufferable.

The morning breaks like many others but you’re so frustrated you need to vent. So you pick up a sword and decide to take your anger out on the dummies in the courtyard. The sword feels heavy in your hands since you’re more used to daggers, but the recent attacks got you thinking that perhaps the gruff guard made a valid point. It’s wartime. Two measly daggers aren’t gonna save you. The sword might.

You start swinging, hitting the dummy but not making real damage, and then you sense him watching you. That damn prickling again, it’s like a pressing need at your nape. You let out a growl paired with a curse, and a bit of straw flies out of the dummy as you strike it again.

“Ya swing that sword like yer holdin’ a broom.” You stop, take a deep breath and don’t turn around, going for the dummy again and trying your best to ignore the annoying prick. “Yer form’s all wrong.” He continues and so do you. Whack, whack. “That’s a good way tae get killed, lass.”

Pivoting around to face him, jaw clenched and knuckles white from gripping the sword, you show him your best leave me the fuck alone look. “If you have nothing useful to say, then stay quiet!”

“Feisty.” He replies with a chuckle and you grunt in exasperation.

You give him a few more moments of your time, eyebrows raised in defiance as you wait for more remarks, but he raises his hands in the air and you turn your back to him, continuing your dummy slaughter.

It doesn’t take long for him to speak again. “Yer still holdin’ it wrong. Yer gonna hurt yerself first before ye hurt someone else.” You sense him approaching but don’t turn. “But, aye, let’s just be stubborn as a mule, that also works.”

Your head whips back so fast you’re certain you pulled a muscle. “Are you calling me a mule?”

“Just sayin’ yer as stubborn as one.” He takes another step, his head leaning to the side as he observes you and you feel yourself flush under his gaze. “Yer too stiff, relax yer grip on the handle.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice.” You bite back, venom in your voice and fire in your eyes.

“Lucky ye, here I am offerin’ it just the same.”

“Screw you.” You mutter but still relax your grip on the handle as he says.

“Maybe later.” He grins as you scoff, then invades your space, his hands pushing your shoulders down, the touch sending a shock through your system. “I said relax, no’ stiffen more, lass.”

You shoot him a sideways glance but still do as he says, relaxing your shoulders and your hands.

Then he nudges your feet with his own, spreading your legs into a wider stance. “Open yer legs wider for me lass, will ye? Now try again.” You flush crimson at the insinuation but still do as he says, though you keep grumbling. When you swing though, the hit actually cuts through the dummy and you gasp. “See? Yer actually capable.” You grin, a small smug smile curving your lips. “It’s no’ that yer a good student, I’m just a great teacher.”

And there goes your good mood.

“Insufferable.” You bite back.

“That too. But damn good.”

You stop your swing mid-air and turn to him, lifting your blade to his chest. “You know, maybe I should stop practising on dummies and start practising on you.” The smirk you give him is devious.

“Ye cannae take me, lass.”

Glaring at him through lowered lashes, you raise your chin. “Try me.”

His eyes darken and the tingling sensation at your nape intensifies tenfold. You see him tense up but you don’t wait to see what he does next. You lunge forward, sword raised, relaxed grip and a wide stance –like he taught you just now– and he easily swings out of the way.

With a frustrated grunt, you pivot to swing your sword to the left, where he dodged, and he evades you again, a small smirk tugging the corners of his lips. You suck a deep breath through your nose before letting it out slowly through your mouth, centering yourself. Then you swing again, leg planted firmly on the ground for support.

Kid hits your elbow from below, twisting your arm and disarms you with a quick flick of his hand –the sword clatters to the floor– then, in a second he has you in his grip, your back flushed against his chest, one of his hands at your throat and his other arm pinning you against him, rendering you immobile.

Damn.

He’s intoxicating. His scent lingers everywhere and the warmth of his body against yours crackles and burns.

“Yer easy.” He whispers against your ear and it’s a caress that travels down your neck, through your nipples and into your throbbing core. Fuck.

“Let me go.” Lacing your voice with authority doesn’t get you far, as your words fall empty and shaky.

“Make me.” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, sending goosebumps down your neck. “Yer no’ as tough as you think, lass.” He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on your traitorous body, and he’s using it.

Two can play that game.

You turn your head to the side and tilt your chin up, your movements slightly constricted by the hand on your throat, and brush your lips against the exposed skin of his neck. “I’m not what?” Your hot breath fans his skin and you notice how it prickles before his jaw tightens and he loosens his hold. You use that opening to your advantage and shove him, taking a step away from him and almost gaining your freedom back –he doesn’t let you.

With a swift movement his arm envelops your waist and he pulls you to him again as you let out a frustrated groan. “It’s over, lass. Yer done.” There’s more gruffness in his voice now.

“I’m not done until I say I am.” You bite back, struggling to free yourself but he’s not even making an effort to hold you against him.

“Yer stubborn.”

“Aye! We’ve established that already. It also means I’m tenacious!”

“Ya dinnae know when tae quit, nor when tae ask for help.” He twists you in his arms with surprising ease and now you’re facing him as he places his hands on your shoulders. “Ye need tae learn tae trust someone besides yerself.”

“Trust you?” You begin and thank the gods your voice is still stable.

“Aye. I’m here tae protect ya.”

You scoff and turn your eyes away from him, his words hitting too close to the mark, making you uncomfortable. You don’t need guards and you definitely don’t need Eustass Kid as your guard.

“You’re the last person I would trust.”

Kid removes his hands from your shoulders and takes a step back. His jaw ticks and clenches as he nods.

“Understandable. I’ll be around, anyway, lass.”

He turns to leave and your body suddenly feels cold, though it’s still tingling from the earlier blaze. His words hang heavy in the air around you. Trust. How can you trust somebody other than yourself if you’ve been doing that your whole life?

-*-

Weeks pass and you’re getting more used to Kid being your shadow. You fight like cats and dogs. He’s insufferable and you’re, in his words, a brat. No accidents have happened while you deliver food and money to the surrounding towns, but you know that’s because nobody dares to attack you while Kid is around. His imposing figure is threat enough for any brigand who wishes to rob you.

You train a few more times with him watching but he doesn’t give you any more pointers and you start to think that maybe it was your trust comment that got him angry at you.

Like I care.

You try to fool yourself, but you do care. He’s not the best company but he’s not the worst. If you take away the amused snickers, the mocking undertones in his words, or his gruffness, he’s perfectly tolerable. Though he gets under your skin like no one else.

That, and the tingling sensation that doesn’t seem to go away. To add to it, there’s also a throbbing of need in your core that nights alone, pleasuring yourself, cannot push away. You hate the fact that you loathe your guard almost as much as you desire him, and that alone drives you insane. You're hyper-aware of the way his muscles flex as he moves, the grunts he releases when he exerts himself and his strong scent of steel, sweat and leather. Even worse, all you can think about is how those muscles would flex as he handles your body, or how his grunts would sound as he sinks deep into you and how you'd be smelling him on yourself afterwards. It's overwhelming.

There's the heat and throbbing again, at your core, in your nipples, everywhere! Fuck.

“Lass?” His voice near your ear almost releases an unbridled moan from you, since you were lost in thought, so you groan and get up from the dining table where you were reading some letters, stomping your foot.

“I’m going to bed!”

You don’t even look back at him.

-*-

You retired early but sleep doesn't come easily. You overheard your father's meeting today and learned that there's been unrest at the borders and another clan abandoned your cause to join the opposing army.

You're concocting a plan to gather information from the warfront that could tip the scales of the war, and if all goes well, you'll have it by the end of the week.

You toss again in your bed, kicking the covers off with a loud groan. It's unusually hot for the middle of the night. The window is open but there's hardly any breeze, making it difficult to sleep. It doesn't help that your mind keeps drifting to an insufferable redhead –and how there's just a wall separating you.

Eventually sleep claims you, and you drift into a dreamless slumber.

You're jolted awake by a calloused hand clamped over your mouth, as another rips the front of your nightgown. You try to scream as you open your eyes, meeting the lecherous gaze of a scrawny, dark-haired man. He’s trying to grope you as his filthy fingers press against your lips with such force, you're sure they will leave bruises.

If you survive.

“Aye, bonnie lass, keep thrashing. I don't like it when lasses lose their fight.” He's untying his breeches with one hand, pinning your arms beneath his legs, his weight pressing down on your torso, and panic floods you. You need to make noise. It's the only way to alert Kid. “I was gonna just rob ya, but ye looked so pretty with yer legs bare. I had to touch ya.”

His hand leaves his pants to grope your bare thigh and you whimper. Then you remember that you can fight back and bite down hard on the hand that's covering your mouth. He yanks his hand back with a yelp, and – gagging at the lingering taste– you take advantage of the distraction and unbalance him. Grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside table, you smash it against his head, scattering scalding oil over his head, your hand, and legs.

The pained groan that escapes your lips brings tears to your eyes as your skin begins to burn and blister. The bastard is in worse shape, but you don’t look too long. Swinging your aching legs to the side, you try to get up and away from him, but he pins you again, spittle flying from his mouth as he leans closer, the angry red welts from the oil are already forming blisters across his face.

“Burn me ya bitch? Ye’ll pay for this!”

But before he can act, the door crashes open, nearly flying off its hinges, and Kid enters, his eyes burning with rage as soon as he sets eyes on the scene unfolding in front of him. He’s shirtless and you can’t help but gasp at the enormous scars covering his torso and left arm –a continuation of the ones trailing down his face and neck, scars you hadn’t yet seen.

“Get the fuck away from her.” His growl vibrates low and deadly and you sense the man shiver for a second. He yanks you up, his filthy hand clawing at your exposed chest, forcing your back against him as he cowers behind you. A small dagger presses against your throat, and you immediately feel a trickle of hot blood running down your neck.

Kid growls again, a feral sound that bristles the hairs in your body and you smell urine as the man behind you leaks his bladder with fear. “Don’t come any closer!” He squeaks, pressing the dagger harder and you whimper softly at the sting of the blade.

Kid hesitates, then stops. One hand grabs his Lochaber axe, the other, a small dagger. You lock eyes with him and then you lower them to the dagger he’s holding, a steely determination purses your lips and you hope he understands you. “Kid, I trust you.”

He exhales a breath, flips the dagger in his hand, catching it by the tip, and throws it in your direction. It takes a blink of an eye for you to hear the sickening thud as the blade pierces the man’s skull through the forehead, killing him instantly. Then it takes you another blink of an eye to waver forward and away from the man’s crumpling, smelly body, but in less than that time, Kid is by your side, holding you, pulling you against him with another one of his wordless grunts that, somehow, tells you much more about his relief than his words ever would.

“Lass, yer alright?” His clipped tone masks the slight quiver in his voice, but it’s there, barely noticeable. You nod, still too shocked with what happened to do much more and Kid sits you on the bed, settling beside you. The man must’ve entered through the open window, you think, as Kid fumbles with your bedcovers, pulling a blanket loose and draping it over you. It dawns on you that your breasts were exposed and you should care, but you don’t.

As the fabric brushes the blisters on your hands and legs, you hiss, jerking slightly. Kid’s eyes trace the red welts marking your skin. Each new one he finds just deepens his scowl. “Fucker.”

“It’s fine.” You say. “I’ll put some honey and knitbone poultice on it. It will heal.”

“Lass…” His tone softens as his rough hands gently touch your cheeks on the area near your mouth, clearly seeing the beginnings of the bruise the man’s fingers left there. He tips your chin up to inspect the small cut the man’s dagger left on your throat. “Ye did well, but ye’ve been through hell. Let’s get ya cleaned up.” He tries to move you but you shake your head, your breath coming in gasps as the shock sets in. Kid grips your shoulders, trying to ground you. “Oi, oi, it’s over, look at me lass. Look at me.”

Tears stream down your face, blurring your vision, but you focus on his fiery eyes, your lifeline in the midst of a violent storm. “Ye did well. Ye defended yerself. But I’m here for ye, I told ye.” His hand moves up, the caress lingering softly against your cheek, a gentle contrast to his usual harshness. “Dinnae try tae do everythin’ yer own. Ask for help. I’m here for ye.”

A ragged sob makes your lips tremble and you shake your head, swatting his hand away with more force than necessary. “Stop pretending that you care! We both know you don't. You're just a hired sword and I’m a spoiled brat. So stop trying to make me feel better!”

Your breathing quickens as your heart hammers in your chest. The tears don’t stop, everything hurts and you feel so alone. You decided to trust him and he didn’t fail you so why do you feel like this?

Because he’s paid to protect you. He’s paid to take care of you. He doesn’t really care.

Suddenly Kid leans forward, pulling you against his chest, his hand cradling your head as his lips brush the crown of your head. You cry, releasing hot tears against his bare skin.

It’s comforting.

“I care.” He says softly, barely a whisper against your hair. “Yer mine tae protect.” A few moments pass in silence and comfort, only broken by your sobs and sniffs. The keep is quiet. You thought you’d screamed loud enough to wake the townspeople, let alone the whole house. But you must’ve been quiet, for only Kid heard you.

Kid cares.

He cares for you.

To Be Continued...

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia

|Part 2|

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #kid x reader #reader insert #alternate universe #highlander kid #scottish kid #eustass kid x reader #kid x you #reader x kid #you x eustass kid #eustass captain kidd #eustass x reader #eustass kid #eustass captain kid #one piece au

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auspex · 5 months ago

Text

VtM Fangfest 2024 Prompt 1: The Fool

Hello! Here is my first fic for Fangfest 2024 :)

All my fics will be about characters that are previously established, so you might not have context for everything mentioned or hinted at within :( Feel free to reach out to ask I love explaining!

I've never really posted my writing before so be kind!

My first fic is about a Tremere from Mark's game named JP. JP and Mark had the same Domitor, Julius, who was killed at the climax of their chronicle. This fic is set after.

The Educated Fool

Hunched over the box of records, JP flipped through, looking for artists he recognized. Some of the unfamiliar covers looked interesting, but he didn’t want to listen to new stuff yet. He wasn’t even sure if he liked the same stuff that he used to, and so figured it’d be best to start with that.

There - The Who, an artist he used to listen to, though an album he had not - “It’s Hard”. He fished it out and read over the song titles on the back. Into his small stack of records it went, which already included Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath. Iron Maiden had been the only new artist he had found since his death (he was not allowed much free time, and even early in his unlife), while Black Sabbath was an old favorite. Satisfied with the 3 albums, JP went to checkout. One awkward interaction with the cashier later, and JP was free for the evening. It was a long walk home, and JP instinctually kept to the darker paths, avoiding streetlights and people. Since it was earlier in the night, kine were still awake. JP listened to the cars that went by, kept an ear out for people, and shuffled along, monitoring his speed - he didn’t want to walk too fast, too slow, or too awkwardly. He knew he no longer had visible gruesome injuries, but he still naturally avoided drawing attention to himself.

It had only been a few weeks since his sire Julius had met his final death, after all.

It was quiet times like this walk home where it was the hardest to not think about his bad memories and his regrets - lately, his largest one: he wasn’t the one to kill Julius. His nails dug into his hands whenever he thought of it - he was kneeling there, helpless, simply staring at the fight where Julius had met final death, instead of taking part in it. JP, now lost in thought, stared blankly ahead, not really taking in the walk home anymore, oblivious to those passing by.

Mark had told him that he still contributed, that they couldn’t have done it without him, but he knew better. Hell, Mark himself barely even mattered - his contributions were just a small boon to Julius’s long-term rival, Gaius. It was Gaius who orchestrated everything, who did that weird-ass ritual to revive that wizard, the one who had landed the killing blow.

JP shuddered thinking of the flames that individual had summoned. What had Mark called him, Lucius? Weird-ass name too.

It didn’t matter now. Whatever his name was, he had left the city with Gaius. Julius’s body had rotted, leaving only bones, along with almost all of Gaius’s other allies who had died in the fight.

Mark was lucky to get out with his unlife. JP wasn’t sure if he’d call himself lucky. Part of him had fully expected to meet final death before being free of Julius, and none of him had considered what he would do after. He was so jealous of Gaius - not only did he get his revenge, he seemed to have actually had a plan of what to do after.

Kicking a can on the side of the road absentmindedly, he had to admit he was glad Mark had insisted he go out and get things, do something. It didn’t give him a purpose, but it did succeed in distracting him at least for a time.

There was one thing that never failed to distract JP.

Hunger. He had started to welcome the gnaw of it, the way it clouded his thoughts and made it hard to think about anything else - it was not freedom, but it was a different prison. Thus, it had now been nights since JP had last fed - intentional procrastination, that he would keep to himself. He knew Mark wouldn’t like it.

However, eventually, Mark noticed his wild eyes - “are you alright?” - and insisted he feed before he went feral.

JP would have ignored anyone else, but Mark was different. He would have been rotting in some box, starving in torpor, without him - he didn’t want to make his unlife any harder, and he had to admit that he couldn’t hold off the beast forever. “I’ll go out” he had said, “but only because I still owe you.”

Truly though, the beast wanted to feed.

Mark scowled. “You don’t owe me anything. Uh, do you want me to come with you?” He looked very concerned, and started reaching for his keys before JP even replied.

“No! Yeah, nah.” JP was already going for his shoes. “It’s a private affair, yanno, I know you get it. I know what I’m doing.”

“Um. I guess, but are you sure that’s a good idea? How exactly uh, hungry are you?”

JP’s face turned cold and he fixed Mark with a stone-faced stare. “I can handle it. Can I have the keys?”

Mark opened his mouth, and then closed it into a thin line and held the key out to JP. “Be careful.”

“Yeah.”

JP grabbed it, turned, and was out the door.

JP was used to feeding on Mark’s territory, and thus found himself driving across the bridge to Belle Isle. It still felt strange driving - he had only driven himself a few times since gaining his freedom, and hadn’t for years before it. Mark had to remind him how, essentially reteach him, and he was still awkward.

Mark was probably just as worried about the car as he was about JP.

No. JP internally corrected himself. It’s about me. He doesn’t care about this car, he misses his old one.

JP still wasn’t sure if he was glad that Mark cared about him, or if he wished he didn’t. Regardless, he was almost across the bridge, and had to decide where to go, but instead drove a bit aimlessly. He only caught himself after he had started driving towards the old lighthouse, where he had been staying before Julius’s death - when he had been under orders to assist Mark.

No, he did not need to go back there again.

Instead, he turned towards the beach.

JP found a spot to park and turned off the car. He unbuckled, but instead of getting out, he sat back and closed his eyes. Focusing closely with his supernatural hearing, he listened to the waves lapping on the shore.

For a while, that’s all he heard - it was late, and the swimming area was closed. His beast clawed at him - but he could push it aside for a moment, like how he used to push away the constant pain he was forced to endure every night. It was not quite peaceful, but the sound reminded him of when he was alive - he used to surf.

JP couldn’t remember the last time he had thought of that.

Then the waves were interrupted by the sound of a rattling chain link fence, and the thump of someone landing - and then another, and another, along with some hushed voices. JP couldn’t quite make out the whispers, because his beast was focused on trying to listen for a heartbeat instead - there it was, fast ones, was it adrenaline?

JP exited the car and made his way towards the sound of prey before even consciously deciding to do so. To his ears, his feet loudly crunched on gravel, but he knew he was far enough away that the sound of the wind and waves should cover his approach.

Approaching the fence, he saw imprints on the other side, where the gravel turned to sand, and further down, some figures closer to the shore. It was a new moon, but the figures had turned on a flashlight, and JP was used to peering into darkness. One of them - no, two - were carrying beer cans. The third was taking off a jacket. Guess they’re fans of night swimming.

One alone would be easy to prey upon. A pair would be harder. But three? That was trickier.

JP waited until they had started wading into the water - and oh, they littered those cans too, leaving them on the sand. He walked further down following the fence, listening for anyone approaching. Hearing no one, and feeling safely that he was out of sight, he then he hefted himself over the fence just like they had

Kicking off his shoes as he ran for the water, a part of him almost expected to smell salt - but this wasn’t the Atlantic ocean in California, it was the Detroit River.

How long had it been since he had last swam?

He paused at the shoreline and glanced at the group. Taking no notice of him, they had gotten deeper in the water, and were spreading out.

JP smiled. He took off his shirt, and without further delay, ran into the water, going chest deep.

The temperature was noticeably cooler, but it was still warmer than his dead skin. Not needing to breathe, he only kept his eyes above the water, approaching the swimmers like an alligator. He could be faster, but creeping forward this way, he was almost impossible to see in the dark. The trio had kept their flashlight on the shore - a miniature lighthouse for them.

It would be so easy to make one of their deaths look like an accident. Headline: Drunkard drowns swimming at night.

Mark wouldn’t like that though.

Not committing to keeping them alive nor killing them yet, JP let himself and his beast focus on how he was going to sneak a bite in the first place. As he got close enough to hear their half-yelled conversation (“don’t you dare splash me!” “shut up” “don’t go any deeper!”), he fully sank under the waves.

It was impossible to see in the pitch black water, and near impossible to hear - but JP managed. Keep yelling. He got close enough to the one who had been warned to not go any deeper (who had ignored it) where he could feel the water shift around his movements.

Keep it quick, JP. He had resolved to at least attempt to keep this one alive - and if he was to do so, he couldn’t feed for long without his companions noticing something odd.

JP swam behind his prey and went for his neck, barely exiting the water. He tilted the man’s head back so that his nose and mouth were facing the sky as JP tread water. Even with this, he gasped and coughed seawater, initially spasming in panic, but as JP’s fangs sunk into him he relaxed.

Water mixed with blood in JP’s mouth, but he was hungry, dammit, and forced down the initial watered down sip. The blood had an odd tang to it, not in a bad way, and JP could also quickly tell that this man was very, very drunk. Idiot; no respect for the water.

He’ll get himself killed anyway. Drink him all. Also, being drunk would be nice, wouldn’t it?

JP lost himself for a moment in the taste of him. Fire and water. Risk and carelessness, youthful exuberance, life, found in the taste of blood.

Yelling brought him back to reality. “Elias, where’d you go?” “I told you to not fucking go deeper!” Some splashing sounded, heading towards him.

Ugh.

With great reluctance and force of will, JP licked the wound closed - tasting more water - and sunk under the waves.

Feed from the others. It’s not too late to kill him.

JP kicked off the bottom of the river, going deeper instead.

He listened to the sound of water, letting the relieved laughter and yells of the group of friends fade into the background. With his beast at least somewhat sated, it almost felt good to push against the water, heading to nowhere. The water swished between his hands, fingers, toes. He thought about what creatures may live in this river, how the ecology differed from the sea, how the freshwater even sounded and felt different from saltwater.

Perhaps he had missed swimming after all.

#vtmfangfest24 #vtm #jp vtm #mark vtm oc #CRIES IM NERVOUS #Spotify

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