#Step 2: chop tree

[libartz]

I see your ‘Castiel gets to level 800 on Candy Crush’ and I raise you ‘Castiel discovers Minecraft and builds a massive town on his phone’.

It has districts accurate to various cities he’s seen around the world. It is ridiculously well-defended: there are about 100 iron golems and they are all named. There is a functioning rail system that the villagers use to get to and from the town centre. In the forest outside town are of course many beehives, with block recreations of various bee species built nearby.

After discovering redstone he figured out how to make functioning cars drive around, but doesn’t include them in the overworld city because they’re not historically accurate. He made a small modern city on the top layer of the Nether with piglins living in it and that’s where he put the cars.

In the Nether there is a monster zoo/jail. When he discovered command blocks, he made ‘glyphs’ that teleport any monster that stands on them to their respective jail cells.

This was all on Creative, and it took him trying survival to even be aware of crafting.

[navybrat817]

Deep in the Woods: Part 1

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Series Masterlist | Part 2

Chapter Summary: You encounter your grumpy temporary neighbor while attempting to chop some firewood.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.3k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, cheating mentioned (reader's ex), grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, reader is too trusting, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit rude at first, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: A new dark AU inspired by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor 's ask. ❤️‍🔥 Thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for cheering me on! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun shining in the sky was deceiving as you hauled a large piece of wood to the tree trunk. It was chillier than expected, and the cold would only get worse once the sun went down. Your cabin had heat, but you'd be stuck if it went out and you didn’t manage to chop some firewood. Making a fire you could handle. Chopping wood?

That was another story.

“Okay,” you smiled, setting the log upright and adjusting your gloves before you grabbed the axe. You gripped the handle tight, raising it above your head. “I got this.”

The blade hit the log almost dead center. Unsurprisingly though, it barely pierced the wood. You hunched over, tugging at the axe, nearly losing your balance in the process. “I still got this,” you huffed, shaking out your arms and swinging again.

The next swing went deeper, but only by an inch. The swing after that, you nearly missed completely. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your body warming despite the chill in the air. After a moment, you dropped the axe and stared at the log with your hands on your hips. It was nowhere near split.

“I don’t got this,” you sighed.

“Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice asked from behind you.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you spun around, and it raced even faster when you spotted a figure just a few feet away. He was a large man, and one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He would likely tower over you if he stepped closer. His dark hair hung messily past his shoulders, while his perfectly trimmed beard gave him a rugged edge. The flannel he wore strained against the biceps of his muscular arms, one of the shades of blue matching his thunderous eyes.

Was he glaring at you?

“Hi,” you smiled, trying to sound friendly as you gestured toward the unchopped log. “I was just trying, and failing, to chop some firewood. I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

He kicked a small twig away with his boot. “I didn't ask what you were doing. I asked, ‘Who the hell are you?’”

Your smile slipped. Maybe he was local and didn't like outsiders, though something about him seemed familiar. “Oh, yeah. Right,” you said, giving him your name and nodding to the cabin nearby. “Mr. Hunter rented the place out to me. I’m staying for a couple of weeks. Just got here this morning.” You hoped the place wasn't double booked.

He relaxed a fraction, but his glare didn't disappear completely as he took out his phone and dialed a number. You heard a ring as he put it on speaker. While he tapped a foot impatiently, you weren't sure what to say or do.

“Howdy, neighbor,” a raspy voice answered on the other end.

“Did you rent out your place?” he asked, keeping his eyes on you when your face got hot. You wanted to yell that you wouldn't lie about something like that, but that didn't seem like a good idea.

“Yeah. Pretty lady. Paid in full upfront. Clean background, too.” You looked at your feet. It was weird to listen in even though it was on speaker. And did he say “clean background”? What did that mean? “Why? Is she-”

The man hung up the phone. “Didn't think he rented his cabin out anymore,” he said more to himself than you.

An awkward silence filled the air. “Yeah, well, apparently he does. I booked it a couple of months ago and he left a code to get in and some instructions for the place,” you explained, trying to smile again as you looked around and breathed in the fresh air. “It’s a really nice place and the view up here is gorgeous, like something out of a photograph. Do you live nearby?”

He grunted and jutted his chin out. “My cabin is the next one over to the left.”

“That’s nice,” you smiled more, grabbing the axe again. “And it was very interesting meeting you, temporary neighbor, but I should try to finish this up.”

Before you could blink, the man was directly in front of you with one hand on the handle. He was even bigger up close. “If you’re thinking of taking another swing at that log, don't,” he barked at you, snatching the axe from your hands. You weren’t sure if it was his tone or him grabbing it from you that made you flinch. “This isn't a toy, it’s dangerous. And from the looks of that log you have no business trying to do that to begin with.”

Your cheeks burned again. It was bad enough that this guy didn't take your word for staying at the cabin, but the last thing you needed was for some stranger to lecture or humiliate you, and a grumpy one at that. “Yeah, well, if my cheating asshole of a boyfriend hadn't been balls deep in his colleague, we wouldn't be having this conversation. He'd be out here chopping firewood and I’d be inside cooking, which is something I'm actually good at, thank you very much,” you snapped.

Your tone surprised him enough to let you take the axe back. “I didn't…” he trailed off when you held up a hand.

“You don't know me and that’s fine, but I’m trying to be friendly and that's more than you can say,” you continued, his nostrils flaring. He didn't have to be nice to you, but he didn't need to be rude either. “And not that it’s any of your business, but I'm stuck here by myself, I’m trying my best to make it work, and I don't need some random stranger out here giving me a hard time for no reason.”

Your eyes burned as he stared at you, but you squared your shoulders and held your head high. You spent enough time crying over a prick who wasn’t worth it and you refused to shed another tear because you deserved better than an unfaithful asshole. And you sure as hell wouldn't cry in front of some hot grump with a chip on his shoulder.

The man’s pensive look dissipated more of your sudden anger and his tone softened considerably when he asked, “You’re really out here by yourself?”

You tensed up. It wasn't smart of you to broadcast that you were all by your lonesome. “Yeah, for now,” you said, your voice softer, too. Maybe you could convince a friend to stop by for a day or so. “I know I’m not good with an axe, but I tried. I just wanted some firewood in case the heat went out for any reason,” you said, your shoulders sagging. “So if you don't mind, can I please finish up?”

He nodded, taking the axe more gently this time. “Let me,” he offered, your eyes wide at his change in demeanor. “And step back. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Once you moved out of the way, he lifted the axe and split the log down the middle with expert precision. With his view on the task at hand, you swept an appreciative gaze over him. The guy was a bit of a grump, but he filled his jeans out well. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, mister,” you told him, getting a grunt in response. “My problems aren't your problems and I didn't mean to get so defensive about my lack of wood chopping skills.”

“You can call me Bucky,” he said, grabbing another log. “And nothing to be sorry for. I didn't exactly lay out the welcome mat for you.”

“It’s… Wait, Bucky.” Your eyes widened in realization. “Bucky Barnes?”

He froze before he brought the axe down again. “Heard of me?”

“Of course I have. You helped save the world,” you smiled. Years back, an alien warlord had wiped out half of the population. Not only did a group of heroes called the Avengers help reverse the wipeout, but they stopped the monster with the help of many others across the galaxy. Bucky was one of those people. No wonder he seemed so familiar. “You’re a hero.”

A tortured one at that. You remembered seeing a few articles about him. A former prisoner of war turned brainwashed assassin turned hero. He was pardoned for the crimes committed while was brainwashed, and rightfully so in your opinion, and he went on to use his skills and expertise to help others.

What was he doing out here in the woods?

“Not really a hero anymore,” he said, brushing his hair back with his forearm. “Now I’m just a lumberjack who values his privacy.”

“Oh.” That answered your question. “I guess valuing your privacy explains why you didn't roll out the welcome mat,” you teased, wringing your fingers together. You felt kind of bad again for snapping at him. Given his past that you were aware of, it made sense why he would've been suspicious of someone new popping up near his home.

He stopped to glance at you. “Guess it’s my turn to apologize,” he said.

You blinked, not wanting to lose yourself in his deep gaze. “No need. I figured you were just a local who didn't like new people around.” You smiled at the pile of wood he made. “I think you chopping firewood for me is the perfect apology. You saved me a lot of time and trouble.”

He hummed, putting the blade in the tree trunk once he finished. “You said you cook?” he asked, wiping his gloves on his jeans as he faced you.

“Yeah. I actually have a stew keeping warm right now,” you replied, shifting on your feet when he stared you down. “Are you hungry? I made plenty.”

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“Okay.” Your smile faltered when you walked toward the cabin with Bucky close behind. Was it a good idea to invite him in when you didn't exactly know him? The guy was a hero though. No reason to be suspicious.

The aroma of seasonings, beef, and vegetables greeted you as you opened the door and set your gloves on the entry table. “If you don’t mind taking your boots off, that was one of the instructions,” you told him, removing yours and hanging your coat on the hook.

While the cabin wasn’t large, it was in great condition. It was also extremely clean and tidy. The guy who owned it likely didn’t want dirt on his floors.

“Yeah, God’s kind of picky about that stuff,” Bucky said, putting his gloves on top of yours. You caught a glimpse of his metal hand, but you quickly looked away. It wasn’t polite to stare.

“Wait. The G in G.B. Hunter stands for God?” Your brows pinched as you walked toward the kitchen. “What the hell does the B stand for?” you muttered to yourself.

“That’s really what it stands for. He’s a bit of a strange guy, but a good neighbor when he’s here,” Bucky said, following close again. He was practically on top of you. “So, your boyfriend. He-”

“Ex-boyfriend,” you corrected him, inhaling deeply as you lifted the lid from the warm pot. The scent brought a smile to your face and pushed a bit of the bitterness away. “What about him?”

Bucky grabbed a couple of bowls from the cupboard. He knew where the spoons were, too, so he was at least somewhat familiar with the place. You weren’t sure how that made you feel. “How long were you two together?”

“Almost a year,” you replied. A waste of about twelve months and it wouldn't be fun to start over again.

He set the bowls on the counter before he grabbed a couple of drinks, sweeping a look over you. “Did you catch him cheating?” he asked curiously.

You froze, the image of your ex scrambling to cover himself and his colleague up as you walked in taking over your mind. You had to blink multiple times to make the image go away, but it didn’t stop your stomach from turning. “Yep,” you answered, your throat tight. Why did he want to know? “Tried to give me some lame excuse that it wasn't what it looked like, but I slapped him and said we were done. I can forgive a lot of things, but cheating isn’t one of them.”

“Loyalty is a good trait to want in a partner,” he mused.

“It is, but it’s a trait he didn't have apparently. At least we didn’t live together,” you continued, taking a breath. It hurt and felt good to talk about it. “We were supposed to come up here for a getaway and I debated cancelling the reservation, but I figured it would be a good way to clear my head.”

The kitchen felt warmer and you figured it was because you were close to the stove until you realized Bucky was right at your back. You went rigid when he inhaled. Maybe he was just smelling the food. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You gripped the ladle until your hand ached. “Not your fault,” you whispered, keeping perfectly still. If you moved forward, the stove would burn you. If you moved back, you’d be right against him. It was a small kitchen, but there was no reason for him to stand so close.

You didn’t exhale until he moved to set the drinks on the table. “You got a job?” he asked.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, thankful for the change in topic. “Yeah, data entry. Not too exciting, but it’s decent pay and I don’t have to go into an office or deal with traffic.” You scooped a generous portion of stew into a bowl for him, just in case he was really hungry. “As long as I have my laptop and an internet connection, I can get the job done.”

“Must be nice,” he commented, but it sounded more admirable than sarcastic. “You said you and your ex didn’t live together. Do you have a roommate? Pets?”

You side-eyed him. The tone was casual, but what was with the multiple questions? “I live alone because my apartment is about the size of a shoebox,” you said. It was cozy though and yours. “Nice thing is the rent is cheap. Sad thing is the building is pet free.”

He took out his phone as you got your bowl ready. “I have a cat,” he said, shoving the phone close to your face. It was a photo of a beautiful white cat sitting by a window. It was endearing picturing a burly man holding such a delicate creature. “Her name’s Alpine.”

You smiled at the image. “She’s really beautiful. I’ve always loved cats.”

He smiled a little, too, but it went away as fast as it appeared. “She’s very particular with people, but you’re welcome to meet her.” He took the bowl from your hand to carry them to the small table nearby. “She might like you since you’re sweet.”

Heat rolled up your neck. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I wouldn’t want to impose,” you said. It wasn’t like you had any plans during your time there, but he had done enough by chopping the firewood for you.

His jaw ticked. “If it was an imposition I wouldn't have asked.”

“Oh, I wasn't trying to imply anything,” you promised, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't your intention to upset him.

“Are you allergic to cats?”

“No, I’m not,” you answered.

He set the bowls on the table and leveled you with a hard stare. “Then I think you should meet her,” he said, pulling out a chair for you. It sounded more like an order than a suggestion. “Sit.”

You hesitated before you sat down. “Okay then,” you said. Maybe he was trying to make up for being rude earlier by welcoming you in some capacity. “Does tomorrow work?”

His lip curled up in a smile, giving you a nod, too. “Tomorrow. Early afternoon,” he replied, taking a seat. How did he still look so big sitting down? You watched him blow on a spoonful of stew before he took a bite, his eyes shutting with a groan. It was a deep, primal sound and you shouldn't have liked hearing it. “This is… really good.”

You beamed, unable to help yourself. You took pride in your cooking. “I’m glad you like it,” you said, digging in, too. “So, you said you’re a lumberjack now. How long have you been doing that?”

He hunched over a bit as he took a few more bites, like he hadn't eaten all day. “About nine months. Tough mission happened and I had to walk away from it.” He shrugged dismissively. Did the mission have a bad outcome or was it just the straw that broke the camel’s back? It wasn’t any of your business. “Came out to the woods with Alpine, started chopping down trees to work out some of my frustration, and it somehow became my new job. The woods suit me better than the city anyway.”

“Yeah? How so?”

He shrugged again. “It’s quiet, peaceful. No judging or prying eyes,” he answered, pushing the now empty bowl away. It almost sounded like he was hiding from the world. “And I don’t mind working with my hands. Can chop trees down pretty fast and it doesn’t take long to get the logs to the sawmill. Even built some of my own furniture in my place.”

“You build your own furniture? That’s so cool,” you smiled. It took a moment, but he smiled back a little. “Being a lumberjack sounds like hard but satisfying work,” you added. You admired him for being a hero, but also for his new, humble lifestyle.

“Yeah, it is.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. “This might be rude to ask, but you wouldn’t mind making us lunch tomorrow, would you? I can cook, but it’s nothing like yours.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Part of you took it as a compliment that he liked your cooking, but something in his stare made you want to squirm. Could it be the assumption that you were going to have lunch with him when all he said was that he wanted you to meet his cat? “I don’t mind,” you smiled. Maybe the guy was a bit lonely and just wanted someone to share a meal with. You could sympathize with that. “Anything in particular you like? If I don’t have it, I can go to town and-”

“Surprise me, doll.” The chair scraped along the floor as he pushed himself up, towering over the table and you. “And don’t bother going to town. Whatever you have here to cook, I’ll eat it.”

“I’ll surprise you then.” Your brows pinched as he went back to the kitchen. He walked around like he owned the place. “Oh, help yourself,” you said when he stopped at the stove for another bowl.

He paused to look back at you. His blue eyes looked a shade darker and you couldn’t help but shiver. “I plan to,” he stated.

You gave him a smile, discreetly patting your pants pocket to make sure you still had your phone on you. It wasn’t like you needed to call anyone for help, but you were all alone and had to be careful. You were still going to have a nice time though. It would be a relaxing trip and you could catch up on reading, relaxing, whatever you wanted.

Besides, Bucky was nearby just in case. The guy didn’t seem to have a complete sense of boundaries, but he wasn’t a bad guy. He was a hero. You didn’t have anything to fear.

Right?

Oh, our reader did herself no favors by answering truthfully that she's all alone. I wonder how Bucky will play this... Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[latenightdaydreams]

Hello, first I wanted to say that I love your writing, I read everything you posted and I'm always on your page, forgive me if my writing is bad because English is not my language, I don't know if requests for fanfics are made here, but I wanted to ask you to write something about König, he is a very special character to me I've seen something like könig viking and könig werewolf on your profile, really strange that I want a mix of the two?😂 I've really been thinking about this but I wanted a little more passionate könig because I'm very needy and silly🥺 I will be happy to receive your answer🫶🏻

Okay, that's a hot idea😮‍💨 Thank you so much for the love💗

Viking!Werewolf!König x Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, mention of blood and violence, p in v, oral, knotty, breeding

2.2k word count

🐺

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No one knows exactly when the folklore began, but there has always been talk about a creature they call ‘The Wolf of the North’ said to be a Viking warrior. A man that stands at 9-feet tall, covered in thick black hair with a face like a wolf. He’s said to have blue eyes as pale as ice. With the strength of one hundred men, there are stories of him destroying villages by himself.

Even though the stories are old and popular, it’s not something that you’ve ever believed. A creature that is half wolf and half man defies the laws of nature; therefore, there is nothing to fear. The mountains surrounding you protect your village, so Vikings have rarely traveled here.

Today is the day that all changed. As you sit in your home, patching clothing by candlelight, when you hear an earth-shattering howl travel though the village. Your eyes snap to your husband, Bjorn. There is a slight panic in his eyes. His mind goes to the thought of it possibly being the infamous wolf man. He stands and walks to the front door.

“Stay here.”

Bjorn opens the door, stepping out to see other villagers also outside, questioning where that sound was coming from. There is a strange tension in the air that everyone can feel. Nature has gone quiet, and the air has grown thick. You stand and walk to the doorway to see what is going on. Bjorn turns to you with a worried face. As he opens his mouth to speak, the sound of a horn cuts him off being blown.

In that moment, panic rushed through everyone’s bodies. Vikings, they’ve arrived. Bjorn turns quickly, his hand grabbing yours and pulling you inside. His hands caress your face, hands shaking ever so slightly. He places a kiss on your lips, just in case.

“What are we going to do?”

“I—”

Another deafening howl vibrates through the walls of your home. A sharp scream echoing through the village triggers a widespread panic. The sound of neighbors fleeing their homes in panic erupts. The Vikings have begun their assault on the village.

König stands at his full height over the body of a man he just mauled. Blood soaking the fur on his face and claws. His eyes gaze around at the destruction he and his men have brought to this once pleasant village. He takes a deep breath, sniffing the surrounding air. There is a scent that lingers, attracting him. His pupils widen, feeling a rush of excitement come over his body. A fertile mate is nearby. Abandoning his men, he searches for you.

Bjorn holds your hand, running with you to a barn that is further out in the woods. He hopes that they simply overlook it since it’s so far away from the village. There is an unsettling feeling in your stomach, as if you’re being chased. You look behind you to see nothing in the darkness. The trees covering you both blocks out any moonlight from breaking through.

Finally, the barn comes into view. You both rush inside, gently closing the door behind the two of you. As you both search for places to hide, Bjorn grabs you by your waist, lifting you behind stacks of hay. He places a kiss on your forehead before turning and hiding behind piles of chopped wood.

The air is still as you both listen to the sounds of the neighbors being slaughtered. Tears flow from your eyes as you feel a heavy guilt in your heart. You begin to pray to your god for safety and peace, praying that some might survive. The thought of returning to the village is terrifying, what will it look like? Who will remain? What of the children?

König stalks the trail of your scent, leading him to your empty home first. He walks inside, taking a deep pleased breath. The scent of you is heavy in the air here. As he continues to follow the trail, he leaves in the direction of the woods. He walks through the darkness with his arousal growing with each step. You’re closer. Very close.

Your tears stop once you hear footsteps outside of the barn. As you try to calm your breathing, you place a hand over your mouth to help silence yourself. There are a few moments that pass with no other sounds. Maybe it was just a wild animal passing by? Or simply you’re just hallucinating from the high stress of the situation?

As you begin to relax, the sound of the barn doors swings open with great force. You close your eyes, trying your best to be still. Heavy footsteps enter the barn, a low growl can be heard as if this is a creature, not a human. Instantly, your mind rushes to the howls you heard earlier. Did the Vikings bring a wolf?

From where Björn is sitting, he can see slightly through gaps in the wood. He watches as the giant, 9-foot-tall creature approaches your hiding spot. Deep inside he knows that he should jump out, distract the creature from hurting you; yet, he remains frozen in place. Fear completely consumes him. As he sits frozen, he watches the creature sniff the air before beginning to tear through the hay with his claws.

Your loud scream fills the space, you scramble back trying to get away from whatever stands on the other side. Soon, you are face to face with the creature. Icy blue eyes gaze down at you, looking over your body in a plain beige dress. A giant man, with features of a wolf. It’s the Wolf of the North. He’s real.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” You cry out as the creature continues to study you.

König sees you finally, and you’re beautiful. Being face to face with you makes your scent become overwhelming. You’re ovulating, ready to accept seed. He reaches out a hand for you to take, but you’re too overwhelmed with terror to realize that he is not going to hurt you.

“Come…here…” König speaks, his voice incredibly raspy as he looks at you.

The fact it spoke made you freeze. The fear turned to curiosity. Why hasn’t he killed you yet? Your eyes look at his massive clawed hand that is extended to you. The blood soaking his fur clean from the little bit of moonlight shining in.

“I won’t…hurt you.” König says as he sniffs your scent more.

You stand to your feet, putting your hand in his. König looks at your small hand trembling in his before looking back into your eyes. With his other arm he grabs you by your waist, pulling you from your hiding spot. He places you back on your feet before him.

“König.” He says his name in almost a whisper.

“Y/n…” You reply confused by his gentle behavior with you.

König leans in and sniffs your neck, taking in a deep breath. A growl leaves his lips, causing you to jump. His arm tightens around your waist so you can’t run away. He can’t let you go now that he’s found you.

“Mate.” König says as he leans back to look into your eyes.

A look of pure confusion takes over your face. Did he just call you a mate? You look around. Why hasn’t Bjorn come out to your rescue? You’re snapped out of your thoughts once König’s large hand drops down to your ass, squeezing it in a firm grasp.

“You’re scent…so sweet. Fertile.”

König grabs the fabric of your dress, just over your breasts, and tears it as if it were paper. He rips it enough to expose your perfectly shaped breasts. The cold air hitting your nipples causes them to harden instantly.

Bjorn watches as this all unfolds before him. He watches as König leans down, licking your nipples as if he is savoring the feel of your body. His massive hands groping you as he groans with excitement. It’s hard to ignore his cock becoming erect. Knowing König said y/n is fertile, he knows what he’s about to witness. While he wants to look away, he can’t seem to.

You suppress moans as he licks your nipples. The sound of fabric tearing echoes as he rips into the fabric covering your rear. König scopes you up in his arms and lays you down on the barns floor, resting you on your stomach. On all fours he approaches you, his hands tearing more of your dress until the skirts torn off.

König presses his face between your legs. His cold wet nose causes a weird sensation to travel throughout your body. As he smells your pussy, he sticks his long tongue out, pressing into your cunt. He wiggles his tongue, tasting you for the first time. You let out a surprisingly loud moan. This was a new sensation you’ve never felt before. Your hands grasp at the dirt in front of you as your legs tense.

Bjorn sees König’s massive body dwarfing yours. His mouth opens to be able to fit his whole tongue into your cunt. The sounds you’re making are sounds he’s never heard from you before. The way you thrash and squirm…as if you’re thoroughly enjoying this. He tries to ignore his own cock hardening in his trousers.

König pulls back with the taste of you on his tongue and your scent smeared on his nose. He lifts your hips up into the air with both hands. You get up on all fours and look back at König. His eyes are glued to your glistening cunt as he approaches you.

His massive body looming over yours as you wait for what’s coming next. The visual of your smaller body under König’s terrifyingly massive body mounting yours was erotic to watch. Bjorn can’t look away as König lines himself up with your entrance. His hips slowly bucking forward causing your head to drop. His cock just as monstrous as the rest of him, he knows it’s stretching your tight pussy to the brink.

König pants loudly as he begins to buck into you at a rapid pace. He gave you no time to adjust, his need for you is too great. Your scent is the first scent he has ever smelled that brings the want to breed. His mind isn’t focused on your pleasure, but more so making you the mother of his children.

Your fingers dig into the dirt as you moan pathetically. König’s name slips from your lips without much thought. His strong musk surrounds you as his heavy balls slap against your swollen clit. You try your best to maintain up as his rapid thrust begins to push you down.

König notices you slipping so he pulls out, flipping you to your back. He grabs your legs, parting them and pushing them back slightly. You watch as his cock pressed back against your pussy, forcefully shoving himself back into your welcoming warmth.

You look up at him as he continues his wild bucking. König’s eyes glued to the motion of your breasts. He can feel your cunt flutter, occasionally clenching down. Your back arches, you close your eyes as you climax on his cock. Rapid burst of ecstasy consumes your whole being. You turn your head to the side, giving König what he wants.

König leans forward, slowly sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. You let out a pained moan as his teeth break the skin. His thrust becomes more sporadic, losing himself as he feels the need to knot you now. Having you pinned down with his teeth in your neck, he slowly pushes forward more. His knot is nearly double the thickness of his cock struggles to enter your pussy that is already full.

“Oh my god!” You whimper as your body feels different pains and still the orgasmic high.

Finally, König becomes too impatient and pushes forward. His knot forces its way into you. A stinging pain radiates over every inch of your cunt. Your eyes wide with surprise. You can feel every throb of König’s cock as he cum deep inside of you.

König’s tongue softly teases your skin as he bites you to attempt to bring you pleasure so your body can relax. His tail wags slightly, he feels relaxed for the first time in a long time. He’s been aware of your husband in the corner this whole time; as he relaxes, he keeps his guard up just in case he tries to protect you now. You’re his now. He’s claimed you in front of the other man.

Bjorn is forced to sit there and watch as König gently caresses your body as he waits for his knot to go down. The events in this room distracted him from the chaos that plagues his village. The sounds of screams have died off, assuming no one is left standing. There is a storm of emotions deep inside, but he is still not brave enough to face König.

Once König is able to slip out from you, he removes his teeth from your neck. His eyes study your face, seeing the look of pleasure lingering. With one hand he caresses the side of your face. He couldn’t have been blessed with a more perfect mate.

“You’re mine… my mate.” König stands up, carrying your naked body in his arms and leaves the barn.

Part 2

[uvobreakmylegs]

Refuge

part 1 of a werewolf!Nobunaga x female!reader fic

Part 2

Warnings: blood, gore, self harm, mentions of death

Word Count: 8.2k

The pale full moon shone down upon the quiet forest, illuminating the pure white snow that lay like a blanket across the forest floor. Light from the moon made the shadows of the barren tree branches even more obvious when combined the bright surface beneath them, and the pattern they made upon the snow resembled that of gnarled arms with outstretched hands, forever reaching out with extended fingers. Any animals that lived within the vicinity were asleep, either only for the night or in hibernation, waiting for the weather to warm before they dared venture out again.

Within the sleeping forest sat a wooden cabin, an obvious and out of place interruption to the quiet landscape of the endless trees. Someone had carved out for themselves a home within the woods with the small, simple cabin in the equally small clearing. It could either be viewed as a cozy space or an invader of the natural state of the forest, but regardless, it stood there, the chimney softly carrying up the last remnants of smoke from a dying fire. Above it, the moonlight hit the man-made building in a way that made it instantly noticeable.

And in the forest, there was one that noticed it immediately.

Where almost everyone and everything was asleep within the dead quiet of the wilderness, one was awake. And when he noticed the cabin, he stalked closer, his snout sniffing the dry air as he tried to discern who or what was inside the small structure.

Not many chose to live so far away from the rest of civilization, and when they did, it was for a specific reason, some job or craft of theirs that was better suited for out in the wilderness. For what reason was this cabin here, he wondered. A quick glance showed nothing of interest; only a small, frozen over garden to one side, and a dead log on the other that had clearly been used as a way to chop firewood.

Who was in there? A family? Or perhaps a couple that intended to start one?

Regardless of who was in there, they would be easy targets. Being so far away from anyone else and being attacked in the middle of the night would make them as much, as the sudden chaos that would interrupt their sleep would catch them off guard.

But perhaps, he thought to himself, there might be just enough time for his hunt to become interesting.

Standing between two pine trees, he breathed in.

Only a single human scent could be identified.

And as he listened with sharp ears that strained to hear of the interior of the cabin, little else was to be noted other than the faintest noise of someone breathing evenly.

Only one.

The longer he stood, the more he was certain that there was only a single person with in that structure, someone who was asleep like the rest of the forest.

That revelation dampened his mood.

Someone being alone in the woods must have been some elderly person who was stuck in their ways, he thought. They wouldn't be able to move fast, and they would hardly offer up any sort of challenge should he choose to attack.

While it wasn't always what he was looking for in his hunts, the thought of it being too easy was unappealing.

It would be several miles to the only town he knew was in the area, however. He would spend several miles trekking there and back to his own little camp if he chose to head that way. If he killed the person within, he'd satiate his hunger and have a better shelter for the night, possibly the next few days.

It was far more pragmatic to attack the cabin. While there would be little sport, he could always wait for the next month if that was what he wanted.

Yet even as he told himself that, he continued to stand there, staring at the quiet cabin.

….. No.

After waiting a month for this night to return, that wasn't the way he wanted it to end. Perhaps it was his own instinct that told him that. The need to have a proper hunt.

Regardless, he made his choice as he stepped away, turning and heading towards the direction of what must have been the nearby town as he followed his nose, picking up bits and pieces of more human scents that the gentle breeze brought his way. The cabin behind him was quickly forgotten as he continued forward. Thus the cabin and the woman within were left in peace.

And not an hour after, gunshots could be heard ringing through the night, though in the safety of your home, you weren't aware of any of it as you slept through the ordeal completely.

Winter was rarely kind.

That was a harsh truth that everyone in the region had learned, as the area where you lived was always hit with heavy barrages of thickly layered snow. Icy winds would shriek through the open spaces, running past trees and buildings as it brought with it a torrent of ice that clung to whatever surface it could. The blizzards would always beat down upon the wooden doors of the homes that did their best to keep the harsh weather out, and sometimes those storms would last for several days if not longer.

All of that left everyone chilled to the bone and desperately clinging to whatever shreds of warmth they could get their hands on. As such, everyone would ensure that their fireplaces or their wood burning stoves were in proper order. Nothing would grow during this time either, so if one wanted to survive, having ample food stored away was required. That could be a difficult task depending on how many mouths one had to feed.

Though for you it was a bit easier as you only needed to worry about yourself.

You lived several miles away from the nearby town of Willsden, and the area of the woods where your cabin stood allowed for enough extra space for you to grow your own crops. The summer and autumn months were spent growing your own food in the little garden, harvesting the vegetables when they were ready and storing them away. And for the food that you couldn't produce on your own, you would buy or bartering for whatever it was that you needed. All you needed was enough in your storage that would last you until spring came, and then the process would repeat itself.

Though the winters weren't always the same; sometimes the snow would thaw later than anticipated and that would cause you issues as you scrambled to find a way to provide for yourself, but overall you managed to do fine. The fact that you were surviving on your own for so long was proof enough of that. Even if it was difficult, you were happy with what you had and what you were able to accomplish.

As you stepped out from the warm confines of the cabin and into the harsh cold, you shuddered as a chill instantly set into you. The winters were far too cold and you wished you could simply stay beneath the covers where it was far more cozy.

But with the work that needed to be done, that simply wasn't an option.

The empty basket on your back shifted as you closed the door behind you, though you quickly readjusted it as you turned towards the forest that surrounded your home. Today's chore would be tiring: you needed to collect wood that could be chopped up and be used as fuel for your fireplace. It was simple enough to say that, but all parts of that process would be obnoxious, from finding and putting what you found into the basket, to carting it all back to your home and then chopping it up so it would be fit for use.

Obnoxious, but you needed your fireplace to remain lit so you could survive the winter.

Though as you looked up to the sky, you noted that the weather didn't look promising. Whereas the day prior had been rather clear, now the skies were dark and clouded, and there was something in the air that felt strange.

If you were to guess, a blizzard was likely going to hit the area, and soon.

You sighed to yourself. That work would need to be completed in short period of time. The last thing you needed was needing to go out and try to chop wood while a blizzard raged around you.

Best to get to it now.

After pushing your scarf up over your nose, you adjusted the basket once more before you walked forward, your boots sinking into the snow as you did so.

But when you had traveled a few steps, you noticed something.

At the very edge of the clearing, in between a pair of large pine trees, you spotted two prominent footprints that were set deep into the snow. Curious, you walked in that direction, wanting to know what might have left those prints. Most likely it had been some sort of animal.

You felt you were correct when you reached them and saw a faint indents in the snow where the claws had at one point gouged in. And when you looked at how long the prints were, it was clear that whatever had been standing here had been large.

A bear?

The thought made you gulp; bears being awake during the winter was dangerous, as they were always angry if they were awoken before the season had ended. They'd be hungry, too, and with a lack of food to be found in the forest, they were generally driven to find the food they wanted in the homes of people like yourself. Glancing back at your cabin, you found that the prints had been facing the door directly. An image came to mind from that: one of a bear standing in the snow as it watched your home while you were blissfully unaware inside.

But you hadn't heard anything the night prior. You had slept rather soundly, and that was part of what left you being reluctant to exit your bed that morning.

If you had made more noise in your sleep, would the bear have tried to come in?

A shudder ran through you as you thought of what might have happened if it had heard you. No doubt you would be dead, torn to pieces by a wild animal.

That would have been a gruesome way to go.

Looking back down at the footprints, you noticed that there were more than just the two, and your eyes followed along as you saw that the beast had decided to turn west, walking away from your home.

That was the direction of Willsden, you noted. Worry then hit you as you hoped everyone there was alright. Ideally, you would have tried to head towards the town and see if that was the case, but when you glanced up to the sky again, it was clear that you didn't have time for that. You still needed to collect your firewood, and even if you did decide to forgo that, the journey both to and from the town would eat up too much of your time. At the absolute worst, you would get lost in the snow and freeze to death.

It was better to continue doing what you needed to, and then, once it was safe to make the trip down to Willsden, you would do so.

You set off again, telling yourself that the people of the town would be fine. The town had a lot of people living there, after all. If some lumbering beast was on the attack, they would no doubt notice quickly. They also had the manpower to defend themselves, so whatever fight might ensue likely wouldn't last long.

Before you turned your mind completely to the chore you needed to start, you glanced again at the set of tracks.

…. Strange.

Looking at the placement of the tracks, it almost seemed as if the animal had been walking on it's hind feet the whole time.

….. The thought was utterly ridiculous, you told yourself.

That was the last you thought of the prints before you settled onto your task.

The basket on your back was nearly full with the soon-to-be firewood when you noticed an unexpected flash of color within the whites and browns of the forest. Turning your head to look, your brows furrowed as you couldn't quite make it out whatever it was as a dead bush stood in your way, blocking you from seeing whatever it was clearly.

Whatever it was, though, it was red.

You shouldn't have bothered to get a closer look. You had work to do and a short time limit to do it, if the clouds above you were any indication. All you would be doing by pushing your way past the bush was wasting spare seconds that you needed to make sure you would continue to live comfortably through the winter.

Yet your curiosity managed to be stronger and you did just that, the tall branches of the bush clinging to your clothes as you made your way by, snapping a few of them in the process. The sounds echoed out into the empty forest as you did so, and it served as a sign as to how alone you were within that space.

Though, evidently, you weren't alone completely.

The thing that had caught your attention could now be seen clearly, and as you stared down at the ground just as you had earlier outside of your cabin, it was obvious that this thing that had caught your attention was blood.

It marred the pure white snow with bright red spots, spattered across the surface like ink blots on parchment. They were sporadic and spread out, and you realized then that they trailed off in a singular direction. As your eyes followed them, you found that alongside them were gouges in the snow, like something had been dragged through. Almost seeming like footprints.

You would have noted another strange parallel when compared to what you had found hours earlier had it not been for the question that interrupted you:

Were these made by a human?

The size and the way the feet had dragged seemed similar to the footprints you might leave behind in such conditions. It certainly seemed unlikely that these would have been left by an animal. So a person had been through here. Given the blood trail that followed after the messy prints in the snow, whoever it had been was wounded.

Grievously so.

Without another thought you began to walk forward, following along the trail as you kept your eyes open for any sign of the person who had left it behind.

The trail was a long one, and often meandered about as the drops of blood and the footprints in the snow were erratic, going from one end of a clearing before doubling back and continuing the opposite way. You wondered what had driven this person to walk about in such a way – had they been out of their mind from the cold? Or had they been looking for something? Perhaps some sort of shelter before they attempted to dress their wounds. It was possible they had managed to find such a place.

Though with how much blood you could see, you had a bad feeling that whoever it was would be long dead by the time you found them.

The wind was picking up, you noted. You needed to be home before the storm hit. But it felt just as important to follow and see who was at the end of the blood trail and what condition that person was in, if just so you could leave a marker to indicate where their body was so they could be retrieved at a later date.

You felt that it was the least you could do.

Time seemed to pass slowly as you followed. How far you were traveling away from your cabin worried you – it wasn't smart to rely entirely on the trail you had followed, not with a blizzard that lurked overhead and threatened to cover the path you had made for yourself with freshly fallen snow. If you didn't find the wounded person soon, you would be forced to turn back, despite knowing the guilt that would weigh on you after such an action.

Just a little longer, you told yourself. If you didn't find this person within the next few minutes, then you would abandon the search effort.

As luck would have it, it was only a few paces more before you heard something. Something that sounded like a human voice groaning out in pain. Hearing that renewed your energy, and you rushed forward along the blood trail, your neck straining as you looked around the trees, trying to spot the person you had heard.

And when you walked past a gnarled old oak tree that sat upon an incline, you saw someone.

A man.

One that you didn't recognize. Not from the town or even beyond the slice of the world you called home.

His long black hair was frayed and messy as it flowed down his back and shoulders, and the blood that was speckled in his hair matched the blood that was present in the slight bits of hair upon his face. More worryingly, there was a wound on his shoulder, a small puncture wound that could have come from a bullet if the dried blood that still managed to look bright against his pale skin told you anything. His skin was also decidedly frostbitten, and the patches of red marred his cheeks, feet and hands in particular. As for his clothing, he only had on a ragged pair of pants that looked ready to fall apart.

He looked as though he was on the verge of death. But none of that seemed to concern him.

He was fully focused on the knife he was stabbing into the side of his torso. On the left of his body, just beneath his ribs, a curtain of blood had long since fallen and dried, and it was clear that at one point, he had been walking with the open wound as the left leg of his pants was also soaked in the substance.

Fresh blood was dripping down his skin as the blade he'd forced into his flesh moved to and fro, his numb hands moving the hilt as best they could with their limited mobility. His teeth were clenched as he did so, and the look on his face was nothing short of desperate.

Why was he doing that?

Then he let out a pained noise, and with both hands, he pulled again on the hilt.

You stood still, staring at him as you tried to understand why he was doing this.

It was almost as if he was trying to dig something out of his side.

He breathed hard as he continued to pull on the hilt before eventually giving up, letting out a loud gasp of pain as he fell back against the tree trunk in frustration.

Then he noticed you.

Gray eyes widened upon the realization, and he sat still for a few moments, as though he was amazed that he had only just now realized that he wasn't alone.

You didn't get a chance to speak before his face scrunched up in pain and he doubled over.

You didn't know what his situation was, but seeing that was enough to break you out of your stupor, and you rushed over immediately, pulling the basket off of your back before you knelt down and put your hands over his, trying to get them off of the knife hilt so you could remove it from him as safely as you could.

Only you weren't allowed to do so.

Without removing his grip on the knife, he pushed himself against you to shove your hands away. With how weak he seemed to be, the amount of strength that was in that shove was surprising.

You almost didn't hear it when he spoke at first, his heavy breathing making it difficult to understand him.

“I need it out of me.”

After a moment, you responded.

“It?” you asked, confused.

He didn't reply. Or rather, he couldn't. He was groaning in pain again, and you saw the veins in his forehead pulse as he struggled with the knife.

“You're going to kill yourself,” you told him.

He wasn't listening.

He only continued to dig that knife into his side.

Once again, you watched, truly uncertain of what you should do.

Except no, you knew what you should do. You should get that knife away from him. Stop him before he hurt himself any further, so then he might have a chance of surviving.

But with how determined he was to do whatever it was he thought he was doing, you didn't think you would be successful in getting him to stop. Nor did you want to wrestle a knife away from a man who was clearly crazed from the cold and his other injuries, and especially not when he wasn't as feeble as you had first thought. He could easily injure you if you tried to do that, or worse.

So then what were you supposed to do? Wait like this? Leave him?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a strange sound come from where he had stabbed the knife into himself. A sound that resembled metal scraping against metal.

…. Something really was stuck in him.

And since it was clear that he wasn't going anywhere until it was out of him, you had little other choice.

The warning glare he gave you when you reached your hands out to him was harsh, but his gaze softened when you placed your hands on top of his as you said “please, let me help you.”

The man didn't answer, but he turned his attention back to the knife. This time, your steady hands helped his shaking ones when he began to pull at the knife again.

It didn't feel as though this was the right thing to do. Even with the knowledge that there was something inside of him, surely the correct thing to do was to take him somewhere warm and bandage his wounds, and then once the weather was more mild you would take him to the local physician. Surely whatever it was could wait to be taken care of until after he was out of the cold.

With every passing second that you tried to help you worried that you were only hastening this man's death. That the chances he had of surviving even until the next hour were only growing more and more slim the longer you kept this up with him. With every pull you made on the knife and the blood that came out of the gash that was only increasing in size, you were forced to wonder that if this man were to die, how much of his fate would ultimately rest upon your shoulders?

Then it came out.

You had felt it through the way you held the end of the knife hilt, how it traveled through the open wound, over his exposed insides until it reached the outside. The knife came out from his side forcefully and the thing inside of him fell out. It was too small and the blood coming from the wound was too great. Whatever had fallen out of him, it vanished into the snow next to him. The only thing you could discern was that it had been silver in color.

You didn't need to tell him that something had come out; immediately after his shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh of relief, the kind you hear when a moment of great agony had finally passed.

Now that it was out, he might listen to you.

You took that opportunity to speak, saying “we can't stay here. There's a storm-”

He fell forward.

Onto you.

You barely managed to catch him, holding him beneath his arms and keeping him from falling face first into the snow. His head rested against your shoulder and he shuddered, his eyes now closed. He was unconscious.

Though if he stayed out here in these conditions any longer, he'd be dead soon. With all the blood he'd lost, it was amazing he'd held on for as long as he did. You needed to get him to shelter as soon as possible.

But at this point, would he even make it?

Despite his chances being grim, you knew that you needed to try to get him back alive. After tearing off a bit of your skirt to wrap around the wounds on his side and shoulder, and then wrapping your own cloak around his shoulders in a desperate bid to keep him somewhat warm, you began the task of taking him home.

The way you transported him through the woods was unceremonious, to say the least. His height and weight when compared to you meant that you couldn't sling one of his arms over your shoulder and carry him that way, and even if you could, the basket on your back would have gotten in the way. So you were forced to hook your arms beneath his armpits and drag him back to your cabin while you shivered from the cold after having given up the protection your cloak offered for his sake. The basket only made the task all the more difficult with how heavy it was. It was exhausting, and a look at all of the blood still spattered on his skin had you doubting more and more that he would make it back alive. The state of his heels was also worrying, as with every pull you made over a rough tree root, they appeared more scraped and raw every time you looked at them.

All you could do was hope that the makeshift bandages you'd fashioned on the spot were enough to staunch the bleeding in the areas that were worst.

Somehow, you managed it. After a grueling forty five minutes of dragging the unconscious man and praying that he didn't die on the way there, and after the anxiety that swelled within you once the storm finally started with the snowflakes that began to rain down from the cloudy sky, you caught sight of your cabin in the distance, and that was enough to give you a burst of energy to take you the rest of the way.

It was good timing. The wind was picking up and it was only getting colder. By the time you dragged him inside and slammed the door shut, a great deal of snow had managed to get inside as well. And with how high the snow had risen when you had returned, you noted that you very well may need to dig a path out from your door.

But that wasn't important right now.

You turned your attention to the man. The exhaustion of having dragged him through the woods had you falling to your knees before you crawled over to where he lay and placing your hands on him, reaching for his mouth and the side of his neck to see if you could feel some sign of life. Either his breath or that of a pulse.

…..

It was soft, but you felt a little bit of hot hair hitting your fingers when you gently pulled his lips apart. The pulse you felt in his neck was just as faint, but it was still there.

He was still alive.

The relief you felt upon that realization was so great that you reached down to hold him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your face against his hair.

“I'm so glad,” you murmured, “I'm so glad you're alive.”

With the way you had your face pressed against him, you didn't notice how his eyelids fluttered open.

It was only for a brief moment, and when you pulled yourself away from him, he was unconscious once more.

The first thing you had done once you had fully composed yourself was properly clean and dress his wounds for fear of infection. You had no idea how long he'd been in that state, and the knife that he'd been stabbing into his side certainly wouldn't have helped in keeping that side wound clean. Although oddly enough, when you went about cleaning and dressing those wounds, you found that they didn't seem as bad as they did when you had first discovered him. And despite your certainty that he would be suffering from frostbite, his skin now showed little sign of any such issues. Perhaps he hadn't been out there as long as you thought.

Your mind went to your second priority, which was to get him warm as he was still ice cold to the touch. Once again you were forced to drag him awkwardly, this time to your bed as you had no other place to put him. By that point your limbs were screaming over the amount of exertion you had put them through that day, and now your movements were even more slowed and pained as you dragged him across the wooden floor. Getting him onto the bed was no easy task either, as he slipped off once or twice while you were trying to place him, forcing you to grab at him as best you could to keep him from tumbling onto the floor.

Eventually you were successful in placing him on the bed, much to the relief of your sore muscles. Given that you had no clothes that would fit him, the best you could do was cover him with as many blankets as you were able to spare. The man ended up bundled on your bed, the sheets up to his neck.

After taking a step back, it didn't feel like there was anymore you could do for him.

Whether he lived through this or not all depended on his own resilience.

You then took a moment for yourself to breathe, and from that point, the rest of your day didn't last long. The amount of effort you had put in to bringing him back to your home had drained you, and you barely had the energy to make yourself something to eat before you felt the strong pull of sleep overwhelm you. You ended up settling onto the floor not far from your fireplace, a few blankets placed beneath you to protect you from the hard surface of the floor while another was pulled around you.

You spared one last glance at the man from your makeshift bed, and found that he was the same as he had been earlier.

There wasn't anything more you could do for him, you reminded yourself.

Nothing other than sincerely hope he would pull through.

The blizzard was going strong when you awoke the next morning, bursts of wind hitting the entrance of your cabin repeatedly as the winter chill tried to force its way in. But the front door stood strong, and as you sleepily added more wood into the fireplace, the warmth within the room remained as it was at a comfortable temperature.

As much as you wanted to focus on the stiffness in your back that came from sleeping on the floor and the ache in your limbs from the strain you had put them through yesterday, you turned your attention to the man you had rescued.

He was still unconscious. But as you took a few steps closer, you noted that some color had returned to his cheeks. His breathing was also more even, though the longer you stared, he showed no signs of waking up anytime soon.

But he did seem better than he had when you went to sleep, and that was a sign of good progress for his recovery.

You hoped it was, at least.

With the blizzard keeping you inside, you spent your morning doing your best to care for him. After propping his head up, you managed to get a bit of water down his throat before you checked his wounds. The gash on his side seemed better. It actually looked smaller than you remembered it being when you first saw it. And the wound on his shoulder didn't seem serious at all once you lifted up the bandages.

That seemed a bit odd, though with all of the focus on the side wound, perhaps you were incorrectly remembering how severe the one on the shoulder had been. But as long as he was getting better, that was all that mattered.

Once you had changed out the bandages, you set about cleaning him up a bit more. You wiped away the blood that was still on his skin, doing your best to apply enough force to wipe it off but not to cause further pain. You even went as far as to brush out his hair, removing the tangles and the blood that had dried and clotted in the long black strands.

He looked much better once you had finished, and you remained seated on the edge of the bed while you watched him steadily breathing in and out.

Though you were still unable to tell when he would wake up, at that moment it seemed guaranteed that he would be alright.

A relieved sigh left your lips before you got up from the bed to make yourself a meal.

The mystery man slept through the entire day, and again on the day that followed. You did your best as you looked after him, making sure he was warm and that his bandages were clean. And while you weren't sure if there was anything you could feed him in his current state, you made sure to bring cups of water to his lips to ensure he had enough fluids in his system.

That night you felt that he looked better than he had before, and you went to sleep hopeful that he would soon awaken.

Your wish was granted the next morning.

A chill in the air awoke you suddenly, pulling you out of sleep as the warmth you so desperately craved was snatched away from you. You pulled yourself up with a groan as you looked about, trying to find out what had caused you to lose your rest.

You figured it out quickly when you turned and saw that the cabin door standing wide open with a pile of snow that had tumbled inside.

Your mind became clear in an instant as you wondered who had done that.

Then your gaze went to the bed to check on your guest, only to find that it was empty.

He had gone outside? In his condition?

Now that you were fully awake, you jumped to your feet and rushed to the door, worried that he had wandered off so far that you wouldn't catch sight of him. The snow was still coming down hard, and if he wasn't in the immediate vicinity, there would be little you could do for him. You couldn't take the risk of getting lost yourself to go after him.

It was a relief when you stopped at the open doorway and saw him.

He stood out in the open, between a pair of pine trees, clothed only in the trousers you had left him in and one of the blankets you had wrapped around him. Though it didn't remain there long as it slowly dripped off his shoulders before it ended up on the snow around him. Yet he didn't seem to notice or care that he was standing half naked in the freezing cold.

Instead, he was facing your direction, staring at the cabin in what seemed to be…. Amazement? Surprise? You weren't sure; it was hard to tell what exactly that expression was with the snowflakes that were still swirling about.

Right. The snow. The snow that was fast entering through the open door of the cabin, that was showing no signs of stopping and that your injured guest was still standing in. Enough of the snow had fallen that it was deep enough to submerge up to his knees, and he had no shoes. Or socks. Or anything other than the tattered trousers that were barely holding themselves together.

Best to get him back in case the frostbite managed to get him this time.

His attention was finally turned to you when you walked out, calling to him as you did so.

“Come back inside!”

He didn't make any move, and it didn't look like he understood what you said.

Wrapping your own blanket tighter around yourself, you huffed as you approached him. Trudging out into the snow like this was the last thing you wanted, especially when you weren't dressed for the outdoors. Your nightgown did little to protect you in that moment, so you tried your best to move fast, though the large amount of snow made it difficult.

The man continued to stare at you and said nothing, even when you reached him. Even when you knelt down and pulled up the blanket from the surface. Even when you once again wrapped it around him, he still seemed out of sorts, so you decided it was best to be gentle with him.

“Come back inside,” you repeated.

That time you put one of your hands in his while the other went to his shoulder, doing your best to be encouraging as you added “please?”

After a few moments more of him staring at you with a bewildered expression, he nodded. With that, he allowed you to lead him back inside, much to your relief. The cold air was brutal against your exposed skin, and you didn't want to imagine how bad it must have been for him.

The door was slammed shut once the two of you were back within the cabin, though now without some difficulty as quite a lot of snow had gotten in by that point, much to your dismay. Oh well. It would melt soon enough, wouldn't it? Besides, right now you needed to give your full attention to your guest.

The snow that covered his hair and shoulders quickly joined the pile on the floor as you brushed it off of him as best you could before you ultimately took off the blanket you had wrapped him in and grabbed another off of the bed, repeating the action you had made outside when you placed the fresh one on his shoulders. He only continued to stare at you with that same bewildered look.

While you found the way he acted strange, you decided not to think much about it – if he had any memory of what it had been like a few days prior, perhaps he was just astonished that he was still alive.

“Here,” you said, taking hold of his arm as you prepared to lead him again, “lay back down. Your injuries are bad.”

Again, he said nothing but allowed you to do as you pleased, letting you take him back to the bed and tucking the sheets over him once he took his place on the mattress. Part of you wanted to ask what he'd been thinking by going outside, but that was a question to be saved for later, if you remembered it.

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked him. It felt best to keep your questions to ones that could be answered with a 'yes' or a 'no', at least for the time being.

He was looking about the cabin, taking everything in when you asked your question, and when he turned his attention back to you, he nodded.

That was a relief, and you smiled at him as you replied “am I right in thinking that you're hungry? You must be, after all the time you spent asleep.”

Again, he nodded.

“Alright. If you'll wait, I can make a breakfast for the two of us,” you said.

He replied with yet another nod.

Things were quiet as you cooked, and you were happy to be next to the fireplace after the brief amount of time outside. The minute or so you had spent out there had chilled you to the core, and you hated to wonder about what it had been like for him.

You glanced over to find him watching you, and you thought that perhaps now you might try to get some answers, if he had any.

“Was there a reason for why you went outside?” you asked.

His brows furrowed, and he turned his head so he was staring up at the ceiling. And then, for the first time, he spoke.

“I don't know,” he said.

“Ah. Alright then.”

Clearing your throat, you decided to push forward with your next question.

“Do you know what happened to you?” you asked.

At that, his mouth pressed into a line and he looked uncomfortable. Quickly, you added “if you aren't able to talk about it, that's fine.”

“No, no, it's not that,” he told you, “I…. Uh, I don't…. I don't remember.”

“Oh.”

What exactly had he gone through before you found him?

“It looked as though you'd been attacked,” you said, “you have bullet wounds.”

“You were behaving strangely when I found you, as well,” you added.

He shook his head.

“I don't remember,” he reiterated.

Then he turned his head towards you as he asked “where are we?”

“In my cabin?”

“Yes, but where is it?”

“Ah. We're outside Willsden. About eight miles away from there,” you explained.

“Have you been in contact with anyone from there?”

You blinked.

“No?” you responded.

“I see.”

He went back to staring at the ceiling, though you noticed movement beneath the blankets after. His hand went to his side – the one that he'd been digging the knife into, where he'd gotten that bullet out of him.

Foolishly, you only then realized why he had been asking about where the two of you were.

“I'm sorry – with the weather still being bad, it'll take some time for the roads to clear up even after the snow stops, but as soon as it does I'll fetch a doctor for you,” you told him.

For some reason, he seemed surprised when you said that, and again he stared at you for a few moments.

You wondered if you really were as strange as he seemed to perceive you to be.

When the food was finished cooking, you moved to help him sit up in the bed only to be surprised at how easily he lifted himself up without your assistance. After the way you had found him half frozen to death in the snow and then the days that had followed, you would have thought him to be weaker, yet he moved without much trouble, though the wound in his side seemed to still be giving him some trouble as you saw him wince and grab at it again. At least the shoulder wound seemed to be better.

He spoke again when you were in the middle of your meal, having paused with his own as he asked you “what's your name?”

You answered him, and asked for his in turn.

Nobunaga, he told you.

The introduction seemed to help him, as once the two of you had the other's name, he was more open with you when he spoke. He'd been traveling, he told you, going from town to town in search of work. While he had been on his way to Willsden from Doveport before he wound up where you found him in the woods. Again, he told you that he didn't remember what had happened to him, but it seemed safe enough to conclude that he had been attacked, robbed and left for dead.

Hearing that, and remembering the way he had been when you first laid eyes on him, all you could feel was immense pity for the man. What sort of people leave another person to die in such a manner? Although it was silly to ask that question as you knew the answer – the number of people in the world who had no issue cutting short the lives of others for the sake of their own greed were far too many.

“I don't suppose you have an idea as to how long you were out there,” you said.

“Since the night prior,” Nobunaga answered as he sighed.

“The night?” you asked, confused. It didn't seem likely to you that one man could have lasted that many hours outside in the cold with the way he was.

Nobunaga seemed to realize that as well, as he corrected himself with “ah, maybe I'm misremembering. I couldn't have been out that long. So it must have been the morning at the latest.”

You nodded, as that made more sense.

“I wonder why I didn't hear any gunfire,” you then said, “wherever it was where you were attacked, it couldn't have been that far from here.”

“I do remember bits and pieces where I was walking for a long while. Maybe the area where I was attacked was further away,” he suggested.

Nobunaga then added “or maybe you were in too deep a sleep.”

“Ah… I suppose.”

It felt slightly embarrassing to admit it, but that explanation would make sense. It didn't bode well for you to sleep so deeply if something was wrong, however. But regardless of that, the person or people who had attacked Nobunaga posed a threat and they would need to be taken care of.

You got his attention again as you said “as soon as the road opens up, I'll fetch a doctor for you, and I'll report the crime as well.”

“Report it?” he asked.

You nodded.

Instead of seeming relieved, he seemed wary, his eyebrows furrowing as he said “I don't see much point in doing that. Those thieves are likely long gone by now. It's best to not bother.”

“Not bother?”

That didn't seem like a normal response. Was Nobunaga ashamed that he had been attacked?

“No one will blame you for what they did,” you said.

“I'm not worried about that.”

“Then may I ask what you are worried about?”

Nobunaga paused, his mind seemingly racing to find an excuse.

Why was he trying so hard to convince you to drop it?

“I just think there's no point because,” he began, waiting half a moment before he continued with “I'm…. I'm not getting any of the things they stole back. And I don't care much about what they took, anyway. I'm also still alive, so I have the satisfaction of knowing that they failed to kill me.”

He seemed hesitant about everything he said except the last part. That seemed to be the only part that seemed genuine from what he was telling you. Though why he wanted you to stay quiet was still a mystery.

…. Maybe he was still confused after that time he'd spent in the cold.

“I think you're right about that, that we won't retrieve your items,” you agreed, “but if there are murderers running about the area, others should be warned about it. What if they attack someone else? We could help the others in the town if we tell them.”

“Ah…… Right….”

It was clear he hadn't thought of that, and he didn't have any argument to make against that point.

Nobunaga leaned back on the bed as he continued “shouldn't you be worried about yourself, though? It doesn't look like you have any way to defend against murderers.”

“I don't, but I also think we'll be fine for the time being.”

“Why?”

“There is an advantage to the weather being so poor,” you stated, “no one will be coming here while the outside is still like that.”

Nobunaga nodded slowly, though his gaze was a bit distant after you said that. Was he worrying about his attackers finding him again?

“We'll be okay,” you told him, “I'm certain of it.”

He nodded slowly again.

Shortly thereafter he said that he wanted to rest more, and you retired to read quietly beside the fireplace while he settled back into the bed.

It was almost pitch black in the room when you were suddenly awoken as an unsettling feeling washed over you, a feeling that your subconscious was able to recognize. That it was strong enough to rouse you from sleep was odd, and even more odd was the sensation that had been recognized.

It felt as though someone had been watching you.

Someone had been standing over you, watching you as they took every slight movement you made, every soft breath you took as your tightly wrapped blanket rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

Why had they watched you so intently?

Some part of your mind told you with certainty that was what had happened; even though you hadn't been awake for it, you felt certain of that fact. After taking a few moments to process those thoughts, you glanced over at the one person who could have been doing such a thing.

Though it was hard to make out in the dark, you were able to see enough of Nobunaga's form to tell that he was in bed, and it appeared that he was asleep.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness further, and though you couldn't make out everything, you felt that he didn't look as though he had moved from the bed at all; he was still in the same position he had been in when you both had retired for the evening. It certainly didn't seem as though he had quickly returned to the bed once he realized you were awake, and you surely would have heard him if he did. Not only that, how could he have moved that fast with his injuries still being as grave as they were?

It seemed unlikely.

You looked away from him as you stretched out your arms.

You were imagining things, likely due to the poor quality of sleep that came as a result from resting on the floor. But you had no alternative to that at the moment, so it was all you could do to simply make the best of it.

Once again, you laid down on your makeshift bed while you did your best to ignore the feeling of discomfort that it brought.

Instead, your mind went to the brief conversation you and Nobunaga had before you both had gone to sleep. Right before you had settled down, he had asked you about what you had said to him when he was on the brink of death.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“When you brought me inside,” he clarified, “I think I was partially awake for that, and…. I thought I heard you say something.”

“Oh. Ah….”

You remembered the words that had tumbled out of your mouth at that time, ones that were brought out through sheer relief when you had realized that he was still alive. For whatever reason, that moment felt more embarrassing now that you knew he was somewhat conscious for it, though the source of that embarrassment was unknown.

“I… I may have said something, yes,” you answered, looking away from him.

He nodded again, his eyes going back up to the ceiling.

The next morning he was awake before you were, and the way he sat up in bed almost made it seem as though he was waiting for you to wake up.

You weren't able to get out a greeting before he spoke.

“I realized that I haven't thanked you once for saving me,” Nobunaga said, “so…. Thank you. I really mean it.”

You hadn't even thought of that until now, but his gratitude was appreciated as you smiled at him as you answered “I'm just happy I was able to help.”

Nobunaga looked away quickly as a blush formed on his cheeks.

[cheesecakethots]

Part 2

Your mother had described meeting her soulmate, your father, as the most influential moment of her entire life, despite the fact it had been so ordinary.

They had simply been passing each other in a busy marketplace, and happened to brush hands. The static and pull they both felt only meant one thing, and the rest was history.

Your siblings met their soulmates before you, your older brother even having met his as a young child. Maybe that’s why you were chosen, and not them. Maybe that’s why they didn’t fight for you, after all.

The village you live in had a harsh winter, with no crops being able to grow and people starting to freeze to death in their own homes. You had known the village leaders were the superstitious type, but you almost scoffed aloud when they declared the hardships faced must’ve been the work of a vengeful spirit or yokai.

You had been woken up when some of them dragged you out of bed, still in your flimsy old nightgown that did nothing to protect you from the frosty bite to the wind. Your father didn’t intervene, didn’t cry, didn’t do anything as he watched them carry you away. Your mother had broken into sobs when you screamed at her to save you, but still did nothing. Your siblings didn’t even bother to leave their rooms to watch you be hauled off like some livestock on route to a chopping block.

The woods were long and hard to traverse, but it wasn’t long before they had taken you to the centre, using old and frayed rope to tie you by the waist to a thick tree trunk. They didn’t turn back when leaving, didn’t so much as spare you a glance while you screamed and screamed and screamed.

You stopped after ten minutes, instead allowing yourself to cry silently, hoping that you would wake up soon with your parents ready to comfort you, your siblings waiting to laugh off your silly nightmare. No such thing happened.

It’s been about half an hour now. Maybe less. Maybe more. You’re certain at this point that no hungry spirit is going to find you, and instead you’re going to die a slow, cold death, all alone. Well, maybe not slow.

You don’t hear the soft crunches of snow in front of you, too busy staring at your own feet that are starting to go blue.

“Hm, what do we have here?”

Your eyes glance up. For a second you believe that you’re hallucinating, taking note of the clearly wealthy man in a large hat before you, as well as the men in armour situated behind him.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

Mouth opening and closing, you attempt to splutter out something, but what comes out is a shaky, unsure breath.

He scoffs, moving closer, “Speak up, will you? Or is your throat frozen?”

A cough leaves you, your throat feeling scratchy and dry, but you spit something out nonetheless.

“Th-They l-l-left me h-here,” you stammer, your voice shaking and teeth chattering wildly. Every breath you take feels as though the ropes around your torso are tightening and tightening.

“Who left you here?” He asks, despite the fact that he sounds rather uninterested.

“Th-The village. M-My fa-family. They left me h-here to die,” you whisper, and you’re surprised by the bitterness you somehow have the strength left to conjure. You look up at him, tears still streaming down your face, “H-How cou-could they throw me a-away like that?”

Something in his expression shifts, and he takes another step towards you, head tilting to the side as he considers something.

“Why did they leave you here, then?”

“Sa-Sacrifice to a yokai. T-They thought it w-would s-stop the wi-winter and help the cr-crops grow.”

He chuckles, but there seems to be little amusement in his tone. “How ridiculous.”

You cough again, your body shivering all the more. You’re going to die soon, you know it.

“What would you offer me if I were to save you?”

Hope doesn’t crawl into your veins at his words, instead a dry sob leaves you, “I have n-nothing left to give. Nothing.”

“Not even your gratitude?”

His eyes meet yours once again, and you can’t help but note how very pretty they are, despite the fact you’re on the verge of death.

“I-If you save m-me, I’ll forever be indebted to you.”

“Hm. It’ll have to do.”

The ropes holding you up fall before you can even realise what’s happened, and in turn so do you, landing on your hands and knees, your body quaking violently.

“Up. Otherwise you’ll freeze to death here. Stand up.”

But you can’t. Any apologies you have die on your tongue when he tuts, kneeling in front of you.

He reaches a hand out to roughly pull you up by the wrist, “Archons, I have to do everything aroun-“

His grip on you leaves as fast as it came, and he stumbles back on his feet a little, watching as you peer up at him, eyes wide.

You don’t have much time to consider the consequences of what has just happened, as your body finally gives way, and you collapse into the snow in front of your soulmate.

[lindsay00000008]

Ghost x Fem!Reader

DownBad!Simon Ghost Riley x JustAFriend!Reader

Part 2 (Prev)

CW: suggestive fluff, bad jokes, boners, reader is willfully dumb, author doesn’t know where this story is going but wants to write more parts anyway, first cod fic actually send help, is he smiling too much? Idk, happy ghost I guess

“Well that… that is not a book.”

Ghost’s eyes lock onto yours, too close for comfort. Your whole body flushes, and your stomach dips. This situation is way out of hand. His breath huffs and his body tenses, and your skin tingles with the charge in the air — the playfight isn’t over.

You do the only thing you can think of. You wriggle your arm between the two of you and cover his mouth with your palm, using his surprise to smoosh his face away from yours and twisting your body to the side. Both of you roll off the couch and onto the floor. You’re on top, and ready to break away, to end the fight with a handshake and burning cheeks.

But you gasp as his legs come up and around your hips, and his arms catch your torso and head, bringing you into his hips like a tree to a bear.

“Simon!” you yelp, though it sounds more like Fimom, the word getting lost in his meaty shoulder. His hold is gentle but stiff, and it’s impossible to go anywhere. You shift your body, feeling like you’ve been gift-wrapped by a professional knot-maker. “Mmph…” you give up and let your body relax on top of his.

After a few moments of heavy silence he sighs and relaxes his grip.

“Mmm,” he purrs. “This is nice…”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up as he finally allows you to move.

“If you wanted a cuddle you could’ve just asked,” you tell him, rolling off him to land on your back.

“I meant the roughhousing,” he deadpans, turning his head to watch you.

“Oh, of course. My mistake,” you quip back. Then you remember the box on the floor and jolt upright, stuffing the contents back in before stumbling to your feet and heading to your room, your shoulder tensed for a possible pounce. But it seems playtime is over, and you make it to your room without a fuss. You toss the small box on your bed, then change your mind and put it in a drawer instead.

When you return, Simon is in the kitchen, peeling the dry outer layers away from an onion.

“You can just cut it in half and it’d be easier to get those bits off,” you tell him.

“It’s not clean,” he retorts.

“You’re worried about a little dirt?”

“No,” he doesn’t elaborate, but keeps peeling it anyway. You settle into his side and smile, taking the skin off a second onion. How silly, that this man cares so much for grocery store germs, when he probably had days at a time in the field where he couldn’t even wash his hands?

When he finishes peeling his onion, he washes his hands again, and even rinses the onion, before grabbing the knife. You follow the routine, not wanting to gross him out or overstep. You guess it may be an overcorrection, him trying to be as clean as possible when he can. You just don’t remember seeing these tendencies when he’s made food for himself, those times you came over after your own early dinner. In fact, this may be the first time he’s cooked for you.

“You want to become God, then?” You joke, feeling a bit lame.

“What?”

“Cleanliness. Close to godliness.”

He shrugs. “You deserve a clean onion.”

That’s makes you snicker. “You must think so highly of me. Odd, considering you’ve seen the kind of messes I make when I cook for you.”

He smiles at that. You’re thinking of the time you accidentally heated up soup in a soapy pot. Simon had half of his bowl before you took a bite, only commenting that he must have that rogue cilantro gene. But he could be thinking of one of the many other food mishaps that occurred under your hospitality.

As he chops, you bend down and pat his leg to scooch, so you can access the cabinets beneath him. He tilts his hips and steps away — but not before you notice the bulge tightly packed behind his zipper. As you nonchalantly grab the glass bowl and pan you need, your head spins. Is this some odd side effect of cutting onions? Your eyes sting, you cry, you pop a boner…

Or was it because he just had your body under him, atop him, picturing you using your recent delivery…?

No. It’s not you he’s reacting to, he’s just a guy. He just got a little excited, got his blood pumping for a play fight with his bestie. That’s normal. But you can’t help thinking how you have this giant, manly — sexual man in your kitchen. How you ever managed to disregard that fact in the first place.

You’ve stalled after placing the pan on the stove, and you don’t realize until a handful of minced onion hits the pan in front of you.

“Oh wait, the oil,” you tell him, looking up at his face. He looks concerned for you, and maybe a little warm himself, a pink flush on his cheeks.

“Just poured some. You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah… Water?”

He grunts his confirmation. You open the fridge to find the filter empty. You sigh.

“Beer?”

“Beer.”

(Next)

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 9

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

You pushed through the thick underbrush, heart pounding in your chest.

The forest around you was eerily still. No birds chirped, no insects buzzed – only the sound of your labored breathing and the squelch of slush beneath your feet filled the silence. It was unnatural, this quietness, and it pressed down on you, making the weight of your fear heavier with each step.

The trees seemed to close in on you, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, as if to ensnare you and keep you trapped here. A cold, dampness clung to the air, seeping into your skin, and with it came an overwhelming sense of dread. Goosebumps prickled across your flesh despite the adrenaline surging through your veins. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching you, lurking just beyond the veil of trees, waiting for the moment you would falter. But you pressed on, driven by the need to escape. To get far away from that wretched castle.

Then, through the dense weave of trunks and branches, you glimpsed a clearing up ahead.

Relief flooded through you as the forest began to thin and you could finally see the open sky beyond the tree line. The cool, crisp air felt less suffocating now, and the oppressive silence began to lift.

In the clearing sat a small, weathered house on the outskirts of your home village, its stone chimney puffing out light wisps of smoke that curled lazily into the blue afternoon sky. At the front of the house stood an older man, his worn face partially obscured by the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, sinewy forearms as he swung his axe in a steady, rhythmic arc. Each strike landed with a deep, satisfying thud, splitting the logs on the chopping block cleanly in two. Nearby, a woman stood beside a clothesline, pinning up a white bedsheet.

As you came into view, their eyes snapped onto you.

Confusion flickered across their faces before swiftly morphing into alarm. The man’s swing faltered, his grip loosening on the handle as if it suddenly weighed too much. The heavy axe slipped from his fingers and thudded into the dirt, forgotten. The woman froze mid-motion, her hands hovering over the clothesline, the pins dangling uselessly in her grip. Both stared at you, their mouths slightly parted, wide-eyed and silent. The color drained from their faces, as though seeing you was something beyond unexpected – something wrong.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of their stares pressing heavily against your back as you bolted past them.

You soon caught the scent of smoke – thick and sharp, laced with the earthy richness of soil and burning wood. You were close now. The village chimneys had to be just beyond the next hill. The ache in your legs barely registered anymore as the familiar rooftops of your home village finally came into view.

You slowed to a normal pace as you entered the village center.

The cobblestone path beneath your feet was just as you remembered it, worn smooth from years of footfall, with tufts of grass sprouting between the cracks like stubborn survivors. The familiar cottages lined the road, their thatched roofs and weathered wooden walls still standing strong against the passage of time. Despite everything you had been through, this place was untouched, like it’s been frozen in time since the day you were taken three months ago.

Your eyes flickered from house to house, catching glimpses of villagers going about their daily lives. Everything appeared normal: a young woman scrubbed clothes in a wooden basin, her hands working rigorously, though they paused mid-scrub as she caught sight of you. Her mouth parted in silent surprise, eyes widening as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. Further down, an elderly man who had been tending to his small garden straightened, his wrinkled face going slack with shock as his eyes met yours. Children playing and chasing one another in the center stopped their game once they saw you as well, their laughter dying as they stood frozen, wide-eyed, and confused.

One by one, they all turned to stare at you.

The rhythm of the village came to a standstill. The clatter of daily life – the scrape of tools, the splash of water, the murmur of voices – faded into an eerie silence. Whispered conversations replaced them, soft and hushed.

You could feel their disbelief, their fear – how could you be here?

You, who had been dragged away in the dead of night, taken to Castle Dimitrescu, a place no one returned from. And yet here you were, standing in front of them, unmistakably alive.

Their eyes burned through you. It wasn’t just your face they studied, but the clothes you wore. The servant’s uniform clung to your skin like a foreign presence, its fine, embroidered fabric so out of place in your home village. It would be the most luxurious thing these people had ever seen. It only heightened the gap between you and them. You were one of them once, but now? Now you were something else, something apart.

The whispers grew louder, more frantic, the air thick with suspicion and curiosity.

You had to get a move on.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you pushed through the narrow roads, heading toward your parents' home. You kept your head down, the uniform pulling tighter with each movement.

Your footsteps echoed dully on the cobblestones as the sight of your home grew closer. It was just as you remembered it: the sturdy wooden walls, worn with age, still bore the same cracks from long-forgotten storms. Even the shutters hung slightly askew, paint peeling just like they had years ago.

You stopped for a moment, swallowing hard as you gazed at your home.

How will your parents react to seeing you?

You had been gone for so long, they must have feared the worst. The thought gnawed at you, twisting your stomach with worry, but you needed to see them again. You needed them to know that you were still alive; the guilt of missing this chance would haunt you if you didn't take it.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and approached the front door. You raised a trembling hand, feeling the cold metal of the door handle underneath your fingertips. You pushed the door open. The familiar creak of the hinges sent a wave of bittersweet nostalgia through you. You paused for a moment just inside, listening to the quiet rustle of movement in the next room.

Then you heard it – a voice. Your mother’s voice, soft and soothing, humming one of the many lullabies she used to sing to you as a child. The sound was so achingly familiar that it almost brought tears to your eyes. You let out a heavy exhale and closed the door behind you. Slowly, you made your way to the back of the house. As you reached the kitchen, you saw her. Your mother, standing at the table, her hands covered in flour as she kneaded dough. Her hair was streaked greyer than you remember, but her face was the same – kind and full of warmth.

When she looked up and her eyes met yours, a look of shock and disbelief crossed her face. The dough slipped from her fingers, falling forgotten onto the table as she took in the sight of you standing there. For a long, breathless moment, the world seemed to stop spinning.

Then, without a word, she stumbled forward, her arms reaching out in an urgent, desperate motion. When she finally closed the distance between you, she enveloped you in a fierce embrace. Her arms wrapped around you with such intensity that it was almost painful, but you didn’t care. You clung to her as if she was the only thing anchoring you to this world.

“I thought I’d lost you forever.” Your mother whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

You couldn’t find the words to reply. All you could do was hold your mother close.

You buried your face into her shoulder, inhaling her comforting scent, a blend of lavender and vanilla. Her hands shook as she stroked your hair, still murmuring words you could barely make out. You’re not even sure what she’s saying – just that it was full of relief.

Suddenly, a creak echoed from down the hallway. You both turned toward the sound. Your father stepped into view, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What’s going on? I thought I heard-”

His voice trailed off as he took in the sight of the two of you huddled together. For a moment, he simply stared, as if he couldn’t trust what he was seeing. His brows knit together in confusion, his mouth parting slightly as he struggled to grasp the reality before him. Your mother quickly wiped away the tears that glistened on her cheeks, trying to regain her composure.

“It’s alright,” she said, her voice steadier now but still thick with emotion. “She’s here. She’s really here.”

Your father’s gaze remained locked on you, but his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Is it…?” He took a tentative step closer, his hand gripping the doorframe for support, as if he might collapse if he let go. “It can’t be.”

“It’s me, papa,” you managed to say, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I’m here.”

Your father’s resolve crumbled at your words. He immediately closed the distance and before you knew it, he wrapped you in his arms. The hug was tight, more desperate than your mother’s, as if he feared that if he let go, you might vanish again. His chest shook against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his tears seeping into your shoulder.

“I missed you so much.” He choked on the words.

Your mother, still hovering close, reached out to take your hand. “We never stopped thinking about you, not for a single day. We always hoped that you would come back to us.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. All the fear, the pain, the darkness that’s haunted you since you were brought to the castle, it all welled up and spilled over in a flood of tears. You leaned into them both, letting the weight of everything you’ve carried finally lift, even if just for a moment. It’s not gone – not by a long shot – but standing here between your parents, you felt something you haven’t felt since the day you were forcibly taken; love.

Your father pulled back slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders. His brows furrowed deeply, concern and confusion etched into every line of his face.

“How did you even manage to escape?”

You took a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the memory.

“I had some help,” you murmured, swallowing the lump in your throat. The faces of Catalina and the maid who gave you the note flashed in your mind briefly. “One of the staff slipped me a note... told me where the main house key was hidden. I just had to wait for the right moment when I didn't have the Lady's or her daughter’s attention on me.”

Your father leaned forward, his voice low and edged with worry. “Will they come looking for you?”

A cold shiver slithered down your spine as you knew the answer to that question all too well. You nodded slowly.

“They will.” You admitted, swallowing against the tightness in your throat.

Your father's face darkened as he clenched his jaw with determination. “We’ll protect you. Whatever it takes, we’ll keep you safe here. We could hide you.”

You knew he meant it – he would stand between you and any threat – but you also knew what Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters were capable of. The lengths the lady would go to in order to retrieve what she considered “hers” were beyond their understanding. The thought of her daughters descending on your village, tearing through homes and lives, made your stomach churn.

Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you stared at the worn floorboards beneath your feet. Every ounce of your being longed to stay with your parents, to hold onto the comfort and safety of home, but you knew, deep down, that staying here would only invite more danger. You finally shook your head.

“No, I can’t let you do that.” You said, your voice firmer than you expected.

Your father’s stern expression softened, though his resolve remained unshaken. “We’re not giving up on you. You just came back to us.” His voice wavered slightly near the end.

Your mother's hand tightened around your own. “We can’t stand by and watch you face this alone.”

“I know,” you said solemnly. “But if I stay here, you’ll all be in danger, including the others, and I can’t risk that. It’s the only way to keep you safe.” You could feel the burn of tears welling up behind your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I just needed to see you two again.”

Your parents exchanged worried glances with each other, a silent conversation passing between them. For a moment, you thought your father might try to stop you, pull you into an embrace, and refuse to let you go. But instead, his hand slowly dropped, defeated. “Okay,” he sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. “You know we’ll always be here for you.”

You offered a tight smile, one that barely masked the knot tightening in your chest. You hugged them both again, lingering a bit longer, memorizing their warmth as if it might be the last time you’d feel it. As you stepped back, you noticed the fear in your mother’s eyes.

“Please stay safe.” Your mother pleaded.

“I’ll be careful.” You promised, squeezing her hand tightly in yours.

She gave a small nod, her eyes still clouded with worry. “Let me at least pack you some extra layers and food before you go.” She insisted.

Without waiting for a response, she was already walking down the hallway. You turned your attention back to your father. His gaze was heavy with all the unsaid things hanging between you: warnings, well-meaning advice, and unspoken fears. He then turned and moved to a drawer near the living room. He pulled out a worn, steel revolver, its cold metal reflecting the soft light. The gun had seen better days, its surface scarred by time and use.

With a solemn expression, he walked back over to you.

“Take this,” he said, holding the revolver out to you. “Just… make sure you don’t take unnecessary risks. And remember, no matter what happens, we’re here for you.”

You could see the pain in his eyes, the fear of losing you that he struggled to hide.

“I promise, papa.” You replied as you accepted the revolver, tucking it under your waistband. You wished you could offer your father more comfort.

Your mother returned a minute later, carrying a large duffel bag and your thick jacket. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glistening. The sight made your heart ache even more.

“Everything you might need is in here,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay strong. “Clothes, some food, and a few personal items. I put in that quilt too. I know it’s bulky, but-” Her voice broke slightly, and she bit her lip so hard that it turned a stark, painful white.

You reached for the thick jacket, feeling its comforting weight as you pulled it on. You then took the duffel bag from her and slung it over your shoulder.

“Thank you, mama.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the lump forming in your throat.

She reached out with trembling fingers, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. You stepped forward and hugged them one last time, your arms wrapping around them as tightly as you could. When you finally pulled away, the heaviness in your chest felt like a leaden anchor, dragging you down even as you turned to leave.

“I love you.” Your voice cracked.

“We love you too.” Your father said softly.

He wrapped an arm around your mother’s shoulder and drew her in close. His eyes shone with unshed tears, mirroring the anguish in your mother’s gaze.

You finally stepped out of the house, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The sky above was a deepening shade of indigo, with the first stars starting to pierce through the twilight.

With one final, lingering glance back, you saw your parents standing by the doorway, watching you wander off. The sight was almost too much to bear. You fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. You took a deep breath and began to make your way toward the tree line.

Most villagers had retreated indoors by now. Only a few remained outside, giving you odd stares as you passed them. You quickened your pace, feeling the weight of their gazes on the back of your head.

The trees ahead loomed larger with every step. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of pine and frost, each breath forming fleeting clouds that dissipated almost immediately.

As you trudged through the forest, the idea of leaving the village altogether flickered in your mind. You imagined escaping to somewhere far from the horrors of Castle Dimitrescu. Yet, that thought was immediately squashed down. You knew that was too risky due to the Lycans that prowled around the outskirts of the forest.

No one had ever made it past them. Stories told of those who had tried over the past few decades had vanished without a trace. Never to be seen again. Their fates were as much a part of the forest’s lore as the whispering wind through the trees.

A deep sigh escaped your lips, mingling with the cold air. The darkness was creeping in, casting an ominous veil over the forest. Finding shelter had to be your foremost concern now.

***

You wandered on in a daze, your sense of time slipping away like sand through your fingers.

As the trees seemed to blur together, you spotted an old, gnarled tree standing apart from the others.

In the shadow of the tree, you noticed something strange – a faint outline, a hollow space nestled within the roots and vines. The entrance was partially obscured, concealed by the overgrowth that clung to the ancient bark, yet it was wide enough for you to slip through. With a cautious glance around, you crouched low and carefully maneuvered your way inside. The air within was musty but cool. You found a relatively clean patch of earth amidst the clutter of roots and twigs and settled yourself down.

With a sigh of relief, you placed your bag on the ground and leaned back against the rough bark of the tree. Its coarse texture against your back was oddly grounding. You tilted your head backward and exhaled slowly, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

A sense of peace settled over you as you allowed yourself to rest, even if just for a little while.

[redxixi]

~`all ours~` part 1

Part 2

~` pairing: viking!141 x fem!reader

~` summary: you were a simple girl living with your family in a small villiage when the price clan came and raided your villiage so now your their prisoner.

a/n: aight so im back and ready sorry for being gone for so long. so this fic is heavily inspired by @groguspicklejar fic SO GO READ CUZ LORD. Her fics are AMAZING. while i was gone i developed a heavy crush on price from cod and i wanted to write something like this for a while so here we are.

~` warnings: being chased, violence, dark shi. !CAUTION! these fics will contain dark stuff in them so if it is not for you do not read it pls. If you do read it and get offended by it it is not my problem cuz it says dark shi so yeah.

like any other morning you went to the nearby river for some water and berries. everything was peaceful, the winds were blowing a soft breeze, the birds were singing and the clouds looked like pillows you could sleep on when suddenly you heard loud yelling from your home. you ran back to see what had happend only to be met with the sight of fire. everything was burning and everyone was yelling. you rushed to your hut only to find it destroyed and then you saw them.

they were like animals slaughtering and destroying everything in sight. you ran as fast as you could and hid in the woods behind a gigantic tree. you waited, listenend and tried to proccess what just happend. the people who treated you like family and gave you food were killed brutally, the children who were just playing a couple hours ago now dead too. but you only saw 4 men. could 4 men really kill a whole villiage?

you waited for a while until you couldnt hear any screams anymore and carefully came out of your hiding spot. you slowly aproached the villiage and saw the 4 men and with them where a few surviors tied up. the 4 men where talking amongst themselves so you decided to sneak past them. you carefully and quietly snuck past one of em and heard one of em talking.

"there was no point coming here. the only thing these people had were crops and some silver other than that they had basically nothing"

the one that said this was a dark skinned man with an axe resting on his back and the masked one awnsered.

"exactly they had crops and we don't kyle. if we want to survive this winter we needed more food."

you carefully listened in on theire confersation while sneakily trying to flee when just then you stepped on a branch making a loud crack sound. the 2 men who were talking turned theire heads to your derection.

"what was that"

slowly you could heard them aproaching the bush you hid behind. you were shaking from fear and you could hear your heart beating in your chest. without thinking you ran.

"fuck GET HER"

you heard one of em say. filled with adreneline you ran as fast as you could. you ran past the tied up survivors and just when you thought you could make it out of there one of the men suddenly appeared in front of you making you collide against his chest causing you to fall on your butt.

"well well well what do we have here."

you looked up at him. he had short black hair with a mutton chop beard and was build like a greek god with countless tattoos on his chest.

"did you really think you could run from us las?"

you started to crawl backwards with fear while he slowly aproached you. you could feel the tears coming out of your eyes so with your last strenght you stood up and ran the opposite derection only to see the other men in your way. both of your ways to escape were blocked by these monsters. you felt you heart beating almost out of your chest and tears were streaming down your face.

"p-please don't i-i just wanna go please"

you pleaded to them sobbing.

"aww sweetie its okay we wont hurt c'ha"

the one with a dark brown mowhawk said sarcastically while grinning. before you could do anything you were grabbed from the back by the masked man. you tried to squirm out of his grasp but his hold on you was rock solid.

"shhh its okay we aren't bad people....well we are but we will take good care of you okay"

the man with a mohawk then put a cloth with some sort of substance on your nose. you tried to resisit by shaking your head but he pulled your hair back and shoved the cloth onto your nose. slowly you could feel yourself slipping away and everything slowly became blury.

"shhh sleep now we have plans for ya bonnie"

So this will be part 1 in a multiple part series so feel free to send suggestions and ideas cuz i need em.

[ranaissingle]

Whispers and Melodies (Pt. 2)

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: She has heard a deep melodic voice speaking to her from a faraway place for decades. Anything from snippets of a longer conversation to roars that shook the very earth she walked on.

Rating: T (For now)

Word Count:

A/N: This story is shaping up to be over 10 chapters so I am trying to queue up some chapters to post with some kind of regularity lol. I hope you enjoy this one! Also, I have created a tag list so comment below if you would like to be tagged in upcoming parts!

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Past (Sometime before Amaranths's Rule UTM)

Rhysand sat at his office in Velaris pouring over mountains of paperwork that he had allowed to pile up right before starfall. He’d spent the better part of 3 days working through the aftermath of the holiday, and he sat now at his desk, he wished he had some type of escape or distraction from the mountain of work that always seemed to follow him. 

A melodic breeze seemed to enter from the window as the trees and winds intermingled before filtering their way through the large windows. The breeze carried notes that came in quick succession and seemed to echo off of each other. The soft feminine voice almost caressed Rhysand's cheek and winded itself around him in a blanket of warmth. He hadn't realized how cold he was until that very moment. His back and arms slowly untensed themselves as he relaxed further into his chaise and as soon as Rhysand felt like he could finally go to sleep, the voice seemed to fade back out the window and only left Rhysand craving more. 

Page break and POV switch (Same time period)

Y/N sat out enjoying the weather amid the hot summer. She had laid out various fruits, bread, and spreads to snack on while she read and hummed away her evening basking in the sun. The wind carried a gentle breeze and various little creatures scurried their way across the grove. All at once, it seemed like the ambient noise around her had become muffled. As if someone had placed a pillow over her ears. Slowly, a voice from the outside seemed to filter through whatever was muffling her hearing. It was laughter. Booming laughter made some deep unknown emotion bubble up inside her. Something that made her heart ache most deliciously. A small smile crept upon her face as she looked out into the distance the first to find where the sound had been emitting from. Nothing but trees and willowing branches blew in the wind, not a soul in sight. The laughter slowly fizzled out as if the sound was creeping back into the forest from whence it came. The retreat left her feeling cold as if a winter breeze had made its way to her from the winter court. 

Rhysand slowly pulled open the door to the room he had been occupying and stepped outside the threshold of the door. As the hinges creaked, the woman’s chopping ceased as she placed her knife on the cutting board before wiping her hands on her apron and turning around. Rhysand strengthened his stance even as the muscles of his thighs burned with the strain. 

“Who are you and how did I get here.” Rhysand’s voice came out firmer than he had thought himself capable of. The woman narrowed her eyes at him and cocked her head to the side.  

“I found you passed out on the beach. You are quite lucky the tides did not pull you into the depths before.” 

Her lips quirked up at the idea as if she was thinking about that very outcome. Rhysand squared his shoulders and steeled himself further. He couldn't be sure that this woman did not have evil intentions. If there was anything he had learned in his 500 years of life, it was that he should never underestimate an opponent just because they were a female. 

“Why would you help me then? Is there something you want in return?” 

Rhysand was grateful enough for the help that she had provided that he was willing to give her something in return. The female rested all of her weight on one leg as she turned her eyes up to the roof and began to contemplate what she would want. She was likely going to ask for a pile of gold or a new cottage of some sort. She looked like she had run through a million possible answers to his question when all at once her eyes widened and her posture stiffened as she blurted out; 

“Waterdrake scales! Could you get me water Waterdrake scales? A lot of them?” 

POV Switch To Y/N

Why did his voice sound so familiar? She swore she’d heard it before but couldn't

Y/n’s hand tightened on the side of the counter that she had been gripping with all of the mother’s strength. What ingredient could possibly stabilize the potion she was working on? She had tried every single combination of Honey possible but it always reduced the potency by some amount. She needed it to be as potent as possible in order to ensure its effectiveness. Firedrake scales were known to increase the shelf life of a potion, but that wasn’t exactly what she needed. She needed something to make sure that the reaction between the crawfish shell and fennel root did not take place and that their effects were enacted on the patient independently of their effects on one another. Could dragon bone work? No, that would just react with the fennel root and make the whole mixture useless. But waterdrake scales? Yes, those could work; it would keep the potion cool enough to prevent reaction while also having a cooling effect on the body when administered which would help with the fevers that often accompany blood loss. Yes, this was perfect! Before she could get any sort of reign on her excitement. 

Y/n blurted out, “Water drake scales! Could you get me waterdrake scales? A lot of them?”

POV Switch to Rhysand 

This female had gone insane. Water Drake scales were the rarest type of scales. Asking for them was equivalent to asking for something more valuable than the cauldron itself. Never mind that he was sure Velaris did indeed have Warwe drake scales, what could this female possibly need water Drake scales for? Rhysand lets his lips quirk up on one side as he takes in the female. 

“What would a spritely female like you need with water drake scales and how are you so sure that I could be the one to provide them for you?” Rhysnad crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down. 

Y/n rolled her eyes while she looked him up and down. “You carry yourself in a manner that befits whatever rank you possess.” She takes a deep breath before continuing,”I have seen a great many males like you, they traipse around as if they own the land they walk on, they trample over the plants and never leave a place the same as when they found it. Your kind is the reason our world will never have any semblance of peace for more than the time it takes to heave a breath.” 

“Oh? You have come to this conclusion after knowing me for all of 10 minutes have you?” 

“Not quite I think. You seem to be less…? Just less I suppose. I can’t exactly put my finger on it but you do not suck the air out of a room the way your brethren tend to. I’ve come to conclusions about your brethren, not necessarily you, it seems.” 

Although Rhysand still did not look pleased, he had already decided to acquiesce to her demands as soon as she had spoken it. He was grateful, after all, for her help in his recovery.  But, he was not going to fetch the scales by himself. If she wanted to get her hands on those scales she would have to contribute to the journey. 

“Alright, if you want the scales you shall have them. However, I am not going on this journey for the impossible by myself. I know where to find them so we can get started whenever you are ready. 

She smiles slightly before speaking. “I think that our journey might have to be held off a couple of days at least.”

Rhysand took the bait. “What, not up for the challenge?”

“No, I’m up for the challenge. You, however, are not.” The smirk on her face was undeniable and Rhysand felt a laugh make its way up his throat. The female was right he was not up to any kind of journey where he would be forced to sleep on the cold hard earth and eat whatever gruel he could salvage. All at once he felt the exhaustion flood him as his body realized he would not be traveling anytime soon. 

She seemed to notice this and anticipated Rhysand’s legs giving out under him before he realized he was getting closer and closer to the polished wood of the floor. She skillfully wrapped her arms around his torso and slowly lowered him to the ground. 

“We need to get you to bed. I already made breakfast so I’ll bring some to you as soon as you’re tucked in. 

Rhysand chuckled, “I’m not a child, gods, you’re more demanding than my brothers.” She cocked her hips to the side before placing her hands on her hips as she stared him down. Rhysands smile never left his face as he raised his palms in defeat and raised himself to his knees before turning on his heel and entering the room he had previously come out of. As the door clicked shut behind him, Rhysand stood in the middle of the cozy room. He hadn’t smiled in 50 years. The muscles felt strangely tight from lack of use. He knew he had to get back to Velaris as soon as possible; his family was probably wondering where he was. But, despite his best efforts he couldn't bring himself to winnow home. It was quite peaceful in this little cottage by the sea. Rhysand eventually sat on the bed and leaned back on his arms as he stared out of the large window across from the bed. It seems Amaranths's reign managed to evade this section of the fae kingdoms. 

Y/N rapped on the door 3 times before opening the door and walking inside. Rhysand smelt a fragrant aroma of ripened fruits and something else warm and minty. She walked up to the small wooden table next to the bed and placed a tray on it. 

“I’ve made you a fruit salad, bread and herbs, and tea. I would make you something more hearty but, considering how malnourished you were upon your arrival, I feel it’s best to start you off on some simpler foods.” Rhysand looked up at her, “Thank you for the meal.” She tilted her head to the side slightly and smiled. “Could I check your temperature?” She raised her hand up towards his forehead but kept her hand from actually touching him. He took the time to look up at her from where he sat on the bed. He nodded his head and waited as she brought the back of her hand to his forehead and placed her hand on her forehead as well. 

“You’re temperature is slightly above what is normal..” The frown on her face deepened as the gears in her mind began formulating some combination of herbs and elixirs to lower the fever. Rhysand kept his gaze on her as she started counting on one hand and mumbling soft indescribable words. Her eyes flicked down to his and she said,“ I’ll have to give you some ginger and chamomile to help lower your fever. ” Her touch felt cool on his warm forehead when he swore he felt his temperature lower a fraction. She then slowly brought her hands down to his neck before looking at him to ask for permission once more. Again, he slowly nodded his head and she pressed one of her delicate fingers against his skin. She removed her finger quickly and kept her gaze on that section of her neck. “It appears as if you are also dehydrated.” 

Her voice trailed off as she continued moving his head slightly. Curiosity overwhelmed him so Rhysand asked, “ You could have done all these tests while I was asleep, could you not?”. She smiled slightly at him as she removed her hands from his cheek and neck and placed them back in her lap. “I don’t think you would have wanted that.” Her gaze settled on him in a way that made shivers run up his already sore spine. Rhysand answered with his own poor excuse of a smirk.

“Eat up, I will start preparing the provisions for our journey and bring you some more water”. She turned to the door and softly clicked it shut behind her. 

Y/N did not expect that being so close to the man would have made her heart beat so fast. The hair on her arms stood up as she attempted to take deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She needed to get started on the preparation as well as figure out the dilemma of how she was going to replicate the properties of water drake scales without having to put them in every single batch of her remedy.  

Rhysand relaxed back into the bed cradling him and felt the tension in his muscles trickle out and gather underneath him in a pool of warmth. They wouldn't be going on a journey, he was sure Majda had some water drake scales stocked up and he planned to winnow them into Velaris as soon as he was better. But she didn't need to know that yet. He quite liked the tranquility of the little cottage on the sea and intended to stay here as long as she would permit him to. Funnily enough, he didn't care to go back home.

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A/N: this had too many POV switches for my taste so I won't be doing that again lol I know it's been a while since I posted but I am trying to get back into the groove of things haha

TAGLIST: @nebarious

[bandgie]

Predator & Prey

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

smut!Nonhuman

synopsis: You were suddenly teleported to a snowy world while discovering a cave. After norrowingly escaping a terrible fate, you're practically forced to deal with a winged beast you saved. It's awkward and kinda mean, but it does more good than harm.

warnings!: I think this counts as dead dove, there's some gore (stabbing, blood, bone breaking) in this chapter. there's also monsterfucking, but it's not in this chapter (no smut... yet), reader is also is a scary situation but you'll make it out okay :)

a/n: I love monster fucking, I am part of the community and I pray this reaches the right audience cuz im not tryna be shamed!

5.4k words

You wore a cute spring dress, being that it was Easter. You did not favor the color white or yellow, so you when with a shade of pink that went nicely against your skin. The dress was decorated with small flowers at the bottom of the dress that touched your mid thigh. You wore open-toed wedges made it a little difficult to walk in, but you could manage.

Though you liked hunting for eggs, pictures were probably your least favorite part. Then again, you're sure it was everyone's least favorite part. Your family was looking for another spot to take a picture, so you were free to explore the terrain of the area. Your family had chosen a secluded beach, not many people but too many caves. You opted to watch the beach, the waves softly splashing at your feet.

Your peace is broken by your younger sibling calling your name, signaling that your parents have found a place for pictures. With a sigh, you grab your shoes and walk barefoot on the sand. Then you feel it, a cold breeze washes over you that send chills down your spine. Your head whips around, arms wrapping around your body as you look at your surroundings. Sure it was windy, but it shouldn't have been that cold.

You're about to ignore it when you feel the gust of wind again, now realizing it's coming from the cave to your right. You narrow your eyes to look inside, unsure of what you might see.

Nothing.

You step closer, ignoring your sibling's yelling as you walk into the cave. The empty cave, save for the water on the ground and the...icicles on the ceiling?

The ground starts to viciously shake, your arms stretching out to find something to balance on. One arm grabs onto the side of cave while the other block the top of your head to prevent the icicles from falling on you.

An earthquake, you think as you fear for you life and your family's. They should be safe, given that they're outside. You though? You're not entirely sure. After a few more seconds, the ground stops moving, the water stops splashing so aggressively. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding and turn, running back to your family to check on them.

The cold hits you immediately, your arms go back to wrapping across your body. You think you're hallucinating, dreaming. Those icicles must've hit your head leaving you unconscious. But why does it feel so real? The painful chill you're body is experiencing, the chattering of your teeth, the snow that falls from the sky, why is it all so real?

You take tentative steps forward, eyes scanning the frosty trees and ears hyper fixated on the crunch beneath your feet. Toes and fingers are the first to go in frostbite, so you bend down to put your shoes back on. You sink into the snow, but it's either this or chopping your feet off.

"Mom?! Dad?!" You yell. You strain to hear any response, but you're left with deafening silence. You sniff, eyes starting to water. You're scared, the overwhelming scene of loneliness quickly starting to get the best of you.

You shake your head aggressively, the heated curls on your head hitting you in the face. Crying won't fix anything, it'll only make things worse. With a few deep breaths, you manage to maintain your composure.

Okay first things first, you think, get warm. Most people would advise you to stay where you are when you're lost, but in this case, that's the last thing you should do. You look at where the sun is, determining that it's a little past the afternoon. People who live in the snow build their houses on the East, so maybe if you head in that direction you'll find something?

"Oh my god," you say aloud, finally accepting the predicament you're in.

"I'm fucked."

-

You were about to give up on your pursuit of finding warmth until you saw a large house, or building. It was far, but it was there. Your body was shivering, and you know your snot and tears were frozen on your face, but the mere sight of a home had you running.

Your wedges quickly came undone, leaving your barefooted to run in the burning snow. You didn't care though, and the view of the house-no mansion quickly came into view. It was bigger than you anticipated, but you could only cry of joy when you ran up the steps and banged on the door.

It didn't matter if you looked like a crazy woman, it didn't matter how disgusting your face was, what mattered was being thrown in a fire.

"Hello?!?!? Excuse me?!?!" Your voice was loud, demanding to be heard. Both your hands were banging harshly on the door, you would apologize for being so rude later.

Finally the door swung open, an older lady in white and black greening you.

"What in names heaven do you think you're- Oh my goodness!" She quickly took in your physical state. She grabbed you by the hand and yanked you inside, shutting the door.

"Grace?" Another voice called from deeper inside the house. "Who was it?"

The lady, who you now know was Grace, waved a dismissive hand. "Run me a hot bath! Quickly! Quickly!" Grace was practically pushing you inside, up the stairs while your feet struggled to keep up. You were shivering too much, tears clouding your vision that you could barely see where you were going. But you could feel the warm embrace of heat.

You were shoved into a room, clothes quickly being stripped off before you could complain. Grace along with other women lifted you and placed you in a bath. You yelped in pain, the heat of the water was too much. If they heard you, they ignored you. Rather, they dunked a bucket of water over your head, warming every part of your body.

After clearing your face, you finally took in the way the bathroom looked, if you could call it that. It was unbelievably big, a large window stood in front of you. Then you looked the women who were scrubbing you, varying from ages. Yet, it was clear the Grace was the one in charge, easily giving orders the other ladies listened to. They were all dressed the same, as if it was uniform.

"Do you guys...work here?" You ask.

Your voice broke their concentration, eyes narrowing at you. "Maids tend to work where they live, yes," Grace answers, as if it's the most obvious answer. Maids? You think, who has maids nowadays? Before you can ask another question, Grace speaks.

"Are you feeling better? Can you move?" Her eyes can your body from underneath the body, and now is it that you become aware that you're nude. You can't cover yourself though, the other women were busy cleaning your arms and scrubbing your head.

You nod deciding that this must be a frequent occurrence for them, "Yeah, it's just a little hard to move my fingers." She nods, turning to the door. "That's normal," she starts, "I'll find you something to wear. Girls..." her head turns to her workers, "Get her dry."

With multiple yes ma'am's they pull you out of the water, leaving you to bare to the window. A small shriek leaves your lips, you quickly tell them you can dry yourself. They instead giggle at your little outburst, gently pulling you out of the tub.

"Please don't worry yourself miss," one of them says. It's only then that you notice their accent. It had a slight lisp to it, like a gentle pirate who was sophisticated.

"You'll be fine with us. For now, we should get the hearth going. Need to warm yourself yes?" Another was grabbing the towel, wrapping you tightly. Before you could say something, there was loud clanging. Muffled, but loud enough. You peer outside the two-story window and see a cage. There were three people, men you think, poking at the cage with what seemed like a stick. Whatever was in the cage was not happy, thrashing around angrily.

"Please miss, pry you eyes away. It's unwise to look upon such a beastly thing," another girl pulls you away from the window, using smaller towels to dry your hands and feet.

You remain silent, allowing them to dry your body. You hear a couple of them whispering near the door.

"I hear she came with ill clothes, indecent for a young lady in this cold," one whispers. "She must not be from here. Perhaps she was in an accident and got lost," the other reasons.

Before you could say anything, the door swings open, almost hitting the two gossiping girls. Grace waltz in, a large dress in her hands. She sets it on the stool nearby and with a wave of her hand, dismisses a few of the girls.

"I believe this will fit rather nicely. These girls will do your hair and such," Grace announces.

"Actually," you start, "I'm just lost. I don't know where I am and-" Grace laughs, though you didn't say anything funny. "I understand your worries, but I believe you should concern yourself with other things. Do you know whose house you're in?" Her eyes glint with curiosity. I shake my head, "Like I said, I'm lost and I need to find my-"

"You are in the home of Lord Lukas," Grace interrupts again. You're starting to grow irritated, close to snapping at this lady. She helped you though, clothed and bathed you; you bite your tongue.

"He is the famous monster hunter, and you stumble in here wearing heavens knows what in the winter. You have stirred the pot in such a way, miss. Perhaps I pry too much, but are you...interested in the lord?"

You furrow your eyebrows. The ladies behind you are dead silent, waiting for your response. You take a deep breath, "I don't want to talk about this naked."

The ladies gasp, as if you had said a terrible thing. They quickly grab the dress from Grace and bottles from the bid dresser behind you. Without a word, grab at your towel, but you hold it tightly.

"Can I dress myself?!" You shout, losing your composure. The ladies look at one another then at Grace. For a moment, Grace eyes you suspiciously. She lets out a sigh and nods, "Leave her girls. We need to prepare for dinner."

-

You have decided that not only are you in a completely different area, but surrounded by old technology. No hair dryer, heated pipes for the bath, stained windows, the smell of old wood, it's not current trends. Perhaps this place prefers the older times, but the accent, the outfits...

No, you're getting distracted. You need to get home, and you should start by heading back from where you came from. Or is this just a very realistic dream? You would normally wake up the moment you recognized you were dreaming, but this time you stayed in this fictional world.

One thing was sure though, you were not putting that dress on. It was beautiful yes, but too many layers. It had a corset much too small for your body and was unnecessarily big. After some digging around, you found outfits that were similar of that to that maids. It would be much easier to walk in, and put on.

You dried your hair as much as you could before brushing it out with a long toothed comb. There was some make up on the dresser as well, you touched it curiously. It definitely was old, the style, the smell. You decided to not put any on, scared of the chemicals it may have.

When you opened the door, you were in another room. A bedroom. You gasped, if you thought the bathroom was huge, this was gigantic. A big, red, plush bed in the middle, a fireplace from where you were exiting was lit, a long window on the right, and an even bigger dresser on the left. It was straight from a fairy tail.

Now you understood why the dress was so big, so grand; Because this entire mansion was lavish. You were given that dress to fit the aesthetic. You walked around the room, unsure if it was even the one you were temporarily given.

You made your way to the window, your hand touching the cold glass. You looked down, seeing the cage they ladies had told you to not look at. You saw the...beast...huddled in a corner, conserving it's warmth. You pouted, feeling bad for this pure black creature. It was hard to make it out, but it looked like it was enveloping itself in wings.

"That's a big ass bird," you mumble.

Knocking at the door startles you, turning your head to see who was opening the door. You relaxed when you saw one of the ladies who was attending to you in bath.

"Miss, it is time for- What! Oh no dear, that is not what you should be wearing," she promptly shuts the door, speed walking to you."This is completely unacceptable. If the Lord saw you think this..." she trails off. She hurries to the closet you hadn't noticed, swinging its doors open.

"Yeah sorry," you apologize, "I didn't think I would feel comfortable in that dress so I put this on instead." She ignored you, rummaging for something that you can wear.

"You will be in the presence of the Lord of this house, miss," her tone is clipped, "I understand you are not from here, but he is someone of power. I assume even a place where you're from would have someone power?"

She doesn't bother to wait for you answer, instead pulling a golden color dress out. It's doesn't look puffy at all, instead like an easy slip on. It glitters in the light, you notice a slightly deep v-line. The maid gently places it on the bed.

"Put this on miss. I will be outside your door, please dress quickly," and with that she leaves.

You take one more glance outside the window and make your way to the bed, reaching for the dress. It really is pretty, and it's long enough to have leg room, but not enough to have you trip. You nod, satisfied with this dress.

You slip into it, feet first. It goes over you easily, and you reach behind to tie it together. It proved harder than you thought and you struggle horribly. You pace around the room trying to lace the string though its holes, facing the window as if the scenery will help.

You let out a loud, frustrated groan. The bird in the cage jolts, and your eyes widen. Did it hear you? You watch as it lifts its head up, looking around until it meets your eyes. You gasp, looking into its black, human-like eyes. You stumble backwards with a hand covering your mouth, what was that?

"Miss?" The maid reappears, probably from hearing your frustration.

You close your eyes, your head is playing tricks on you. You're in an unfamiliar place and your brain in panicking, unsure of how to take in its surroundings. Plus the bird was far away, you could be mistaking things.

"My dress," you choke out, "I can't do the back."

Wordlessly, she goes behind you, tying the the back of the dress in a criss-cross manner. Your heartbeat is wild, loud in your ears and throat. You're suddenly remained of how utterly lost and alone you are, no longer interested in playing pretend. You sniff, tears softly falling down your face.

The maid notices this, she gently pats your shoulder. She turns you around and wipes your years with her thumb, smiling softly at you. "I'm so sorry that you are lost miss. Lord Lukas is a very powerful man and I'm sure he can help you. Do not fret please."

You nod, grateful for her encouraging words. "I just really wanna go home."

"And you will," she promised, "But I'm sure you're famished, let's eat first."

-

Lord Lukas was younger than you anticipated, less than 10 years younger than you. His parents died, leaving him with a massive fortune and to carry the legacy of being a monster hunter. He loved talking about himself, you had only managed to tell him your name and how you got lost.

If you shut off your brain, it was easy to accept that you had somehow teleported to a different world. You didn't want to think about it too much, how there must be millions of different worlds and millions of portals to them. You were the unlucky soul that stumbled upon one, and you needed to go to the right one to get home. See? Wasn't too hard to understand if you didn't think too much about it.

You poked at your food, your appetite was nonexistent. It looked good though, cooked meat with boiled veggies and unique looking rice. At least you think it's rice. The man siting across from the table was still stuck on how you ended up here. Portals were thought the be a myth, yet here you are.

"So you're just looking for a family?" He asks, shoving a broccoli in his mouth. "Yes, my family," you stress. You briefly met his eyes, they were a light green. He smiled.

"And you said you were near the sea when this happened?" You nod. He hums, "I've always wanted to visit the sea. I've only seen pictures and I think it's quite beautiful." "Yeah it's nice," you agree, "The sand gets annoying though.

He laughs softly. He leans forward, eyes going down to your cleavage. You grimace. It doesn't matter what title a man has, he will always be a pig.

"You smell like lavender," he notes, "I love that smell." You laugh awkwardly, "Uh, yeah the girls had good soap."

"So," he says, eyes never leaving yours, "you're with your family when you stumble in a cave, appear here with no idea of how, and now you're at my place, lost. Looking for refuge?"

"Yup, pretty much," you nod. "But I dont need...refuge. I just need to go back home. I don't know what being a monster hunter means, but you must know about fantasy things like that. I don't have money to give but I went to school and-"

He starts laughing, hysterically actually. The words in your throat get caught, and you're replaying what you said in your head to see what was so funny.

"Unbelievable! You're a a great jester I give you that," he says, wiping a tear from his eye. "You don't need to lie, sweetheart. I don't know who put you up to this trick, but it's quite admirable." He stands and walks around the table so he's behind you. You stiffen, head turning so he never leaves your sight. "What are you taking about?" You ask.

"Many know that I am without wife. I've heard the complaints of how they worry about who will carry the monster hunter title, about who will inherit my fortunes. You are lost? No family? With no way back?" He laughs again, "It's a very intricate plan, and I'm almost impressed with how well they know what I fancy most in a woman."

He leans down in you ear, breath disgustingly hot, "I suppose you're hungry for something else. Yes?"

His hand appears on your shoulder, trailing down to your breasts before you shove him off. You stand from your seat, chair falling from how forceful your movement was.

"The fuck?! Don't fucking touch me!" You yell. You grab a stake knife from the table and hold it, aimed at him. "I don't know who you are and I don't give a fuck! I'm not going to play dress up anymore, you sick fuck."

Lukas raises his eyebrows, surprised by your outburst. He smooths a hand over his face and smiles again, "Did they also tell you that I enjoy the chase? I love it when they fight back."

His words send a chill though your body, you nearly gag. "You're sick. Stay the fuck away from me."

His smile widens more, "And I just adore your accent, I wonder how it will sound when you submit to me."

You run with the knife in hand, choosing to go out the back door rather than the front. The sun is setting, giving the snow a pretty pink glaze color. You would admire it if you weren't being pursued. Lukas is fast behind you, but if you manage to make it though the clutter of trees, you might have a chance.

No one is outside, no one was at the dinner. Did he send them away so he could have you alone? Did he plan this out?

You yelp when you're tackled into the snow, face first. The knife falls out of your hand and you're left defenseless. He yanks your hair so your head is up, he presses a knee into your lower back. "You're a lot faster than I anticipated, but no matter."

You trash in his hold, but he only digs his knee deeper into you. You cry out in pain, hands scratching at what you can manage.

"Gosh you are so full of energy!" He exclaims. "Keep this up, you will tire in no time."

He maneuvers you so you lay on your back, but this gives you more room to kick and hit. You do manage to get a few good punches in, but he grabs the top of your head and slams you into the ground. Your head rings from the impact, a groan leaving you.

"You...dick..." you strain out, spitting salvia in his face. He puts all his weight on your stomach, hands gripping your throat. He lifts one of his hands and backhands you, you head harshly turning to the right. Then you see the cage, it's no less than 20 feet from you. The bird is still huddled in its corner, but its eyes peer to you. The poor animal has been out in this snow for who knows how long and it's still alive. For some reason, it gives you strength. Despite the tears in your eyes, you see the glint of you knife. Lukas's hands violently tear at the top of your dress, trying to rip it.

For a moment, just for a moment, he loses his grip on your throat. You take this opportunity to headbutt him right on the nose, and you hear a satisfying crunch when you do. His hand cradles his broken nose, and you strike him with the heel of your palm while he was stunned. You manage to get half his weight off you and you reach for the knife.

He sees this and grips your hair again, but it's too late, you've already grabbed it. You turn and stab him in the neck, surprised by how how hard it is to sink in. You pull the knife out and stab again hard, blood spraying on your face and fingers. He cries out, hands grasping yours to pull away. His eyes meet yours and you see it, fear. Genuine fear that makes the hair on your neck stand. With a cry you took the knife out and stab a third time, this time digging so deep your fingers could feel the insides of his throat.

He gurgles, blood pooling from his mouth and neck as he opens his mouth to speak, but you drop his body on the ground before he gets the chance to. You sob wrecks through you, you hadn't notice the tears running down your face until now. You were wailing, weeping from your dire situation and the dying body next to you. In the movies, they had died so quick, almost gracefully. But this was messy, blood was all over your dress, hands, the knife, the snow. His hands were weakly trying to cover his wounds, to stop the blood from flowing out.

You needed to get out of here, it was only a matter of time before they came looking for Lukas. Or his body at least.

You stand on your shaky legs, wiping your tears and keeping a steady hold on the knife. 'This isn't real," you tell yourself. "You're fine. You're alive. You'll be okay."

You look up and see that you facing the cage, but the bird is no longer hunched over. Though the cage is much too small for it to stand, it crouches eyes trained on you. It's no bird, not with a human body like that. Its skin is pale, nearly grey with a head a black hair. It's nails are inhumanly long, its feet shaped like a birds. It's wings are cramped, tightly tucked beneath its back. You could still see it's dark feathers, and the tail that swishes unsettling. It could pass for human if you ignored its pitch black eyes. You knew for sure it was a male, it wore no clothes despite having a similar male anatomy.

It looks like a nightmare, but more human than the corpse behind you. Its eyes look at you then the lock, signaling you on what it wants. Despite everything you laugh. This monster had seen you fight for your life and all it asks if you to free it.

"I don't have the keys," you say, though you know it can't understand you. Its eyes flicker to the man you killed, then to the lock, then at you. You shiver, it can understand you. You look behind you and shudder, you had killed someone.

"Are you serious?"

It doesn't respond, instead shifting anxiously in its cage. Who knows how long it's been in there, in the cold. You let out a sign, rubbing your face. You know you're smearing blood all over yourself, but you don't care.

You turn to the body, reaching for keys. You keep your eyes closed, instead feeling around for the item. Finally, you feel a bundle of metal in the pockets of the dead man, pulling them out. It's a hoop of keys that jingle in your hands, and the beast behind you clatters in excitement.

You stand and head to the cage, grabbing the lock. There must be around 10 rings on this key holder, and you're not sure how long it will take to try them all. The first one is a no go, no even fitting in the hole. The second one fits halfway, and no matter how deep you tried to shove it in, it just wouldn't go in.

The human-like monster inside the cage paces, obviously anxious about being free. You were trying the third one when you could hear shouting from the house.

"Where is the Lord?" "Shouldn't he be done by now?" "Go look for him!"

The beast and you lock eyes. You don't know if you have the time to open his cage, and he knows it. But the way it's looking at you, so much hope and pleading, you feel a pang of guilt.

"I'll keep trying okay? But don't expect me to get captured for you okay?" You go back to the task at hand, the third one did not fit. Your fingers start to go numb from the cold, it takes a while for you to fit the 4th key in. Though it manages to slide in, it doesn't turn.

"Fuck," you whisper, struggling to grab the fifth key. Then you hear the door swing open, and 4 men tumble out. "Hey!" One of the shouts, and you whimper. The beast gets close to your face, eyes never leaving you. It's a silent plea, just try one more key. You should go, you should run, but you don't.

You shakily shove the fifth key in, ignoring how close the sound of running is getting. It turns, and grants you a soft click! "Holy shit, it's op-"

You yelp, hair being yanked back from the cage. The man who has you hostage is angry, eyes bulging from his sockets as he regards you. "You whore! You damned heathen!" You throws you harshly on the snow, your fingers numbly try to grasp anything, but it's so hard to move them.

"Captain. He's dead," one man says, next to the body of your assaulter. While a 2 men attempt to revive the body, the other two draw their weapons. "You fool! Do you know what you've done?!" "A stupid whore like you could have never killed a man. Who were you with? What did you plan? Where is your-" The captain is cut off quickly by a screech.

You hear the slash of flesh, blood spreading on you. The captain stands as he clutches his stomach, entrails exposed to you. Before the man beside him can react, he's grabbed and yanked into the sky. Your eyes follow up, watching as the winged beast takes him high into the clouds before he dropped him. His body lands 10 feet away from you, a nasty sound emits as his body snaps.

You scream, covering your face and head to shield your eyes. You put yourself face down into the snow, trying to ignore the sound of men screaming and flesh tearing. Your body is shaking from fear rather than cold. You don't know what type of monster you let free from its cage, but it's certainly out for revenge.

Finally it stops, but you can't stop sobbing. You didn't want to kill anyone, you didn't want anyone else to die. You just wanted to go home. You wish you were taking those stupid fucking pictures instead of enduring this fantasy nightmare.

The sound of feet crunching gets your attention and it stops right in front of you. You slowly lift your head up, quieting your sobs as you recognize the bird-like feet in front of you. Your head keeps going up, finally seeing the beast stand bare in front of you. You sniff and stand, surprised by how tall it is. It's taller than any human man, that's for sure. You barely reach its torso, needing to look up to see its face.

It leans down, and you gasp when a snake like tongue darts out of its mouth. It tastes your face, touching he tears and blood that stain it. It puts its tongue away and swaps it for another, a much bigger and thicker one. You close your eyes as it licks your cheeks, collecting the saltiness. You let out soft whimpers while it cleans you, hand softly gripping your chin so it can tilt your face in his direction. When he's satisfied, he grabs your hands. He brings them to his face and he licks your fingers, drinking the dried blood on them. It purrs at the taste, greedily taking it all.

Once he's done you open your eyes, gently pulling away from him. Its wings spread out from him, larger than any bird you've ever seen. Each wing is longer than his height, covered in dark feathers. You take a step back, finally looking at him at his full height. He still looks like a nightmare yes, but so beautifully scary.

"I need to get home," is all you say. You know it can understand you, perhaps it was trained by humans. "I don't know where I am or when I am? Oh god what am I even saying." You bury your face in your hands. You're going to cry again.

A gentle hand finds your shoulder, another gently pats your head. "You will be okay, human." You gasp at its voice. It's so deep and slightly scratchy, as if he hasn't spoken in a long time. You look up at it, mouth agape. "You can speak?" You muster.

It's face does not change, only giving you a simple nod. "You will be fine, but first we must leave. You have killed a Lord, and I his guards. You will be safe, but not here. Come."

It reaches its clawed hand at you, waiting for you to take it. You look at the hand then at the house. Should you trust this creature and leave with it? Or go back the way you came in a place you're completely unfamiliar with? A rock and a hard place.

You look at it in the eyes, searching for any indication of what it wants, but it just stares back. You notice you can see some white of its eyes, his pupils must expand exponentially when he's full of adrenaline.

You let out a shaky breath and grab his hand, "Guess we should go then."

a/n: this is the first chapter! this story is still in the works but I think im on the last chapter! ill post the second chapter tmr or something

[rosanna-writer]

Out of the Woods (3/3)

An AU that diverges from canon after Rhysand leaves a head spiked in the garden. Aware of the unsnapped mating bond and unwilling to get between another High Lord and his mate, Tamlin hands Feyre over to Rhysand. Panicked, shocked, and desperate, Rhys scrambles to gain Feyre’s trust, find her a hiding place, and cover his tracks before returning Under the Mountain. And then learns the hard way that Feyre Archeron can never leave well enough alone.

Sneaking this in during the last few hours of @officialfeysandweek! A huge thank you to the event runners for hosting the best seven days of the year <3

Some text is taken directly from A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury, and just a note that I've chosen not to use warnings for this fic.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Read the third chapter Here on AO3 or under the cut.

The spinning of the wheel slowed. I waited, wondering if I should run for the trees and hide before it stopped. But I needed shelter. Badly. So I stayed just outside the threshold and hoped this hadn't been a grave mistake.

"Who's there?" she said softly, her speaking voice just as honeyed as her singing.

I loosed a breath, relieved to find that she could, in fact, talk. And that she was willing to do so before attacking. "My name is Feyre," I said, leaving out my surname. It seemed prudent after Tamlin's comment that names have power. "I'm looking for a place to stay."

The weaver rose gracefully from her stool. Then turned her face towards me.

Above her young, supple body, beneath her black, beautiful hair, her skin was gray—wrinkled and sagging and dry. And where eyes should have gleamed instead lay rotting black pits. Her lips had withered to nothing but deep, dark lines around a hole full of jagged stumps of teeth—like she had gnawed on too many bones.

I took an involuntary step back. My knees wobbled. But I did not run.

Her nose—perhaps once pert and pretty, now half-caved in—flared as she sniffed in my direction. "A human? It's been so long since any of your kind have wandered this way."

"I was kidnapped and taken above the Wall," I said. There was no reason to lie.

With smooth steps, she crossed the room and came towards me. Her sunken nostrils flared again, and I supposed that made sense—with no eyes, how could she possibly see?

She stopped at the door. With a gnarled hand, she reached out, as if to stroke my cheek. I jumped backward, not entirely certain whether she could kill me with just a single touch.

But I needn't have worried. Her fingers tapped some invisible barrier before she swore to herself and let her pale hand drop to her side.

Strange. When I'd knocked on the half-open door, I'd reached past it, my hand stretching just inside. I hadn't felt anything—nothing blocking me or even a telltale tang of magic.

"Are you…trapped?" I said.

"Yes," she breathed.

It was probably for good reason. And even if not, I didn't know how to break whatever spell was keeping her here.

I still couldn't help but wonder… "Then why is there a woodpile and a well outside?"

She laughed, musical and lovely, the sound so at odds with her appearance. "So typically human not to recognize a trap when you see one."

I stilled. Whatever she'd been weaving, I realized, wasn't wool. And a glance upward told me that what I'd assumed was thatch on the roof must have been hair. Right then and there, I nearly retched.

But if she could have hurt me, she would have. "You aren't in need of someone to chop your wood and fetch your water, then?"

The protrusions above her eye sockets shifted slightly. If she'd had brows, I supposed that meant she would have raised them. "Are you offering?"

"We could make a bargain," I said. "If you'll allow me to stay in your cottage, I'll complete whatever domestic chores you require."

"Lay a hand on anything in my trove and I'll kill you," she said, baring those awful misshapen teeth.

"I won't take what's yours if you don't take what's mine," I said simply.

"I can offer shelter only. You'd have to feed yourself."

She was considering it, then. Or, perhaps, tricking me into doing work for her until I starved and then weaving me into…whatever gruesome fabric she made. I hesitated, trying to decide how to best close the loophole.

"Then promise I'll have enough time to obtain food, eat, and rest." Hopefully, that covered it all. Then, on second thought, I added, "And that you won't eat me. Agreed?"

The thin lines that passed for lips twisted into what might have been a smile. She inclined her head. "I agree to those terms."

Magic sizzled in the air between us; I wrinkled my nose at the vague metallic smell of it. The hair on the backs of my arm stood on end.

The feeling faded as quickly as it appeared. Then the weaver stepped aside, and I dropped my pack on the floor of her cottage. My new home.

The weaver returned to her spinning wheel, and I busied myself with splitting wood, tending to a fire I stared in the hearth, and catching and cooking another fish for dinner.

She ignored me through all of it, intent on her work.

I didn't mind. Despite all the lyrics about violent deaths and mutilated bodies, her singing was the most beautiful I'd ever heard. I preferred the sound of it to the too-quiet forest.

At the end of the day, when exhaustion started to sink in, she quietly thanked me and disappeared into the cottage's only bedroom. I spread out my own bedroll on the floor, already much more comfortable with a roof over my head.

Before long, I felt the telltale scrape of talons against my shields. Oh gods. Rhys. I hadn't heard from him all day.

Give me a moment to step outside, I said, standing up.

I could feel him trying to tamp down on his anxiety, but it poked through anyway, like spines jabbing into the edges of my mind. Where are you? he said, too calmly for me to believe he was taking this well.

Please don't be upset with me.

Feyre…

I pulled my spare blanket around my shoulders, slipped on my boots, and headed to the cottage's tiny front yard. Another clear night, at least. Even if Rhys was furious with me, he'd stay to look at the stars.

I found a cottage today. And you know I can't stay outside forever, so I spoke to its occupant. We bargained—she'd shelter me if I did some chores for her. I'm safe, I promise.

I waited for him to yell. Or lecture me. But with more of that eerie, feigned calm, he said, And who, exactly, are you living with now?

It was only then that I realized I'd never asked the weaver's name. It had seemed…rude, somehow. But perhaps that was foolish, considering I was now staying in her house.

She's some sort of weaver, I think.

My mind went quiet. For a moment, I thought Rhys might have stormed off or had to leave without an opportunity to say goodbye. I'd nearly gone back inside when his voice rang out in my head again, the fear melting into disbelief.

You— You moved in with the Weaver of the Wood?

Is that her name? Or her….title?

At that, his mind seemed to shake with hysterical laughter, more a release of tension than anything. I loosed a breath and leaned back against the stone wall of the cottage. Rhys seemed to know about the Weaver, and I waited for him to explain.

She is a death-god, he said eventually, One who was confined to the Middle because she is unable to be killed. She eats life itself, her way of staying young and beautiful forever.

I felt the strangest pinprick of sympathy. Her horrible, rotted appearance had made me shiver, but…it meant she was starving. And probably lonely.

Just like I'd been.

Only someone with a human heart would see it that way, he said, claws caressing my mind affectionately. I smiled and wished I could lean into the touch.

Perhaps I was no longer the human girl with ice in her heart, the one who had first come to Prythian.

As the days passed, my life in the Weaver's cottage wasn't all that different from how things had been before I'd come to Prythian. The chores were largely the same—hunting, cooking, cleaning.

And honestly…the Weaver made better company than Nesta.

I liked her singing well enough, and after the first week, when we were working in the same room, we began to…chat. The only news the Weaver received of the outside world was snatches of information she'd gleamed from the few unfortunate souls who wandered her way. None of them had lasted very long.

She'd had no idea that Amarantha had taken over Prythian. Or that Rhys had become High Lord. When I'd mentioned it while sweeping the floor one day, the Weaver's hand had paused on her loom.

"I remember when he was a babe in his mother's arms," she said quietly.

"You met his mother?" I said, not quite sure I understood. I couldn't imagine where they'd crossed paths or what kind of mother would allow her child around a death-god.

The shadows around the Weaver's eye sockets seemed to deepen. "She was an extraordinary seamstress."

She went back to her weaving after that, singing softly to herself, and I took that to mean she didn't want to discuss the matter any further. But her shoulders slumped as if weighted down by grief.

When I asked Rhys about it that night, he reminded me that every seamstress needed to source her cloth from somewhere. When I'd pushed, he said it was a story for another time.

I didn't know what to make of that.

But even as I slipped into a comfortable routine of daytime chores for the Weaver and nighttime stargazing with Rhys, I knew it couldn't continue forever. If I stayed here for the rest of my days, Amarantha and the King of Hybern would make a bloodbath of the mortal realm. I worried endlessly for my family.

Behind my adamant shields, I hid a box under the floorboards of my mind. There, I squirreled away pieces of information Rhys shared with me. That Amarantha had shielded herself from physical attacks, the layout of the maze of tunnels Under the Mountain, the abilities of each other High Lord and how friendly they were to Night. Anything that might prove useful.

And when Rhys was busy with Amarantha, I opened up that mental box and worked on a plan.

Perhaps I should have told him what I was thinking. But I knew he'd bound his family to Velaris to keep them safe, and I was sure he wasn't above doing something similar to me. If I put myself in danger, I was certain I'd feel those invisible claws pinning me in place again. I couldn't risk it.

Besides, I could feel Rhys's exhaustion night after night. He'd been so close to breaking entirely when he'd started dreaming of me a few years ago. And when the curse ran out and the Spring Court joined the others Under the Mountain, the sense of hopelessness ran deeper than ever.

I wouldn't burden him with it, not when he'd already given so much.

But still, I took my time, considering it from every possible angle. As I cleaned ash from the hearth, preserved meat, and chopped more wood, I considered my approach. I turned it over in my mind as the weather cooled off and the days got shorter.

On the winter solstice, I decided to act. My twentieth birthday, but more importantly, the longest night of the year. I'd never considered myself a superstitious person before, but it seemed…auspicious, all things considered.

I began with asking the Weaver of the Wood for a new bargain.

As I headed towards the mountain, I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. My borrowed cloak, the Weaver repeated several times. That I was very much not allowed to stain or tear.

She'd fashioned it out of fabric that she'd woven herself, so though it was quite warm and soft, I didn't think too deeply about where the fibers had come from. Who they had come from.

More importantly, it kept me hidden better than Rhys's glamour. With the hood on and the cloak around my shoulders, I was truly invisible. The spell of a death-god was powerful enough that even Amarantha's wards wouldn't detect my presence.

I slipped into a cave, following it until the rough walls became smooth—not hollowed out by water over millennia, but hewn by tools. A passageway.

As I got closer to the center of the mountain, torches lined the way. I heard voices, hissing and braying in the distance. More than once, red-skinned guards in identical maroon uniforms passed me, but I'd pressed myself up against the wall and they'd paid me no mind.

But still, I kept a hand on the stake of ash I'd fastened to my belt.

The floor dipped downward, and I knew I was properly Under the Mountain now. I encountered more than just guards—a few servants in dark livery, carrying trays of food, plus faeries dripping in finery, all headed in the same direction.

The throne room.

Rhys had already told me I was unlikely to hear from him tonight. Amarantha had insisted on a revel to celebrate the holiday, and I'd felt his dread and disgust when he'd mentioned her plans for an afterparty in her bedchamber.

I moved slowly, careful not to bump into anyone and give myself away. The cloak's magic hid the sound of my footsteps and made me invisible, but that was the extent of it. As we got closer, and the dark stone floors gave way to gleaming red marble, I became more cautious.

I reached an enormous set of carved wooden doors that I'd seen in Rhys's memories before. As a small group of faeries in fine green jackets—courtiers from Spring—entered, I moved quickly and slipped through just as the door swung shut again.

Strange, off-kilter music filled the air. Faeries gathered in clusters, wineglasses in hand, lounged in chairs, or writhed on the dancefloor. Rhys was here somewhere, among them, and I ached to go find him.

Even if I couldn't reveal myself, I wanted to breath the same air, just for a moment.

But it was too much of a risk, and I had a task before me. I kept the far end of the room, edging along a long table laden with food and drink, far more than I could imagine being consumed before the night ended.

Waste, just to show off. A display of wealth and power.

Amarantha sat on a dais across from the doors, in a glittering gown of rubies, a golden crown woven into her red hair. I'd seen her in Rhys's memories, but the sight made my skin crawl anyway. She'd given Tamlin the throne next to her, though he seemed intent on ignoring her.

As I approached—slowly, my footfalls soft—I reached into the pocket of my pants. An ash dagger was useless against someone who'd shielded herself against physical attacks.

But even the Queen Under the Mountain needed to eat and drink.

I climbed the dais. The magic of the Weaver's cloth was so powerful that Amarantha stared right through me with unseeing eyes, even when I stood right in front of her. Not a single soul sensed me.

Not even Rhys.

And it was simple—so simple—to open the container and dump the poison into Amarantha's wine.

Perhaps I should have scurried out of the way, but I didn't dare move. I stood in the middle of the dais, rooted to the spot, and waited for her to finally take a sip from her goblet. She wouldn't need to finish the whole thing—I'd crushed enough leaves from poison plants in the forest to ensure that just a sip would do.

I watched her raise the cup to her lips, the bob of her throat as she swallowed. Her face twisted into a grimace, and she spat the rest out with a scream.

But the deed was done.

"Which one of you?" she shrieked, bolting upright from her chair.

The music and the dancing halted. The conversations quieted. Every single face in the throne room turned towards Amarantha.

"Who did this to me?" she demanded. She reached up to clutch her chest, her red, pointed nails nearly ripping the fabric of her gown.

She turned towards Tamlin, and there was a sickening crunch. And then another. The first two fingers of his hand twisted at unnatural angles, the bones broken.

"I'll keep going until you admit it was you," she hissed. "There's still time. I'll take you down with me."

"It wasn't me," Tamlin said, his voice choked.

Amarantha began to cough. Horrible, hacking, wet coughs that made me shudder and called to mind those last days in my mother's sickroom. And following each one, more crunching and snapping of bone, more faeries screaming and crying out and falling to the floor.

If her murderer wouldn't show themselves, I realized, she intended to take the whole court down with her.

My hand shook as I raised it towards my hood. She'd kill them all, but if I stayed hidden, I'd survive. And so would my family. We'd be alright.

But then Amarantha breathed, "Was it you, Rhysand? I should have known you'd betray me."

The decision was made. I couldn't get the cloak off fast enough. "It was me," I said, letting the fabric fall to the floor.

Amarantha's teeth gleamed, sharpening as she bared them. Her fingers curled like claws as she prowled towards me. Her features twisted into something horrid—pain from the poison and pure, utter rage and bloodlust.

"FEYRE!" Rhysand's voice roared somewhere behind me.

Amarantha raised a hand, and something more violent than lightning struck me. I fell off the dais and crashed to the floor. Pain ripped through me, and a scream ravaged my throat.

My very bones were shattering as my body rose and then slammed onto the hard floor, and I was crushed beneath another wave of torturous agony. More clattering, a cacophony of voices, but I was in too much pain to follow any of it.

The only thought I held onto was how badly I wanted Rhys.

I barely managed a sob as something connected with my broken ribs. Once. Twice. A few more, but the blows were becoming weaker. It would be over soon.

More sobbing, more crashes, more broken bones.

And then something forever cracked in my spine.

I felt like I was floating somewhere on a sea of darkness. Not the darkness of night, a familiar comfort, but a void. The darkness of... nothing at all.

My hands gripped a golden thread. I could feel one end tied to my ribs. Home was at the other end.

I tightened my fingers around it as the current of nothingness threatened to pull me under and sweep me away.

Not yet. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

Home--Rhysand--was at the other end.

Something landed in the sea. A kernel, but it sank like a stone. And then another and another and another, until seven of them had fallen.

In Rhys's arms, I gasped for air.

For the second time, Rhys carried me away like a bride. Everything about my body felt new and strange, and I felt like a newborn colt, not trusting my too-long legs no to give out under me. He didn't want to let go, anyway.

We couldn't leave for a while. The other High Lords had demanded explanations--it had rattled them to see the Lord of Nightmares on his knees, sobbing over a dead human girl. And if I wanted to fulfill my promise to the Weaver, I needed the help of a spell-cleaver.

All through the tense, frenzied discussion, Rhys held me like I weighed nothing. My head spun during most of it—every sound too loud, every light too bright. And gods, the smells. I could hardly take in the information that overloaded my senses, let alone wrap my mind around the fact that I'd become High Fae.

I pressed my face to his shoulder so his salt-and-citrus scent would be stronger than the metallic smell leftover from the bloodbath the throne room had become. Once Tamlin and Lucien confirmed Rhys and I were mates, no one questioned it.

But eventually, we found ourselves in the clearing surrounding the cottage. Helion had winnowed there too, but Rhys's attention was all on me as he set me back on my feet. I could see the question in his eyes.

"I need to do this," I said, my voice firm and steady.

"I know," he said, then hesitated. I waited. He sighed and added, "There's a ring. An heirloom of my mother's family that's rightfully yours now. I'll tell you the rest later, but I was meant to send a potential bride or mate to retrieve it."

I cocked my head. "Do you want me to wear it?"

"Only if you want to."

A non-answer, really. But Rhys and I hardly had a chance to breathe, let alone speak. I wasn't quite sure where we stood. With Amarantha dead, I could go anywhere I liked.

And I had a family waiting for me at home. I'd have to find a way to face them eventually, though I wasn't sure what they'd make of me coming back from Prythian as a High Fae.

All that would come later.At some point, Rhys had handed me the cloak I'd shed in the throne room. I was still clutching it. By some miracle, not a speck of blood had marred it. I held it tight to my chest as I started up the path.

Meanwhile, Helion slowly circled the cottage—examining the containment spell that trapped the Weaver inside. She'd allowed me the cloak if I'd promised to bring the High Lord of Day here to break it. After Amarantha's death at my hands, I think any of the High Lords would have agreed to any favor I'd asked.

The door swung open of its own accord again. The Weaver stood just inside, arms crossed over her chest and somehow managing to look at me expectantly despite her lack of eyes. Her nostrils flared, taking in my new scent.

"It's still me. Feyre," I said.

"You reek of death. Should I take that to mean you were successful?" she said, not unkindly.

I held the cloak out to her. "Yes. Thank you."

She plucked it from my hands, hurrying inside to fold it and place it among the bolts of cloth she'd made. I followed her, though she ignored me, more intent on rifling through a shelf stuff full of fabric.

On that first day, we'd agreed not to touch each other's things. With my hands behind my back to prevent any accidents, I examined her shelves of junk, hunting for the ring.

I'd thought it might take a while. But I felt something…glimmer. Not metal catching the light, but something more like a tug or a tap on the shoulder. The slight flicker of starlight.

Rhys's power.

I rose up on my toes to examine the next shelf and spotted it. A ring made of twisted bands of gold and silver, flecked with pearl surrounding a deep blue sapphire. The magic surrounding it matched the night-dark kernel of power Rhys had given me.

So I plucked it from the shelf, and the Weaver kept her promise. The ring had never belonged to her in the first place, and I was free to take it back. To keep it safe, I tucked it into the pocket of my jacket.

I turned and found her staring at me. In her hands, she clutched a different bundle of fabric. This one was dark and strangely fluid, as if she'd woven threads of ink into cloth. It glittered faintly, and at first I'd thought that perhaps there were diamonds stitched onto it.

But not—she'd woven in stars.

"There is a tradition of your kind," she said, and I blinked in surprise when I realized she meant the High Fae. "Couples stand under a canopy during a mating ceremony. It's meant to represent the home they'll built together, but after hearing you slip out each night, I thought this would be a fitting gift."

"Thank you," I said, my throat tight. I started to reach for the bundled, then stopped. "Do I want to know what sort of fibers you wove this from?"

Her misshapen lips twisted into a grin that showed every single one of her worn-down teeth. "No."

A gift was a gift, I supposed. I accepted the cloth from her, and for a moment, a tang of magic filled the air, then fizzled out. Something in the air went missing. Helion had broken the spell.

And so the Weaver and I left the cottage together.

With more pressing matters to attend to, Helion winnowed away, and the Weaver dashed into the forest, probably intent on hunting whatever poor creatures she came across. Rhys and I were alone in the clearing.

He waited at the end of the path, hands jammed in his pockets. I watched his eyes flick down to the bundle in my arms. His brows raised in an obvious question.

"Our first mating gift," I said, pressing a kiss to his cheek when I reached him. We were alone, and as if that touch had triggered it, a pair of mighty wings appeared at his back—the first time I'd ever seen them in person.

One of them curled around me as I reached into my pocket for the ring. I heard his sharp intake of breath at the sight of it sparkling in the sunlight. But I slipped it back into my pocket.

"Seems like bad luck to wear it before the bond snaps," I said.

Rhys pulled me close, and I leaned into him fully. My eyes fluttered shut as he tipped his head to the side and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head. After everything, I was so damn tired.

"I've waited centuries to see it again. I can wait a little while longer to get it on your finger," he murmured.

I cracked one eye open. "Can we do all that waiting at home?"

I'd never set foot there, but after seeing so many of his memories, I felt like I had. I knew, all the way down to my bones, that I belonged there. It was time to see the Night Court with my own two eyes.

Rhys took my hand, and in an instant, we were standing on a balcony. A vast sea of stars stretched out before us, framed by pillars of moonstone. And in the distance, snowcapped mountains.

The Night Court was even more beautiful in person.

I turned to Rhys and started to say something, but before I could get any words out, I discovered that we wouldn't have to wait very long at all. The sensation of something snapping into place stole my breath.

And one look at his face told me he felt the mating bond, too.

We locked eyes and laughed. I tugged on the bond just because I could—because everything was all so strange and new that I couldn't believe that we'd both made it here. Safe and sound and alive.

There was a quiet clearing of a throat behind us. We'd been so wrapped up in each other that we hadn't noticed the blonde female waiting here. I knew her from Rhys's memories—his cousin, Mor.

I could see the confusion on her face; after all, she didn't know me. Rhys grinned, his violet eyes sparking with pure joy as his arm settled around my waist and tugged me closer.

And the first thing he said to Mor in fifty years was, "She's my mate."

[echantedtoon]

Demonstober Day 2 White Birch Spirit

The birch tree has many symbolic meanings and spiritual significance in various cultures.

Tagging: @lavenderdropp @six-eyed-samurai @trancylovecraft @cherrysuzaku

Remember if you want to be added to the spooktober taglist lemme know

"You came back."

You smile at the beautiful purple eyes and white hair that stood before you offering her own smile at you in return.

"I did."

You still remember the first time you met the mysterious spirit of the old birch forest. It was last year during spring. Your father worked as a lumberjack and together both you and him would go out and start collecting wood from the nearby forest . However since his leg injury it's been solely on you to make ends meat and go get the wood yourself. It wasn't an easy feat. To help save yourself the trip, instead of going up the mountain to get the regular oaks and maple trees and bring them all the way down the mountain, you decided to go towards the nearby Birch tree forest. Your father did warn you before about the place-

"Do you ever know why we never go near those woods, Y/n?"

"No. Why?"

"Because it's haunted."

"Haunted? Haunted how?"

"Many years ago, there was a priest who lived there in a shrine that's now long gone. He had a daughter who became a shrine maiden after her father died however she herself died young. They say her ghost became a White Birch Spirit and she takes care of those sacred woods like he did in life. That's why no lumberjack ever dated go near those woods let alone take one of her trees. That's just asking for trouble."

You never took him seriously of course. You've never heard of such things from anyone else who you spoke too. So you decided ond day as your father was still healing, you grabbed the axe and made your way out down the valley instead of up the mountain. Until you came across the first  of the White tree line. You weren't very strong by yourself so you decided to venture inwards until you found one thing enough to chop down and easily carry back. The moment you stepped past the treeline-

It was as if no other life was there.

The singing birds stopped singing. No squirrels ran up the trees. And there wasn't a single insect in sight. Only the grass and the white trees. Odd certainly but not really too out of the ordinary in your mind however it almost felt like you were being watched. Nah that was crazy. You were just paranoid from the ghost stories. Eventually you found a good enough tree. A few years old at most and the tree you walked forward to was very thin. It'd make quick but thin firewood you could quickly sell for cheap. Stopping a yard away from the thin trunk, you sat the heavy axe down very quick to roll your sore shoulder from carrying it for so long. Before gripping it tightly, swinging it high above your head-

You froze solid.

Standing before your eyes ...was a woman.

A very BEAUTIFUL woman.

She was pale. So pale she might've been dead. With pure white hair to match and the most striking purple eyes you've ever seen. It pierced you straight through the soul. You both stood there staring at each other for a long moment before she spoke.

"Why are you here?"

The axe fell from your hands with a loud thud to the ground as you stuttered. "I-I-...I ju-just...firewood."  You managed to sputter out.

"This tree is not yet fully grown. You have no purpose here. Leave."

You didn't have to be told twice. Out of fear from the woman you snatched up the heavy axe and ran all the way home where you told your father everything that had transpired when he asked about your terrified face.

"Didn't I warn you?," he scolded you with a frown, "You're lucky that spirit let you go with just a warning. What if she had made a tree fall on you? Or she followed you home to haunt us? Next time I tell you about something listen to me!"

You did. You really did. For the next month you went up the mountain to get wood instead of of the birch woods and thankfully nothing happened but you couldn't help but feel guilty about what happened. You felt like you disturbed a sacred area and now you had to right the wrongs. Despite your father's warnings and your better judgement, you decided to go back but this time with offerings. Some food, money, and incense since that's what they usually put on shrines for offerings. Being a former shrine maiden, she might like it. 

The pattern repeated itself. You went back to the Birch forest only this time without the axe and like before you felt like you were being watched the moment you stepped into the woods. White trees surrounded your body as you walked swiveling your head this way and that making your way back to where you first saw the spirit. You'd just leave it by the tree she was defending and leave-

"What are you doing back here?"

You jumped with a gasp whirling around and coming face to face back with her. She stared at your wide eyes with that blank stare she had before.

"I-I-..." You gulped again out of fear before thrusting the basket towards her and bowing. "I-Im not here to cut down anything I swear! I c-came to apologize!"

There was silence as you didn't dare look up, however you felt the basket leave your hands and there was silence still.

"..Thank you." You looked up. She was still there holding the basket but now smiling. "This is very kind of you. What is your name?"

"I-..Y-Y/n. What's yours?"

"Amane."

"You're very beautiful. Are you really a spirit?"

That took her off guard as she blinked a moment before smiled again. "If you'd like to know, we may talk under the trees."

[apomaro-mellow]

Runaway Royalty 2

Part 1

They stopped in the capital city, able to find an inn that was still open. Steve had been determined to really pound the pavement all night just to get as far as possible before anyone realized he was gone. Robin was the sensible one, telling them it made no sense to burn the midnight oil just to be groggy and lost in the woods come morning.

He had to admit it was a good idea once he got a good look at himself through a mirror. He’d really just chopped his hair without any real thought to it. He thought he had kept the scissors even but looking now showed there were consequences. So he sat on a stool while Robin evened it out, combing it to something leagues more fashionable.

It still curled around his ears and came off his nape, but it was still a big change from the waves of brown that ran down his back from before. He’d miss them, for sure. But it was necessary to keep his identity a secret.

They savored their last night in a real bed and the next morning they officially set out. The night before they had gone over their plan. They’d go south. While they’d be moving closer to Prince Edwin’s homeland, something Steve had been against at first, they’d also have an easier time blending in. 

To the west was a land where Steve didn’t know the language (Robin did, the show off) and to the east was the shore. So to the south it was, to use the money they had to settle into a house. The trail they were on was well traveled. They’d keep to the main roads when they could. 

They got into talking about their future lives and Robin figured she could make a living doing a number of things - woodcutter, printer, butcher, baker, candlestick maker.

“You really want to do all that?”, Steve asked.

“It’s not like I’ll do them all. I’m trying to have options. Didn’t you think you’d have to get a job?”

Steve scoffed. “Of course I did.”

…. “And what are you gonna be?”

“Well I have options, don’t I? Apparently.”

“So tell me one.”

“Why are you nagging me, I’ll get a job when we get there”, Steve said.

“I want you to admit that you had no plan!”, Robin badgered, slapping his arm.

“I had a plan! I just didn’t plan for you!”

Robin huffed. “Well you should.” She crossed her arms. “You should always plan for me. If I had woken up this morning and you weren’t there I would’ve-”

Steve stopped walking. “You would’ve what?”

Robin had walked a few steps ahead and turned back to face him. “I don’t know! Taken our armies out to search for you? Drag you back home myself?!”

Steve hadn’t thought about it. Or rather, he’d been trying not to. It had nearly shattered his heart, thinking he had to leave his sister behind. He wouldn’t say it out loud but he was over the moon now that she was here.

“You’re not doing a very good job of it”, Steve said as he continued to walk on.

“I just know you’re stubborn as a mule”, Robin groused. “And you smell like one too.”

She twisted his ear and then ran ahead, laughing as he shrieked and chased after her. Their chase took them a considerable length before they stopped as the path started to steepen.

“It’s not fair…that you’re so fast…when you run like that”, Steve panted.

Robin was still laughing while she leaned against a boulder, also trying to catch her breath. Steve put himself against tree and they could only hear their panting and the wind rustling the trees. Then they heard another sound. This one coming from the forest around them. They both tensed up. Robin slowly reached for the dagger at her hip.

The moment she did, they were ambushed. Just as Steve saw rope come around Robin, he felt arms come around him. He struggled in their hold until he felt something cold against his neck. He froze and saw that Robin’s arms were tied to her torso, a sword pressed to her stomach.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER!”, he growled. That was his sister, his littermate, they had gone through their entire lives together. If anyone hurt her-

“Simmer down, you.”

Steve turned his head to see a man appear from the trees, more coming around them. Steve knew a band of thieves when he saw them. But they were still on the main road. The only one bold enough to ambush travelers like this was…but it couldn’t be…

The Bandit King

“Cute little fillies like you shouldn’t be out on the road alone”, the man said. He had wide, dark eyes, filled with mirth. “Let’s see what you’ve got”, he said, moving towards Steve.

Robin screamed for him and Steve wanted to thrash but the knife at his neck kept him still. The man, alpha now that Steve could smell him, ignored her. His scent filled Steve’s nose and then traveled through his body in a way no other scent ever had. The alpha got close enough to reach into Steve’s pockets and rumbled as the omega’s scent hit his nose.

Then, very quickly, Steve squirmed, Robin shouted and broke free, the person holding Steve said “Eddie what the fuck?”, and Robin had her dagger against the alpha’s neck.

“Alright…wow”, Eddie held his hands up. “How’s about we all slow down and talk about this?”

“You’re gonna let my brother go and you’re gonna let us free!”, Robin nearly roared.

“Hey, Jeff buddy, maybe let him go?”

Steve was released and the moment he was, Robin pushed Eddie away. She and Steve walked closer to each other, then back to back.

“Look, we got off on the wrong foot”, Eddie said. His hair was dark and curly, brushing his shoulders. Everything about him seemed inviting to Steve. He couldn’t articulate why, but he wanted to believe him.

“Yeah, you really fucked up your first impression”, Robin frowned.

“Then let me make a good second impression. You guys are probably hungry after all that walking, right?”

“Have you been stalking us?”, Steve asked, fists raised.

“Wouldn’t be a good pack of robbers if we didn’t know how to hunt. But you two don’t seem like average rubes. Some come, eat with us, our camp isn’t too far off.”

Without waiting for an answer, Eddie walked off, his followers falling into step behind him as he went into the trees.

“We’re not, really going with him right?”, Robin asked.

Steve thought it over, denying the little voice that said he simply wanted to scent that alpha, this Eddie because that was an absolutely stupid reason to go with a thieving alpha.

“If he wanted our belongings, he could’ve taken them”, Steve reasoned. He had a whole pack. Robin may have caught them off guard, but it wouldn’t have been hard to regain the upper hand simply by having strength in numbers. Steve followed the group and Robin only hesitated for a second before going after him.

“This is stupid. This is stupid. This is stupid”, she muttered.

“Noted”, Steve hissed under his breath. “Look, free meal. And we need to save as much money as we can.”

“Shushsshshhh! Don’t let them know we have money!”, Robin whispered harshly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I think they know.”

They came to a camp ground and saw that the pack was about a dozen strong. But something they also noticed was the youth of the group. Even the Bandit King himself seemed younger than he should be.

“The Bandit King has been a terror since my father’s time. You can’t be him”, Steve accused.

Eddie smirked at him. “You’ve got it. You’ve discovered my secret…I’m….actually…the Bandit Prince!”

“Prince?”, Robin cringed.

“This was my old man’s title before it became mine. And I intend to honor his legacy. In all my roguish glory. And you might be just who we’re looking for.”

Robin gulped and Steve tried to figure out how the news could have traveled that quickly. They’d only been gone a couple of days. Then Eddie snapped his fingers.

“Do you wanna join our pack?”

Part 3

[rubra-wav]

Why So Blue? Vox x Reader

[ Part 2 - Never Gonna Give It Up ]

A/N Listen man, I don't know jackshit about code or hacking, and that's probably gonna become glaringly obvious throughout this fic 💀

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, intimidation and manipulation, slight mention of blood.

<< [ Part 1 ]

A month went by since the attack on his social media and hijacking of his camera systems had taken place.

The paranoid anticipation of a second attack was deeply present to Vox, but it faded at about the 2 week mark.

Surely, whatever imperfections there were had been mended! Someone would be thrown on the chopping block if not.

All his employees were on edge and were eager not to irritate him even a little bit after last time. Even more than usual. It was excellent to the TV demon, stroking his sadistic power complex even more than it already was.

Every blow done to his ego with the Sinstagram hacking had fallen away, and he was once again power tripping on everything around him. As expected, the home surveillance systems had made him a killing, and he could see places he'd never been able to make it to now.

All of these things put him in a rare string of a genuinely good mood. Everything seemed to be working out.

On the other hand, you worked hard on your next attack that'd far solidify your threat to him, that's for damn sure.

You'd given it a few weeks before you began to really step into your next plot, wanted to lure him into a false sense of security so he'd fall harder off his high horse.

You laid on your stomach in the middle of your living room surrounded by your collection of monitors, clicking away with one hand and typing code out with the other.

The next stage of you trolling him was just gonna be meme material alongside establishing your persona to properly establish your presence in hell.

The more serious pranks up your sleeve would be showing up later down the line. For now, you were just playing games with him for entertainment.

You were barely able to leave home nowadays, opting to befriending people or talking to those you knew before becoming a recluse online.

One of these friends of yours being a certain inventor who ironically very much wanted to be positively noticed by the object of your somewhat despise.

At first, it was because you took pity upon Sir Pentious, having helped to patch him up after he (literally) exploded through the wall of your apartment, however, you came to enjoy his presence.

He was power-hungry, of course. However, he also just wasn't much of a threat at all. He wasn't charming or manipulative - god, was he an awful liar - just good with making things. Pen was a glorified, awkward, and overly goofy fanboy more than anything.

You kept trying to encourage him to work on a business of his own rather than just trying displays of power against Cherri Bomb for the sake of trying to get attention from the Vees, but he just wouldn't listen.

The sound of you receiving a notification from said inventor snapped you out of spacing out at your reflection in the monitor in front of you.

I got the codes you asked for, (Name). 🫡

*Pen included attachments*

Do be careful with these, though. I had to talk to one of my acquaintances in league with lady Velvette's people for these, and they said that it seemed like bad news to have these on you!

Just what are you planning on using them for?

You hummed as you looked at the codes sent, thinking of how you would answer exactly, your eyes wandering absentmindedly to the slightly peeling painting of tree branches on the wall you had done many years ago at this point.

Your eyes snapped back to your monitor as you typed back simply.

Thank you very much! 🧡

And let's just say... tomfoolery.

....

Should I be worried?

You snorted.

Probablyyyyyy~~~

You laughed at the barrage of texts with extremely poor spelling sent to you one after the other half jokingly fretting about you. In the beginning, it was genuine panic from him, but he'd come to know you were smart enough to not kill yourself via being a menace.

Chill out, MUM. I'll be good.

I mean, you most assuredly wouldn't be good, but he didn't need to know that.

You weren't exactly going to reveal you were the one harassing Vox to anyone, even if you were friends. Doing so would be endangering you but also them as well.

You logged the access codes you had gotten from Pentious - ones you couldn't attain normally because they were physically kept in real life - humming and kicking your legs as you cleaned the attack up to make sure there wasn't some missed quotation or something which would fuck the whole thing up.

As you worked hard, a certain someone was about to wake up to the cemented vision of the series of unfortunate events you had in store for him.

-

This time, Vox woke up in a very unconventional way unlike the prior attack.

One of his main maintenance team members booted him up before his scheduled time.

He looked at the employee with confusion, which quickly turned to anger as he realised that this asshole had intruded into his sleeping quarters, he was very confident, without permission.

The embarrassment about his sleep attire of course underlying. It was hardly the same impression as what he wished to show to the world.

He instantly went to start yelling at the obviously shit scared man in front of him, but he was stopped short as he heard familiar lyrics that didn't yet fully register for him.

"What. What the fuck is that?" He asked, Vox looked at the employee who seemed to be grappling to try and explain.

"We're.. o.. angers.. o love.. u.. ow the rules, and...o do I!"

Vox's eyebrow furrowed in disbelief, mouth parting as he fought to comprehend what was going on, straining to hear what the song was.

"A.. ull.. commitments.. -at.. m.. inking of. O.. ouldn't get this.. om any other.. uy."

Seeing as the employee was useless next to him, Vox got out of bed and quickly raced to his bedroom window, ripping the blinds apart and opening the window.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling, gotta make you understand."

Vox looked absolutely dumbfounded out at the scene of hell before him as his still tired brain fully comprehended what he was hearing and seeing.

"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you!"

Who in the fuck was rickrolling hell.

It was on every single billboard and screen that Vox could see out the window of the tall building he lived in, the image of Rick Astley singing 'Never Gonna Give You Up' with a small message Vox could barely make out at the bottom of the faraway billboard.

"S-sir, it's been playing since 6am, we haven't been able to turn it off! It's everywhere! This hacker- 'U' they call themselves, its the same person as last time it seems!" The frightened employee standing behind the hunched over and now trembling figure of Vox finally found his voice.

Vox let out a cold bark of laughter, slamming his hands against the windowsill as he jerkily moved to face the employee. "What the fuck," Vox began to approach the young man, him shrinking back from the clearly furious overlord. "Do you mean that this has been p-p-playing," Vox glitched as he gripped both hands on the techie's shoulders. "Since 6 in the fucking morning!" He yelled.

His claws dug into his shoulders hard. He was about to go fully apeshit, but the sane part of his brain won over that at the last second.

This was not one of his lowest earners, and he had far more pressing things to do then prey on the refuse lest his image be messed up any more then it already had.

He stiffly unhanded the employee, eyes admiring the way blood had started beading where his claws had dug in before taking a deep breath, composing himself and then forcing a strained smile.

"My apologies," a lie, of course. "I will deal with this accordingly myself since it seems like you and your team are un-a-able to yourselves." He spat the last part out, before striding out of his bedroom with one last 'get out.' directed at the employee shaking like a leaf in a strong breeze.

It was all over the internet and Vox knew he had no chance of dealing away with it like last time.

He could do away with a stupid Sinstagram post pretty easily. It was moreso from one source - the branches from that easily clipped and made to be forgotten about nearly completely with a carefully placed broadcast that was succinct and to the point with his hypnosis ability, and constant content moderation.

This though was a completely different story.

Even after kicking you from his system (he hoped), he found himself unable to even begin to try moderate everything as he did last time. He couldn't escape 'U' becoming a viral meme overnight.

Someone with obviously incredible hacking skills using said skills not to attack or harm Vox or anyone, but to instead Rick Roll the entirety of hell?

Vox became a victim of the meme culture him and Velvette had cultivated to keep eyes on them, and he hated it.

He was terrified, which of course manifested as red hot anger. Anger which grew even worse as something was discovered the afternoon of him finally managing to remove the video loop being broadcasted.

An account on one of the many social media applications he owned. An account he somehow couldn't touch with one single post going absolutely viral - the same as the text that was displayed across the bottom of video you had infected all of his screens with which he couldn't quite see from out of his window the prior morning.

'Never gonna give it up, never gonna let you go. Never gonna let you run away and avoid me~ - U'

If anyone wants to be added to a taglist for when I update this fic lmk - I was unsure if the people I @ last time still wanted to be (sorry)

[ Why So Blue masterlist ]

[doormatty3]

Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 2 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Original Female Character] [Patrick Wilson x Original Character] Éléanor had always adored winter: its snow, its crisp air. But what she treasured most was retreating to her cosy cabin in the Swedish mountains. There, she could bake, sketch, and enjoy the solitude, far from the noise of the world. At least, that’s how it used to be—until a new neighbour arrived. Patrick Wilson was tall, charming, and with a smile that seemed to melt the coldest days. A s they struck up a friendship, Éléanor found herself drawn to him, even though he remained oddly secretive about his last name and evasive about his work. But when a fierce snowstorm trapped them both, it became clear that Patrick might just be the warmth she needed in more ways than one. OR: Patrick uses his body to warm up Éléanor in the snowy mountains.

Wordcount: 4036

A/N: I just really really want a hot dude (Patrick Wilson) chopping wood in front of my window. Is that too much to ask, universe?

The next day began as peacefully as the other mornings before, with soft light spilling into her cabin, illuminating the snow-covered landscape outside her window. She had become familiar with the tranquillity of these mornings—silent, serene, with nothing but the sound of the wind brushing through the trees. However, as she walked barefoot to the kitchen, she glanced out of the window and froze mid-step.

There, outside, was Patrick again.

She didn’t even need to step closer to see him—he was right there in the clearing between their cabins, chopping wood with deliberate precision. But today, unlike yesterday, he had taken off his beanie, and his thick, wavy hair caught the morning light. His brown locks were a bit messy from the effort, curling slightly at the tips and damp with sweat, even in the chilly air.

His jacket was unzipped and tossed aside on the porch, leaving him in just a thermal shirt that clung to his broad chest and strong arms. 

As he lifted the axe above his head, his shirt stretched tightly across his chest and shoulders, revealing the lean, athletic build underneath. Each powerful swing of the axe seemed effortless, his muscles flexing as the wood split cleanly in two. His face, focused yet calm, made it clear that this wasn’t something he struggled with. It was like watching him in his element.

She moved closer to the window, leaning her elbows on the sill as she watched him, mesmerised.

Her eyes drifted over him, taking in every detail—the curve of his jaw, dusted lightly with stubble, the way his breath came out in puffs of mist, the way his hair shone golden in the early light. He paused for a moment, running a hand through his hair, and Éléanor couldn’t help but notice how naturally handsome he was. 

Her fingers itched for her sketchbook once again.

Éléanor grabbed it from the table and settled onto the window seat without much thought. 

At first, she began lightly—just a few soft lines, mapping out his form, starting with the broad, powerful shape of his shoulders. Her pencil danced across the page, tracing the bend of his spine as he leaned into each swing of the axe, the slight tension in his arms, and the way his hands gripped the wooden handle.

As she worked, Éléanor’s eyes flicked from the window to the sketchbook, back and forth in a rhythm as fluid as Patrick’s movements. She sketched the way his hair fell into his face as he wiped his brow and the way the sunlight caught the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Every stroke of her pencil brought him to life on the page—the sharp angles of his jaw, the scruff of his stubble, and the slight narrowing of his eyes as he focused on the task at hand.

She moved quickly, capturing his stance in broad strokes—the confident, grounded way he stood, feet planted firmly in the snow, his body steady and sure. But as the minutes passed, her sketches became more detailed and intimate, filling page after page.

In her most comprehensive drawing, which filled an entire page, she concentrated on the finer details with her watercolours. She refined the subtle way his chest rose and fell with each breath and how his fingers curled around the axe handle, strong and capable. She added the texture of his shirt,  highlighting the folds in the fabric as it stretched over his frame and the way his muscles moved beneath it.

And then there was his face. Éléanor slowed down here, taking her time as she focused on the sharp lines of his features while refining her sketch. His eyes, deep blue and intense, were slightly shadowed beneath his brow, but they glimmered in the sunlight as he paused to stack the wood. She traced the strong line of his nose and the fullness of his lips, slightly parted as he breathed heavily from the work.

The more she drew, the more she noticed—the way the cold air turned his cheeks a little pink, the mess of his hair as he ran a hand through it absent-mindedly, and the way the muscles in his arms tensed and relaxed with each movement. There was a rawness to him, a quiet strength that fascinated her.

Her drawing began to take on a life of its own, each line breathing energy into the paper. The light shadowing on his face, the depth in his eyes, and the firmness of his stance—she was capturing everything.

As she added the final details to his face, her phone buzzed on the table, startling her.

She glanced at it and saw a message from Virginie.

―――――――――――――

Virginie : Why didn’t you come to Spain with me? There are so many hotties here, ma chérie!

―――――――――――――

Éléanor chuckled, setting her sketchbook aside momentarily as she glanced out the window again. Patrick was taking a break now, leaning on the axe’s handle, catching his breath. His face was flushed from the cold and exertion, but his easy smile as he wiped his forehead sent a shiver through her.

She smirked, then typed back:

―――――――――――――

Éléanor : Well, I may have a hottie here myself.

―――――――――――――

Almost instantly, her phone buzzed again, and this time, it was an incoming call.

“Ugh, of course,” Éléanor muttered, already knowing what was coming. She answered the call and put it on speaker.

“WHAT?!” Virginie’s voice practically screeched through the speaker, filled with excitement. “You’re in the middle of nowhere, and there’s a hottie? Tell me everything immediately! Don’t hold back on me, Éléanor!”

Éléanor stifled a laugh, watching as Patrick wiped his hands on his jeans and moved to stack the freshly chopped wood. “Okay, calm down,” she said, keeping her voice casual. “He’s just staying in the cabin next door.”

Virginie scoffed. “Next door? Next door in the middle of nowhere? Don’t play coy with me. What’s his name? Is he cute? No, scratch that. How hot is he? Like, is he actually hot, or are you just starved for human contact up there?”

Éléanor glanced out of the window again, and her heart gave an involuntary flutter as Patrick bent to pick up another log, his shirt stretching taut across his back. “His name’s Patrick. And… yeah, he’s… um, he’s definitely hot,” she admitted. “But it’s not like that. He’s just… around.”

“Oh my God, of course he is. Details, woman!” Virginie demanded, her voice rising in dramatic excitement.

Éléanor shifted, feeling a little embarrassed. “Okay, fine. He’s tall, maybe around six feet, with sandy-blond brownish hair. It’s kind of wavy and, well… he took off his hat, and it looks even better in the sun. His eyes are this striking blue—like, really blue. And he’s got this rugged, outdoorsy look going on. I mean, he’s currently out there chopping wood, so… yeah. It’s a scene.”

“Stop right now,” Virginie gasped. “He’s chopping wood? This is like something out of one of those cheesy romance novels!”

Éléanor laughed. “Yeah, it kind of is. And he’s really strong. I mean, the way he swings that axe… it’s impressive.”

Virginie sighed deeply on the other end of the line. “So basically, you’re living out every woman’s fantasy right now. You know that, right?”

“Oh, come on,” Éléanor said, shaking her head. “It’s not like that. He’s just a neighbour, and we’ve only exchanged some small talk.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Virginie replied, clearly not convinced. “And what exactly did you two talk about, hmm? Don’t leave anything out.”

“Well,” Éléanor began, glancing out of the window as Patrick stacked another log of wood. “He helped to shovel my driveway yesterday. We had tea on the porch afterwards. We just talked about, you know, the weather, the mountains, and why we’re both here. He’s really down-to-earth, actually. Quiet, but in a nice way.”

Virginie made a noise of disbelief. “And you didn’t immediately jump him? Éléanor, I’m starting to think you’ve been in those mountains too long.”

Éléanor flushed, laughing. “I’m not going to jump him!”

“You’re in a literal cabin romance scenario… and here you are, 34, with your nose stuck in your sourdough jar and sketchbook.”

There was a long pause on Éléanor’s end, her cheeks flushing as she looked down at her sketchbook and the detailed watercolour drawing of Patrick.

“You’re drawing him, aren’t you?” Virginie gasped theatrically. “You sneaky little stalker.”

Éléanor laughed, holding the phone away from her mouth. “I am not a stalker. He’s just right there, and I’ve got my sketchbook.”

“Uh-huh,” Virginie said with a grin in her voice. “And yet, you’ve not sent me a picture? The hypocrisy, Éléanor.”

Éléanor smirked, glancing out of the window one more time as Patrick raised his axe for another swing. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I’m not some creepy paparazzi.”

“Oh, come on,” Virginie whined. “Just a little one? For research purposes, of course. For me, as a friend.”

“Nope,” Éléanor said firmly, her voice light with amusement. “I’m not invading his privacy like that.”

“Privacy, schmivacy,” Virginie shot back. “This man sounds like a walking dream. I bet he wouldn’t even mind. But, okay, I’ll stop bugging you about the photo. For now. But listen, you need to let me live vicariously through you. How’s he dressed? What’s the wood-chopping outfit?”

Éléanor sighed, stealing another glance outside. “He’s wearing this snug thermal shirt—it’s dark grey and fits him really well. His jacket’s off, so you can see his arms and chest quite clearly. And he’s wearing these rugged jeans. Honestly, the whole look is very… outdoorsman chic.”

“Oh my God,” Virginie groaned dramatically. “You’re killing me. I’m stuck in Spain with a bunch of drunk idiots, and you’re over there with a real-life lumberjack hottie.”

Éléanor shook her head, laughing. “You’ll be fine in Spain. I’m sure there are plenty of guys there who’ll catch your eye.”

Virginie huffed. “Maybe, but none of them are chopping wood for me in the snow. This is unfair.”

“Well, like I said, he’s just a neighbour. Nothing’s going on,” Éléanor said, though even as she said it, she couldn’t shake the little thrill she got from watching him.

“Uh-huh,” Virginie replied, unconvinced. “You’ve got a hottie right next door. Don’t waste this opportunity, Éléanor. Seriously. When’s the next time you’re going to have a situation like this?”

Éléanor rolled her eyes playfully. “Okay, okay. But I’m not just going to throw myself at him, Virginie.”

“I’m just saying,” Virginie teased. “You deserve some fun. And maybe… something more?”

“Virginie!” Éléanor said with a laugh, “I didn’t come here for a man… I came here because of the solitude and quiet.”

Virginie sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. But you better tell me everything. What’s his deal? Does he live up there, or is he just hiding out like you?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Éléanor said, biting her lip as she thought about it. “He said he’s here to get away from things. But it’s only been a couple of days, and we’ve just had some small talk. He’s easy to be around, though. Like… I don’t know, normal.”

“Hm,” Virginie hummed thoughtfully. “Normal, hot, and right next door? Éléanor, this is your chance to finally touch someone who isn’t yeast-based.”

Éléanor protested with a laugh, her cheeks flushing. “Hey! Leave Jacques out of this.”

Virginie sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if you two have some steamy cabin romance, I expect full details.”

“Yes yes…Now goodbye, Virginie,” Éléanor said, laughing as she hung up the call.

She placed her phone down and stretched, feeling both amused and a little flustered. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a movement outside. Patrick had finished chopping and was now glancing over at her cabin. Éléanor’s breath caught when he met her gaze through the window.

Had he seen her watching him? Or sketching? The thought sent a small thrill through her, but she quickly masked it with a smile, offering him a friendly wave and opening her window.

To her surprise, he waved back, smiling, his axe resting on his shoulder. Then he called out, his voice carrying easily through the crisp morning air. “Do you have enough firewood, or do you need more?”

Éléanor’s heart skipped a beat, momentarily mesmerised by his deep voice. He looked even more striking now—his hair slightly messy from exertion, his blue eyes bright against the cold air.

“I’m good!” she called back, hoping her voice didn’t sound as flustered as she felt. “Plenty stocked up!”

Patrick nodded, his grin easy and warm. “Alright, just checking. If you need more, don’t hesitate.”

She smiled, her heart fluttering a little at his casual offer. “Thanks! I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Patrick turned and headed back to his cabin, Éléanor couldn’t help but bite her lip, watching him walk away. He was such a presence—strong, capable, and far too attractive for her peace of mind.

She looked down at her sketchbook again, fingers brushing the painting she had made. There he was, captured on the page—every detail of his movements, his focused expression, the subtle lines of his strong jaw, all immortalised in her art.

Virginie was right about one thing—Éléanor was definitely enjoying the view.

_____

As the evening settled in, Éléanor felt an urge to lose herself in the familiar, comforting ritual of baking. After watching Patrick chopping wood from her window all day, she needed the soothing routine of kneading dough and stirring pots. She glanced at her trusty sourdough starter, Jacques, which bubbled happily on the counter. 

Tying her apron around her waist, she gathered her ingredients. The flour, water, and salt came together beneath her hands, the dough taking shape with a rhythmic push and pull. As Éléanor kneaded, her thoughts wandered back to Patrick. 

He had looked even more rugged that morning, chopping wood like some kind of lumberjack straight out of a daydream.

She thought about how his face had sharp features softened by a boyish smile when he glanced over at her cabin, unaware she was sketching him again. His blue eyes gleamed like the sky against the backdrop of snow, and there was something effortlessly handsome about the way he moved, confident but not in a showy way.

Éléanor found herself smiling, her hands working the dough with renewed energy. 

Once she had finished, she set the dough aside to let it rise as she set about preparing her French beef stew, boeuf bourguignon. 

The rich smell of onions sautéing in butter filled the cabin, mingling with the crisp scent of the winter air sneaking through the cracked window.

She chopped the carrots, celery, and mushrooms into perfect little pieces, tossing them into the pot with the browned beef. The sizzle of the meat meeting the hot pan was satisfying, each sear deepening the flavour.

Pouring in a generous glug of red wine, Éléanor inhaled the rich, earthy aroma as it mixed with the herbs and vegetables. She moved with practised grace, tasting and adjusting the seasoning as she went, lost in the rhythm of cooking. 

The stew simmered on low, filling the cabin with warmth, while she shaped her risen dough into a beautiful round loaf, scored the top, and placed it in the oven.

As the bread baked, she leaned over the counter to peek into the oven, watching the crust form and turn golden, the smell of sourdough wafting through the room. The loaf crackled as it rose, promising a perfect, airy crumb beneath its crispy crust.

After the bread had finished baking, she carefully donned a pair of thick, quilted oven mitts to protect her hands from the intense heat. Opening the oven door, she let out a rush of warm, fragrant air that surrounded her. As she reached in to grab the heavy cast-iron baking pan, she felt the comforting weight of the loaf as she lifted it out.

The bread had emerged beautifully from the oven; its crust was a perfect golden brown, glistening slightly from the steam. The detailed leaf-shaped indents she had painstakingly created before baking stood out prominently against the snowy white flour dusting the surface.

On a whim and after looking at her bread for a few minutes, Éléanor wrapped the still-warm loaf in a clean kitchen towel. Before she could second-guess herself, she made her way to the door, wanting to bring it to Patrick. He had been so kind, shovelling her driveway without a second thought, and this was her way of thanking him.

Éléanor bundled up in her thick coat, slipping on her scarf and boots before heading outside. The night air was crisp and biting, the sky above her inky black, yet the windows of Patrick’s cabin glowed warmly in the distance, with a faint trail of smoke curling from his chimney. With the loaf in her arms, she trudged through the snow, her breath misting in the cold.

Her heart raced a little as she approached the door and knocked. She could hear the faint sound of movement inside before Patrick opened it. 

His face lit up in surprise, and Éléanor couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked, even in casual clothes. 

His hair, still slightly tousled from earlier, framed his face perfectly, and the firelight accentuated the flecks of grey in his stubble. His scent—earthy with hints of pine and a subtle cologne—enveloped her as she entered, adding to the cabin’s warm and inviting atmosphere.

“Hey,” Éléanor said with a shy smile, her breath misting in the cold air. “I, um, thought I’d bring you a thank-you for shovelling my driveway. Freshly baked sourdough.”

Patrick’s grin widened, genuine and boyish, as the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting this. That’s really nice of you. Come in.”

He stepped aside, and Éléanor entered the cabin, immediately greeted by the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. The interior of Patrick’s cabin was much like her own—simple and rustic, with wooden beams and stone accents—but it was also infused with a certain charm. 

The fire cast a soft, golden glow, and a few personal touches—books stacked on the coffee table, a guitar leaning against the wall—gave the space an inviting feel.

“Your place is lovely,” Éléanor said, taking it all in as she removed her coat and scarf.

“Thanks,” Patrick replied, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to make it feel like home. It’s not as cosy as yours, I’m sure.”

Éléanor smiled, placing the bread on his kitchen counter. “Well, it looks good in here. You have a fire going, and that’s half the battle.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” Patrick said, eyeing the loaf appreciatively. “But I’m not complaining.”

“Well, you did shovel my driveway. I figured it’s the least I could do,” Éléanor replied, slipping off her coat and scarf.

“I’m sure it’s amazing,” he said, grabbing a bread knife and cutting into the loaf. The sound of the crispy crust breaking apart was music to her ears, and the smell of the warm, freshly baked bread filled the room. 

He handed her a piece, and she noticed the warmth of the bread mixing with the faint scent of Patrick’s cologne. She watched as he took one for himself, spreading a little butter on it.

They stood there for a moment, savouring the bread in comfortable silence. Éléanor couldn’t help but glance at Patrick, admiring the way his lips curled slightly as he chewed.

“This is incredible,” Patrick finally said, breaking the silence. “You weren’t kidding when you said baking is your thing.”

Éléanor smiled, a flush of pride warming her cheeks. “Thank you. I’ve been baking for as long as I can remember. It’s kind of my specialty.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting, but…wow”, he chuckled, taking another bite. “This is the best bread I’ve had in… probably ever.”

They moved to sit near the fire, Patrick offering her a spot on the couch. The atmosphere was cosy and easy, and Éléanor found herself relaxing more than she had in days. Patrick poured them each a glass of wine, and soon they were sharing more than just bread.

Éléanor couldn’t help but observe how the firelight played on his features, softening his rugged appearance and highlighting the flecks of grey in his beard. His stubble had thickened since he got here but seemed to focus mostly on his upper lip, where a soft moustache was starting to form. 

She realised he was likely a bit older than she initially thought—his bright blue eyes and that charming, boyish smile had fooled her, yet she found herself not caring about that at all.

“So, what brings you out here, really?” Éléanor asked after a moment, swirling her wine in the glass. “I mean, the mountains are nice, but they’re not exactly a quick trip.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair, the firelight casting a soft glow over his face. “I needed a break. From work, from the city, from… everything. It’s nice to get away from the chaos.”

Éléanor nodded, understanding all too well. “I get that. I come out here for the same reason. I live in a small town, but even that can feel overwhelming sometimes. This place is my escape.”

“Your café, right? I think you mentioned that the other day,” Patrick said, his eyes curious.

“Yeah, I run a little café in France with my best friend, Virginie,” Éléanor said, smiling fondly at the memory of her café. “It’s small, but it’s home. We serve homemade bread, pastries, and a few simple meals. It’s a quiet life, but I love it.”

Patrick smiled, looking impressed. “That sounds perfect. A lot simpler than what I’m used to.”

“And what is it that you do, exactly?” Éléanor asked, her curiosity piqued by his vagueness. “You mentioned being in the entertainment industry, but you didn’t really say much more.”

Patrick shrugged, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. “Yeah… I’m just in the entertainment industry, nothing more, but it’s… a lot sometimes. That’s why I came here. To get away from all the pressure.”

Éléanor raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not pressing. “That makes sense. I imagine it’s hard to find peace in that kind of world.”

“It can be,” he admitted, his gaze flickering to the fire for a moment. “But being here, it reminds me of what really matters. The simple things.”

She nodded, feeling a quiet connection with him. They both sought refuge in these mountains for different reasons, but the end goal was the same—peace, simplicity, a break from the chaos of life.

They talked late into the night, sharing stories about their lives, their favourite foods, and the peace they both found in simple, quiet moments. 

Patrick had an easy charm about him, making her laugh with dry humour and gentle teasing. The conversation felt natural, and Éléanor found herself forgetting the outside world as they sat by the fire, sharing bread and wine.

Before she knew it, the evening had slipped away, and the fire had burned low. Éléanor stood, feeling the comforting weight of contentment in her chest. “I should probably get back to my cabin,” she said softly. “Thank you for the wine.”

“No, thank you for the bread,” Patrick replied, his smile warm. “And hey, if you ever need more firewood, just let me know.”

Éléanor smiled, touched by his offer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As she made her way back to her cabin, the cold air nipping at her cheeks, Éléanor felt lighter than she had in days. There was something about Patrick—his kindness, his quiet strength—that put her at ease.

Once inside her cabin, she decided to check on her firewood supply before turning in for the night. She opened the door to the shed, and her heart sank. The pile of wood she had so confidently assured Patrick about earlier was nearly gone.

“Damn it,” she muttered, realising too late that she had underestimated how much wood she would need.

She stood there for a moment, the cold air biting at her skin, before closing the door with a sigh. She’d have to swallow her pride and ask Patrick for help sooner than she thought.

[dungeonmalcontent]

Low key obsessed with monk/druid multiclass shenanigans right now.

It doesn't take much on the druid side. Two levels of druid to get wild shape and circle of the moon.

And then a couple levels of monk.

... Read below for silly examples.

2 moon druid / 6 shadow monk: you transform into an elk. Next turn you walk behind a tree and appear in the shadow behind your opponent and deliver a thunderous hooved karate chop. You bray in triumph but it makes no noise. The town tells ghoa stories of the night elk for decades.

2 moon druid / 3 open hand monk: you transform into a brown bear. You bite once, shove once with your claws. Flurry of blows, shove once and claw once. You potentially deal a max of 12 piercing damage + 16 slashing damage and you push your opponent up to 25 feet backwards as you harass them with blows. You look like this:

And, no matter what, you don't really have to dip into a dex heavy build. You take the dex from the wild shape. You can put all your stat effort into wis. And when you wild shape, you still benefit from unarmored defense. So you take your wis mod + 10 + your animal shape's dex mod to make your AC. So if you max your wis to +5 and transform into a deer you get an 18 ac deer that can move 50 feet normally in a round (not counting dashes or unarmored movement).

At 9 levels of monk and 2 druid, you can be a deer that can run 180 feet up a vertical surface in 6 seconds (or a warhorse that can sprint 210 feet up a vertical surface, including a waterfall, in 6 seconds) using full movement dash action and bonus action step of the wind. Weirdly, that translate to being able to dead sprint up Niagra falls in like... 30 seconds? If someone casts haste on you you can double that speed. On top of haste, if you cast longstrider on yourself (because you're a druid, you can do that), you can go 540 feet in 1 round--that's roughly 61 mph (for 1 minute)--which you can do not up a vertical surface by total level 4. Try going limp after 1 round of that speed and knocking into a humanoid creature. See what happens.

Better yet. Do the high speed warhorse, but with 6 levels of druid and 2 levels of monk so you can be a giant elk instead. Same speed. Basically double the mass. You are a massive bro truck traveling at interstate speeds and you want to kill a man.

Another fun combo. 2 levels moon druid. 2 levels monk. Cast jump. Wild shape lion. Bonus action step of the wind. You jump (if your GM isn't a coward) 150 feet with a 10-foot run up. (It would be very silly if this could be a vertical jump, but sadly it is only a long jump.)

Last one, last one. 2 levels moon druid. 3 levels ascendant dragon monk. Setup jump spell and/or longstrider. Wildshape space hamster (non-giant). Bonus action step of the wind, long jump around the room at crazy speeds. Action, breath of the dragon, 20 foot cone of fire. Make Boo proud of the havoc you cause.