#but i am so touch starved it felt nice holding human muscle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

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Sensate Focus

A bitch takes one Human Sexuality class and gets stuck on the fucking Sensate Focus bullshit then has to write a fic about it. Its me. I’m the bitch. 😂

Warnings: Geralt is self depriciating-whats new, insecure jask, insecure geralt, overwhelmed by touch, big vulnerability, they’re in couple’s therapy, so like, its a rocky relationship, we got some connection building and cuteness in the end too, its not all bad, mentions of sex, nudity but like not in a smutty way, for once I dont think i used a single swear word? I had big feels while writing it i really hope they translated lmao.

I am but a humble psych major, not an actual therapist, so plz don’t come at me if shit isn’t accurate. I tried my best.

Also this is under a cut for a reason, not just length. If you are easily triggered by touch starved type fics this is not for you. It gets emotionally heavy plz read with caution.

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“You want us to what?”

“Come on, Geralt. You said you’d try.”

“I- no. Just- why? What’s the point?”

Both Geralt and Jaskier turned to their therapist, each equally confused and a little scared.

The tiny woman kept her face completely impassive and answered his question, “The exercise helps people get out of their heads and reacquaint themselves with, not only being open with their partner, but also slowing down and enjoying touch for touch sake. Without being so focused on the end goal of sex or pleasing a partner, people can begin to refocus on the connection attachment theorists claim is the underlying motivation for sex without reproduction in the first place.”

Geralt swallowed hard. This was for him and he knew it. He’d said it himself, he was fucking terrified of failure and rejection and that absolutely extended to Jaskier. His husband. Of five years. Who’d been with him for ten. Logically it made no fucking sense, but the woman with the PhD had told him this was rather normal for a child of divorce as if he’d said he didn’t like horseradish sauce. He didn’t see how being scared of your spouse secretly hating you was normal in the slightest.

He glanced over at Jaskier who sat at the other end of the black leather sofa picking at his nails. When they’d gotten married they’d laze around all day just holding each other and talking. It was safe and sweet and Geralt couldn’t for the life of him remember how it was tainted.

“Alright,” he grunted, “What’re the rules again?”

The next afternoon they’d carved out an hour and a half with no distractions, no phones, not even any music to Jaskier’s dismay. Apparently that was against the ‘guidelines - not rules’.

They stood in their bedroom, lights dimmed and curtains drawn, as much for the ambiance as for the privacy. Geralt felt his stomach flip flop as he stepped out of his clothes, feeling a bit ridiculous. It’s not as if this was the first time they’d seen each other naked, but it was the first time they were to spend ‘as much time as necessary’ -whatever that meant- touching each other, one at a time.

Jaskier dropped his clothes in the laundry bin and stood with his arms crossed, almost like he was hiding, “Right. So… Do you want to go first? Maybe go over things again?”

“Do you want to go first?” Geralt asked, immediately drawing his bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw at the peeling skin.

“I just want to know why you look so scared, to be honest,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one being vulnerable here, “Not scared. Just nervous.”

“Rules then?”

Geralt nodded, “No talking. No, uh, erogenous zones. No sex. No kissing. If you don’t like something or it’s a big turn on or it tickles, move the other person’s hand.” the weight in his chest lessened a little bit, this really was simple. Just touching Jask. Something he’d done a million times. Hell he might not even get anything out of it. He didn’t need to be so damned worried about things going wrong.

“If you get overwhelmed think about temperature and texture and how it feels. Don’t think about what the other person is thinking or feeling. The only bit that matters is moving their hand,” Jaskier added, his posture relaxing ever so slightly as he rocked up on his toes and back down.

Geralt stepped a little closer, holding out his pinky finger, “We don’t stay still if we don’t like something.” He said it more to reassure Jaskier than anything.

Jask hooked his pinky around Geralt’s and smiled, “No barreling through,” he agreed.

“Can I, uhm… go first?” Geralt kept their pinkies hooked together as he let their hands hang between them.

Jaskier looked surprised, but nodded fervently, “Of course!”

“Okay,” Geralt pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair before stepping a bit closer, hovering both of his hands over jaskier’s shoulders, “So I just-?”

Jaskier nodded and whispered, “No talking, love.”

Geralt let out an amused huff, the irony of the words bringing a soft smile to his face. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out as he placed his hands over Jaskier’s arms.

Sensations. He could do this. He was doing this.

Jaskier’s arms were soft, both in texture and in feel, giving way to Geralt’s fingers ever so slightly when he squeezed. He trailed his hands down over Jaskier’s elbows, noting the patches of dry skin over the joints that Jask had been scandalized by in college. His forearms had more hair, but it was softer than Geralt’s, silky even, and nice to touch. Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier’s wrist and back up, watching as the little hairs stood on end but seemed to stick to the pads of his fingers as he moved past them. When he noticed the goosebumps he glanced up to Jaskier with mild panic in his eyes, worried he’d already fucked it up and made him uncomfortable. But his husband just nodded, a light smile on his lips.

Temperature. Back to task.

Geralt picked up Jaskier’s hand, holding it in one of his as he skimmed his fingers over his knuckles and calluses. His palms were warmer than the back of his hand and it seemed every spot where his skin had built up from use was just a tad colder than the thinner skin next to it.

He gently guided Jaskier’s hand back down and trailed his hand up his arm, ghosting his fingers over his collar bone. He thought about how much softer this skin was, and how it made the butterflies in his stomach go wild as he moved back and forth over the spot a few times. He liked the pleasant little pitfall of his stomach, not arousal but not unlike it, just a little higher in his abdomen and lighter. He moved his other hand to mirror his movement’s on Jaskier’s other shoulder, palms soon coming to rest over his chest almost on their own.

Geralt was so aware of his hands they almost felt numb. It made him think of one of those motor skills brain maps where it showed how much of your brain was devoted to moving which part of your body. Those huge chunks devoted to his hands must have been screaming.

Jaskier gasped as a bit of his chest hair got caught in Geralt’s ring as he swept his hands downward. Geralt gave him an apologetic look but just got a grin and slight shake of his head in return instead of the shock he expected.

Geralt continued, moving his hands in slow circles over Jaskier’s abdomen and hips and flanks, marveling at the warmth he felt not only under his hands but spreading through his chest. He let his hands rest above Jaskier’s hips, just at the bottom of his ribs and watched as his hands slowly moved apart and back together in time with Jaskier’s breath. It looked like such a small movement, but when he closed his eyes he felt like he was throwing his arms wide open. He tried matching his breathing to Jaskier’s, but that was close to overwhelming, so he moved on, refocusing on the texture and thickness of his chest hair as he moved up to his neck.

One of his hands stayed resting on Jaskier’s chest as his other brushed up the side of his neck with the backs of his fingers. Even with such light pressure he could feel the thick ropes of muscle and tendons under his skin. It was warmer over his pulse point and Geralt’s breath hitched when he felt the little thump of a heartbeat under his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, surprised to find himself taking a deep breath, not out of fear or frustration, but to sink into the feeling as much as he could. He counted the beats, making a note of how comforting the feeling was. The longer he held his fingers in place, the softer the beats became, until they leveled out to a soft and steady thrum.

When Geralt opened his eyes the beats picked up, matching the strange look on Jaskier’s face. Geralt moved his hand over his jaw and back a few times. He could almost hear the ridges of his fingerprints catching on Jaskier’s stubble as he traced over his upper lip.

He felt a soothing sense of familiarity when his fingers grazed along the outline of Jaskier’s lips. His body latched onto the feeling and he found himself starting to get watery eyes as he reacquainted himself with the thin pink skin. He remembered their first kiss and how much it scared him even though he craved it so completely. He remembered kissing Jaskier over and over and over when they’d finally said ‘i love you’ and dropped the casual pretense. He remembered their kiss at their wedding, soft, firm, and a little wet with happy tears.

An annoying voice that sounded an awful lot like their therapist sounded off in his head, “This is what I was trying to tell you, asshat. Focus on the positive.”

Geralt smiled despite the sharp tug behind his eyes that told him he might cry, and brushed his fingers up over the thin skin beneath Jaskier’s eyes, careful not to press hard enough to catch and pull at the blueish skin. He traced his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones and hollows, his chin, and his cupid’s bow, all with that same surprisingly pleasant near-tears feeling in his chest. He watched Jaskier’s eyes watching him as he carded one hand through his hair.

That was what did it, what made the tears start to dribble down his cheeks as his hands continued to gently comb through his husband’s hair. The look of wonder and relief he was met with was overwhelming. He felt a bit of guilt, sure. Guilt for letting things get as bad as they’d been, but he was overwhelmed by how much love he felt. It permeated his whole body and the air around him. He hadn’t even felt this in the beginning; this was a settled and sure feeling, not the frantic need he’d felt before.

Geralt pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, sending a fresh wave of tears over his cheeks as he brushed his hands over Jaskier’s back. He traced his spine, counted every rib, and outlined his shoulder blades with the tips of his fingers.

Their fronts were pressed together, but technically it wasn’t against any rule, so neither of them moved back. Geralt’s hands moved to the dip in Jaskier’s hips, his thumbs brushing over the place where his skin creased when he sat and Jaskier wrapped his hands around his wrists. A warm puff of air washed over Geralt’s face as Jaskier breathed a small laugh and moved his hands up. Surprisingly enough, Geralt was only amused by being moved, filing the information away for later as he settled for measuring Jaskier’s breaths again, now leaning into the full body tingle he felt when they both exhaled.

He wanted to stay right there for hours, but he suddenly wanted Jaskier to touch him. More than that, he wanted Jaskier to feel like him. He gave his sides a gentle squeeze as he straightened up and rocked back a bit, making the smallest bit of space between them.

“Switch,” he whispered, the soft sound coming out like crunching gravel in the charged silence.

He let his hands fall to his sides as he opened his eyes, a little relieved to see he wasn’t the only one crying.

Jaskier immediately reached up to cup Geralt’s cheeks and brush the tears away. It was odd, having to stay still when Jask was right there, when he could still feel the echoes of the sensations in his hands. But he stayed put, if for nothing else than the look of cautious excitement Jaskier was wearing.

He wanted to tell him there was no need, that he would gladly spend the rest of the day standing in the dim light of their bedroom, silently taking turns softly caressing each other. But rules were rules.

Jaskier drew his hands a little closer together over his cheeks, making sure all the tears were smudged away with his thumbs as Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth of his hands was soothing, especially when Jaskier slowly brushed his thumbs over Geralt’s eyelids. As Jaskier dragged his fingers over Geralt’s chin and brushed the backs of his fingers back up and over his cheeks, Geralt almost started to feel dizzy. He forced his eyes open and focused on watching Jaskier’s face.

His tongue stuck out between his lips as his hands fluttered down his nose and to his lips. A wistful smile graced his features as he brushed over the chapped skin, pulling his bottom lip down just enough so when he let go it popped when it jumped back up to meet his top lip. Geralt tried not to smile, wanting him to do it again, but raised an eyebrow. Jaskier openly grinned and popped his lip a few more times before smoothing his thumb over it. He tucked some hair behind Geralt’s ear and cupped his hands around the base of his neck, gently pressing his thumbs into the tense muscles.

A shiver ran down Geralt’s back as Jaskier brushed his hands out and over his shoulders, thumbing circles over the points where muscle just barely covered bone. Geralt watched his eyes, watched the little crows feet get deeper when he smiled and watched his brows lift up and together.

It occurred to him then that Jaskier might have been just as lonely as he was, that the exuberant extrovert he’d married wanted this as badly as he did. It truly never crossed his mind until he saw it written plain as day on Jaskier’s face; he wasn’t the only one with insecurities in their relationship.

Every bone in his body wanted to pick Jaskier up and crush him to his chest. The trails of goosebumps his fingers left over his skin made it even harder not to, but Jask was enjoying this. He’d even go so far as to say he was lost in it. Rules be damned, Geralt couldn’t take this away from him if he’d wanted to.

When Jaskier’s hands ghosted over his navel he shivered and let his eyes flutter closed. If he wasn’t going to break and move he should at least lean into it.

However, being held without expectations, without needing, or even being allowed, to do or say anything in return was beginning to seem overwhelming. How had Jaskier just stood there and watched him? How could anyone just stand and constantly be told with the light brush of someone else’s knuckles over their cheek that they were desired and cherished? When the hands pressed to his chest told him over and over that he was loved, what kind of escape was there?

One of Jaskier’s hands once again brushed his tears away and he leaned into it, lip trembling as he looked up at the ceiling trying to compose himself. Jaskier would have none of it, gently tilting his head down until their noses brushed and he was forced to look into his watery blue eyes.

He needed this. Geralt was terrified but Jaskier’s expression spoke of a yearning that ran so deep even he probably couldn’t put a name to it. Geralt licked his lips and offered a watery smile, feeling warm relief when Jaskier smiled back and ran his hands down his arms to rest behind his elbows. He squeezed the meat behind his arms, the tops of his forearms, the tendons in his wrist, making his fingers involuntarily curl. Geralt didn’t move, he barely breathed, as Jaskier watched his own hands roam over Geralt’s like he’d never seen anything like it.

When he stopped trying to run the sensation faded to a dull roar. Jaskier’s hands were warm and his breath across his skin was gentle. Geralt might even admit he felt a little bit worthy of the adoration in his husband’s eyes after a few minutes.

Jaskier’s touches were light in some places, firm and grounding in others. Like when he circled his arms around Geralt and pressed his palms into the small of his back, resting his forehead where his collar bones met. Geralt had no idea how something so simple could make him feel so weak. He knew it wasn’t entirely true, but it felt like the only thing holding him up was Jaskier’s touch. When he rocked back, even if it was only an inch or so, Geralt had to fight not to follow him.

Jaskier rested his hands over his ribs, just above his elbows, and stared into his eyes.

They’d agreed to say ‘end’ with their therapist. That’s what Geralt was waiting for. So when Jaskier whispered ‘enough’ and gave him a gentle squeeze it was all he could do to bite down on his lip and keep quiet. Of course he would say enough. The one word Geralt had struggled with from day one. Being enough always felt impossible, but he could begin to think of it as a bit more attainable standing in their dim bedroom without a sound in the world other than their breathing.

He nodded and they both picked up their notepads and scribbled down the notes they were supposed to. Geralt’s was just a list of words but he didn’t care, he filled most of the page and chucked it on the bedside table before tugging on his sweats.

When he looked up for Jaskier he found him staring at him, worry on his brow and pen hovering over what looked like a second nearly full page.

“Do you, maybe want some tea while you write?”

He licked his lips and nodded, adjusting the blanket wrapped around his shoulders before going back to frantically scratching words onto his page.

Geralt gently closed the door after him and took a deep shaky breath as he padded into their bright kitchen, running his hands through his hair. The kettle seemed to take forever with how fast his mind was racing, replaying every bit he could to lodge it in his memory.

Jaskier was just closing his notebook and setting it on top of his laptop when he opened the door with his foot, careful not to spill any hot liquid on the carpet.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered, taking his cup and sitting at the foot of the bed.

Geralt joined him and draped an arm over his blanket wrapped shoulders, “Of course.”

They slurped at their mugs in silence until Geralt was able to take a full sip without scalding the roof of his mouth.

Jaskier’s voice was soft as he spoke, the air from his words interrupting the steam drifting up from his mug, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” Geralt leaned in just a hair.

“Why did you look up?” Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder as he asked and it took Geralt a moment to remember he was supposed to answer.

“I…” he took a deep breath to pull his words together before he mis-stepped, “You stood still and watched me, and looked happy… and I wanted to do that for you… but I started crying again and I-hm. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to be there-here. Wherever.”

One of Jaskier’s hands drifted from his mug to Geralt’s thigh, “I was just worried.”

“Didn’t translate, huh?” Geralt asked, giving him a light squeeze.

“Not quite,” Jaskier chirped, almost giggling.

Geralt hummed and pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. Now I know.”

There were a few more moments of silence before Geralt chuckled, “I didn’t realize your hips were so ticklish.”

Jaskier snorted, an attempt at sipping his tea absolutely aborted to save a spill, “I’ve never been ticklish, Geralt.”

Geralt set his tea on his knee and tilted Jaskier’s chin up to look at him, suddenly concerned, “What didn’t you like about me touching your hips?”

Jaskier’s goofy smile turned a little sly, “Absolutely nothing. In fact,” he started, taking both their half finished teas and setting them on the window sill before turning to envelop Geralt in the blanket with him, pulling him down onto the bed, “I liked it a bit too much.”

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love-and-monsters · 4 years ago

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Starfaller

Agender tiefling X gn reader. 7,005 words.

You’ve fallen into a strange world. Things are unfamiliar and strange, but at least you’ve got a cute doctor to look out for you.

“Come now, sugar. Open your eyes.” Someone was shaking your shoulder gently, but insistently. You didn’t want to wake up. Pain radiated along your back, growing sharper the closer to wakefulness you got. “Up you get. There you go.”

Your eyelids flickered open. Bright sunlight fille d the room with a blinding yellow-white glow. You were lying on some kind of cushy couch, across the room from a set of large, glass doors. The room looked like some sort of old-fashioned apothecary, with pale wooden walls and a floor. Dried and partially-dried herbs hung from the lofted ceiling. Cabinets with glass doors lined the room, full of plants and vials of liquid and metal devices made for measuring. The smell was sharp and made your nose itch faintly.

“Here. Drink this.” Someone cupped your head in their hand. A cup pressed against your lips. It was cool, and the water that flowed into your desiccated mouth tasted pure and crystalline. You gulped it furiously. Oh, god, it was so good, like someone was pouring a sparkling stream of energy down your throat.

“That’s it. Good.” The cup moved away from your lips. You made a quiet noise of protest. “I know, but you have to go slowly. You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t.”

You turned your head, wincing as the motion pulled your muscles. Every breath hurt, like you’d pulled every muscle in your chest and back. The person who had been allowing you to drink was sitting next to you, hand still resting on the back of your head. “There you are. You’re looking a bit better now, aren’t you?”

They smiled, revealing needle-sharp fangs. You felt something in your stomach drop and twist. This person wasn’t a human. They were pale, with nearly pure white skin and white-blonde hair. Their eyes were pale as well, with pink markings along their cheekbones and forehead. Their hair was tied back into a short braid, carefully woven around their enormous, curving horns. They wore a long, pale robe, a long, thin tail with a thick tuft of white-blond hair at the tip. Their feet ended in short, white fur and white, cloven hooves. Their eyes gleamed oddly in the sunlight, their pupils several shades too pale.

“Oh, dear. Lie back down, you look awfully wan. Might have sat up a bit too quick.” Their voice was soft and accented in a way you couldn’t quite identify. Maybe vaguely southern? “Here. Drink.”

Another cup was pressed to your lips. This one was warm and tasted savory. It made your stomach growl. You were starving, lightheaded with hunger. Your fingers fumbled to cling to the bowl, trying to gulp it faster. “Easy there. Slowly.” The bowl was tugged from your mouth once more. “Though it’s good you have an appetite.”

Your caretaker allowed you to drink slowly, pressing the cup to your lips and taking it back away in intervals. Eventually, you managed to drink all of it, your tongue flicking out to get the last few drops from the bottom. “There you are.” Your caretaker ran a hand over your forehead. “All right. It’s good that you got some food in you.”

You sagged back onto the couch. The longer you remained awake, the worse the pain in your torso was getting. Every breath was a struggle. “You must be in a lot of pain,” your caretaker murmured. “Hold on. I’ll get you something for that.” They moved away to one of their cabinets and returned with a spoon and a tiny vial of a green liquid. “This should help with the pain. It’s quite potent, though, and it won’t taste nice.” They tipped a few drops onto the spoon. “Here.”

A flicker of concern moved through you, but it seemed silly not to trust them. They seemed to be taking care of you, at least. The spoon touched your lips and you sipped the droplets from it.

The effect was immediate. For a moment, your mouth tasted sharp and nasty, then a wave of numbness spread outward from everywhere the drops had touched. You sagged back onto the couch. Your eyelids drooped. “Get some sleep. It’ll help you recover,” your caretaker said. “I’ll be back to check on you later.” The world fuzzed and faded as they stood and started to walk away.

You woke again some time later, this time under your own volition. The sun had set, making the room mercifully dim. You were still in pain, but it seemed distant, less urgent.

Grimacing, you rolled onto your side. The caretaker was nowhere you could see. Across the room, you could see the beautiful night sky through the window.

It was more breathtaking than any night sky you had ever seen before. There were thousands of stars, more than you could ever remember seeing. There were even variations of color across the sky, from dark blue to purple to even a few splashes of green. Sitting high at the apex of the sky were two gently glowing moons.

Your breath caught in your throat. The caretaker had obviously not been human, which had been strange, but this. This confirmed it. You weren’t just in some strange place with nonhuman creatures. You were in some entirely different world.

From behind your head, a door creaked. You twisted around, ignoring the sharp pain in your chest. “Ah, you’re awake again. Good.” Your caretaker placed a basket on the table and swept off their coat. “How are you feeling?”

Your voice cracked as you tried to speak. “Wh- Where…”

“Here. Wet your throat. You’ve been out for a while.” They swept over to you, holding a cup. “There you are. Can you hold it yourself? Good.”

Again, the water was cool and clear and you drank it desperately. “Where,” you sputtered as soon as your mouth was no longer achingly dry, “Where am I?”

“Ah.” The caretaker took the bowl back form your hands. “I take it you realized you’re not home anymore.”

“There’s two moons,” you said. “And… and you’re not… human.”

“Mn. No. I’m not. Your Fall must have been particularly bad if you’ve never even met a tiefling before.” They gave you a sympathetic look. “You’re fortunate you weren’t more injured, really. Only a few cracked ribs and some bad bruising.”

“Then where am I?” you insisted. The caretaker gave you a soft, soothing smile.

“In specific, you’re in my house, the healer’s residence of Torthall. It’s a small town in the kingdom of Ristoranth- though I suppose we haven’t been a proper kingdom in a couple of decades.” They paused. “But that’s not terribly helpful to you, is it? Hm. Well, have you ever heard of the theory of multiple worlds?”

You mulled that over. “Like multiple universes?”

“Mm, yes. Roughly. There are many different worlds, and a lot of them overlap. Some of them overlap rarely, and some of them have many overlaps. We call the ones with many overlaps hub worlds.” They made a vague gesture at the world around you. “This world is a hub world. When two worlds overlap, things have a tendency to slip through the gaps. Sometimes they’re small, but sometimes, people slip through.”

You took a deep, slow breath. “I slipped through the gap between your world and my world?”

“Yes. That’s pretty much the summation of it. There’s some more metaphysical aspects to it, some complicated things that I won’t even pretend to understand, but the basic gist of it all is that people often slip through the cracks between the universes and land here. Usually there are a few dozen Starfallers every year. We call them Starfallers,” they clarified. “Usually they fall from the sky, out of a flash of light. The scars last for a few days, like large stars.” They tilted their head back toward the windows. “We could probably still see it, if we went outside.”

You curled your fingers around the blankets. “How do I get home?”

The caretaker’s face went still. “Ah.” The noise was soft and hesitant and confirmed all of your worst fears. “It’s… I don’t want to say that it’s impossible. There have been a few Starfallers who have gotten back. But… Hm. It’s a bit like we’re at the bottom of a funnel. It’s quite easy to get down here, but it’s difficult to get back up. And yours… well, if your world has no active magic component, then it’s likely quite far away from ours. It’s not impossible, but it’s not likely for you to get back either.”

You swallowed hard. The back of your eyes stung. “So, I’m stuck here.”

They folded their hands in their lap. “I’m afraid it’s the most likely scenario.”

You were trying to keep your face still, but your lips were twitching insistently downward. Your breath kept catching and stuttering in your chest. “Oh, dear. Here, it’s all right.” The caretaker fished something out of their pocket and passed it to you. You buried your face in the handkerchief as the tears started falling. “There, there. I know.”

You snuffled, mopping at your eyes. “I’m s-sorry, I hate crying in front of other people.”

“Oh, hush. Don’t apologize.” They smiled softly. “I could turn my back, if you’d like.” You snorted. “But seriously, I’m a healer. I’ve seen many people cry. It won’t make me think any less of you.”

They stroked along your back as you cried until, finally, you had exhausted your water supply. You slumped back onto your pillows. “Feeling any better?” the caretaker asked. They brushed a hand along the top of your head, then swiped away a few of your tears with a thumb.

“I don’t know.” There was still a knot of emotion in your chest, but it had loosened ever so slightly. “I think so.”

“You should probably get some more sleep,” the caretaker said. They stood up. “We can keep talking in the morning.” They yawned. “Both of us need some sleep, really. I’ll see you in the morning.” They gave you an affectionate pat on the head before striding out of the room.

You had expected to have trouble falling asleep, but crying had apparently taken it out of you. Before you knew it, you were blinking your eyes open in bright sunlight. The room was full of the sound and smell of cooking eggs. The caretaker was wearing a purple and gold robe, bent over a fire. “Good morning,” they said, smiling over their shoulder at you.

“Morning,” you croaked. You pushed yourself upright. Your muscles were still sore, but you felt better than you had the night before. “Do I get breakfast?”

The caretaker laughed. “I’m certainly not going to starve you. Though you should eat slowly. Starfalling can do some strange things to your insides.”

You gratefully accepted your plate of eggs. They looked and tasted pretty much exactly like chicken eggs, which was a relief. The caretaker sat down next to you, chewing idly on their own breakfast.

“I don’t know your name,” you said hesitantly after a few moments of eating in silence.

“Silaris. You can just call me Sil.” They smiled. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better. I think.”

“Mm. That’s good. You’ll probably be able to get out of bed today, though you should take it easy. I don’t want you to do anything that will exacerbate your injuries.”

You took a careful bite of eggs off your fork and chewed it slowly. “What, uh. What happens now? I mean… what happens now that I’m here?”

Sil lowered their fork. “I’ll get you in contact with the Starfaller agency. They’ve got a small fund they set aside for Starfaller relief, so you’ll get an allowance for a few months until you’re adjusted. They’ll probably also interview you about what you did in your world, to see what relevant skills you have.” They patted your hand. “Don’t look so worried, sugar. We’re going to make sure you’re safe here.”

“I don’t know if I have any relevant skills I can use here,” you said. “I worked in tech support back in my world. Unless you need someone who’s good with computers here…” Your breaths were starting to come more shallowly. The edges of panic were creeping into your voice.

“Hey. Hey.” Sil took hold of your hands. “Breathe. You’re all right.” They smiled soothingly at you. “If you don’t have any skills that will work for this world, we can get you apprenticed to someone. I’m sure there’s someone who can take you on.”

You took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

“It’s certainly no trouble. Right now, you shouldn’t worry too much. Just try to focus on getting better.” Sil stood. “Your appetite seems healthy, at least.” Your fork scraped against your plate and you looked down. It was empty. You’d been absently shoveling food into your mouth the entire time they’d been speaking. “Ah, don’t look embarrassed. It’s good. If you weren’t hungry, I’d be worried.” They stood, taking your plate. “Give me a moment.”

They left the room. You took their absence as an opportunity to fully assess yourself. Aside from being painfully stiff and needing to breathe shallowly, you felt all right. Your chest was bound in bandages. Bracing yourself against the couch, you pushed yourself to your feet.

Your legs were shaky, but willing to support your weight. You took a few cautious steps. Your side blazed in protest. Every breath made your damaged ribs throb. Grinding your teeth, you took a few cautious steps across the room.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to be walking around so quickly.” You looked over. Sil was standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised. “You must be in better shape than I thought. How do you feel?”

“It hurts,” you admitted. “And-” The wooziness you’d been holding at bay by sheer force of will finally pushed its way into your head. You wobbled on your feet.

“Oh, dear. All right.” Sil half caught you, half propped you back up. “Sit back down.” They pushed you back over to the couch, easing you down. “It’s good that you can be up and about. Any nausea, intensifying pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

“Good. Here, take some of this.” Sil held out a tiny, thimble-sized glass with a pale, cloudy liquid in it. “It’s an infusion of a few herbs, often referred to as ‘bone-knit’. It’ll help with the pain.”

You tossed the liquid back and grimaced. It was bitter beyond belief. “Ugh!”

“Not pleasant, I know.” Sil took the bottle back from you. “I’m going to need to go out for a little bit, just to get some more supplies. Just rest while I’m gone, all right? I’ll be back soon.”

“Sure,” you said, leaning back onto the couch. Sil smiled, gave you an affectionate pat on the head, then turned and walked out of the room.

You heard the door open and shut. Your ribs prickled, not just aching, but also itching. It was constant, insistent, and it made it impossible to sleep. After several minutes of trying, you gave up.

Walking was still a little shaky, but you managed to complete a circuit of the room. Most items were fairly uninteresting, or at least not anything you found helpful. One of the cabinets had a series of medical instruments that looked only vaguely familiar, not that you had much experience with medical devices. Another cabinet contained strange herbs and stones, each of them labeled. A leather-bound journal sat on the bottom of the shelf. You picked it up, flicking through the pages. Drawings of leaves and stones and even a few pressed flowers sat on the pages.

On first inspection, you couldn’t read most of the writing and assumed it was in some strange language. After looking a little longer, though, you realized that the handwriting was simply so messy it looked like another language. With some squinting and puzzling, you could decode most of it. It was a handwritten journal, listing the locations, growing seasons, and medical properties of each plant.

When Sil returned home, you were still flipping through their notebook. “Sorry I’m late,” they said. “I got caught up in town. There was a toddler with a bit of a cold and his father was terribly worried. What are you reading?”

You closed the journal, a little embarrassed. “I was just looking through your journal. It’s interesting.”

“It’s not anything truly spectacular. Just my own notes on what sort of plants and stones have what sort of uses. I’m sure you could find a basic medical book that has the exact same information,” Sil said, but they looked faintly pleased. “Speaking of reading, I got you a few things.” They swung their bag off their shoulder and rummaged inside it. “Some books. Basic history, basic science, basic culture.”

You took the books from Sil and flipped through them. They had thick pages and were mostly illustrations. “These are books for children.”

“Well, yes,” Sil said, scratching at the back of their neck. “I’m afraid so. I’ve got a couple more advanced books for you, but I though you should start with those first. You’ll need to learn about our world, and children’s books do give the most basic knowledge.” You grimaced.

“I suppose.” You picked up the book titled The History of Ristoranth. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get these for me.”

“As I keep telling you, it’s really no trouble. Start reading. I’ll get us some lunch.” Sil swept out of the room and you picked up the book and started flipping through it.

It was amazing how quickly you settled into a routine. You spent much of your time trying to understand the world you were suddenly in. Despite some strange similarities, like the languages being identical, there were some massive differences in the basic laws of nature.

“I’m sorry, you can grow new rocks?” you asked. Over the past couple of weeks, you’d taken to confirming your most surprising discoveries with Sil. There had been an embarrassing few days where you’d assumed the kingdom had actually been named after the first Queen’s three pet birds, until Sil had explained that was a metaphor.

“They were her advisors. Or consorts. No one’s sure. But they always were referred to as her birds in fable, because they were each nicknamed after a sort of bird. Anyway, they may have had shape changing abilities, but they weren’t really her pet birds. Didn’t you think it was odd that she went to them for advice?”

Given some of the other things you read about, the idea of the Queen using real birds as her advisors didn’t seem that unusual. “There were mentions of her going to animals for advice before.”

“Those weren’t real animals. Those were spirits.” Sil made it sound like this should be patently obvious. You sighed.

“Anyway. You have… Farm quarries?”

“Specialists grow new gemstones all the time. I mean, you need a seed gemstone, and some quarries just produce metals or certain forms of clay and such, but yes. They do.” Sil looked at you questioningly. “How does your world get new materials?”

“We find them,” you said. “I mean, we can dig them up. And things change form. Eventually you can make coal or graphite or something into diamonds. But you can’t just take a gemstone and make it get bigger.”

“From what I know, it’s a little more complicated than that. It’s about agitating the crystalline structures using the harmonic resonance of magic and transitioning new materials into the same structure as-” Sil trailed off. “Er. This isn’t making any sense to you, is it?”

You shook your head. “And this references weather control?”

“Oh. High level mages manage the weather.” You rubbed your forehead. “How do you ensure that the weather is appropriate in your world?”

“We don’t! We just try to predict it and deal with it as best we can.”

Sil’s brows furrowed. “But crops rely on certain weather patterns. How do you ensure best yield if you don’t have weather management?”

“I just said, we don’t. If something like that happens… food prices go up, I guess, or we do without.”

Sil looked disturbed at the very concept. That was one of the other things you’d noticed. Their world seemed… gentler, in some ways. More forgiving. The weather could be managed, and rare materials could be obtained with little effort. There wasn’t as much scarcity.

“It’s extropic,” you said. Sil gave you a bewildered look. “Er, instead of entropic. It’s extropic.”

“You’ve lost me.” Sil closed their book. “What are we talking about?”

“Your world. My world is entropic, which means it moves away from order and toward chaos. This world’s the opposite, extropic. It moves toward order. Through magic, I would assume. But it means that you aren’t as concerned with… I don’t know, losing resources.” You flipped your book closed. “It’s a lot less cutthroat than my world. I guess because you can always be reassured there will be enough to go around.”

Sil didn’t seem to entirely understand what you were musing about, but they understood that you were melancholy. “Do you miss your home?”

“Yeah. I do.” You pushed yourself to your feet, grimacing at the pain in your side. Sil had been giving you some kind of potion that stitched your ribs back together rapidly, but they still ached after a couple of weeks. “Even if it was a hard place to live, it had some advantages. Like the internet.”

“The what?”

“Ah. Never mind.” You stretched and groaned. “Ow.”

“I did tell you that you should rest,” Sil said. They had been growing more insistent on you staying in bed the longer you stayed with them, as you had grown more insistent on getting up and walking around. It felt wrong to be lying around in bed while Sil worked.

“I can’t just lie around forever. I want to help out,” you said. “I can’t keep being a drain on you.”

Sil’s face scrunched up. “People aren’t a drain. I became a healer to help people get better. I’m helping you do that right now.”

“Yeah, but you’re not getting paid to take care of me. I can at least pay you back another way.” Sil stared at you, head tilted slightly to one side. That seemed to be a difference in the worlds. There was some system that at least resembled capitalism, with shops and craftspeople and the like, but Sil never seemed concerned about money, even though they didn’t really charge most of the people who came to see them.

“You don’t need to pay me back,” Sil said, but you glared and they gave up on protesting. “All right, all right, if you’re going to insist on helping me, I suppose I wouldn’t want to turn down the extra help. Come. I’m making salves and antiseptics. It’s fairly easy. Shouldn’t strain you at all.”

Sil took you across the room to a small worktable covered in bundles of herbs. “All right. Take these three herbs and roll them in the binding sap, then mash it all together. It’ll create an antiseptic paste that also has some numbing agents in it. Very useful for bad cuts.”

You sat down across from Sil and started separating herbs and mixing them in the way Sil had instructed. It was slow, soothing work. “And you sell these?”

“Mn. Mostly. I’ve given some away, if the customer can’t pay.” Sil gathered a bundle of herbs together and examined them for a moment before tying them together. “You’re very concerned about money.”

“Oh. I don’t mean to be shallow or anything. It’s just… I was very concerned about money in my own world. I was pretty poor.” You carefully scooped every last bit of the paste you’d made into a jar and set it aside. “I was actually about to lose my apartment because I couldn’t pay rent. It was something I thought about a lot back then. I guess I can’t get rid of the worry even now.”

Sil seemed vaguely disturbed by the concept, but didn’t say anything. You got the idea they were refraining from critiquing your home out of sheer politeness.

“We’ll need to go to market a little later today,” they said, gently changing the subject. “Would you like to come?”

You perked up at that. “You’ll let me?” Sil had been cautious about letting you leave the house, probably out of an overabundance of caution.

“I can tell you’re getting cagey,” Sil said. They gave a small, fond smile. “I know I’ve been trying to keep you from doing very much, and I know that’s frustrating. I assure you, I won’t keep it up forever. I just don’t want you to be injured.” Their smile widened. “It would be a shame if anything happened to a cute thing like you.”

You started, face burning. Sil had a habit of dropping little compliments into conversation. Either they were unaware of how much it flustered you, or they found it amusing. Sil turned back to their bundle of herbs, leaving you to think on that.

Were they flirting with you? It was… well, you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself. They were cute, certainly. Their little fangs were almost painfully adorable, as was their habit of absently humming to themselves and the way their tail curled around one of their legs when they were nervous. And, well, their personality certainly wasn’t half bad either. Caring, gentle, a good sense of humor.

On the other hand… well, they might not be flirting with you. They seemed generally friendly, so it might just be them being nice, or caring for you because you were their patient. Would they even want to consider dating you after treating you as their ward? Were you even really crushing on them or would the feelings fade once you left them?

Sil cleared their throat. “Something wrong?”

You startled out of your thoughts. “Uh, no. Just thinking.”

Sil lifted an eyebrow. “You were staring at me.” Did they sound amused? Flattered? Pleased? Were you reading too much into this?

“I was just staring off into space,” you said. Sil looked at you for a moment longer, then went back to their work. You breathed a sigh of relief. Your heart fluttered rapidly in your chest.

About half an hour later, you had finished prepping the herbs and Sil was preparing for market. They pulled a coat over their shoulders and held out one for you. “You’re still feeling all right?” they asked as they slid the coat on for you. “The pain isn’t too bad?”

“It’s fine. Honestly, it’s itching more than anything.” The feeling of your ribs stitching themselves together manifested as a nearly constant pricking under your skin. Attempting to scratch only made the pain worse, so you had to grit your teeth and deal with it.

“That’s good,” Sil said. “It means it’s healing.”

You rolled your eyes as Sil opened the door and stepped outside. “You would say that. You’re not the one who has to experience it.”

Sil laughed and made a sympathetic clucking noise with their tongue. “I’ll see if I can’t make you something to soothe it when we get back home. But it is good that you’re healing. You’ll be able to go out on your own soon.”

A flicker of nervousness jumped through your stomach. “Mmhm,” you murmured. Sil didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. They strode down the dirt pathway that led to the proper town, the hand on your back gently steering you along.

Sil had taken you into town a couple of times before, though only for a brief time and always with the maximum amount of concern and fussing. This time, they were actually content to let you walk away from them, though you could feel their eyes on you like a hawk.

“Looks like the little human is up and about again!” You tried not to jump in surprise as a booming voice echoed out from a shop. A tall, muscular woman with a cow’s head stood in the doorway of her shop, arms folded over her chest. She was the town tailor, and stood at least six and a half feet tall. Her calling you little was less about your shortness and more about the fact that everyone was shorter than she was. You’d met her out of necessity, as she was the one who’d gotten you most of your clothes.

“Hi, Matilda,” you said. “Yeah. And thanks for all the clothes, by the way. They fit really well.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased with them. Not my best work. I’ll need to get some more measurements to get you some more fitted stuff.” She nodded at Sil. “As long as they allow it, of course.”

“Not yet. The ribs aren’t fully healed, and I know you don’t mean to, but sometimes you don’t know your own strength,” Sil said. “I’m sure we’ll be back to get some more clothes at another time.” Matilda shrugged and gave you a small wink.

“Come back anytime, dear.” She headed back into the shop. Sil rested a hand on your back and led you further into the town.

“We’re just going to get some supplies,” Sil said, glancing down at the list they were carrying. “I need more bandages. And some more food. Hm, and I suppose it’ll be good, now that you’re feeling better, to show you around town.” They tucked the list back into their pocket. “You are still feeling well, yes?”

“Sil, I’m fine.” They looked concerned, still, but they dropped the subject.

The town Sil was a part of was ridiculously quaint, at least by your standards. According to Sil, it was actually fairly advanced. You were at least glad the place had running water and indoor plumbing. Still, it was a closely knit community where, if you needed something, you were probably going to go to someone in town to get it. There was a potter, a blacksmith, a carpenter. Sil could practically name where every item in his house came from. It was sweet, really. It made every part of the community feel important.

On the other hand, it meant that there were very little openings in the town. Sil had made a casual mention that you might need to move to another city, and the thought of that sent a nervous flutter through your stomach. Be on your own? In a world you didn’t quite understand? But you couldn’t impose on Sil anymore than you already had. If they wanted you to move out, how could you say no?

“Sugar.” Sil’s gentle, lilting voice pushed into your consciousness. “Everything all right?”

“Fine. Just thinking.” Sil tilted their head, a crease of worry forming between their brows. “I’m really fine, Sil. I can just drift off sometimes. It doesn’t mean I’m in incredible amounts of pain.”

Sil pressed their lips together. “You aren’t, are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I’m fine. Are you this fussy about everyone?”

“Are you kidding?” You glanced over your shoulder. An enormous naga was slithering toward you, her tail undulating as she approached. “I once broke three of my fingers and this one just tied them together and told me I should be fine to keep working if I really wanted to.”

“They weren’t broken. You sprained them!” Sil sputtered. “And I did not say that. I said you should be able to return to work soon. It wasn’t a bad sprain.”

The naga, Evelyn, rolled her eyes in your direction. “I once got a hand full of splinters and they snapped at me every time I flinched. No bedside manner at all.”

“Really?” That seemed hard to believe. Sil had been nothing but sweet to you since you arrived.

“You were whining! And splinters certainly are not the same thing as broken ribs.” Sil’s face had brightened to an impressive shade of red. “And just because I choose not to exercise it on you doesn’t mean I don’t have bedside manners.”

Evelyn rolled her dark, glittering eyes. “Sure, Sil.” She lounged closer to you, drooping the upper half of her body over your shoulder. “Watch their tail,” she said, lips close to your ear. “If the tip starts going mad when you touch them, make a move.” She shot Sil a grin and dropped off your shoulder. “If you want another storage case, stop by any time,” she said, waving a hand back at you as she slithered off. “I’ll be around.”

Sil’s cheeks were still brightly flushed and they spent a moment fussing with their robes before looking aback at you. “She ought to be more careful, throwing herself all over someone who was recently injured.” Their voice was full of indignation, almost as though her presence had genuinely agitated them.

“I told you already, Sil. I’m fine.”

“Oh, all right.” Their hands fluttered tentatively against your side for a moment. “Do you want to stop by the bakery? You didn’t have much for breakfast and you need to keep your strength up.”

“Sure,” you said. Then, just as an experiment, you reached out a hand and placed it on their shoulder. The edge of your hand rested at the hem of their shirt, so there was a flicker of skin-to-skin contact. Their tail shivered, the tip dancing back and forth in the dirt. The flush, which had been slowly fading from their face, returned in full force. “Thank you, Sil.”

They moved their mouth for a moment. “Oh. Uh. You are very welcome.” They squeezed your hand before gently removing it from their shoulder. “Come on.” Their hand lingered against yours for a moment before they released it.

The bakery was run by a pair of fauns. As far as you were aware, they were twins. Evidently, Sil had helped them both on a couple of occasions and now they could get free food almost whenever they wanted. By the time you left the store, your arms were laden with sweets.

The pair of you munched on them casually as you walked around town. There were a few faces that you didn’t recognize, but you knew most of them, and most of them could remember you. The town was so small that new faces were almost immediately recognized. All of them seemed to know Sil, and greeted them with familiarity and reverence.

Still, the longer you spent time in town, the more uncertain you grew about your place there. None of the skills the townspeople had were skills you could really help with, and when you thought through your own abilities, you weren’t sure you had anything to offer. Every person in the town seemed to fit a niche. You weren’t sure what niche you could fill.

“Sugar?” Sil nudged you. “Are you in pain?”

“What?” you said, starting out of your thoughts again. Sil hesitantly extended a hand and cupped your chin in their palm. Their thumb swept along the underside of your eye. Something wet came away with their fingertip.

“Your eyes are watering,” they said. “Is the pain that bad? You should have said something.”

“Oh.” There was pain, a dull ache in your side that radiated along your back. But it wasn’t bad enough to cry over. “No, no, it’s not that.”

You had intended to be reassuring, but Sil’s expression only grew more concerned. They stepped in closer to your side, allowing you to lean on them as you walked. “What’s the matter, then?”

You took a deep breath. Worry jumbled up in your chest and throat, jamming the words from coming. After a moment, you just shook your head. To their credit, Sil didn’t push. They just put an arm over your shoulders and helped you back to their house.

When you were seated back on the couch and Sil had finished putting the materials you’d acquired away, they settled in next to you. “Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”

“It’s…” You fumbled the words once more. There was a lot you were feeling and you weren’t sure how to get it all out in a way that made sense. Sil waited for you, eyes solemn and patient. Finally, the words came out. “Do you want me to leave?” The question that emerged was more pathetic than you’d hoped for. There was a pleading edge to it. Please, I’m scared, don’t make me go!

Sil’s mouth popped open, then snapped shut. They seemed genuinely thrown. “I- No. Where is this coming from?”

You took a deep breath and attempted to sort your thoughts out. “You keep talking about me leaving. Maybe needing to go to the city. And there’s not really any place for me here, nothing necessary. But…” Your voice wavered embarrassingly. Damn. You didn’t want to cry in front of Sil again. They’d seen quite enough of that.

“But?” Sil pressed. Their voice was gentle. One of their hands rested on your knee.

“I don’t want to leave,” you said. “I know it’s selfish, and I really don’t want to impose, but I’d miss you and I’d miss this place. I- I feel like I’m actually starting to make a life here, and I don’t want to leave everything again, but I don’t want to stay here if I’m not wanted-”

Sil hugged you.

Their arms around you were gentle, exerting a reassuring amount of pressure. One of their hands splayed across your back, moving in slow, soothing circles. You hugged them back, pressing your face into their shoulder.

“Shh,” Sil murmured. “Shh. It’s all right.” They pulled back a little, letting their other hand come up to your face. Their thumb stroked along your cheekbone. “You’ve been worrying about this for a while, haven’t you?” Their voice was soft, utterly caring. A swell of tears formed in your eyes again. You blinked rapidly and nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make you feel like you weren’t wanted here.”

The hand on your face moved back to stroke through your hair. Sil took in a deep, slow breath. “I think I may have overcorrected, slightly,” they said. “I know I’ve been bringing up you potentially going to the city a lot- I was trying to give you an out, you see, if you didn’t want to stay here. I didn’t want you to feel like you were trapped. I suppose I may have pushed it too hard.”

“Oh,” you said. Relief flooded through you. “Then you do want me to stay? Or, at least, you’re all right with it? I mean, I don’t want to push to stay if you don’t want me here. Is it weird having me in your house? I can start seeing if I can move out-”

“Shh, shh,” Sil said, lifting their voice over yours. “Oh, you really worry too much. No. I don’t want you to leave.” They licked their lips. “There may have been a bit of a selfish reason I’ve not been so keen on you staying. I kept suggesting the city because… Ah, I was trying to work up the courage to ask you something. I didn’t want to make it awkward for you, since you’re staying here. I thought, maybe if you had somewhere to go, it wouldn’t be so bad if you, ah. Turned me down.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Heat rose to your face. “Something you wanted to ask?”

Sil nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it for a bit. I don’t want you to think- well, it’s not something I’m jumping into rashly. I’ve considered it. And if you refuse, I certainly won’t hold it against you. I just… I don’t want you to leave, either. Having you around here isn’t a burden. I enjoy it. Ever since I met you. And not just because you’re a human, and a starfaller. You’re… smart and thoughtful and considerate and determined, I-” Sil cut themselves off. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I should come out and say it.” Sil took a deep breath. “I’m attracted to you. Very attracted to you. I have been for a little while. I know that it might not be a good time, and I understand if you don’t want a relationship right now. If you want to leave or stay somewhere else, I understand. But… I want you here. I love every minute you’re here with me. I just thought you should know that.”

Sil fell silent. They fidgeted slightly, barely able to look you in the eyes. You felt slightly stunned. That explained a lot. Their fussiness over your wounds, their insistence that they enjoyed having you around. And, as they had confessed to you, you felt something. A relief, a gratitude. A sort of tremulous oh, thank God. They like me too.

“Sil,” you said in a quiet voice. “I want to kiss you right now.”

Their eyes widened. “I… I think I would like that.”

Your lips met tentatively, then with more passion. Sil pressed their mouth firmly against yours, leaning you back against the couch. Their hands fumbled to cling to your shirt. Behind them, their tail waved furiously, curling and twisting with delight.

One of Sil’s hands pressed against your side and you gave a strangled groan. Sil pulled back immediately. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Are you all right? Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Let me see.” They fussed at your side for a moment. “Perhaps we should wait a little longer before we try anything rougher, hm?” They gave you a sheepish grin.

“I suppose,” you said. You leaned up and gave Sil a peck on the cheek. One of your hands trailed casually down their front, prompting their pale skin to flush deep red. “I’ll be eagerly awaiting the day.”

#exophilia #monster lover #tiefling #monster romance #tiefling lover #gn reader

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bangtan-sinnamons · 4 years ago

Text

Exotic

Part 2

⤞ Paring: Snake!Jungkook x Human!reader

⤞ Summary: When you are stranded on an island full of hybrids, a little someone is excited to meet you.

⤞ Genre: Fluff, Romance, Sprinkle of angst

⤞Warning: None that I can think of.

⤞ Word count: 2,323

UMM I put a bit more angst than I planned on. Pt 2 if y’all love soft kook.

Grudgingly you tried to get up, but quickly realized how futile it was when you had to bite your lip to avoid tears from slipping out. A sharp pain pierced your head and colorful spots flashed your vision, it felt like your whole body had been worn away ceasing every movement to ache. The ground beneath you seemingly wrapped you in its coldness and your damp clothes didn’t seem to help.

For perhaps a split second, you were no longer worried about freezing to death. A rigid feeling grazed your skin and its warm touch made you cease your shaking from coldness, but the fact that you didn’t recognize what was touching you made you anxious. Your vision becomes slightly clearer and you notice someone’s arm have wrapped around your form as they lay beside you. The blood drains from your face, your eyes expanding when you finally see what seems to be a human with scaly patches covering his body.

When he noticed you had stop shaking, he glanced at your expression and he was just surprised as you were, “Oh um Hi,” He nervously breathes out. “You were shivering and I wanted to give you my warmth…I didn’t know you were awake. I’m sorry,” he rambles as he unwraps his arms around you.

“You…” Your voice came out harshly and uneven. Your eyes danced around at your surroundings noticing you were in some sort of cave. You could see the hybrid twitched involuntarily at the corner of your eyes, his mouth formed a tense pout as he awaits for your next words. “You saved me?...Thanks,” you whispered. You were parched and your voice no longer held a sustainable tone.

His eyes brimmed with joy forming little crescents at your words. He felt so full of joy from a simple thanks. That’s when he realized his life wasn’t so bad, if you were by his side. His customary cautious poker face that he had adopted throughout the years exploded into a radiant smile. How did you break his barrier so easily? He sweared he was mentally stronger than this. “I’M…” he said too loudly before stoping to contain his excitement. “I am Jungkook,” he smiles, but If he had a tail you would have seen him wag a 100 miles per hour.

“Hey…I’m Y/N,” you manage to smile back at him and he looks pleased at himself.

He scooted a bit closer to you, to hopefully give you enough body heat again, “How did you get here?” His head tilts in curiosity. He never met a human this close on the island. Well, he didn’t really meet any of the other hybrids either, but this new experience excited him. At first, Jungkook didn’t care when he saw a lifeless human on the shore, he assumed it was one of the evil people who had brought all the hybrids here to rot in their demise, but this human didn’t wear the typical bright and ugly yellow outfit. He slid over to you out of pure curiosity, but he never realized he would bring you into his cave.

“I’m not sure. My last memory was being in a yacht,” you say as you examined the man. His eyes were round and seemed to have glowed when the moon illuminated his hues from the cave. The other noticeable feature besides his scales were his canines being slightly longer than usual. You notice Jungkook give out a soft yawn before looking at you again .“Sorry…I’m probably intruding. Shouldn’t you go to sleep? You helped me a lot already,” you say as he hands you a large leaf filled with water.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m mostly nocturnal.” He smiles as he watches you gulp down the water.

You wiped your wet stained lips when the water dribbled down. “May I ask what hybrid you are?” You heard some people back at home talking about hybrids, but you never really believed it. Now seeing one right in front of you, definitely peaked your interest.

Jungkook was shocked at the question, he didn’t expect you to ask so soon. All the reasons not to reveal his identity came flooding in, as if he would fall back into his hole of anxiety if he did. He panicked with the thought that you would leave him like all the other hybrids, when he told them that he was a snake hybrid. You were already incredibly nice and he didn’t want it to come crashing down, at least not yet.

The words didn’t come out and you noticed his eyes flickering about. “I didn’t mean to pry. Can I just say, I feel oddly inclined to trust you,” you admitted.

“You do?” He stammered. “Thanks, Y/n” The nervous tingle he felt vanish and he was back to his bubbly self.

You sighed in satisfaction when the mood was uplifted once more. “By the way, do you know a way I can get back home?”

He felt conflicted. He wanted to help you, but at the same time he hoped you would somehow stay in his lonely place he had called home. Although he wants you, needs you, maybe even love you... presumably you will have to walk away. In this world, he was never supposed to meet you anyway. He couldn’t possibly steal your happiness for his greedy heart. “Yes, I do,” a soft but audible whisper left his lips. He tells you about how the government had dumped hybrids on this island in order to keep the idea of such beings as a fantasy and away from human minds. He mentions the weekly shipment of hybrids and that’s how you could escape. All you had to do was wait for another 6 days, stand on the dock and go in their ship. Before you know it, the sun had risen and the sleep in Jungkook’s eyes becomes apparent.

“Sleep well, Kook. Thanks for everything,” you soothed as his eyelids seemed to droop.

The nickname he earned continued to soften his cold heart, but your words made him nervous. Why did it sound like a farewell? He tried to stay awake by shaking his head vigorously. The soft hand rubbing his hair didn’t help and he snoozed off into your arms. You had relocated him onto the light that seeped through the cave before stepping out into the wilderness, beyond his small cave.

You started walking, inching toward nothing in particular and enjoying the warm rays. It was different from just going into your backyard to bask in the sun. The wilderness aspect made you feel more free, besides the fact that you were moving agonizingly slow due to the aches in your legs.

Just as you saw a creek nearby, you heard heavy footsteps crunching the leaves. It got increasing louder and moved towards you. You didn’t move a muscle and you held your breathe, somehow believing it would go away if you stayed silent.

“Human?” A raspy voices calls out. “So this new smell was you,” a male hybrid walks out from behind the tree. He was very tall and his shoulder was broad. His face was engraved with a frown. He shook his head in disapproval when he noticed where you had come from. “So you met the snake,”

“Who?” Your brows creased in confusion.

“That cave,” he pointed to Jungkook’s place with a disgusted look on his face. “The snake is really sly, he really likes to size up his prey and treat them nicely before he eats them,”

“He would not. You don’t even seem to know his name, so who are you to judge,” You critizited. His round ears flopped downward before he began to walk closer to you. Way to close and for some reason even though you had talked back to him, he still had an intimidating aura that made you freeze.

He lowered his head near your ear and you felt his breathe on your skin. “I’m just trying to help you out human,” He tries to suppress a growl, but it felt threatening nonetheless. You were afraid, but you try not to let it show. “I’m a bear hybrid I could protect you way better than that fool. Plus I saw a boat sailing nearby that’s probably looking for you. Don’t you want to go home?” he fed you lies hoping you would take it out of desperation. The bear loathed the snake, despised how strong and intelligent he was. He always made sure no hybrid came close, but for some reason you remain unaffected by his words. How dare you go against his wishes.

You backed away from the fuming bear that seemingly wanted to rip your throat , “Too bad I don’t trust you,” it was a risk to provoke a bear hybrid, but the adrenaline pulsing through you made you stick your tongue out before heading towards the creek. It was silent for a while and you had a silver of hope that you won the verbal battle. If it got physical you were fucked. The throb in your body still remained and you were starving. One punch and you are a goner for sure.

“You’re hungry right. I can help,” he made himself known again, but in a calmer manner than before. His fake personality masked over once more, a smile appearing on his face. He really thought you were oblivious to his trick.

You dipped your feet into the cool water that rushed past in a refreshing way. The bear was unwavering from his spot, he stalked you like a small prey. “Don’t need any help,” You say as you observe the slow moving water for some fish. You were able to spot something glimmer in the early morning sun and bended down to get a hold of one. A success, you were glad that you had prior experience. You smirked, seeing the shock register on his face.

“BiTcH. Don’t cry for help when you are eaten alive,” He yells, hands bawling into fists before he shape-shifted and disappeared into the trees. He knew it was pointless to fight a mere human that had no power in the hierarchy of the hybrid world.

Meanwhile, Jungkook shotted up, eyes wandering in search for you. When he recognized your silhouette coming towards him he smiled, but that smile only lasted for a few seconds.

Jungkook’s nose twitched. He recognized the scent coming off you and worry clouded his thoughts. “Did someone try to hurt you?” He hissed, the suffocating smell invaded his cave. Nothing good came from this scent, he had associated it with the depths of hell and the fact that it covered you angered him. He wasn’t able to protect you. “He hurt you didn’t he,” his voice raised up fifty octaves.

He bares his fangs and his forked tongue flicks out subconsciously. He didn’t even realize how all those years of repressing his animalistic side was becoming undone by the second. You watch as his pupils contracted into a vertical slit. His attention was solely focused on you, cutting off anything that could possibly distract him. That’s when he noticed how stiff you were and how your soft smile no longer condoned your facial features.

“Kook…I’m okay. I can kick ass,” you made the effort to sound reassuring, despite how weak you feel.

He sighed, you probably knew that he was a snake by now, but for some reason you didn’t act any different. All the friends that he made ran away after this scent was on them, yet you were still here. This gave him the confidence he thought he didn’t need, but now he couldn’t help but love you even more. “Thats good,” he huffed. Silence filled the cave and he insisted to hear more reassurance. “You really trust me?” he trembled.

The simple caress of his hair became a fulfillment of his desire and crave for affection. “Yes,” you said, running your hand through his hair again until he seemingly purred against your hand. That’s all he needed before his shoulder fell from its intensity and his pupil dilated back to its original state. To be trusted is a great acknowledgment than being loved. If that’s all you can offer then he would gladly accept it.

How did anyone want to hurt this little ball of sunshine? It was as if all the pain in his world had finally found a voice. “I would fight him if I needed to,” you laughed, lightening the mood.

“Fight a bear?!? Don’t do that…” he mumbled, resting his head on your shoulder.

You raised a brow and a sly face appeared, “Kook if I could..” You laughed, when you registered the shock plastered on Jungkook’s face as you shoved him to the floor, one of your hands easing into the space above his right hip. He didn’t even realize that it was where he was most ticklish. Now making him squirm and laugh uncontrollably. “If I could beat you. I can beat a god damm bear”

You were on top of him and his face was brighter than ever. Not Fair. So not fair. He loved you so much even though he’s known you for 10 hours… how can he be so hopelessly in love.

Of course he didn’t dare push you off, so he allowed your assaults to continue, until laughing brought aches in his stomach. You bended down to give a kiss on his nose before you lay beside him , “You got a very boopable nose,” you innocently acknowledge without noticing how Jungkook literally turned into putty in your hands. How was he gonna handle it when you leave him. This left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, but he was gonna enjoy this moment for now. Because there’s nothing better than deep breaths after laughing so hard. Nothing that feels as great as a sore stomach for the right reason.

Part 2

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elliestormfound · 4 years ago

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Hug your bard

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“Geralt,” Jaskier asked, “do you witchers… hug each other?” They were standing in the kitchen of Kaer Morhen, the only room that was remotely warm. Witchers had a higher tolerance for colder temperatures than humans and rarely light a fire in the other rooms before nightfall. At least not so early in the winter. Only in the kitchen a delightfully crackling fire could be found at all hours of the day. Jaskier wore a thick woolen cloak over his usual attire and had his arms wrapped around himself.

“What do you mean?” Geralt replied, “you’ve seen us hug as we arrived.” Jaskier would not describe the quick embraces with the forceful on-the-back-pounding the witcher’s exchanged as hugging.

They had arrived a week before and the bard had noticed to his delight how physical the witchers were with each other. During the warmer months when they were traveling they had to be so careful with the humans they met - some were hostile, some were afraid of them but even the friendly ones were so fragile compared to the trained and mutated physique of a witcher. But among themselves there was no need to hold back.

“That is all?” Jaskier asked with a frown. “No, we also hug when we leave again in spring,” Geralt said. During the winter in Kaer Morhen the witchers trained together. They had a regular schedule set by Vesemir. As long as it was possible they trained outside and it was a treat for the bard to watch them. Jaskier could write a thousand ballads about the clanking of their swords that echoed from the high stone walls of Kaer Morhen, the sun reflecting on the shining blades and how the witcher’s looked like dancers when they gracefully exchanged blows.

“So you only hug twice a year?” he wanted to know. He was never quite sure when Geralt was kidding. His witcher looked at him for a moment and said, “yes, that’s about it.” Maybe they really did not need more physical contact.

The training the bard loved watching the most was wrestling. He could practically see all the seriousness they wore like armour all year long drop off their shoulders when they started to tackle each other. The best part was when they started to pull off their armor and than their vests and at one glorious occasion their shirts so the bard could see their beautiful toned bodies in action.

Training was not the only occasion the witchers sought physical contact with one another. In the evenings they ate together at the old wooden table in the kitchen. It was not big and on the two benches facing each other were only room for four. When Geralt had brought Jaskier with him they had carried an old chair over from the library for Vesemir to sit on. The oldest witcher had traded his place on the bench next to Geralt with Jaskier. Now the bard sat next to his witcher during dinner, legs pressed together on the narrow bench and elbows touching, mirroring how Eskel and Lambert shared their small space on the other side of the table.

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Geralt was happy to be back in Kaer Morhen for the winter to spend time with his brothers. It was a time where they could be themselves and relax. The other witchers had asked him last year when he would finally bring the bard and he had thought of the long winter evenings and how Jaskier would fill their halls with his songs. So this year he had asked him if he wanted to accompany him and the bard happily agreed.

Geralt was glad to see how easily Jaskier found a place with the witchers, how eagerly he shared their daily chores of cooking, cleaning and caring for the animals and how openly the other witchers accepted him in their midst.

But after a few days he had the feeling that something was wrong. Normally Jaskier never hesitated to inform Geralt about his problems and it concerned him that the bard had not done this so far. But he wanted to give him the opportunity to talk about it in his own time.

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During the day the witchers often bumped their shoulders as a causal greeting or clapped each other on the back at a particularly funny joke.

But the bard was excluded from a lot of these things. He was not interested in combat training himself and would have been bested by the witchers in a wrestling match in a heartbeat. And because his human body was not as sturdy as the witchers they refrained from the causal shoulder bums and claps on the back, even as he had tried to participate in them at the beginning.

So Jaskier had found himself touch starved just after a couple of days at Kaer Morhen. During the warmer months it was easy for him to find company, at least when they traveled through towns and villages. And he had established a routine with Geralt that satisfied his other basic needs for human contact like helping the witcher wash away monster blood and intestines from his hair and body or sharing a bedroll at cold nights to keep the bard warm. But at Kaer Morhen there was no monster blood to wash out of Geralt’s white hair and even though it was cold, it was still warm enough in his small bedroom with the fire burning in the oven and a ton of blankets and furs piled on top of him.

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Geralt had to admit that it was nice to have the bard around in the winter. But it was different than when they travelled together during the warmer months, when they were often alone together and had an established and comfortable routine.

After a few days Geralt realized he kind of missed the casual touches of the bard. Being a witcher it was often hard on their travels to find friendly human touch and Jaskier was so willing and generous with it. Even though he had been hesitant at first now he enjoyed Jaskier washing his hair, massaging soothing oils into his sore skin after a fight or helping him putting on his armour, fastening all the leather straps.

But these things were not necessary at Kaer Morhen and he was not sure how to initiate situations that let to the bard touching him. And he was not sure if Jaskier was interested in this.

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A few days later Jaskier stood alone in the kitchen, again in his green cloak and again with arms wrapped around himself. It was not just the cold that made him do this. After a morning of sword practice the witchers had vanished to different parts of the keep to fix roofs, collapsed walls and leaking pipes. The bard had helped a few times but today was his turn to prepare the dinner. He had already chopped a mountain of vegetables for a stew and was taking a short break, standing in front of the fire, absentmindedly watching the flames dance on the heavy logs.

“Bard,” Lambert said as he entered the kitchen, bringing Jaskier back to the moment. “Ah, Lambert, hello,” he replied. The youngest witcher looked at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Is something wrong?” the bard asked. “You tell me,” Lambert said. Jaskier sighed and said, “I don’t know.” “Spit it out,” the witcher growled, not unfriendly. “I think I just need…” Jaskier began and without further thinking said, “I need a hug.”

Jaskier had thought about asking Geralt for a hug but had rejected the idea. Early on in their friendship Jaskier had learned that Geralt was not a hugger. All the little casual touches he allowed Jaskier now could all be interpreted as practical things, but Geralt seemed to not see any practical use in hugs.

A grin spread over Lambert’s face. “Geralt will kill me for this, but fuck him, come here, I am going to hug you.”

And he did. And it was an excellent hug. Lambert was taller than Jaskier, not as tall as Geralt, but Jaskier could comfortably burrow his face in the hollow of the witcher’s neck. Lambert had wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders, pressing him carefully to his broad chest and resting his cheek on the bard’s head. Jaskier placed his arms around Lambert’s middle and breathed in the scent of the other, a comforting mix of clean linen, lavender and fresh sweat. With pure joy the bard relaxed into the gentle but firm embrace. They stood like this for a few minutes.

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Geralt was sweaty and tired, his muscles sore from the training and from working at odd angles on a broken roof for hours. He just wanted to grab a snack from the kitchen before going to his room to wash and change into fresh clothes.

The kitchen was uncharacteristically quiet for Jaskier having kitchen duty and Geralt stopped dead when he entered the kitchen and saw Jaskier and … Lambert standing in front of the fire, arms wrapped around each other. He felt his pulse quicken as a surge of anger washed over him.

“What the…”, Jaskier untangled himself from Lambert and took a step back at the sound of Geralt’s voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”, Geralt asked. He knew he had no right to be angry, but seeing Lambert, the prick, embracing his bard was just infuriating.

“It is called hugging,” Lambert replied with a wicked grin.

“Why the fuck are you hugging Jaskier?” Geralt growled at the younger witcher. With a quick glance to the bard he saw Jaskier blush but showing no sign no of unease towards the younger witcher. This should have soothed him but weirdly made him more angry and … jealous?

“The question is, why the fuck aren’t you hugging the bard?”, Lambert replied.

Geralt’s eyes wandered between Lambert and Jaskier, who was looking down at his shoes.

“Why should I hug him?” Geralt asked with a bit less of a growl. And he asked the question not just Lambert but also himself. Why should he not hug him? Jaskier was his friend.

“You should really hug your bard, he is a human, humans need hugs, especially this one,” Lambert replied as he walked over to Geralt, patting him on the arm. Geralt watched him leave with a confused stare. He breathed in deep, trying to sort his racing thoughts.

Jaskier cleared his throat and Geralt looked at him again. The bard’s face was still flushed, his hair tousled and he was still not looking Geralt in the eyes.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Geralt asked, slowly walking over to Jaskier.

“I did not think you were comfortable with this,” Jaskier replied silently, finally looking up into Geralt’s golden eyes.

Geralt could not suppress a smile that turned into a wicked grin and asked Jaskier, “do you want another hug now or do you need wait for an hour or something?”

Jaskier playfully boxed Geralt’s chest and said “you are an asshole,” but closed the final distance between them and felt strong arms pulling him into a tight embrace.

Lambert’s hug had been excellent but wrapped not only in Geralt’s arms but also in his familiar scent felt like coming home. It reminded Jaskier of nights huddled together in small beds in inns when there were too few coins for another bed, of brushing Geralt’s tangled hair and of wearing his shirt after Jaskier’s own bag with all his clothes had fallen into a stinking pond.

Geralt felt himself relax against his friend. Sometimes the solutions for his problems were so simple. He placed a hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck, softly stroking the side of his neck with his thumb and buried his face in Jaskier’s soft brown curls.

“Is this good?” Jaskier more felt than heard the vibration of Geralt’s deep voice.

“This is wonderful,” the bard replied.

“Is this what has been bothering you the last days?” Geralt asked. He felt Jaskier smile. “Yes.”

After a moment Geralt asked, voice still muffled with his face buried in Jaskier’s hair, “so how often do you need hugs?”

With a little huff the bard replied, “it is not a mathematical problem with a definite answer.”

“So at least 10 times a day?” was Geralt’s amused answer. “At least,” Jaskier said with a smile.

And so it came. Not only Geralt supplied his bard with the much needed hugs, the other witchers found every occasion to hug him too. Jaskier suspected that Lambert had told them.

The bard loved how different they all were. Eskel’s hugs were soft and he often hummed - to Jaskier’s joy. Vesemir’s side-hugs and careful pats on the back made him fondly think of his grandfather. Lambert was always present and focused on Jaskier and was excellent in figuring out what the bard wanted at that moment.

But Geralt’s firm embraces were still his favorite.

Hugging Jaskier quickly became the favorite part of Geralt’s days. There were still irrational surges of jealousy when he saw the others embrace the bard, but he was reassured when he realized that Jaskier came to him for hugs way more often than to the others. And when Jaskier complained that the nights had gotten so cold that he could no longer sleep alone, Geralt did not hesitate to loudly proclaim that Jaskier would sleep in his bed, before Lambert, the prick, had a chance to invite him into his bed.

#the witcher #wichter fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #kaer morhen #the witcher fanfiction #hug your bard #EllieStormfound #WHICH WITCHER DO YOU WANNA HUG?#witcher eskel #witcher lambert #witcher vesemir #witcher jaskier #witcher 3

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laequiem · 4 years ago

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She kills my self control - Chapter 10

/ Includes dialogue from The Cruel Prince Chapter 25-26.

cw: unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol, sex); physical abuse; nsfw

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Chapter 10. You can never run from trouble

I knew Jude’s interrogation would not be a great time for me. What I was not expecting, however, was how absolutely terrified I was. She is scary, and I was so discomposed that I told her so. Even without the weapon, I probably would have told her anything she asked. The questions about Locke and Valerian were fine, but things escalated quickly. Everything started going downhill when she asked about a paper she found with her name written all over it. Questions about Nicasia and my feelings for her - as if I wasn’t being vulnerable enough already.

Soon enough, Jude asks the worst question of all.

“Just tell me why you hate me. Once and for all.”

I cannot seem to keep still, my fingers follow the grooves of Dain’s desk.

“You really want honesty?” I ask her, not that I have much of a choice than to tell the truth. I hope she will just take her question back.

“I am the one with the crossbow, not shooting you because you promised me answers. What do you think?”

“Very well,” it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes at the continuous threats, “I hate you because your father loves you even though you’re a human brat born to his unfaithful wife, while mine never cared for me, though I am a prince of Faerie. I hate you because you don’t have a brother who beats you. And I hate you because Locke used you and your sister to make Nicasia cry after he stole her from me. Besides which, after the tournament, Balekin never failed to throw you in my face as the mortal who could best me.”

I hold her stare. Her face betrays nothing, it’s as if she is not in the least surprised about any of it.

“Is that all? Because it’s ridiculous. You can’t be jealous of me. You don’t have to live at the sufferance of the same person who murdered your parents. You don’t have to stay angry because if you don’t, there’s a bottomless well of fear ready to open up under you.”

This is the Jude I am the most familiar with, angry, defiant and mind-numbingly clueless. Technically, I now live with the person who murdered my father. Is she so blind as to not see how scared I am, this very moment? How angry I am, at Madoc, at Balekin, at myself?

“Oh, really?” I sneer, “I don’t know about being angry? I don’t know about being afraid? You’re not the one bargaining for your life.”

“That’s really why you hate me? Only that? There’s no better reason?”

I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. To expose my weakness, to Jude of all people, terrifies me.

“Well?” she impatiently lifts the crossbow, “Tell me!”

“Most of all,” I close my eyes, unable to look at her as I reveal my biggest, dirtiest secret, “I hate you because I think of you. Often. It’s disgusting, and I can’t stop.”

You would think that telling her would lift the weight off my shoulders. It does not—it feels like I am a target, and the bullseye just got larger, easier to hit.

She does not answer. I try to cover my face with my hand to hide my shame.

“Maybe you should shoot me after all.”

“You’re playing me,” she finally replies.

I do not look at her. I can’t. I hear her put the crossbow down on the table, I guess she does not want to give me a quick death. My suspicions are confirmed when Jude puts the point of a knife to my chin and lifts my head to look at her. At first, I try to look away, but I eventually meet her eyes. I know she can read me like an open book, the shame, the want, the fear, and she relishes in it. I think of begging her for mercy, to make it quick. She leans towards me and I have never in my life wanted to sink in the floor as much as I do now. My eyes are wide with confusion. As I smell her iron and wraithberry scent, I am reminded of the realization I had long ago: she is my forbidden fruit. I unconsciously part my lips, ready to bite in and seal my fate.

“You really do want me,” my torturer croons, “and you hate it.”

She shifts the blade to put the sharp edge against my neck. I stay still. She has already humiliated me enough, I will greet death with my chin held high.

I wait for the killing blow, but it does not come. Instead, Jude closes the distance between us and kisses me.

I thought my imagination was grand, yet I was not prepared for this. How her soft lips feel against mine, how little I notice her inexperience. I stifle a moan and close my eyes, willing myself to enjoy what I am now convinced to be my last few breaths.

I carefully slide my hands up her arms. I can feel her strong muscles under the soft skin of her biceps, the small bumps rising from her skin following my touch.

One of my hands snakes down to her waist and pulls her closer, on top of me, while the other tangles in her hair.

Her lips part and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Our teeth and tongues clash in a desperate dance and I get my first taste of poison. A rational man would stop then, her warning signal enough to keep him away. But a starved man would consider eating poisonous food, if not only to die with the comfort of a full stomach.

Clank. I pull away, letting go of her. I had completely forgotten about the knife at my throat and now it's lying on the table. Is she not going to kill me? I laugh awkwardly.

“Is that what you imagined?”

I imagined a lot of things, but never her putting a knife to my throat.

“No."

“Tell me," she orders.

I shake my head.

“Unless you’re really going to stab me, I think I won’t. And I might not tell you even if you were going to stab me.”

Jude gets on Dain’s desk. It looks like she’s trying not to smile. It angers me that she thinks something about this is funny, when I have been nothing but honest and unguarded.

“I am going to make a proposal," I tell her, "I don’t want to put the crown on Balekin’s head just to lose mine. Ask whatever you want for yourself, for the court of shadows, but ask something for me. Get him to give me lands far from here. Tell him I will be gloriously irresponsible, far from his side. He never needs to think of me again. He can sire some brat to be his heir and pass the High Crown to it. Or perhaps it will slit his throat, a new family tradition. I care not.”

“Get up.”

“So you’re not worried I’m going to run for it?”

I get up and stretch my legs.

“After our kiss, I am such a fool over you that I can hardly contain myself," she drawls and I feel my heart twist in my chest, "All I want to do is nice things that make you happy. Sure, I’ll make whatever bargain you want, so long as you kiss me again. Go ahead and run. I definitely won’t shoot you in the back.”

I thought she was sincere at first, but I should have known better. Nothing true ever comes out of her lying mouth. I do not know what to say, so I just say my truth.

“Hearing you lie outright is a bit disconcerting.”

“Then let me tell you the truth. You’re not going to run because you’ve got nowhere to go.”

Jude leaves the room, and I go back to the table where I was playing cards earlier. I pick up the deck of cards and start shuffling mindlessly, keeping my eyes on her as she leaves the hideout.

She is right. I have nowhere to go. I have no home, only a room in my tormenter's mansion. Even as I picture a new life far from the palace, it does not feel like home. I try to imagine a palace all for myself, where I throw parties and drink until the sun rises, where I am surrounded by females who worship me, where people laugh at my jokes and admire me. It feels as lonely as my life here.

I close my eyes and try to focus on home.

The mansion disappears. Instead, I lay in a spacious bed, in a luxuriously decorated room. I know it to be my room, even if I have never seen this room in my life. On my right, I see an open closet filled with extravagant clothes, clearly mine. As I look to the left, I realize I am not alone in this room.

Jude is sitting by the window, moonlight casting light on the dagger she is polishing.

I throw the deck or cards on the desk and get up with a groan. I know the spies are staring, but I don't care. I storm back to Dain's office and sit on the chair I had been tied to. Jude took her knife and crossbow back, but the dent the knife made in the table is still there. I run my fingers over it.

The kiss has completely ruined me.

I want to taste her again, taste every inch of her skin. I want to know if she tastes different than faeries.

I want her mouth on me, her nails digging in my back making new scars over the old ones.

I want her to keep that dagger to my throat and use me until she grows bored of me.

I want her hands wrapped around my throat.

I want her to deny me until I beg for release.

I am thoroughly depraved.

The moment she put that knife to my throat, I knew that what I felt for her was not fear. A little bit of fear, sure, but it was different from what I felt when Balekin removed his belt.

It wasn't mere hate, either. Up until now, my fantasies of Jude were always ones where I had the power, putting her down for the way she humiliated me time and time again.

Our kind does not love the way yours do, Locke had told Taryn.

He was wrong.

What I thought was mere lust-fueled infatuation is in fact something much, much more dangerous.

I am in love with Jude Duarte.

#tfota #the folk of the air #cardan #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #judecardan #the cruel prince #fanfic #smut #angst

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downwiththeficness · 4 years ago

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In the Blood-Part Nine

Pairing: Brasa/Female OC

Word Count: ~3,000

Warnings: None

A/N: Listen, y’all. This is where we diverge from canon and just, you know, keep going. I’m making a lot of inferences here on the relationship between Brasa and Amaru, which may or may not be supported by the show. As many fic authors have said, “fuck canon”.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

The bed was just as fucking glorious as she remembered it—or, had dreamt it. Whatever. Lilah turned to her stomach and buried her face in the pillow, sighing in relaxation. God, but it was nice to sleep on something other than a hotel mattress. She wondered if he had one of those memory foam toppers underneath the fitted sheet, the bed molded to her body perfectly. Lilah was warm and comfy.

Reluctantly, she reached over blindly to her phone and tapped it, surprised to see that she’d slept about twelve hours. Her head throbbed a little where she’d been hit, and her hip ached, but Lilah felt rested. She sat up and looked blearily around the room, trying to get her bearings.

Distantly, she’d felt the bed dip beside her at some point in the night, but Brasa was nowhere to be found. She leaned over and turned on the light, scrubbing at her face and yawning as she slid out of the bed.

After making her way to the bathroom, relieving herself, and scrubbing her teeth, she padded back to the bed and climbed in. She could go back to sleep, could possibly sleep the entire day away, if she wanted. The thought was enticing.

A noise caught her attention at the back of the room, another door she’d missed the previous night. Through it walked Brasa. She was shocked that he was wearing a white shirt, though it was customarily long sleeved. Lilah was not shocked that he was wearing the gloves. She made a mental note to ask him about it sometime.

“How did you sleep?”

She smiled, “Amazingly.”

Pausing near the foot of the bed, he took her in. She was wearing a camisole and a faded pair of sleep shorts. There was very likely a bruise on the side of her face. Her eyes felt swollen with heavy sleep. Still, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

“I have been researching about...caring for humans,” he said, finally. His shoulders canted forward as he leaned his palms on the foot board. “You’re supposed to eat when you wake up. Are you hungry?”

Lilah would have been touched by his words if she hadn’t been distracted by the play of muscle as he moved. In black, most of him was hidden or cast in shadow. In white, she could see every dip and hollow. Her fingers itched to traced the strong lines of his body, to explore what he kept in secret.

Drawn to him as if he’d tied a string around her belly and pulled ever so gently, Lilah pushed the covers down and crawled forward. The wood beneath his palms creaked, but he remained still.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Lilah whispered when she reached him, “To look that up.”

She lifted onto her knees so that she was more or less level with him and gave in to the urge to run her hands up his arms and over his shoulders. His eyes were on her mouth, a flush creeping over his cheeks and down his neck.

“If I’m to keep you, I need to know how to please you.”

Lilah very much doubted that he would need any coaching on that subject, if their past interactions were anything to go by. For the sentiment, she kissed him softly. His returning kiss was, if possible, more soft, barely a brush of skin against skin. More than anything, a question. Lilah answered it definitively.

With a low moan, she threaded her arms around his neck, holding him to her, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. Fuck, but she liked the way he tasted. The coffee and caramel of his scent somehow deeper now that she got her mouth on him. Dipping her tongue into him was even better. He met her halfway, and she reveled in the way she could feel his body go tight with tension beneath her hands.

Wanting to know if he tasted this good elsewhere, Lilah broke away, using one hand to tilt his jaw to the side. She mouthed at his pulse point, her breathing uneven as felt his throat convulse. Some inborn instinct made her open her jaw and run her teeth along that patch of skin.

Brasa grunted and both hands came up to squeeze her hips hard. Lilah choked a scream as pain lanced up her injured side. She hissed a breath in, her hand immediately covering the wounded area.

“I’m sorry,” he said, panicked. His hands released her immediately.

She shook her head, “Not your fault.”

“Lilah,” he warned, already touching her again, lifting her camisole to inspect her hip.

It was ugly. Bruised in shades of blue and purple, about the span of a salad plate. Lilah grimaced as he slipped a thumb beneath her shorts and underwear, tugging them down an inch or so.

“I hit the wall a little harder than I thought,” she offered by way of explanation.

Brasa’s eyes met hers, “I threw you into that wall.”

“To keep me from a rather aggressive interrogator, if you’ll recall.”

His gaze dropped back to her hip and he swallowed. She could see the guilt in his expression plainly, it was painted all over his face, his slumped shoulders. She needed to distract him.

“I seem to remember a conversation about food. I’d like to get dressed and have some, if you’re still offering.”

One side of his mouth flicked up, “Come on. There’s a back entrance to the kitchen.”

The back entrance was, in actuality, yet another hidden door down the hall from his room. Brasa guided her through a tight niche and pushed it open. They stepped into the very back of the freezer. Goosebumps rose all over her skin as she navigated around a few crates of produce and into the empty kitchen. Everything was stainless. Stainless and spotless.

“Make anything you like,” he prompted, taking a seat at the massive island in the center of the room.

Lilah was not a good cook by any means, having spent years in hotels with continental breakfasts and in diners on the road. But, eggs and toast were simple enough. She gathered her ingredients, trying to think of something to say.

While she waited for the toast to, well, toast, she asked, “Do you eat?”

“Food?”

Lilah shrugged, noncommittal.

Brasa folded his hands in front of him, watching her rifle through drawers, “I can, though it provides little sustenance.”

Making a happy noise when she found a cookie cutter, she looked at him over her shoulder, “What gives you sustenance.”

“Primarily blood,” he answered. Lilah had a feeling that he’d deliberately left the sentence hanging to see how she’d respond.

She carefully twisted the cookie cutter into the center of the toast, carving out a little circle in the middle.

“Like the culebras?”

“Yes.”

Humming, she reached over and set a frying pan on the stove, turning on the gas burner. While she waited for it the heat, she leaned her good hip on the counter and faced him.

“Do you have to kill when you…” She couldn’t find the words.

His expression carefully neutral, he finished the sentence for her, “Feed.” Then, “No.”

“How often do you have to feed?”

The fingers of his hands flexed outwards, “Every few weeks. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Depends on how active I am.”

Much like humans, she wanted to say, her attention shifting to the pan. She dropped the two slices of toast into it and cracked and egg in to the middle of each, setting the top on the pan.

“You said you’d been working for Javier for two years. How long have been in this line of work?”

Lilah thought, “Hard to really put a number on it. I did a little bit here and there before I really made it my job. I’d say no less than seven years.”

“Javier sings your praises.”

She laughed, “I’ve made him a lot of money. Pretty sure its my pull that paid off his house.”

“Its good that you’ve made a name for yourself,” he said, expression proud.

She lifted the top off the pan, the eggs needed more time, “I guess. Although, that really wasn’t my aim.”

“What was your aim?”

Lilah gave him a sidelong glance, “Make enough to retire. Go somewhere quiet. Maybe pick up a legal hobby.”

“A simple life.”

She repeated the statement, confirming, as she checked the eggs again. They were nicely cooked, still runny. Turning off the burner, she plated the food and turned to sit catty-corner to him at the island.

Brasa eyed her meal with interest, “What is this called?”

“Eggs in a basket,” she said, plucking a fork from a bundle of them stuffed into a lazy Susan as well as a paper towel from the roll sitting next to it.

He watched her eat, eyes amused, “Is this your preferred breakfast?”

Lilah shrugged, “No idea. I usually just eat what’s available.”

Head cocked to the side, he decided, “Then, I’ll have to make sure you have as many options as possible, until you find your favorite.”

Blushing, Lilah forked another bite into her mouth, “Do you have a favorite? Human food, I mean.”

Brasa thought for a moment, “It used to be a meat pie. Easy to make, easy to take with you.”

“And now?”

His eyes met her with a strange intensity, “Marshmallow, roasted over a fire.”

Lilah stabbed a piece of toast and ran it around in the yolk to soak it up, wondering how he’d focused on such a specific delicacy, though she couldn’t argue with him. Roasted marshmallow was a pretty good favorite food.

“What happens if you don’t feed often enough?”

“It painful. Very painful. I would not wish anyone to feel as if their guts are being pulled out of them in one long rope.”

Lilah chewed thoughtfully, trying not to picture the image he was painting, “You sound like you’ve been starved before.”

Brasa made a soft noise of assent, and he looked away, “When Amaru—my queen—was displeased with me, she would deny me blood for months. One time, she restrained me for a year, coming to my room every once in a while to taunt me. Before she released me from my bonds, she pulled my fangs. It took several weeks to regrow them.”

Hand shaking as she held her fork aloft, the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it, “Why?”

“Because,” he replied, “I stared at her too long.”

“That is insane,” Lilah gasped, shocked at the frivolity of the punishment.

Brasa’s mouth twisted in derision, “That is Xibalba.”

She pushed her plate away, “I’m glad we’re going to close that portal.”

Before he could answer, voices filtered in from outside. Lilah, out of instinct borne from years of reacting quickly to shifting circumstances, stood and grabbed Brasa by the arm. She all but hauled him out of his seat and to the freezer, shushing him when he laughed.

They were in the back hallway before she could relax, though she heard shouts of ‘fucking night shift’ through the door before she could get it closed properly. Leaning against it, Lilah pressed her hands to her face and finally allowed herself to laugh. She felt ridiculous, and she was sure that she probably looked ridiculous. Still, a little bit of whatever was coiled up inside her relaxed.

Brasa took her hands and led her back to his room and through to the hidden room she hadn’t yet seen. She marveled as the stacks upon stacks of books inside. There were bookcases lining every wall, filled to the brim. In the center of the room was a plush leather couch and a desk, a chair rolling chair tucked into it.

“I have work that needs my attention, but I’d like you near me. Can you occupy yourself with a book while I work?”

Lilah nodded wordlessly, already heading to one of the shelves and running her fingers along the spines. There must be a thousand books in here, most of them in languages she didn’t know. Still, she looked for a while, pulled one here and there to either read the back or thumb through to the middle, until she found one that might keep her attention for a while. Then, she settled into the couch to read.

Like any good reader, she would lay in one position for a while, shifting a bit, then turn over, shift again, lay her feet over the arm, over the back. Absently, she tugged a strand of her hair, wrapping and unwrapping it around her finger. The story was decent enough, an easy read, until she got to the part where the antagonist was revealed to have been helping the hero all along.

“No…” she breathed, sitting up and then falling back down to lay on her back.

From her left came, “I was wondering when you’d get to that part.”

Lilah rolled her head to the side, eyes wide, “You’ve read it.”

The smile he was holding back widened, “I’ve read all of them.”

“And you didn’t warn me?!”

“Would you have enjoyed it half as much, if I had?”

Lilah stared at the book for a minute, “Probably not.”

“Well, there you go.”

She read for a while more, until Brasa pushed away from the desk and turned off the monitor. He circled around and sat heavily on the sofa, one arm laying across the back of it. Lilah made a mental note of the page she was on before setting the book on the floor and sitting up to face him.

“All done?”

He sighed, “For now.”

“What is it that you do?”

“I run a fairly large medical supplies company. We contract and ship all over the country.”

Lilah’s brows came together, “Somehow, that was not the answer I was expecting.”

He waved away the statement, “My people need blood, a lot of it, and regularly. The company hides the shipments we need to bring in to keep them fed.”

Smart and efficient.

She blinked at him, “Blood bags, that’s how you feed?”

“Sometimes, though its not,” he stopped, suddenly looking uncertain.

“Go on,” Lilah prompted. She wanted him to tell her the truth.

His eyes shifted to the side, “Its not preferable.”

Her brain told her to let it go, but she asked it, anyway, “What is preferable?”

Brasa swallowed and looked her in the eye, “From the source is preferable.”

“Why?” She asked while her mind was shouting at her to shut up.

“Its warmer,” he explained, “thicker. Sweeter.”

“Ah.” Then, “Why not feed from people?”

Sitting forward a little, his eyes softened, “We don’t need dead bodies piling up in a centralized location. People will look for us.”

Lilah shook her head, “You said you didn’t need to kill to feed.”

“I don’t. Others often don’t have the control to stop when they’ve had their fill.”

A long moment of silence passed between them and Lilah had the feeling that they’d turned a new corner. A whole host of information had opened up before her and she wanted to know more about it, but couldn’t quite pick a route to travel on. It didn’t matter. They had time.

“There are donors, of course,” he continued, much to her surprise.

“Oh?”

“Some people like the feeling of allowing one of my kind to feed on them.”

She snorted, “I’m not surprised.”

His brows lifted in question and Lilah took the opportunity to pull her legs out from underneath her and scoot forward.

She touched his cheek, running her fingers up and over his orbital bone, “I’ve seen enough adrenaline junkies to know nothing is quite out of bounds when they need a fix.”

Brasa held her hand to him, turning to press a kiss to her palm. Her breath hitched and she could feel her heart kick up at the feeling zinging down over her forearm. He pulled her a little closer, until their knees met on the cushion. Lilah’s balance, already precarious, threatened to give out beneath the weight of his intense scrutiny. She wasn’t sure exactly who moved first, but suddenly he was kissing her.

His heat surrounded her immediately, drawing her in. Lilah wished that she’d kept her camisole and shorts on instead of the sweater and jeans she was currently wearing. She wanted to feel his hands, no matter that he was still wearing gloves.

A rumble vibrated through his chest, and she was suddenly on her back, one leg sandwiched between his body and the couch. The other was firmly grasped and wrapped around his waist. His body weight dropped down onto her, pressing her hips open. She winced and choked out a high pitched cry.

Brasa was off her in an instant, on his knees beside the couch before she could blink. She was left staring at the ceiling, bewildered.

“I’m calling a doctor.”

“No, you’re not,” Lilah countered, swinging her legs over the side and regarding him firmly.

His jaw clenched, “You’re hurt.”

“Yes, but I will heal.”

Brasa shook his head, “Let me get you something for the pain.”

“No. I don’t want painkillers. Its just a bruise. It will be better in a few days.”

There might have been further argument, but her stomach growled. How long had she been reading?

“I think I need to feed you again.”

Lilah smiled and nodded, “Three times a day, plus snacks.”

He gave that little half smile that she was beginning to be fond of, “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m going to the kitchen. You stay here.”

Lilah watched him go, then leaned down gingerly and picked up the discarded book. Likely, she’d finish it that night. She gazed down at the cover, thumb running along the pages. The last twenty four hours had been… strange, to say the least. But, damn it if she wasn’t looking forward to seeing what happened in the next twenty four.

#In the Blood #from dusk til dawn #from dusk til dawn: the series #fdtd #maurice compte #brasa

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chouetteffraie · 5 years ago

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the art of decadence [dazatsu] {vampire au}

read it on ao3!

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Decadence

dec·a·dence

/ˈdekədəns/

noun

moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury.

Brown strands dangled lightly over his bare shoulders as he tilted his head, grinning invitingly. Atsushi watched them tickle his pale skin as they swayed ever so slightly, muscles wound so tight he felt like a spring. He mustn’t ponce...he mustn’t pounce...he mustn’t.

Every part of Dazai was beckoning for him to come closer. Atsushi wanted to run his fingers over Dazai’s skin, play with his hair, just touch Dazai without hurting him. He wondered how Dazai would react to his lips running down his neck and shoulders gently without expecting the sharp bite of his fangs. A pang of guilt shot through Atsushi’s stomach, eliciting a grimace. He desperately wished that Dazai didn’t have to associate his touch with pain. As adept at putting on masks as the man was, he couldn’t hide the few tears that fell after a particularly harsh bite from Atsushi. In the seconds before the pain, when Atsushi placed gentle kisses on his neck as if he were a doctor cleaning the area for a shot, he could practically smell his fear, punctuated by the sudden increase in his blood flow at Atsushi’s ear. Every time Atsushi pulled away, wiping his lips after drinking his fill, Atsushi always wondered why Dazai so eagerly volunteered himself for Atsushi’s feeding. After all, Dazai hated pain- why did he so willingly face it for Atsushi?

Even in the dimly lit room, Dazai could see how apprehensive Atsushi seemed, unease apparent on his features in the grayish early morning light. He physically beckoned him closer, holding his hand out curling one finger like an inchworm. “Atsushi-kun, you look so tired~” he mused. “And thirsty. Could you not find enough strays to sate your bloodlust?”

Atsushi cringed at that word, another reminder at the monstrosity he was. Though he knew Dazai was only teasing him in good fun, after the tiring night of hunting with little reward, everything felt like a blow. Head bowed, Atsushi trudged over to Dazai’s spot on the edge of the bed and collapsed in his arms, itching to feel his familiar warmth. He missed the calming heat of blood rushing through his veins, a sensation the monster that turned him robbed from him. Feeling so cold all the time, topped with how empty his stomach was, made Atsushi feel like little more than a hollow shell.

Dazai wrapped his arms around Atsushi and placed one hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair before slowly pushing Atsushi’s nose into his pulse point. His bandages had been loosened and he was shirtless- it was a hot, summer night, Atsushi noted- leaving his skin exposed for Atsushi. Without really meaning to, Atsushi took a sharp inhale of Dazai’s scent: the remnant of cologne he neglected to wash off, his shampoo from his barely-damp hair, and the most intoxicating of them, his blood.

Dazai felt Atsushi clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging in so tightly they might leave a mark, and responded by loosening his grip on his head. “Atsushi, go ahead and bite me. You need it. I’ll be okay.”

“N-no,” Atsushi stammered, trying to pull further away from Dazai. He hated that Dazai was so willing to be used with little regard for his own well being. Atsushi wanted to care for him, protect him from everything he could. Yet Dazai seemed dead set on being Atsushi’s own personal food bank with an eagerness that sent Atsushi’s dreams of normalcy crashing down. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, anyway. He was a vampire, a monster. There was no salvation for those like him, no paradise to retire to. Even a relationship they managed to find solace in came with the price of hurting their partner when in need of blood. Surely starving to death must be a better end than draining your lover of life. “What if I hurt you? What if I accidentally turn you? What if I drain you completely?”

“You won’t, Atsushi,” Dazai reassured, rubbing circles on Atsushi’s back. “Besides, I rather like being useful.”

“Useful?” Atsushi all but scoffed in disgust, spitting the word out as if he hated how it tasted. His lips brushed gently against his skin, running across a scab from the last time he bit Dazai. “I don’t spend time with you because you’re useful.”

“Ah, of course not. But that doesn’t mean I can’t strive for it,” Dazai murmured. Atsushi made no signs of movement until Dazai gently urged him closer. Atsushi’s body followed gladly, desperate to be as close to Dazai as possible. All but his brain found comfort in the proximity. Dazai stopped him before he could form another sound argument with a firm, “Eat.”

“N-no, you don’t really-”

“Atsushi,” Finally Dazai leaned away from Atsushi to look him in the eyes, a stray moonbeam illuminating his face for a moment to show the determined look in his eye. “You’ve spent a long time hunting for your food and you’ve come up with nothing. You’re hungry. You deserve a break. Now, eat.”

There was a brief silence between the two of them, hollow and still. Atsushi’s hesitance sent a sharp pang through Dazai’s gut, akin to a wooden stake. It would figure the boy before him was one of the sweetest, most conscientious people he’d ever meet. Despite having no soul, Atsushi proved to have more heart than anybody in the city with how gently he treated everything. Maybe losing your life made you appreciate it that much more. You never know what you have until you lose it, Dazai supposed.

Still, Dazai wished that, when compared to a soulless, undead creature, he wasn’t the one that seemed like the monster.

“Are you sure?” Atsushi asked one final time, acquiescence clear on his features.

“Of course. You like human blood much more than animal blood, right? You’ve been such a good little vampire, Atsushi-kun. I think you deserve a treat.” Dazai leaned with one hand on the bed, tilting his head away from Atsushi to provide easier access for his fangs. The other hand found itself tangled in his silvery hair again, distracting Atsushi from the words of admiration and trust he could’ve said. “Let me prove to you how useful I can be, Atsushi.” If you like my blood so much, surely I must be human. Let me prove how human I am. Let me use you to feel human.

Dazai let out a sharp gasp as he felt Atsushi’s fangs pierce his skin, the familiar tingling taking his mind off the pain almost immediately after. He felt Atsushi’s soft lips close around the wound and tightened his grip on the boy’s hair, which earned him a small grunt. How he wished he could enjoy being the target of Atsushi’s affections, indulging in the gentle smiles and soft kisses Atsushi seemed so fond of giving. He felt completely and utterly detached, however, a fact that hurt more than the boy’s fangs in his neck. No matter what he did, Dazai would never be able to truly receive a good gift, even when it was too stubborn to leave him. Dazai knew he didn’t deserve such a blessing, yet he took it and tainted it anyway. To keep Atsushi to himself and use him for his own selfish whims was decadent and monstrous, two words Dazai felt paired nicely with his own personality.

Atsushi pulled away suddenly, startling Dazai. Wiping his mouth of the blood with the back of his arm, he watched with wide eyes as Dazai gave him a loopy smile and fell back. Truth be told, Dazai wasn’t as lightheaded as he pretended to be- though his mind was blurry, he felt more like his head was cast iron with the degrading thoughts bouncing around his head. He allowed Atsushi to help him onto the bed correctly, ignoring his barrage of concerned questions. He merely pulled Atsushi down next to him and held him tightly, using him as an anchor to prevent his thoughts from straying too far. It normally didn’t work, but that didn’t stop Dazai from trying.

“Thank you,” Atsushi murmured into Dazai’s shoulder once he seemed content that he was alright. “I hope I didn’t drink too much.” Dazai hummed in response, ignoring how he only felt less human after making Atsushi worry for him. As the sunlight started to trickle in the room, Atsushi closed his eyes and let love professions die on his tongue, trying to forget how the warm blood in his stomach seemed to only make him feel emptier.

#dazatsu #dazai x atsushi #dazushi #dazai osamu #atsushi nakajima #dazai #atsushi #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #vampire au #my stuff #my stuff dazatsu #my stuff dazatsu vamps #my stuff bsd

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jonsastan · 6 years ago

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Jonsa Week - @incorrectjonsansa

Day 5 - Imagine me and you

Robin Hood and Maid Marian

Jon smiled as he walked toward the tourney grounds. It was a large prize, but him and the Night’s Watch could make a pretty picking from the lords and ladies and their fat coin purses.

A nice gift for the small folk.

He spied Prince Joffrey sitting on the dais, his clothes immaculate, a gold crown perched on his head, his wormy lips in a sneer. He was well fed and well groomed and his people were starving. As Jon neared the dais he saw her, Lady Sansa Stark. She was beautiful. Always beautiful. She had a lovely blue dress and pearls in her hair. There were bruises around her wrist and Jon knew she had spent most of the evening helping one of the many widows in the town.

“Smile.” He heard the prince hiss at her. “I like it when you smile. You look prettier when you smile.” And her lips curled into a pleasing imitation of a smile, whilst her eyes scanned the grounds, looking for something, someone, perhaps him.

“Your lady looks fine today.” Tormund whispered as he passed Jon.

“She’s not my lady.”

“But you’d like her to be.”

Jon sighed. He had spoken to Lady Sansa Stark once or twice. He saw her sweet and tender nature, and saw how it was being broken and destroyed.

“Maybe I can claim my victor’s kiss from her, when I beat you to a pulp in archery.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat when she saw him. He was strong and kind and generous. She’d heard the tales of the small folk when she visited. Jon Snow, steals from the rich and give to the poor.

Kind, and gentle, and strong. Just like Father promised.

She shifted in her seat, moving further away from Prince Joffrey. She knew once the melee started she could escape, he would be so focused on the beatings and blood he would not notice her absence, and if he did she could claim an aversion to the sight of blood.

But now she sat and watched the prince of the common people ready himself for archery.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m your Prince, you’ll submit to me now or on our wedding night.” He had her hands grasped in his own, and was pushing his body into hers. She struggled, pulled away, but was trapped between him and a wall.

“I’ll never marry you.” She glared at him, fighting with everything she had.

“Now, now my lady. You know you want me.” He moved forward and kissed her, one hand leaving hers to clumsily, painfully grasp her breast. She bit.

“You fucking bitch.” He hissed, pulling away and drawing the hand that had groped her to his bleeding lip. He had a tear running down his cheek, a reaction from the pain “You fucking little whore.” He slapped her and she felt like her cheek had exploded. Gasping and clutching her face, she turned back to face him.

“I thought princes didn’t cry.” She spat. Her body tensed and her eyes closed as he raised his hand, but the blow never landed on her. She opened her eyes as blow landed across the prince’s jaw.

Jon Snow was on Joffrey, landing blow after blow.

“Stop!” She yelled looking around them. They were alone, but Sansa wasn’t sure for how much longer. “Stop! Stop! We have to go!” She grabbed Jon Snow’s arm and started to pull him away. He stopped and looked at her. His eyes changed from cold hard steel, to a gentle, caressing snow in seconds.

“We have to go.” Sansa repeated, pulling him away from the tourney grounds.

“No, this way.” He pulled her toward the grounds. They began to make their way toward the horses. Sansa felt every muscle in her body tense. She was waiting for the cry of the guards, to feel the hard grip of gauntlet covered hands on her arms but it never came. Soon they were stood before a group of five men and five horses.

“Stealing this one, are we?” Asked a tall redheaded man.

“Shut it.” Jon grabbed the reigns of a white horse and turned to her. ‘You’ll have to ride with me.” She just nodded and soon she was lifted into the saddle, was Jon Snow behind her, arms encircling her, leading the horse away.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You kidnapped the Prince’s betrothed!” Sam yelled. “Do you realise that Jon? You didn’t just knick some purses from drunken lords, you kidnapped a human person!” Jon sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“He was hurting her! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe not kidnap the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?” Jon almost chuckled at that. There was a gentle knock at the door and Sansa entered. She’d washed her face, and the blood from her own split lip had gone.

“One of the men, Tormund, told me you wanted to see me.” The bruise on her cheek was already beginning to swell and colour. It would be painful.

“Come in, my lady. Sit, sit. I have a salve that should each your pain.” Sam bustled around before moving to sit in front of Sansa. She turned her head to allow Sam access to her check and was facing Jon.

She was strong. Jon had admired that. She had taken Joffrey’s hit and instead of cowering or bending, she had looked him in the eye and mocked him. It took a certain type of strength to do that.

She hissed as that salve touched her bruise.

“Don’t hurt her, Sam.” He scolded without thinking.

“He’s not.” She reassured. “It’s just cold.” They say in silence whilst Sam tended to her. Once he was done with Sansa he made to treat the bruises and cuts on Jon’s knuckles, but Sansa took the salve from him and moved toward Jon.

“I have to thank my hero.” She smiled softly and took Jon’s right hand in hers and carefully applied the salve.

“My lady, not to be impertinent.” Sam began. “But, should you not return to the castle?” Sansa froze.

“I’m not going back there.”

“My lady.” Sam’s voice was full of concern and fear.

“But I shan’t stay here and put you all in danger. My sister is rumoured to have crossed the Narrow Sea. I shall try and join her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Jon’s voice was firm and his gaze steady as he watched her. “You should stay here. We can keep you safe, protect you. I can protect you.” She finished with his hands and stood, walking toward the door she had entered from.

“No one can protect anyone.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been almost a week before the Sheriff of Lannister showed up in the camp. He was a tall brute with an ugly burn covering half his face. Jon and the Night’s Watch had an odd relationship with the man. He was the Prince’s loyal hound and would do almost anything demanded of him. But there was moments, times when The Hound would not take every copper a family had, times when he’d let them off for poaching, times when he’d taken men who had raped and murdered into the woods and no one ever saw them again.

But Jon did not trust the Sheriff with Sansa. The Sheriff had seen what Joffrey had done and still stood there by that twat’s side. So he’d hidden Sansa away and bribed the Hound with golden dragons.

When the coast was clear and Sansa was allowed out from her hiding place she looked at Jon with those clever, sad, blue eyes and told him she had to leave. She was dangerous.

Jon didn’t care.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa gathered her belonging, meagre though they were, together. She had been sleeping in a small hut Sam and the other Night’s Watch had given her. It was warm enough and it was kind of them.

“Come in.” she called to the soft knock at the door. Jon entered and suddenly the hut felt an awful lot smaller.

“So you’re really going to leave?” He crossed his arms.

“Yes. It’s not safe for anyone whilst I’m here.”

“But you haven’t finished teaching Tormund to read. You’re the only one who can. He just swears at Sam and Pyp gave up ever since Tormund told him that story about the bear.”

Sansa smiled. “I’m sure someone else can take over.”

“What about Sam’s honey mead? You helped with the last couple of batches don’t you want to see how it turned out?” Jon moved toward her and Sansa looked away, fiddling with the sleeve of her gown.

“Sam makes great mead. It’ll be wonderful.”

“And little Robin, he’s only playing with the other kids since you came. He’ll miss you and won’t want to learn how to shoot arrows without you to be the maiden to rescue.” He was closer and Sansa could feel the warmth of his body. She could move away, step back. But she didn’t want to.

“I’m sure Jeyne or someone can be the fair maid.”

“What about me?” She looked up and saw those beautiful grey eyes. Those eyes that could be kind, and compassionate, and sweet. Those eyes that could be brutal, and hard, and cunning. Those eyes that she loved. “What am I going to do without you?”

“Jon.” She could feel the warmth of his breath, the gaze of his eyes. “You’ll be better without me, you’ll be safer without me.”

“I’ll be broken without you.” His voice broke on the last syllable and her heart ached. She reached for him and hugged him tightly, holding him to her. “I’ll break if you leave.”

“Gods Jon.” She buried her face in his neck, willing herself to be strong. “I don’t want to go. I have to go. If I stay here and I’m found Joffrey will hurt everyone. He’ll torture Sam and Pyp and Tormund. And he’ll- he’ll kill you.” She felt him tense as she spoke of Joffrey. “I can’t let him hurt you. I can’t, I won’t.”

“Sansa.” His voice was soft as fur. “We can live with danger. We do everyday. But I don’t want to live here without you.” He pulled away ever so slightly so he could see her face. His eyes darted to her lips. “Please.” Sansa wasn’t sure if he was pleading with her to stay or to kiss her. She decided both. She moved forward and pressed her lips to Jon’s. And he was everything Joffrey wasn’t. He was gentle and tender and sweet. His hands felt gently to her waist, allowing her to pull away, allowing her space, allowing her freedom. But she didn’t want space or freedom from him. She wanted him. She wanted to stay. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, deepening the kiss. When she needed to breath she pulled away.

“I’ll stay.” She gasped.

Jon smiled.

#incorrectjonsansa #incorrect jonsa week #jonsa #Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #mine

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kotas-dump · 6 years ago

Text

Something different. Part 1

“Do you really think he wants...me?” You look down, thick thighs touching underneath your smooth layered gown. Soft round curves staring you back in the mirror the maid had placed in front of you. Your face was soft, not sharp nor elegant like elves were supposed to have. Even your ears were to long to be ‘elegant’.

“Oh hush! You’re finally getting married dear! AND TO A PRINCE! Let’s be happy~! ” You mother coos from the doorway. The maids don’t even look up as the continue to braid your white hair. It was one of the rare genetic quirks of your people. The ultimate symbol of purity of soul. Usually highly coveted it was a guaranteed rise of class if a child was born with it. Peasants married into nobility, nobles became princesses. As was.. your case.

“We were starting to worry no one would as- ow!” A sharp elbow in his side shut your father up easily.

Sitting in silence you gave up, let them win.

Your mother comes over to rest her slender hands on your shoulders.”Don’t worry so much. We hired the best company of orcs to escort you safely there. You’ll be safe, happy and giving us beautiful grand babies to spoil soon enough.” Coming to stand in front of you the maid moves away, braid still in one hand.

She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up. “You’re finally going to be happy. Not shut in here every day and night, hiding from the world.” Her thumb whips a tear from your plump cheek and you sigh. “Promise you will write us?”

“I promise mother.” Forcing a smile for her you watch her face light up and she hugs you tight.

“Oh i’ll miss you my sweet little bread-roll. Finally getting MARRIED~!” pulling away she pinches your cheeks and gives you a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll see you off. I think the maids are getting mad at me hindering their beautiful work.”

You can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. To be honest you were looking forward to it too. Your parents might have butt heads a little bit but their relationship was beautiful and it was arranged too. You could make it work.”

Looking up you stared your own icy grey-gaze reflection down and nodded, smiling wide.

“There you are. As beautiful as the first real snow.” Your maid smiled, going back to work and chuckling. “You’re excited arn’t you?”

“Nervous. I’m not like my sisters. I’m not all sharp angles and pretty... They married so quickly. Two of them already have little ones.” You look over to her but she turns your head back around.

“You’re beautiful. If he doesn’t see that you just write me and i’ll make sure his chefs serve him dieal root and give him the shits for a week.” You both burst into laughter.

The last good laugh you’d have for a long time.

Your parents saw you of like they’d said. Your father helping you into your carriage before handing you a small cloth-wrapped package. “Snacks. I don’t trust these orcs to make you good elven food”

“Father!” You hissed. A nearby orc scoffed and crossed her arms. “I’ll be okay. I have my magic if I need to use it.”

He grabbed your hand, kissing the back of it. “I love you. Travel safe my dearest daughter.”

“I will father. Thank you.” Smiling you sat down and he closed the door.

They stood by the gates and waved until you could no longer see them on the horizon. With that? Your journey to your fiance’s land was officially underway.

The first handful days were uneventful. You stayed in the carriage until camp was made and then in your tent.

It wasn’t until a week in that you hit a fallen tree and an overturned cart that you stopped. The orcs outside were debating, damn near shouting over what to do. Popping the door open you peeked out, wincing at the light.

“The red road is a thieves paradise. It’s CALLED the RED road for a reason. You can’t be seriously considering it Vargan?!” The pink-skinned goblin snarled.

“I agree with Tuk. The tree could take days to clear. We might as well head back and help the cart owner clear the road. Would set us a day behind but it’s safer.” The female orc exclaimed.

“Hmm.” Vargan’s green eyes glanced to you and you yelped, closing the door.

You tucked yourself into the far corner of the carriage as heavy steps approached. The door didn’t open.. instead it locked. “We take the Red road. Get in close and we protect the cargo at all costs.”

A sigh left you as your carriage lurched forward.

Their normal upbeat banter died into silence as they got moving. The tense air outside put you on edge and you clutched your small bag of carry-on snacks and journals close.

It seemed all was going well though. Hours passed and you could tell the tension outside was starting to lift.

That was when they attacked. Human’s in hoards stormed the road and fighting ensued. It seemed to drag on forever as you hid in the carriage. A body slammed into the side, staining the window with a spattering of red as they thumped to the ground.

Suddenly the door flung open and a green and red arm reached in, yanking you by the arm out of the carriage. Your bag’s contents clattered to the floor of the cart but you managed to grab your journal as he pulled you from the cart. Turning forward you recognized the orc as Vargan, the leader of the company.

There were bodies everywhere outside, orc and human alike, but he was pulling you toward the treeline roughly where Tuk crouched, looking around. The female orc stopped the humans from following and you three escaped into the trees.

They broke out into a run, the orc growling at your slow pace before yanking you toward him and over his shoulder.

“LET ME DOWN!” You screamed, your ass high in the air as he ran, the air forced out of your lungs by his shoulder with each leaping bound.

“ If I do you will die. Shut up.” Vargan snapped. “Where we going Tuk?”

“I know of a place not to far. Keep up.” Tuk glanced back, eyeing your ass for a moment to long. Vargan let a low growl out and the pace picked up.

---

That night you made camp deep in a cave. Tuk had given you his spare bedroll but you hesitated to actually use the thing. Instead you sat against the wall. The light peach gown you’d been dressed in this morning now stained and dirty.

“For you your highness.” Tuk smiled, his pointed teeth flashing in the dim light as he held out a skewer of rat.

Swallowing thickly you took it with a shaking hand and nodded. “I’m not a princess.” You set the skewer aside and sigh.

“Ah but you will be right?” The goblin laughed and scuttled back over to the fire, casting dreamy looks over to you.

Vargan scoffed, earning himself a glare from the scared up goblin.

“What?” Tuk snapped.

“Her people don’t eat meat. Idiot. That’s the forest elves. She’s from the ice mountains.” Snorting he stood, walking over to you and grabbing the skewer you placed down and replacing it with a chunk of dry bread. “We’ll get you real food at the next village. Eat.”

Glaring at his back you huff and take a bite of the dry bread. If you weren’t hungry you wouldn’t eat another bite but you were starving. Tearing into it like they tore into their food.

As they readied to sleep the female orc from before barged in. Drenched in blood she plopped down next to Tuk and smacked his hand when he went to examine the slice on her arm.

“You should get some rest.. all of you. I’ll tend to her.”Tuk said. “I am a healer after all.”

Vargan nodded. “Don’t fall asleep this time. “

Gasping Tuk clapped a hand over his chest. “Why I’d never!”

You laid down on the slightly smelly bed-roll and rolled over, your back to the others.

You didn’t get much rest that night.

The next Morning the female orc threw her uninjured arm around you and smiled. “I’m kidnapping her for an hour or two.”

“Need someone to keep watch?” Tuk answered, the grin on his face leaving you uneasy.

“I got two eyes i’ll be fine... if I catch you following i’ll drown you myself.” She snapped.

“D-drown?” you mutter, confused.

Steering you away she sighs, stretching her sore muscles. “You’re still quiet.”

Looking up you shrug. “Is there something you wanted to hear?”

Her brow furrows in confusion, “I wanted...?” Laughing she shakes her head. “You’re an odd one.”

“It’s because of the spirit of Oldirian.” You reply simply. The subtle sound of water reaching your ears.

“Spirit of old ruin?” She completely butchers the word and you cringe.

“Oldirian. A spirit of purity and compassion.”

Nodding she shrugs. “Sounds like elven mumbo-jumbo. Elves and their special-ness.”

Looking down you laugh and she joins in, patting your shoulder before marching ahead toward the small river.

She doesn’t even bother to strip. Just crashes into the water with a cheering laugh and motions for you to follow.

Stepping closer you frown.

“What? Don’t you bathe in elf-land?” She snorts, running her hands over her blood soaked clothing. The water down stream turning red.

Taking off your over dress you stay in her chemise, lifting your skirt you dip a toe into the cold water.

It felt nice and refreshing after a night in that smokey cave. Wading into the water you joined her but upstream and away from the blood.

“Here. I’ll wash your hair.” She pulls a bar of soap from her soaked pockets and runs it over you hair, rubbing it in and through your hair. “I can see why your mother hired so many of us.”

“Hm?” You turn to watch her as she pours water over your hair, rinsing it.

“You’re beautiful! I mean look at this!” She holds your hair in her hands. “Straight and whiter than snow, than clouds or cream.. I’m jealous.”

“You want it?” You laugh.

Her face lights up and she holds a length of hair next to her face. “Does it suit me?”

Laughing you nod. “You would surely have many suitors! You would get to pick for sure.”

Her smile wilts at your words and she sighs. “You elves.”

“W-what?” She releases your hair and you take int into your hand, looking at it.

Shrugging the orc dips her head back and runs the soap through her hair. “We marry based on love. If it comes with status then great! But to us-” She ducks below the water, rinsing her hair before poping back up and fliping her hair back. “You’re the barbarians.”

---

'You’re the barbarians.' Those words had been haunting you since that morning. You didn’t understand.

“Hey Tuk?” You glanced over to him, he’d taken up your side, the two orcs guarding the front and back.

“Yes your highness?” His voice was full of cheer, raw admiration. He looked up, his face slowly shifting to confusion as you remained quiet. “Your highness?”

Shaking your head you waved it off. “Never mind. A foolish question.”

He smiled wide. “No such thing princess.”

“There are when you’re involved.” Vargan barks a laugh from the front.

“Oh that hurts Vargan. You know i’m a sensative soul!” Tuk cries, running forward the punch the orc on the arm.

“Stay in formation.” Vargan snaps, sending the goblin running back to you.

“I like her better anyways.” He sticks a pink tongue at the leader and huffs.

Smiling you watch their antics, listen to their playful banter and stories. They’d been in a company together for years. Vargan being the great-grandson of the chieftain that lead the forces against their brotherin when the orc rebellion broke out. Their family had stayed loyal to the elves ever since. Now him, and his company, were esteemed guards.

Tuk was a goblin who had been taught by an elven healer how to use his magic to heal after being wounded and left for dead by the orcs who’d enslaved them. He’d stayed with your family and then later Vargan ever since.

The female orc, Kiada, had been the original leader of the company. Eventually handing it over to Vargan. She wasn’t really that open about it so sadly that was all you really knew about her besides the fact she could fight a small army and survive.

In other words, despite them only being three strong, you didn’t feel scared or un-safe in the slightest.

---

That night you rest up in a tavern. Vargan is sharing the room with you, his bed across from yours. He kicks off his boots and catches you staring at him. “What is it? Still hungry?”

Shaking your head you blush. “My head was in the clouds sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“You do it a lot.” His gruff voice sounds angry but from being around him this short time you know it’s just how his voice is.

“Sorry.” You laugh. “I’ve never really seen orcs or goblins up close before.”

His green eyes look up and his head tilts to the side. “You haven’t?”

“No.. I’m a noble type of hermit.” You explain, picking at a frayed hem on your sleeve.

“ Is it ‘cause your fat for an elf?” He asks, not a lick of tact or manners in his words.

Scoffing you yank the blankets back and slide under them. Your back facing him.

A deep laugh rumbles from the other side of the room. “That’s a yes.” He reaches up in a stretch, bones creaking in protest as and lays back on the small bed. “I wouldn’t worry to much. Even if you’re fatter than most elves you’re twice as beautiful.” Yawning he blows the candle out and tucks in for the night.

“You know nothing about Elf culture.” You snap angrily in the dark.

“I know enough.” He grunts, the bed creaking as he rolls to face you. “You believe you’re the superior race with your magic and beauty. Arranged marriages giving you pure-blooded offspring. You breed like dogs for power and beauty to keep the other races suppressed.”

Rolling over you glare at him in the moon-lit darkness. “We don’t believe we’re better than any other race. You really have no manners!”

“Perhaps. But we orcs don’t speak in riddles or hide our meaning. We don’t beat others into submission or sell our daughters for status and dowries.” He claps back.

Scoffing you roll your eyes. “And that makes you better than us?”

His uproarious laughter causes you to jump. “There you go! You don’t even see you’re own hippocricy.”

Huffing you roll onto your back and stare up at the ceiling.” There’s no use trying to talk to a wall.”

“Whatever you say princess.” He chuckles.

---

The next day you’re quiet. Lips all but sewn shut even when Tuk tries to lighten the mood by telling you jokes.

“What gives. Not even a smile? That one slays!” Tuk whines.

“She’s just mad at me. Leave her be Tuk.” Vargan glares at the goblin and frowns.

“No one could be mad at such a barbaric CREATURE.” You snap, rolling your eyes.

Kiada tries to hide a laugh and ends up in snorting laughter. “What did you do Vargan? Spit in her porridge?

“That’s not funny! He did that to me once. Tasted slimy...” Tuk shivers.

“Augh!” You stomp forward, past Vargan and almost in front of him before he grabs your arm. “Unhand me.” You command, glaring him down.

The whole company comes to a stop as you two face off in a silent stare contest. Eventually Vargan leans in, getting right into your face. “Get. Back. In. Formation.”

Tearing away you scoff and go back to your place, crossing your arms and blinking back stubborn tears.

A tense silence falls over the group as they look at you.

“No wonder she’s mad at you Varg. You’re to rough with the lady.” Tuk finally breaks the silence. Pushing your sleeve up and muttering a small spell to rid your pale skin of the bruises that were bound to form.

“We all know our place. Best she knows hers.” Vargan growls.

Kiada shakes her head and sighs.

“I’m not apologizing for keeping her safe! If she wants to act like a child and throw a temper tantrum then she can do it from the safety of the middle of the-” A whizzing sound is heard and Varg turns toward it only to have an arrow plunge deep into his chest.

Gasping you go wide eyed as he breaks the shaft with a grunt. The three of them close in tight around you and the people hiding in the trees attack.

The orcs stand firm, weapons drawn at the ready as Tuk begins muttering a spell and lightening crackles along his hands.

Chaos breaks out in an instant and the sound of fighting starts with a boom as Tuk fires off a crack of lightening.

Clapping your hands over your ears you screw your eyes shut. What do you do? There’s to many of them.. a knock back would send them away from you too. What was the spell you needed?! Panicking you start muttering a spell of your own. There were to many for just the three of them.. you had to do something. You couldn’t let them die like the others.

Tuk blocks a sword from striking you and shoves them back. “Protect the princess!”

“You don’t have to tell us that you piece of stupid pork!” Kiada shouts, her axe coming down on a human’s shoulder and cleaving the meat from the bone. A human behind her strikes in the short time it takes her to yank the heavy axe free. A dagger sinks into her side and she spins, slamming the flat side of the axe into their head and sending them sprawling toward Vargan where he brings his sword down and pierces their skull.

“No! I mean she’s casting a spe-” Tuk’s voice was cut off as the spell you’d been weaving shimmers into life.

The orcs stop as a beam of white glittering light shoots up. There’s a pause as the light fades and Vargan scoffs. “What? That’s it?”

“PROTECT HER!” Tuk shouts grabbing Vargan and Kiada. Varg holds his shield out to the confused humans. Tuk smacks him and pushes the shield up so it’s protecting them from the clear blue sky.

A volley of ice-spears come crashing from the sky, spearing the attackers where they stand. The ice crashes into his shield, again and again. The assault only lasting five seconds but it was long enough to kill the humans caught out in the open.

Tuk grabs hold of you as your legs give out, easing you onto the ground. “Princess? Stay with us!”

The world lurches and slowly darkness creeps in and claims you.

---

When you woke you woke with a jolt and a gasp. There had been blood everywhere! Bodies riddling the road. Putting your head in your hands you rub your face and look around.

Kiada laid beside you, asleep. Tuk sat in front of Vargan, the two of them arguing over the arrow in his chest.

“You’re awake.” Varg pointed to you with his chin and Tuk turned, ripping the arrow out.

A roar split into the night as Vargan glared at the goblin. Tuk only offering a sheepish smile as a dull white glow encompassed his hand.

Kiada groaned, turning over.

Standing up you stumbled and moved toward the fire. Your body drenched in a cold sweat. The memories your dream knitted together haunting you still.

“I’m surprised you cast that spell so quickly! The blessing of Oldirian really is something else.” Tuk praises, looking up for a moment to shoot you a smile.

“Oldirian?” Vargan grunts, his hand clamping over the goblins.

“I’m almost done you big baby. Kiada didn’t complain this much and she had a dagger in the gut!”

“Yeah yeah. Just hurry it up.” Varg snorts. His green eyes settle back on you, warming your hands by the fire. “I didn’t know you knew battle magic.”

Glancing up you saw his shirt and armor was off, his bare chest exposed. Surprisingly he didn’t have many scars at all. No thanks to Tuk’s magic you bet. Scoffing you looked back to the fire. “The better to oppress you with?”

Tuk snorted, laughing until the orc leader clocked him over the head.

“Ouch! Hey you were asking for that one!” Tuk pulled his hand away, grabbing some bandages and started wrapping up the much smaller wound.

“Why don’t you just heal him completely?” You ask walking up to them. You can feel Varg staring at you but you ignore him.

Tuk looks up, a star-struck look in his eyes. “U-uh well. Us g-goblins don’t have quite the magic prowess that you elves do.. besides it’s good that the body remembers how to heal itself.”

Pulling Tuk’s hand away you lean in, blowing gently on the puncture. Placing your palm over it you whisper a small incantation and a strong shimmering white light engulfs your hand. Pulling your hand away you shake your head at the hand print of light left behind. “You can remember how to heal later. Did you say Kiada was hurt too?”

Tuk nods, speechless. He watches you as you kneel next to Kiada, hand on her side. “She’s amazing...”

Varg scoffs, rubbing his chest where the wound had been. “Elves.”

The goblin glances to the leader as Varg pulls a tunic over his head and curiously stretches. The soreness of his body from the travels gone too.

Tuk smiles knowingly and Varg shoves him back where he gladly runs up to you and pulls you back toward the fire. “Here.”

Holding out a stick with a skewered eggplant on it you slowly take it. Forcing back your laughter you bite your lip. “Thank you.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you could use battle magic?” Varg scoffed, plopping down beside you. His big body inches away.

What could you say that wouldn’t feed into his ‘elves are holier than thou’ image he had of you? A moment of silence passed and you shrugged, biting into the eggplant. The taste was bland but for once... you weren’t hungry.

“You could have saved my men when they attacked the first time.”The orc pressed.

Oh.That’s what he meant. “Watch your tone please.”

“Hey hey! Why don’t we just-” Tuk tried to diffuse the situation.

“Tone? My TONE bothers you but the half-dozen men I lost doesn’t?” His voice is raised, anger seeping into it.

Sighing you hand Tuk the roasted vegetable. “Honestly Vargan.”

“ ‘Honestly Vargan’“ He mimics, voice raised painfully high. “ ‘You expect me to waste my time on a few orc lives I hired to die for me?’ “

You look down taking a deep breath and keeping your emotions in check. “You made up your mind about the person I am. The only thing I can do in your mind is confirm it.”

“BULL SHIT! Their lives are worth more than just a few scraps of a rare metal!” He’s roaring now.

Tuk reaches up, trying to pull Varg away. “Let’s all calm down. It’s not anyone’s fau-”

“SHE HAD A WAY TO SAVE THEM AND DIDN’T EVEN TELL US!” Varg screams.

Kiada turns, sitting up groggily and trying to figure out what the screaming was about.

Your heart is racing, fear freezing you in place like it had back then. If you panicked your magic could kill people indiscriminately. The last attack was proof of that. If it hadn’t been for Tuk you all could have died... but saying that wouldn’t help. Vargan would only point out how that meant even they were ‘expendable’.

His green eyes bore down on you. There was pain there. Hidden by anger. You look away. “What do you want to hear? That i’m sorry? I didn’t kill your men Vargan.”

“You didn’t save them either!” Varg snaps back.

“Giliandras!” You curse. He was impossible!

“Fuck you too you damn knife ear!” Varg spits, barely missing your foot.

Your jaw drops and you stand, hands clenched into fists. A white light shimmering over them. No. You had to stay calm. They were you escorts. Not your enemies.

“Awe does the elfie wanna fight?” The orc leader teases.

“Varg..” Kiada warns, grabbing him by the back of his tunic.

Tuk glances back and forth between you two and shifts uncomfortably.

“Nah she should prove she’s better than me!” Vargan growls. “Obviously she thinks she is.”

Your jaw works. “I accept.” You growl through gritted teeth.

Tuk’s jaw drops. “Y-you WHAT?”

“I accept your request for a duel. Winnings are bragging rights. I’ll even throw in an extra 100 gold for each of you if you win.” Crossing your arms you raise a brow.

“Think about this Varg. She’s an elf. It’s magic.” Kiada warns, stepping away from the two.

“ Bout time someone put you in your damn place.” The orc grumbles, cracking his knuckles.

Standing up you both venture away from the fire to the other side of the clearing.

“Twenty silver on the princess.” Tuk says, nudging Kiada.

“You’re on goblin.” Kiada laughs. “Varg’s got this.”

“Whenever you’re ready then.” Holding your head up you mutter a small barrier spell under your breath.

His charge is loud as he runs...rather fast for an orc. Crossing your arms you wait for him to slam into the shield. Sure enough he does. The magic kicking into effect and lighting up the clearing in that familiar shimmering white light.

“What’s the matter?” You tease, watching him scramble to his feet and look over the light in anger.

Backing up he bashes into it again with his shield. The light sparking back to life.

“Was that your strategy? Just keep hitting it?” You ask as he slams into the barrier again. Sighing you sit down and begin your next spell. Letting him continue to bash against the barrier, eventually bringing it down as the light slowly twinkles back to the ground.

“YES! THAT’S IT VARG!” Kiada cheers. “I knew he could do it!”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Tuk breathes.

Sure enough as Varg stalks forward he slams into another barrier. “IS THAT ALL YOU CAN FUCKING DO? Damn barriers?” He roars. “FIGHT ME!”

With a heavy sigh you stand up. “Okay but remember that you asked for this.” Raising your hand you dispersed the barrier in front of him and he charged toward you, sword raised.

Bringing your hand down the light from before surged up from the grass, trapping him in a beam of light with his sword raised to strike you down.

Smiling you waved your hand to the side, readying the spear of ice spell from before. You just had to graze -

“NULLIFY!” Varg screamed. The beam of light that trapped him flickered out of existence and your eyes went wide as his sword came down. You screamed, staggering back and falling.

“HOW THE FUCK DID YOU LEARN TO NULLIFY MAGIC?!” You scream, running from him.

“STAND STILL!” He roars back.

Screaming you panic. Unable to recall any spells at the moment to help you. You continue to run until your panting and his breathing is far to close for comfort. Screaming again you turn to face him, eyes shut against the magic blast. “GET AWAY FROM ME!”

The blast sends him rolling head over heel backwards and the two watching leap out of the way.

“URGGGG!” Varg jumps to his feet, storming back toward you as you try to catch your breath. “THAT'S ALL YOU GOT?”

Sighing you shake your head. “Can’t you just....stop?” You curse and raise your hand, firing the spell upward before you start running. You needed to get him to stay in one place for it to work.. Suddenly you’re tackled. Sent sprawling into the dirt where he ditches his shield to clap a hand over you mouth.

Well..that kinda worked.

“I win. Now say it. Say i’m better than you!” He leans back, taking his hand from your mouth as he glares down at your triumphantly.

Kiada nudges Tuk and smirks. “Pay up.”

Tuk fidgets, brows furrowed and lips turned into a frown as his eyes scan the night sky.

“Come on Tuk! Now’s not the time to admire some stars. You owe me 20 silver!” Kiada scoffs.

A single spear of ice comes crashing down from the sky. Piercing Vargan in the calf and pulling a deafening roar from his lips. The orc turns, looking at the thin spear and then back to you. He wasn’t the only one caught in the attack. The ice pierced your thigh too.

You meet his glare with your own pained gaze. The sound of Tuk and Kiada’s footsteps filling the silence.

Looking away you sighed. “I’m sorry Vargan. For everything.”

Tuk slid to their knee’s beside you, examining the ice that pinned you two together.

Reaching down you touched the spear, releasing the magic that had conjured it into existence. Placing your hand on his calf you healed the wound quickly. He rolled away from you once you were done, storming off. Kiada hot on his heels.

Sitting up you placed your hand over your own wound and healing it but remaining there.

“Are you okay?” Tuk asks, tilting his head.

“Hm?” You blink, looking over to the scarred face of the goblin. “I wonder.” Standing up you test your weight on your injured leg and brush yourself off.

Tuk’s still staring at you, confused concern in his eyes. “Why do you look sad? Didn’t you win?”

Looking up to the stars you take a deep breath. “Let’s just hurry up and get this journey over with.”

Even more confused Tuk follows after you. You hide at the edge of the camp, pretending to be asleep until you finally fall asleep.

P.S

I wanted to do ‘something different’ and make a story where YOU yes YOU choose who you fall in love with.

Buying me a Ko-fi counts as 3 votes!

Who do you want to fall in love with?

Kiada the female orc?

Tuk the scared but sweet goblin?

Vargan the rough and tumble company leader?

Or the elven prince you’re betrothed to?

#orcs #no smutt yet #it's a multi part story.#Goblin #Vote on the love interest!#Who do you fall in love with?

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herohawks · 6 years ago

Text

Five times Connor is forced to call Hank “dad”. They both suffer.

A/N: short little snippets im writing while my wrist is out of commission. dont know if im going to post them to ao3 since kinda crack-ish lmao. feel free to send me prompts.

---

PART 1

“Remind me again why we agreed to this shit?”

Connor hefts a box onto his shoulder and balances another on his hip. Hank is struggling to carry one. The bottom of the cardboard is not taped adequately to withstand the current weight. Hank had been the one to tape this particular box, but Connor thinks it best not to point this out.

“We agreed to take the case because we are one of the few within the DPD who specialize in android-human crime. And, as Captain Fowler pointed out, our particular skill sets will allow us to infiltrate this group much easier than our other coworkers,” Connor says as he leads the way to the front door of their new home.

Hank snorts, uneven steps following not far behind. “Skill sets. Yeah. That what they’re calling it these days?”

“That’s what the captain called it, yes.” Connor deftly switches the box on his hip to his knee, balancing it between his leg and the wall so he can fish out the house key the captain had entrusted to him.

The key latches in easily and Connor swings the door open with little fanfare. He allows Hank to go first under the guise of trying to get a better grip on the box he’s currently holding over his knee. The structural integrity of Hank’s box is nearly at its limit.

“Well,” Hank huffs, dropping the box onto the living room floor with a muffled thump. Connor sets his down much more gently. “Jeffrey has always been too nice for his own good, so I’m gonna set it to you straight. You look like a goddamned twink and Jeffrey thinks your scrawny ass will fit in real well with these other skinny, starving college kids. I’m here to make sure you don’t screw it up.”

Connor looks to the ceiling and sighs. It’s a mannerism he’s picked up from Detective Reed that he quite likes. It accurately and efficiently sums up what he wishes to convey with little effort on his part.

“I am not ‘scrawny’,” Connor says, a tad defensive. “Second, the term ‘twink’ is widely outdated and carries negative conn—“

“Connor. Do me a favor and shut the fuck up.” Hank stretches his back, then groans loudly when it pops. “Jesus, I’m too old for this shit.”

“You only carried one box,” Connor points out helpfully, twirling the key ring on his finger for lack of anything better to do with his hands. He itches to go bring in the other nine boxes stacked in Hank’s car.

Hank rolls his eyes so hard Connor is briefly worried that they’ll fall out their sockets. “Jesus Christ. Just – go get the other boxes, would ya?”

Connor does, and makes good time. Hank grumbles while unpacking the boxes, throwing things in a haphazard manner that must have some sort of logic to it, though it’s not one that Connor can decipher at a glance.

With Hank’s back turned to him, Connor takes the chance to run a quick scan. The lieutenant’s blood sugar is low, and Connor detects a minor muscle strain in his lower back from poor posture and lack of adequate hydration.

They still need to go grocery shopping, but Connor had packed a few granola bars and water bottles just in case. He digs them out of one of the boxes and kneels down beside Hank to hand them over. “You need to eat, Lieutenant.”

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, snatching the water and energy bar from Connor. He sets it aside so Connor leaves him be and goes to unpack the other boxes.

They settle into an easy rhythm. An hour later, Connor hears the telltale crinkle of the protein bar being unwrapped and wisely says nothing when Hank’s mood significantly improves from that point after.

What probably felt like an eternity for Hank but was in actuality three hours and thirty-two minutes, they’re finally finished settling in. Connor is pleased to note everything is where it needs to be when he does a cursory scan of the rooms. Despite Hank’s grumbling, they make a great team.

“Great work, Lieutenant,” Connor says as he comes back into the living room where Hank is currently lounging on the couch. “It seems like everything is in order.”

Hank scoffs. “Don’t act so surprised.” A pause. “And it’s not ‘Lieutenant’ right now. Don’t blow our cover.”

“You’re right. Sorry, Dad.” The moment the sentence leaves his vocal unit, a heavy silence stretches between them. Connor has a peculiar urge to exit the room and not return for maybe forever.

“Okay. That was fucking weird,” Hank says finally, breaking the tense hush that had fallen over the room. He runs a hand over his beard, eyes flicking around but never settling on one thing for long.

Connor feels some of the tenseness in his shoulders melt away at the implication that Hank, too, may be feeling some measure of awkwardness. “I agree.”

“Shit. We need to get our shit together before we’re seen in public.”

“It’ll take some getting used to,” Connor admits, and runs a finger along the outer seam of his jeans. They’re not as comfortable nor as flexible as the pants CyberLife had issued him, but it’s currently the style preference of many young adults, and Connor has to blend in. He still misses his own pants, though.

“Want to go grab a bite and forget this ever happened?” Hank asks as he pulls himself up from the couch with a grunt.

Connor does. “Yes. I would like that.”

Hank makes a valiant effort to throw his crumpled wrapper into the small waste bin set along the floor separating the kitchen and living room. He misses. Connor quietly goes over and places the wrapper in the bin.

“Thanks. Hey, don’t forget your glasses,” Hank says and Connor can’t help but wrinkle his nose. Hank laughs. “What, not a fan?”

“You know I’m not,” Connor says, a little cross. Nevertheless, he unhooks it from his shirt and puts them on. They constantly slip down the bridge of his nose. “It’s impractical.”

Hank does not care about his suffering. “It’s your disguise so quit complaining. You’re not the only one who had to make some changes.”

The lieutenant scruffs a self-conscious hand over his freshly cut hair. It’s shorn short with the top a little longer – it looks good, Connor thinks. Makes him appear younger and highlighting the blues of his eyes.

Connor’s glasses, on the other hand, do not look good. They’re clunky and annoying, and Connor thinks they sit awkwardly on his face. The urge to snap them in half is strong.

“They look fine,” Hank says with the tone of someone who’s said this many, many times, which he has. Connor does not believe him any of those times. “Hurry up. I’m starving.”

“Fine.” Connor is getting better at expressing his displeasure through his tone, but Hank tends to ignore this new development as he does with anything he finds inconvenient.

They decide to walk. More accurately, Connor decides that if they’re going to order something unhealthy, they can, at the very least, walk there. Hank is not pleased. Connor doesn’t care.

A mile and a half later, a small lot with a few food trucks parked in a messy half-circle comes into view. Hank makes a beeline for the hotdog truck so Connor trails behind him. Hank orders a hotdog with only one topping at Connor’s insistence, and Connor buys a small vanilla milkshake to maintain appearances.

The lot is very crowded, but they manage to snag a table near the sidewalk and away from most of the congested foot-traffic. There’s a light drizzle so Connor pops open the umbrella attached to the table. The atmosphere reminds him of their meeting at the Chicken Feed all those months ago, when Hank had been skeptical and Connor had been apologetic and insistent.

That had been one of their first, positive conversations. It’s a fond memory, one that Connor keeps tucked away in his memory files for safekeeping.

“So,” Hank says, snapping Connor out of his musings. “Excited about your first day of school tomorrow?” Hank is grinning so Connor levels him with an unimpressed look. “What? A father can’t have a healthy interest in his son’s education?”

Connor sets his plastic cup down firmly. “No.”

“Don’t be like that,” Hank laughs and Connor shakes his head, rubbing his fingers along his temple in a gesture he’s seen Hank do many times.

His fingers stutter over the place where his LED used to be, the synthetic skin smooth to the touch. He feels oddly naked without it. Vulnerable. He wouldn’t mind the glasses half as much if he could just have his LED back.

Something must show on his face because Hank’s smile fades a few seconds later, replaced with a worried expression. “Hey, kid. You alright?”

“Fine,” Connor says a touch too quickly. Hank’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly unconvinced. He runs a finger one more time over his temple before placing it back on the table. “Nervous, maybe.”

“Hmm. About school?” The way he says it implies he is talking about something else. Connor believes he is inquiring about their current undercover case, so he nods. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll be fine. You’re smart, and a fast learner. You’ll fit right in.”

Connor has his doubts. While he’s done extensive research into the university as well as updating his human integration program to include the most recent pop culture and dialect, Connor can’t help the uneasiness that settles in the pit of his stomach. Maybe Hank is right. Perhaps this is beyond their capabilities.

Connor keeps silent and pretends to sip his milkshake.

College is…an experience.

Connor takes the automated bus despite Hank’s insistence he drive him there. The walkways are constantly flooded with harried students and Connor finds himself having to fight the crowd more often than not.

He observes that many of his peers carry some type of overly-caffeinated beverage on them at all times (there had been a memorable moment when Connor’s sensors had picked up vodka disguised as water in someone’s water bottle, but he’d kept the information to himself). After this observation, Connor stopped by the local coffee shop on campus to purchase a small, black coffee. It reminds him of Hank.

His classes had been fairly boring, but Connor supposes that is to be expected. Hank had told him university was probably going to be uninteresting to an android that could calculate over a thousand possible scenarios in two seconds. Connor had promptly told him it actually takes him an average of 0.53 seconds to compute those scenarios, which had resulted in Hank scuffing him across the head.

Connor, despite his reservations, slots into college life seamlessly. Finding the group responsible for the android hate crimes disguised as hazing is almost too simple. They arrest the group three months later once he’s obtained the proper amount of evidence, plus some. Connor wishes they’d at least make it a challenge.

Overall, a success.

“Good job on your first undercover op,” Hank says over dinner.

Here, Connor doesn’t have to pretend to eat. He hadn’t realized how exhausting it is to pretend to be human. His LED is firmly reinstalled, and Connor brings his fingers up to brush it periodically, the familiar ridges soothing.

Sumo lies by their feet, tail thumping happily every time Connor or Hank looks his way. The Saint Bernard had missed them dearly in their four months apart.

“Thank you.” Connor is pleased with the results. His whole body feels warm, but jittery at the same time, like he has excess energy that can’t be contained. He bounces his leg, he twiddles his fingers, and shifts his posture every few seconds. “I’m glad we were able to bring them to justice.”

“Nah,” Hank says after swallowing a bite of his vegetarian stir-fry (Connor’s making, of course). “You’re just happy you don’t have to wear those dorky glasses anymore.”

“So you agree, then. That they looked bad.” Connor feels betrayed. Hank had told him they’d looked fine. Hank is a filthy liar.

Hank snorts and shovels more food into his mouth before replying. “What’d you do with them anyway?” Avoiding Connor’s sort-of question.

Connor rolls his shoulders in a self-satisfied way, and shoots Hank a sly grin. “On the record, I disposed of them in the appropriate recycling bin. Off the record, they may have ended up in a bonfire at the last party I attended as a college student.”

Hank barks a laugh and slaps the table. Connor smiles, too. “Shit,” Hank says, wiping his eyes. “You make me proud, kid.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell ya what, though. Having you call me ‘dad’ for four months was probably the most awkward four months of my life. As long as we don’t gotta do that shit again, I can die happy,” Hank says, taking a sip of his water.

Connor nods. “Agreed.”

#lmaooo #im trash this is trash #also it was an excuse to have connor wear glasses bc why not #pls dont take this srsly im just trying to keep writing while i have one hand #come scream with me abt bby boy connor if u want #im always in need of inspiration or prompts #dbh #detroit become human #connor #hank anderson #writing

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elysianbucky · 7 years ago

Text

Alberta pt.1 pt.2

Relationship: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Dark things lurk in legends and in the dark

A/N: I MADE A SCARY HALLOWEEN THING! You guys will have to tell me if you like the length and the gore.

Warnings: gore, blood, character death

Words: 2,889

“Bucky, get back here,” (Y/N) whimpered, cowering at the sound of a crunching branch and quickening her pace to reach the, much taller, man ahead of her. She angrily grumbled to herself and wiped at the lenses of her glasses with the sleeve of the shirt that was under her jacket.

“You’re fine, (y/nn)” Bucky reassured her again. He honestly didn’t know if they were okay or not, what he did know was that their friends were missing and that they didn’t have a good chance of finding them out here in the cold.

(Y/N) gained on Bucky and matched his pace. “Maybe they’re at the cabin laughing at us for all of this, we should go back,” she puffed out, letting her warm breath steam up around her. It wasn’t the first time they’d lead the pair astray in hopes of getting them alone together, this was definitely the worst though.

It started as a trip to Alberta, Canada, a sweet Halloween gift to their friend Heather from her, obscenely nice, parents. (Y/N) and Bucky, at first, were hesitant to travel so far from home, but they were eventually won over by the hopeful begs of all of their friends.

The group consisted of (Y/N), Bucky, Heather, Drake, and Anthony. They’d known each other for years; all of them meeting at different times, yet somehow making there ways to one another.

And now (Y/N) and Bucky were here; lost in the cold, searching blindly for a shrill scream that they didn’t even know was genuine or not.

“You know there are monsters here, right?” (Y/N) stated in a hushed tone. Bucky had to admit that the phrase scared him more than he thought it should.

“What kind?” Bucky asked, hoping to fill the silence.

“Wendigo.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed and he tried to suppress a chuckle. “A wang-dan-go?” he repeated incorrectly, shrugging down to walk under a branch.

“Wendigo, Buck,” She corrected, “they’re spirits from the mountain that possess people who engage in cannibalism.”

“You’re joking. Cannibalism?” Bucky laughed out, finding complete amusement in the tale.

(Y/N) huffed, “am not. It’s true; it was in a book at the lodge. There were diagrams and warnings and it said that the best ways to kill them are fire or decapitation. Once the hunger sets in, you have a choice as to whether or not you actually eat human flesh.” She could feel the muscles in her legs burning and her intakes of breath were shortening.

A twig snapped near the pair. “Did you hear that?” Bucky mumbled; his eyes lowered to rake the ground surrounding their feet in search of anything broken.

(Y/N)’s eyes remained locked on something behind Bucky’s head. “Bucky, don’t move,” she instructed soothingly, “you’ll be okay, just don’t move.”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice, he could see the reflection of the creature, the wendigo, in her glasses. He gulped loudly and quickly squinted his eyes in attempt to calm his nerves.

It was tall, and pale. The thing looked so sickly inhuman, its features were sunken in and Bucky could see scattered tufts of matted fur poking from its head. And it’s eyes, they looked blinded; a milky film covered them and Bucky felt like they were latching onto his soul. He broke his gaze from the reflection to look at the girl; she looked tough as ever, staring down the creature that tripled her size.

A piercing shout ripped through the air, “(Y/N)! Bucky!” Drake was looking for them. The beast perked its head up and scurried in the direction of the sound. (Y/N) waited until it was out of earshot, before grabbing onto Bucky and leading them back to the lodge.

“We can’t go back yet,” Bucky panted, trying to tug his arm away, “it’s after Drake!”

(Y/N) tugged at him hastily, “no, it’s not. Drake hasn’t ever called me ‘(Y/N)’, it must’ve been another wendigo trying to get us to come to it. We’re going home; the one we saw was covered in blood, Buck.”

“Blood?”

“Yes, and, honestly, it looked fresh. I could smell it,” She admitted, eyes glazing over fearfully. “We just have to get home, before they find us.”

Bucky nodded curtly in reply and followed (Y/N)´s footsteps in the packed snow that they had originally trekked.

When they finally saw the lights of the lodge, (Y/N) grabbed ahold of Bucky’s hand. “We have to be careful-,” her eyes flicked towards the ground across from them, “is that Heather’s bag?”

Without releasing his hand, she pulled him towards the pale pink bag. She knelt down and stuck a hand out to grab onto it. “Oh, my God,” she whimpered, quickly tugging back her hand that was now soaked in crimson.

Hesitantly, she reached again for the bag; yet, this time, she slung the product-stuffed item onto her shoulder. She was mindful to not touch the thoroughly soaked part.

“Do you want me to carry that instead?” Bucky asked politely.

“No, I’ve got it. Could you hand me her hairspray though?” (Y/N) answered, biting away at her tears that threatened to fall and holding out her hand for the item. With the can in hand, (Y/N) pulled a lighter from the pocket of her pants and held it in a poised position.

They trudged towards the lodge like this. (Y/N) stood half a step in front of Bucky and was armed with her own personal flamethrower; Bucky stood behind her, eyes kept peeled on their surroundings and voice kept on alert to warn her of any movement.

A quick figure darted past Bucky’s vision and he quickly latched onto (Y/N), pulling her close to his chest in a protective way.

“What are you doing?” the figure asked angrily, waving his arms wildly.

“Anthony, you’re okay?” (Y/N) chirped, releasing an excited breath of air.

“Of course, I am,” Anthony grumbled; his movements were stark.

Bucky eyed Anthony cautiously, “Ant, stop moving so much, something’s out here.”

Bucky meant the warning to be pleasant, but Anthony took it differently.

“You’re such a tool, you know that, right?” Anthony hollered, scaring a few birds from their roosts, “you’re not the boss of me, Buck!” he added, jumping through the trudged snow piles and flailing his arms.

“Are you drunk, I said to knock it-,” Bucky was cut short by the creature that flooded his sight. To the side of Anthony, another wendigo stood patiently, sizing up the rambunctious male.

“What was that, Buck?” Anthony questioned, “oh, right. The sweet sound of your silence.”

“Ant, please,” (Y/N) begged, whilst keeping eye contact with the beast, “it’s right there.”

“You’re just as bad as Bucky, (Y/NN). If it’s a monster, let it take me. I don’t have anything. You chose Bucky; you always choose Bucky.”

“This isn’t the time for a suicide attempt, Ant. Please, we can talk about this inside,” she offered pathetically.

“Yes, it is,” Anthony answered shortly and rushed towards the pair.

Anthony never had a chance; the wendigo latched ahold of him, mere inches from (Y/N)’s face. When the creature’s talons dug into Anthony’s flesh, the sound of squishy shreds ripped through the silent night and the hot, thick blood drenched Bucky and (Y/N) in Anthony’s warmth.

Anthony’s face was frozen in a silent scream and his eyes rolled backwards into his head. (Y/N) heard his heart stop; the melodic pounding of his heart, stopping as if it hit a wall. The wendigo screeched ominously and ran with Anthony’s remains.

(Y/N) stood liked a statue, blood dripped down her mouth and face, and her grip on the can and lighter was so tight that her knuckles burned a bright white. Bucky, who was covered in far less blood, doubled over in gagging heaves and his eyes filled with heavy tears at the thought of what had happened prior.

“We gotta go home, Buck,” (Y/N) stated after a bit. Her expression remained stoic; she held the appearance of a horror-film character. She calmly helped him up and led him the rest of the way to the lodge.

The lodge shone like a beacon; it’s painted-chipped outer walls stood securely and safely. Its age was shown in the audible creaks that erupted from the porch when a step was made. The door that was attached to its front, weighed nearly a ton, but the protection that it promised was more than Bucky or (Y/N) could ever ask for.

The living-room was home to a large fireplace, one that Bucky took heed in lighting. (Y/N) dropped the items she held and shrugged Heather’s bag off to peel off her sticky coat.

“Are you okay?” Bucky comforted, when he saw (Y/N) drop onto the couch that faced the fire. Her face was so thoroughly slicked with blood, that her features were hardly noticeable. Her head bobbed, but it quickly fell into a disapproving shake and tears left streaks in the covering on her face.

“I’m not dead. Does that count as okay, Buck?” she whispered, “We have to call someone, maybe the police.”

Bucky agreed with a curt nod and retrieved his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He tucked the little device into the crook of his neck and made the call.

“(Y/NN)?” A short voice called.

“Drake? Are you okay?” (Y/N) interrogated. She twisted herself in the direction of the sound. He stood at the beginning of the hall with shrugged shoulders; the darkness in the room hid his features, but the light from the fireplace highlighted his silhouette.

“Maybe,” he answered, moving closer to the couch, “I’m starving.”

“Have you eaten anything?” she asked calmly, trying to decipher a way to tell him that his girlfriend was missing and that his best friend was just brutally murdered by a seven-foot-tall, possessed cannibal.

“Yeah. I ate before Heather and I went out to look for you guys.”

“You went outside?” she asked in horror, “and you’re still okay?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Drake waved off.

“Do you know where Heather is, like at all?”

“She was here earlier,” he shrugged, “Can we turn on a light?”

(Y/N) was taken aback by his lack of concern. Drake and Heather had been together for years, far before she had met either of them. She nodded hesitantly in reply to his question and eyed him cautiously as he waltzed over to the light switch.

Red. Blood red. That was all Bucky or (Y/N) could see. Drake was covered in patches of it from head to toe. Long strips of Heather’s shirt hung, covered in blood, from the front pockets of his jeans. He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by the horrified looks that adored their faces either.

“You’re covered in blood too,” Drake hummed nonchalantly, “did you read that book? I mean, eternal life and all you have to do is eat someone.” He seemed amazed by the simplicity of the gruesome act.

“We didn’t eat anyone,” Bucky gasped, “you ate someone. You ate Heather. She’s a person; she’s our friend! Are you crazy, Drake?”

“It was fine! She didn’t even realize until she woke up. I hit her pretty hard with that rock though. She probably couldn’t remember her own name,” Drake babbled un-relentlessly, fueling the disgust that resided in Bucky and (Y/N)’s stomachaches.

“You’re not possessed yet,” she said as if it were a question asking why he hadn’t yet turned into the monster that he was internally.

“The book said that it could take a few days.” It sounded as if Drake was talking about something as simple as a homework assignment. “You should’ve heard Heather scream, it was like we were in some kind of movie.”

(Y/N) and Bucky glared at him in disbelief. Drake just stood, unwavering, by the light. His slouched shoulders mimicked the man that they once knew, but this thing was nothing like him. She shuffled backwards off the couch towards Bucky.

“You two together now?” Drake questioned, a sly smile growing on his face, “It was bound to happen.”

“Why are you acting normally?” (Y/N) deflected. Out of the corner of her vision, she caught sight of Bucky’s lit phone screen; he had never ended the call to the police. They had to have started the drive to get to the lodge after hearing the conversation.

“I’m still Drake, (Y/NN),” he replied as if he’d been asked the most ridiculous question. “I’m going outside to be with them soon. I had to pack some things.”

“You do realize that those things out there aren’t human? They don’t have things; they have hunger and they for damn sure don’t care about you,” she shouted angrily, “You murdered Heather for nothing because when you go out there, they will attack you and you’ll be dead; you’ll be nothing.”

“Bucky, you better learn to control her. She’s starting to piss me off and I’ve already killed one girl today, I wouldn’t be too fazed by killing another,” Drake scolded, looking past (Y/N) at Bucky.

“Test their affections towards you,” (Y/N) dared, catching Drake’s attention, “You think they’ll care for you? Test it. Prove to me, to us, that those things actually care enough for you to let you live.”

“Really, (Y/NN)? You’re such a child. These games are ridiculous,” Drake insulted, “but, just to see the look on your little face, I’ll do it. And when I survive, I’m marching right back up to this house to rip your throat out and I’ll be kind enough to let your little boyfriend watch me do it.”

Drake stood up straight, his posture resembling a board. He must’ve had some doubts because (Y/N) could glimpse a slight wobble to his lower lip, but, nonetheless, he sauntered out of the door and into the freezing, pitch-black night.

(Y/N) quickly scurried to the window and flicked on the porch lights, illuminating Drake’s stage as if he was performing a show. Bucky scooted beside her and pushed his face towards a free pane.

They could hear Drake’s muffled shouts. He was calling the group of wendigo to him. The atmosphere of the lodge had changed, Bucky and (Y/N)’s breathing had quickened in pace and their hearts pounded as they watched the scene below them.

Something cowered in the shadows behind Drake, (Y/N) could see it. She didn’t say a word though; she could tell Bucky’s eyes were locked on Drake.

If Drake was dead, she wouldn’t have to worry about him returning to hurt Bucky and no matter how much she cared about Drake, she couldn’t allow him to kill again.

The wendigo crawled closer to Drake, he still hadn’t noticed that the beast was behind him, just waiting for him to make a wrong move. Drake turned towards the house, an angered look on his face and he yelled.

(Y/N) nor Bucky could make out what he said, but it seemed to have set off the creature that stood outside of his vision. It jumped at him, raking its nails down his side. Drake screamed out and stumbled quickly backwards in the direction of the lodge.

Blood stained the snow behind Drake and its path grew as he neared the porch. The creature seemed to have let him go, much to Bucky and (Y/N)’s surprise.

Drake’s first footfall onto the old wood let out a deafening scream that nearly called out to the beasts, “Here I am. Come get me!” The boy’s eyes widened dangerously and he wobbled as he attempted to pick up his pace.

Another wendigo, the largest Bucky or (Y/N) had seen so far, preyed on Drake. It’s body was lowered in a cat-like stance and it looked more than ready to pounce onto the already wounded victim. It stalked towards him, examining his moves in divine detail.

A claw from its frost-bitten hand raised in Drake’s direction; it swatted at him, leaving a thick cut across his arm and Drake gasped out in pain. The beast cocked its head to the side, appearing to be amused by the pain it had inflicted, yet it didn’t take its final blow. It watched as Drake stumbled up the steps and only moved to flick its talons and watch lines of blood open across Drake’s skin.

Drake’s feet planted themselves onto the porch, he was only mere steps from being back into the safety of the lodge. (Y/N) and Bucky watched as a pool of thick red gathered at Drake’s feet, it seemed unreal at how much he seemed to be losing.

The wendigo raised its hand again and threw it, with much more force than it had previously, at Drake’s arm, which dangled loosely by his side.

A sickening thud sounded out as the severed limb fell to the ground, Drake was far too gone into his impending death to even make a sound. His eyes just traveled downwards and caught sight of the ragged flesh, he let out a defeated whimper, and continued to putter to the door.

The beast turned around and retreated into the thick foliage of the woods. (Y/N) and Bucky quickly scouted the surrounding land, before opening to door to Drake, who was now swaying drunkenly. His singular arm reached out to grab ahold of Bucky and he pulled himself to step further into the house, so that (Y/N) could barricade them within the house.

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