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itsphoenix0724 · 3 months

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All Things Vile (Eris x Reader)

Summary: A recon mission to the Autumn Court gets more heated than you intended. They say Autumn males fuck like they have fire in their veins-you guess you're about to find out.

Warnings: ROUGH SMUT (this is pure filth and I'm not sorry), kind of dark, oral (m!receiving) choking, bondage

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for him, been a while since I wrote in general since I'm adjusting back into my school life. Chapter 3 of MMOTI is drafted and will hopefully be released soon! But anyway here's a smutty Eris fic for all of you <3

The Autumn Court was ablaze in moonlit revelry. The scent of spiced cider and ale consumed the grove along with the smell of the blazing campfire. Fog weaved in and out of the shadow-drenched trees, urging the partygoers to follow its trail into the darkness. You could make out bodies against trees, males and females losing themselves in one another, as you jumped silently along the oak’s branches. It was a simple mission; Get in and get out, that’s what Rhys had said, and that’s what you fully intended on doing. Cloaked in darkness, mask pulled up to hide everything but your eyes, you found your target.

A drunken blush stained his pale cheeks, and the blood-red silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned so obscenely low you could see the dappling of freckles along his chest in the firelight. His auburn hair was unruly; the waves held down only by the circlet of gold leaves that marked him as the firstborn son of Autumn. His lips were stained from the wine he was sipping and his eyes had taken on a seductive half-lid as he somehow fixed his burning gaze straight onto you.

Fuck, Rhys was going to kill you.

Eris stood from his chair in one smooth motion, prowling towards your spot hidden in the woods like a mountain cat, amber eyes burning. You jump down from your tree, weaving through the branches like smoke to try to lose the lordling who’s hot on your tail. Nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the sounds of footfalls echo through the dark wood. You just need to get to the border, Eris won’t have the gall to cross after you. You can see the green grass of Spring, the pastel pink of the cherry blossoms grotesquely clashing with the russet hues of the forest that currently surrounds you.

You can almost smell the sickly sweet air when a hand encircles your wrist like a hot brand.

The world tips and falls, the grass slipping out from under your feet as you’re dropped into a room, landing on all fours against a hardwood floor. Bands of fire wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the ground, not burning but holding you there. The tell-tale wave of nausea that means you’ve been winnowed somewhere quickly overwhelms you as you try not to heave onto the plush burgundy rug infront of you.

Eris has taken you to his room at Fir Hall, his private estate away from his life wrapped in court politics, you’re familiar with the home after many spy missions here. Your eyes fix on the Autumn Prince with a burning ferocity, and he does nothing but glare back down at you from where he looms above you.

“Well, well what has fallen into my trap,” He fixes you with a wolfish smile as he pulls down your mask, and your lips peel back into a snarl. “Hello Sweetheart,” he purrs as he tucks a loose hair behind your ears. “I’ve missed you, it’s very nice to see you again.” He tries to run a thumb over your bottom lip, but you snap your teeth in his direction like a feral animal and he wisely pulls his hand away.

“Bite me,” you growl out as Eris crouches down until he’s at eye level with you. A hound cornering a wild fox, it seemed the hunter had won tonight as he lets out a laugh that leaves a burning caress down your spine.

“Oh, I intend to.” He promises, stroking his hand along the back of your hair, pulling out the hair tie, and letting it fall around your face. “Now will you mind your manners?” He raises a copper brow, eyes dancing with amusement. The bond buried deep in your chest tries to wiggle free of its restraints, begging you to let it play with the other half of your soul.

“Never,” you vow to him even as the mischief in his eyes turns to longing. This is torture denying yourself of him.

But how could you not?

Beron is still High Lord, if you were to tie yourself to him you would have to abide by his rules. You would rather claw your own eyes out. And if your family ever found out, if Mor ever found out, the shame and guilt would burn more than the roaring fire in the hearth.

So you have this, you take every mission you can to Autumn and collect all the broken pieces and scraps that you can get. This is what you will allow yourself.

“I thought that would be the case,” Eris gets up and languidly strolls away from you, plucking the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. You watch with adept interest as his ring-clad fingers tighten around the crystalline glass, he strolls over to his bookshelf and plucks a well-loved novel off the dark shelf.

Then the bastard settles himself into one of the plush armchairs and starts to fucking read. He ignores you as though you’re nothing more than a potted plant in the corner, he doesn’t even so much as glance at you, fully enraptured in his novel. A few minutes pass when you clear your throat. Eris deigns to look bored as he lazily turns his head toward you.

“Yes?” He asks, propping the book against one knee and taking another sip of his whiskey. Your eyes track the movement of his throat involuntarily.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” You push, urging him with your eyes as you lift your head through the curtain of your hair. You hope your gaze communicates everything you cannot bring yourself to voice, fearing your body will refuse to allow you air if you try.

I love you, please don’t ignore me, I need you, play with me

He chuckles a dark sound and picks up his book again, pointedly flicking a page as the rubies on his hands glint in the firelight.

“I’m not in the business of playing with unwilling toys,” Eris supplies, purposely staring at the fire instead of you. “Perhaps I should call Rhysand to collect you and tell him I don’t appreciate being spied on. Perhaps, he will never send you back here.” His brows scrunch in frustration but you both know that the threat is empty. It seems he is tired of your games.

“What do you want?” You barely grind out, still refusing to relent to the signing inside your soul. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Princely bastard.” You practically spit, and faster than the blink of an eye Eris is in front of you, fisting your hair in one hand and tilting your chin to meet his smoldering gaze.

“Are you ashamed of me?” He questions, and you can see the vulnerability dancing in his eyes. You shake your head as the fire binding your wrists recedes and you move into a more comfortable kneeling position, hands now bound in front of you. He soothes his hand along your cheek again as your brows knit together. You thought that the two of you had a kind of understanding. You had no idea where this was coming from. “I tire of this ruse, my love.” If Eris notices the mournful look in your eyes he says nothing. He strokes a warm hand through your hair, admiring your eyes in the firelight. “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me huh?” The wolfish grin is back and you hum your agreement as he runs his thumb along your bottom lip again, pleased at your cooperation as he slides his finger into your mouth. He thrusts it into your mouth and as you teasingly run your tongue over the pad he lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core.

He undoes the belt at his waist, pulling his cock out with his hand, and your mouth waters at the sheer size of him.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he rumbles, pure authority and power radiating off of him. A glimpse at the future ruler he will become one day. You nod your enthusiastic consent as he grips the back of your head and thrusts into your mouth at a merciless pace. Your head empties as he hits the back of your throat, the hand cupping the back of your hair surprisingly gentle compared to the way he was brutalizing your mouth. “That’s a good girl, take me down your throat.” It spills out of his mouth like he can’t even control it as your eyes roll back in your head at his praise. Eris pushes your mouth all the way down to the base of his dick and holds you there for a few seconds as your nose connects with his pelvic bone. He’s relentless as he uses you for his pleasure and you think that he might bruise your vocal cords.

He spills down your throat as your binds dissolve into nothing, leaving behind a warm tingling sensation where the fire licked at your limbs.

You swallow what he gave you, opening your mouth in emphasis as whiskey eyes blow wide with lust. You’re drenched at the sight of his cock already stiffening again. He walks to the mountainous bed in front of you, making himself comfortable against the pillows.

“Come here pet.” He growls fisting his cock in his hand and crooking his fingers with the other. You start to rise to your legs on sore knees, but you freeze when Eris tuts–holding his hand out to stop you. “No. I want you to crawl to me.” The order wraps around you like warm silk, voice sliding against your bones. You lower yourself back down to the floor, humiliation burning hot on your cheeks as you sway your hips in what you hope to be enticing. He stops you quickly and you look up at him from under fluttering lashes. “Strip. Slowly.” Your face burns even hotter and Eris can’t take his eyes off you as you rise, slowly undoing every single buckle on your leathers and letting them fall to the floor, leaving you entirely exposed to him before climbing onto the bed. His body is so warm against your skin as he draws your mouth to his, the burning taste of cinnamon whiskey floods your mouth. He dominates you even here, claiming you as his tongue wrestles with yours. The moan that slips out of you comes out scratchy from the abuse of your throat, and in a flash, you’re below him as he grinds his hips into yours.

“Eris,” you whimper as his cock brushes against your folds. You need him to fill you to the brim, wanting him as close as possible. He shushes you gently as he bites at your pulse point, the only goal in his mind is to claim as he sucks dark marks into your neck.

You’ll surely be wearing only turtle necks for a few weeks after this.

His warm hands skate down your body, pulling and prodding at your sensitive nipples, letting out a dark chuckle as you whine at his ministrations. Eris mocks your moans as he rubs a finger at your center, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his fingers. Finally, he slips a finger inside of you rubbing at the spot that makes you see stars. He knows exactly where to touch to get you to dissolve, his beautiful mate bending to him like water running through his fingertips. That ring-clad hand curls around your throat, cold metal contrasting with his warm hands, and you keen as the pleasant dizzy feeling takes over your whole body.

That feeling combined with the addition of another finger in your core sends you hurtling through gold-flecked oblivion.

He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them into his mouth and moaning as he relishes the taste of you on his tongue. Staring down at your shaking form with smugness in his eyes as he circles the skin of your inner thigh, enjoying the way the muscles quiver under his touch. Eris sinks himself into you, inch by tortuous inch until you can’t tell where your body ends and he begins. He strokes slowly and deliberately, bruising you with his intensity as your vision goes white with searing pleasure every time he moves his hips.

You want him to leave his imprint everywhere on your body, that unanswered bond begging you to never leave this bed again. Eris must feel it too, that golden thread wrapping around his heart begging him to keep you, to never let another male so much as look at you. That makes something ugly twist in his chest and he almost snarls at even the thought of another male near you as his instincts take over and he draws your legs over his shoulders to hit an even deeper part inside of you. Your walls are clenching and fluttering around him as his pace turns ravenous, all you can do is try to hold on as your nails scrape jagged lines down his back. Eris scrapes his teeth over your neck, then he moves down to your nipple biting down as you scream his name before giving the other one equal attention.

“Who do you belong to pet?” He murmurs in your ear in time with a thrust that's so deep your vision turns white. “Who’s the only one that can make you feel like this?” You can barely give him anything but a whimper as he devastates your body, pinching your clit in a way that elicits a pleasure-soaked sob. “Scream it for me,” he punctuates it with a slap against the apex of your thighs.

“Yours Eris, I’m all yours!” You scream as you orgasm, tears running down your flushed cheeks, Eris follows soon after you spilling himself deep inside of you.

He pulls out, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a clean rag to wipe up the mess he made between your thighs. He collapses onto the mattress next to you and pulls you to his chest, warming his hands with his power as he rubs slow circles into the small of your back. You look up at him and he’s taken aback at the vulnerability in your eyes. “Eris I-” you choke, unable to force the words you so desperately want to say past your lips. He shushes you with a kiss against your forehead.

“I know,” he mutters into your hairline “I know.” You hold him tighter, blinking back tears as you lock the bond back down in its obsidian shackles,“I’ll wait an eternity for you.” It’s the last thing you hear before closing your eyes as you let him soothe you to sleep.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I trust everything went well?” Rhys asks, raising a dark brow at your form where you stand across from his desk. You subconsciously pull the dark turtleneck further up, the deep purple marks burning like a brand. You scrubbed yourself raw as soon as you winnowed yourself to your apartment, and you’re praying to the Mother that Rhys doesn’t even catch a whiff of Eris or the frankly copious amounts of sex. The thought of Eris enjoying it this morning, pressing his nose against the crook of your neck to make sure it really stuck, before crawling his way down your body to settle in between your thighs makes you triple-check that the steel of your mental shields was still in place.

“Nothing to report,” You rasp, voice destroyed after last night's events. The attempts to clear your throat are doing nothing to help you

“Are you alright?” Rhys questions, wringing his hands together on his desk as he shoots a concerned look.

“Must just be a chill I caught in Autumn, those woods get cold at night.” You supply and he hums his agreement.

“Well go rest, you’ve earned it. Perhaps you should see Madja for something to soothe your throat.” Rhys says and you nod your agreement, taking the cue for your dismissal. You wait until his office door clicks shut behind you to let out your sigh of relief, thinking of nothing but soft sheets and warm hands.

You can only hope you get another mission there soon.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #eris vanserra #eris imagine #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris vanserra smut

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the-californicationist · 5 months

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The Orchard

A gift for my sweet, darling @vampirekilmer...

Price has had enough of your bratty behavior, so he chases you through the woods to teach you a lesson.

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

TW: Primal play, breeding kink, dubious consent

You scrolled back through all of your text messages with a nasty sort of pride. You’d gone above and beyond with just how sexually explicit and arousing your poses were, splurging on outfits and toys, really putting on a show. John had been on a job for the past two months, deep undercover, and he could receive your messages but he was not able to reply. So, you started off slow; a nip-slip here, a bare butt in a mirror there…but, you’d become almost feral as his leave drew nearer, and your slutty selfies reflected that. You knew you were in trouble, and honestly, you couldn’t wait.

You got his first message in the middle of your bath, and when you checked your phone, your blood ran cold.

I am going to ruin you.

Then, the picture loaded. Price was still in his uniform, driving, holding up a fist full of paracord. He wore a wide, bone-chilling smile, and you knew deep down that he was ready to use his tools against you.

You scrambled out of your bath and threw on your clothes. You opted for leggings and a tee shirt, grabbing your running shoes and a thick pair of socks. If he was on his way, you needed to get a head start.

This wasn’t the first time you’d made him hunt for you. He had bought the giant 100 acre ranch for a reason. Price loved space, and he loved chasing you through it even more.

You sprinted through the house, out of the back door, and into the wide clearing, heading straight for the treeline. The grass crunched beneath your feet. You found some sort of pace other than frantic, and you chose some of the trails less-traveled, hoping to give him a challenge. He found you every time, but you were getting better and better at finding little hiding places.

This time, though, you were heading for the orange grove. Months ago, you and John had discovered a naturally occurring orchard on the property that you hadn’t seen on the map. The smell from the fallen, rotting fruit was heady and citrusy in the best way, and the ripe globes were full of sticky juice. It was an Eden.

Now, though, it was the end of spring, and the blossoms on the trees were heavy and wilting. Thousands of petals had fallen to the ground, but thousands more still remained in the branches, white and pink, looking like perpetual snow. The petals made your footfalls soft and inaudible. You found a large tree to hide behind and waited.

You didn’t have to wait long.

You heard his boots on the path. He was running, full out, coming for you without hesitation. When the grove came into view, he stopped. You could hear his panting breaths. Even though you couldn’t see him from your hidden spot, you could tell he was still in his fatigues. The swish of the canvas gave him away.

He didn’t care. John wanted you to hear him. He called to you from the edge of the orchard,

“I know you’re in here, sweet girl. I hope you’re ready.”

There had been times when he didn’t let you hear him coming. Once, you’d hidden in a small cave in the north quadrant of the ranch, thinking you’d finally outsmarted him, and just as you ventured out to check your surroundings, he had snatched you from above the cave like some sort of cryptid, silent and threatening. He dragged you up the rocky hill and ripped your clothes off at the seams. Your screams echoed through the woods, falling on deaf ears. He’d fucked you til you passed out, and he made you walk back with him, naked, his come dripping down your legs shamelessly. He didn’t let you sleep that night.

This time, though, he was toying with you on purpose. You heard him whistling skillfully. It was one of his favorite folk songs to whistle, sometimes while he was cleaning his guns, or just puttering around the kitchen in the mornings. But now, in the dusky woods, it felt deeply ominous and threatening. His tone was so pure and low, and he held each note out, sending it toward you like a lance, hoping to land his strikes.

“Come out, come out…” he called again, “Don’t make me wait, darling.”

There was a long, eerily silent pause, and then, not twenty feet behind you, you heard him growl through gritted teeth,

“I’m not a patient man.”

You turned your head to see him standing there in the trees, menacingly smiling at you. His grin was full of genuine joy. The lips were pulled wide, showing sharp white teeth, stretching his full beard, grown out from his time away, and the creases of his lids folded together, pulling tight around his bright blue eyes. His body was enormous. He always seemed bigger when he came home from his tours, as if the muscles had been overused, overworked, swollen from their stimulus.

You could see how his huge shoulders made the fabric of his shirt ripple and tug across that wide, furry chest hidden beneath the soft cloth. His waist was thick and strong, built like the trunk of some great tree, and his legs looked like they were taken from some Greek statue, referenced in all of the prototypes of strength and speed.

His gloves were gone, as was his hat; he was dressed for speed. You noticed, in these milliseconds you took to witness him, that he was clutching his paracord in his left hand.

At that sight, you bolted. Much like a rabbit running from its wolf, you sprinted through the grove, weaving through the thin trunks. You heard him right behind you, his boots ruining the soil, ripping up roots and gaining on you.

Finally, you felt him lunge for you, and you were caught around your waist, slamming to the ground, chest down. You reached for the roots of one of the trees, putting up a fight with your legs. You knew he liked to feel your fury, and you gave it to him. But, you were already tired, and he was so strong. His stamina allowed him to breathe normally after only a few seconds of having you pinned. You heard the sharp whine of the paracord being let out, length by length, just for you.

He reached for your hand, panting into your ear,

“C’mere, girl.”

John grabbed your wrist so hard it hurt, and he wrapped the paracord around it cruelly. When he grabbed your other wrist, you fought him, bucking him off of your back, trying to find your footing.

“You bloody little brat. Why are you pouring fucking kerosene on my fire, hmm? Don’t you know how much trouble you’re in?”

He put his hand over your mouth and pulled your head to his chest, forcing you to arch your back. He whispered to you now, dark and threatening,

“Sending me those fucking pictures, tempting me. Making me mad, had me wanting to fuck my hand until I was raw. I’m starving , and you’re the only thing I want to eat.”

With both hands bound behind your back, he let you collapse to the floor of the orchard, your chest and face thudding into the ground, knocking the breath out of you. He raked your shirt and bra up over your breasts roughly, letting your skin feel the cold grass and soil.

“John, please,” you started to beg, “I promise I’ll be good. I didn’t -“

“Good? You’re gonna be so good for me. Fuck, you’re gonna feel so goddamn good,” he was almost talking more to himself than to you. He was reckless and frantic, pulling your pants down to your boots, letting them bind your ankles on their own.

He’d left your panties in place, and he began to tug on them, gently at first and then not, letting the back of the thong dig into your flesh. Then, he pulled from the front, lifting your ass up towards him to do so, making the fabric tighten between your wet folds, framing your clit. John let go, but he didn’t bother to return the cloth to its normal position. He left it askew, knowing it would rub against you awkwardly.

He grabbed the back of your head and pulled you over to him on the grass. The petals and dirt sticking to your skin. John was kneeling, and he let you fall back prone while he undid his belt. You listened to his metal buckles and zippers as he freed his fat, flaccid cock from his pants.

Your furious lover grabbed your head again and held it up to his hairy base, his rod thicker than the tree roots around his feet. He smiled,

“Suck me hard, love. Won’t take much. Be a good girl, yeah?”

You nodded, but he wasn’t interested in your response. He was already lifting you up, one hand tangled in your sweaty hair and one beneath your chin, angling you to put his cock in your mouth.

Without hands, you could only use your lips and tongue. You rubbed your cheek against him, trying to find the fleshy tip, trying to show him you could be so good. Eventually, you managed to line him up, and as you did, he pushed forward, filling your mouth with his wide girth.

He left it there, letting you swallow around it. You couldn’t move your head; you had no leverage. So, once he knew you were good and settled, he moved it for you. He grabbed you by the hair at the base of your skull and pulled you on and off of his soft cock until it began to swell with his warm blood. When it was hard, you started to gag. It was filling up your throat, cutting off your air, puffing out your cheeks with its largeness.

John began to fuck your throat in earnest. He pressed himself in and out of your mouth, growing harder and thicker with each thrust. He grunted as he fucked himself into you, vulgar and animalistic. Finally, he removed you from his shaft and looked at your fuck-drunk face. He laughed, pushing you back down again,

“You like that cock in your mouth, huh, sweet girl?”

You moaned around him, unable to speak. He continued to praise you,

“Such a perfect fucking throat. Swallow it down, love. Just like that, fuck…��

He moved his hand from your chin to hold your neck in his warm palm, feeling his cock expanding your skin. With his thumb, he massaged long, soothing circles into your throat, almost like he was jacking himself off through your body. You felt tears run in hot rivulets down your cheeks, fighting your gag reflex to the point of pain, and your chin was coated with your drool. You were fully at his mercy.

Just to reinforce your helplessness, he shoved your nose into the root of his cock, burying your face in his dense fur, and the soft hairs tickled your nose and lip. You started to panic, realizing you couldn’t inhale nor exhale. Your body turned and writhed, and you could hear the snapping of the leaves as you fought against his unbreakable grasp. He pet your cheek with the back of his hand, coaching you through it,

“Shh, sweet thing. You know better than that. Count to ten for me. I know you can do it. I won’t let anything happen to you. Relax - ungh! - yes, that’s it. Fuckin’ perfect, such a good girl…”

His praise made you melt, and he was right. You weren’t going to suffocate. You were just panicking and needy. You took a moment to calm down, and you began to count.

One… two… three…

His cock slipped further down your throat now that you had managed to relax your muscles, filling you up in a sinfully delicious way.

Four… five… six…

He began to let out a low-toned whine, reeling from the pleasure of feeling you swallow him over and over and over, clenching your throat in a predictable rhythm, slithering your tongue along his aching shaft.

Seven… eight… nine…

The captain was breathing through his teeth now, struggling to hang on. You decided to push his limits and nuzzled into the thick hair, trying to lick it, matting it down, wet and sticky. He moaned and shuddered when you did, much to your acute satisfaction.

“Goddamn, you got me close,” he moaned, but then he pulled himself from you, letting you breathe again, “But, I have other plans. Been thinking about tonight for a long, long time.”

John left you there on the wet ground, and you caught your breath amongst the fallen petals. When you coughed, you could smell and taste the rotten orange blossoms, sickly sweet in your nose and mouth, tinged with just the slightest hint of botanical decay.

He was behind you now, spreading your legs as far as they’d go with your ankles still bound, and you felt the cool night air rush across your wet center. His fingers traced the outline of your pussy, touching all of its swollen parts except the middle where you needed him most. His big, strong fingers lingered there for too long, petting you softly like a child pets a bunny, the backs of his two fingers feeling your softness and playing around your edges.

Then, he stopped, and you felt yourself clench around nothing, aching for release.

“John?”

A loud slap rang out through the trees and you cried out from the pain, crawling away from him, your bare ass cheek burning like it was on fire. He hit you again, and left his hand there to dull the pain. Tears burned in your eyes as you wrenched them shut, feeling almost nauseous from the ache he had caused.

“That’s for teasing me, you little brat, and this,” he slapped your other ass cheek just as hard, “is for making me chase you through the bloody woods.”

You sobbed out an apology, hoping it would be enough,

“Please, John, I won’t do it again…please…”

You bit your lip to keep from crying, feeling his fingertips graze over the stinging flesh, making it spark and glitter like electricity.

“Naughty,” he rubbed his dripping cock over his handiwork, “You knew what you were doing. Beggin’ won’t help you now, hm?”

He positioned himself at your entrance and pressed his head to your hole, letting your body know he had arrived. Your pussy grabbed for him, clenching as he popped his flesh inside of yours, sinking into you with a long sigh of satisfaction. It had been so long since you had felt full, and with every agonizing inch of progress, he chased away the emptiness within you, making you whole again.

It felt good. Too good…

Suddenly, you realized he was fucking you unprotected. You usually used condoms, and he was always so careful. You craned your head to look back at him.

“John, do you have a condom?” You asked, your voice sounding meek and small, strained from your overwhelming pleasure. He knew you had a safeword, but you weren’t ready to use it.

“No, love,” he chuckled darkly, “I’m gonna breed you, right here in these bloody fucking woods, tied up like the naughty little brat that you are. Gonna fill you full of my come… all… fuckin’... night. Right here,” he shoved himself up against your womb, reaching it easily and pressing on it until it ached like a bruise, “Right here, deep, fuck…”

His hands were gripping your ass cheeks fiercely, pulling them apart so he could watch himself disappear into you. You felt your body working up an orgasm for him - not for you - he was coaxing it from you like a snake charmer, forcing it to build and build until it grew within you, hot and ready to burst.

You whimpered under his heavy form, feeling the cold grass licking at your sensitive nipples, tickling your belly and mons, feeling how your walls were gaping open to accommodate John’s huge girth.

“That’s it. Be a good girl and come for me. Want you nice and ready,” he grunted, feeling your contractions as your pleasure mounted to a head, tightening in your core and making your legs shake against his thighs, “Mm, fuck, that’s it! Fuck!”

“John, don’t come in me,” you whined, your voice slurred from your uncontrollable bliss, “I’ve been off the pill. You’ll get me pregnant if you…ungh…oh, my God…if you - shit!”

Another one, an aftershock, rocked your core. You heard it, wet and sticky, dripping down around his shaft. It made lurid, slick noises that made your cheeks flush with shame. The idea that he would willingly breed you out here in your forest made you unbelievably horny. It was so primal, so brutally feral, and with as much restraint as John usually used with you, his ruthless pounding was making you high on his affection.

“Yeah, sweet thing. I fuckin’ know,” he bent himself over you to suck on your neck, “I’m gonna bloody well make sure you are,” his voice became a little sinister as he whispered in your ear, “I took a pill before I chased you out here. Won’t be soft for a good while. I’ll just come and come and come until it’s fuckin’ pourin’ out of you. Want you to be drownin’ in it, yeah? Gonna… make… damn… sure.”

Each thrust was an ordeal with how sensitive you were. You could feel his heat pooling inside of you from the incredible friction. You couldn’t help but bear down on him, and he cried out, unable to hold himself back for much longer.

“John, please…” You weren’t sure what you were even begging for anymore.

“Say it, love. Use the safeword. Say it, before it’s too late. C’mon…”

You turned your head and met his eyes. The blue of them pierced you like a knife, and the turmoil they displayed made you even hornier for his spilled seed. You managed a tired smile and shut your mouth, turning away from him, knowing you’d won.

“Oh, fuck me,” he lamented, unable to keep himself contained.

You felt his hot, heavy ropes coat your insides for the first time, and it was everything you thought it would be. The gooey, warm sensation made your whole body tremble, and your pussy fluttered around him as if trying to stroke it all out of his shaft, hungry for more and more of his sweet, spun sugar.

He buried himself to the hilt and took a few deep breaths. Then, John turned your body over and kept rutting into you, hoisting your ankles over one of his shoulders and grabbing your thighs for support. He was completely fuck-drunk, his pupils blown wide like he was high, and he laughed softly as he looked down at you,

“Look at you, dirty girl. The flowers… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your hands were tied behind you, digging into your back, forcing you to arch up into him, and the position pushed your breasts up into the air, your nipples filthy with mud and soil, covered in white and pink petals from the orchard’s fallen blooms. He freed one of his hands to smear the vegetation all over your skin, pawing at your breasts and gathering up more petals from the ground to paint your body.

He rested his hand over your lower belly, right where he could feel himself spearing into you, his palm right over your womb. John pressed down with a closed fist right at the end of your hole, where your flesh stopped him, and he pushed his knuckles down, tightening your walls from above. It was a singular sensation, and your body decided it was a good one, sending all sorts of confusing, panicked signals to your brain. You screamed from it, and he chuckled,

“Mm, yes… squirm for me, sweet thing. I love it when you try to get away. Can’t, can you?”

“Fuck! John! Please! God!” You were trying anything and everything to keep from coming again. You wanted to fight, and you weren’t ready for him to have the satisfaction.

But, you were helpless to him. He pounded into you hard and slow, vibrating your whole body every time he hit your wet, sticky end, and you fell into another wave of orgasms. They were difficult to pick apart. You weren’t sure where one ended and the next began. John did not seem concerned about over stimulating you, pinching and holding your clit between his finger and his thumb once he removed his fist from your womb.

“Good girl… Gonna look so beautiful when you’re all swollen, hmm?” He pet your womb again, unable to stay away from pressing on it rhythmically, “Those breasts full and heavy. Needin’ me. Needin’ me like I fuckin’ need you.”

He thrust harder, pushing your legs down over your arched belly, slamming his length into your stickiness, chasing another orgasm. He found it in you, and you could feel his cockhead nuzzling your womb as it throbbed as if begging for entrance, painting your walls again.

Then, swiftly, he pulled out of you, lifting your ass into the air, making you take your weight on your shoulders. He put his face between your legs and started to shove his tongue into your pussy, lapping at his own come as it mixed with yours. It was feral and grotesque, and you loved every soft lap of his tongue. He was shoving it inside of you, spitting himself into your swollen slit, using his clean hand to push his come deeper inside, curling his knuckles to rub you to another painful orgasm, watching you come undone. Then, he went back to licking you, gathering any lost spend from your folds and fucking it back inside you with his pink mouth.

Satisfied with his efforts, he kept you vertical and began to eat your asshole, licking and licking and licking like a hound. He managed to squeeze his tongue inside it, writhing around, sticky and warm. His fingers joined in, pistoning in and out of you together in tandem, convincing your body to clench around him, desperate for more relief.

He held you tight, digging around in his pocket for a moment before showing you his gift. It was a t-bar plug. You thought he’d slip it into your ass, but he managed to wedge it into your pussy, keeping his come inside of you, safe and sound.

“Tha’s it. Sweet girl. Doin’ so good, hm? C’mon. Let’s get you inside. Got a long night ahead of us.”

He picked you up around your legs and hoisted you over his back like a sack of flour, marching you out of the orchard and towards home.

#captain john price #captain price #john price #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty fanfic #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod #cod fanfic #captain johnathan price #feral

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loviatarwrites · 7 months

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curious little mouse (nsfw)

Raphael x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

You looked up to him, the man, no, the devil that had tormented your journey and promised a cure from the tadpole with sweet words that echoed empty to the air. “You know exactly why I’m here now.” “Do I now? Are you so desperate that you couldn’t even wait till morning?”

A/N: The reason you visit Raphael isn't tadpole or the hammer but something much more private. I just like anything not-really-human okay. It is what it is.

There weren’t many things you wanted to keep to yourself, or with the tadpole, even could. If you knew something, there was a high possibility that at least three other people knew the same thing, and there was little you could do about that, but this was something you didn’t want anyone else to know about.

Although you had negotiated that you could stay at Elfsong Tavern, there was somewhere else you wanted to be, and the only time you could go on your own was in the middle of the night when everyone else had fallen fast asleep. You sat up slowly, your head throbbing with a dull ache. The tadpole is a constant reminder in your head. Pushing yourself up, you found your boots and slipped them on, wincing slightly as they chafed against blisters that had started to form from your journey from Grove to Baldur’s Gate. As much as you enjoyed your time in the lower city, there was somewhere else you longed for, a particular place at Wyrm’s Crossing.

---

One deep breath.

One last gaze over your shoulder.

Nobody is following you.

There’s just you and the tadpole in your head.

And then, a fast knock on the particular door of Sharess’ Caress, one that belonged to a person everyone at camp had told you very clearly not to associate with.

“Hello, little mouse.” A tall, handsome man opened the door to you. “What an odd time you have picked to visit me.”

You looked up to him, the man, no, the devil that had tormented your journey and promised a cure from the tadpole with sweet words that echoed empty to the air.

“You know exactly why I’m here now.”

“Do I now? Are you so desperate that you couldn’t even wait till morning?”

You looked at Raphael, the cambion disguised as a human, leaning against the doorframe. His hair was styled beautifully, and he wore his signature attire with an expensive-looking vest with gold detailing made from the finest fabric. And on his face, a smile, almost a grin. He knew exactly why you were at his door.

“Charming as always, yet also not willing to accept what I have to offer - - unless that’s why you are here.”

You sighed. “What do you want me to do? What should I say to a devil?”

The smile on Raphael’s face widened as you lowered your gaze, watching him below your brows. He hadn’t lied when he had said that you would come to him humbly, although he had initially meant the tadpole, not why you had mangling your brain.

“Well, come in. Let’s discuss the ways you can sing for me.”

The door slammed shut behind you, and you barely reached Raphael’s room. Along with the door, the sounds of Wyrm’s Crossing were left behind you as you were surrounded by silence and a smell of sulfur, mixing with roses and perfume lingering in the air. The room was way too romantic for a devil, covering his true nature from the outsiders until it was too late for them to leave.

Along with the other sounds, you felt like your brain was free from the constant ache tadpole caused. You were alone, truly alone, with Raphael, and while glad to have time off the worm rummaging through your brain matter, you were also scared of the sudden quietness.

“Now, I don’t think you came here to discuss the tadpole, nor the Orphic hammer on that matter, didn’t you, little mouse?”

Raphael’s hand pressed against the door, leaving you between himself, back against the only route to escape, now shut behind you. As you gazed at his brown eyes, you saw his amusement, but also all of the small details of his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, how his nose had a small bump, and his eyebrows that framed his face. You had never been so close to a devil, but still, you didn’t dislike your position.

“I’m sure we both know - - about my more selfish motives.” You moved your hand to the golden detailing of his vest, following the lines on his chest. “The devil you know, like you said.”

Raphael moved his face closer to yours, leaning so you felt his breath warm as it hit your skin. “I was sure that you would come to seek me eventually, but this - - this is still something I wasn’t considering when I offered to help you for the first time.”

Raphael’s hand found its way to your hair, grabbing it as he pulled your head upwards, meeting his. The warmth of Raphael’s breath was but a mere prelude to the heat that would flush over you as his lips crashed onto yours. It was a devouring kiss, one that claimed and consumed. As the cambion’s mouth slanted over yours, the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you tethered in a dance as old as time. His taste was an intoxicating blend of darkness and desire, an elixir you hadn’t known you craved until you had met him.

His fingers tightened in your hair, making you gasp and tilting your head to grant him deeper access, and you responded in kind, a hunger awakening within you. Your hands roamed over his finely tailored vest, feeling the intricate contours of his chest underneath. There was a sense of danger, yet you didn’t want to share this with your companions, who would either judge you or try to talk sense to you, neither that you wished to. An edge to his kiss spoke of wild and forbidden passion, something not from this world, but rather than repel you, it drew you in even more profound, binding you to him. The atmosphere in the room grew thick, heavy with lust, and charged with an electric tension. The scent of roses and sulfur intensified, creating a heady blend that threatened to overwhelm your senses. Yet, as much as Raphael’s kiss dominated, it also teased. He’d pull back slightly every so often, leaving you gasping for air and chasing his lips, only to plunge back in with even greater fervor.

You felt yourself melting into him, surrendering to the whirlwind of sensations he evoked. His tongue danced with yours, every stroke and nip sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. This was no mere mortal’s kiss; it was a display of control and seduction, and you were willingly ensnared, even if you knew about the danger you put yourself in. The devil you knew had trapped you in his embrace, and for the moment, you had no desire to be free.

“Most people from your world want something from us but rarely to offer themselves so willingly.” Raphael’s hand moved from your hair to your neck, sending shivers to your spine. “So eager to be devoured, so tell me, what do you want?”

“Can’t deny that I hadn’t always been allured by the dark.”

Raphael’s fingers gently traced the curve of your neck, his touch both threatening and comforting in its possessiveness. His deep, sultry voice resonated through the dimly lit room.

“Such fire in your eyes. What is it that you truly want?”

You took a deep breath, trying to articulate the emotions swirling inside you.

“You know, in my world, they always tell tales of the cat and the mouse.” You began, staring deep into Raphael’s eyes, seeing the intriguing spark within them. “The mouse always runs, always hides because of fear. The cat is dangerous, a predator. But what if the mouse isn’t just afraid? What if it’s... curious?”

Raphael quirked an eyebrow, leaning in closer. “Curious about what?”

“About the thrill.” You continued. “The thrill of being chased, the thrill of danger, even the thrill of what’s to come when it eventually gets caught by the cat. It’s not just about fear. It’s about the allure, about the unknown. I’ve been the mouse my entire life, always on the run, always hiding. But there’s a part of me that’s... tired of running. A part of me that’s drawn to the danger, to the cat.”

Raphael chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “So, you agree to see me as the cat, and you, the mouse? Small and pitiful compared to the predator.”

“You are danger incarnate.” You replied, feeling a thrill run down your spine. “But there’s a pull, an allure. I don’t know if it’s the power, the mystery, or the promise of something forbidden, but I want to know more.”

“You have become good with your words, much better than the dagger-happy version of you I first introduced to.”

“I can be persuasive. I want to see what happens when the mouse stops running and turns to face the cat. Not out of fear, but out of curiosity.”

Raphael’s grin grew wider, his fingers brushing your cheek. “And are you prepared for what the cat might do once the chase ends? When there is nowhere to run?”

“That.” You whispered, your heart racing. “Is what I aim to find out.”

---

The fires of Avernus burned around you as Raphael wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down to literal hell. However, the hell wasn’t that bad by what you had seen, with tables filled lavishly with food and rooms decorated with expensive paintings to hide everything rotten outside of the concealed space.

The room Raphael got you both to was a marvel; it seemed to be a spacious chamber, the centerpiece of which was a vast, circular pool, with stairs leading to the area and a large bed with a window to gaze across the Avernus behind it. The water shimmered with a soft blue glow, and floating atop it all were countless rose petals, their rich crimson hue contrasting beautifully with the water’s ethereal luminescence.

“I assume you remember your first visit to my House of Hope, dear mousie.”

“Can’t deny that I wasn’t indefinitely better than my camp at the woods, although I think everyone saw through me immediately. Not everyone is as open to temptation as I am.”

Raphael didn’t answer you; instead, he took your hand, guiding you towards the pool’s edge, his fingers securely interlaced with yours. The air was thick with the scent of roses, accompanied by the gentle sound of water lapping against the pool’s sides. You took the first step to the pool, still wearing your usual attire, but as soon as the water hit you, your clothing merged from well-worn traveler’s attire to an exquisite white robe with almost see-through fabric. The water caressed your skin, and Raphael followed you into the pool after a couple of steps. As his clothes morphed like yours, and after seeing what he could do, you didn’t even bother to think of how he had done that.

The temperature was perfect, warm and inviting, reminiscent of a gentle embrace. Raphael beckoned you closer, and as you approached, he sat down on a submerged bench, the water now reaching his mid-torso. The fabric of your robe soaked the water, pressing against your skin and leaving little as a mystery. With a playful smirk, Raphael patted his lap, and you hesitated only for a fleeting moment before moving to sit upon it. As you settled into his embrace, the water enveloping you both, everything around you felt like fading away. There was no fighting, no tadpole, nor anything that would distract you from what you were currently feeling. Raphael’s arms encircled you, holding you close, his fingertips on the side of your thighs as you faced him, your hands pressing against his bare chest underwater.

His voice was soft, almost a whisper, contrasting with the deep timbre that always marked his words. “You seem so at ease, little mouse. Is this what you were seeking, not to run and hide?”

“Maybe.” You began, tracing patterns on his chest with your fingertips.

The feel of his skin beneath the water was smooth, warm, as if the fires of Avernus themselves flowed through his veins. “Or maybe I wanted to see if the tales of the devil’s allure were true.”

His laugh was low, but there was apparent amusement in his voice. “And have you found your answer? If that’s all you wanted, I know an incubus quite capable of showing you the true meaning of devilishly alluring.”

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear, breathing into it.

“Perhaps you could’ve. But there’s still so much I don’t know about you, and I find this particular devil especially charming.”

“Ah, why so?”

“What is it that you truly want from me? I’m a mere mortal, and clearly, we are not here to talk about the crown or hammer. What could I possibly offer the likes of you besides the special flavored tadpole in my head?”

Raphael’s fingers tightened on your thighs, pressing against your skin and pulling you closer to him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You felt how he could not hide the fact he was growing under you, pressing against your body. “From the moment I laid my eyes on you, I saw something unique. A spark. A fire that refused to be extinguished, no matter the adversity. That little mouse, intrigues me. You intrigue me.”

It was your turn to have a smirk on your face as you lowered your body weight to him, making sure he knew you had noticed what was happening beneath the water.

“And you? You, who has seen countless souls and has been wooed by many, what could I possibly offer that others haven’t?”

Raphael’s fingers caressed your cheek as he pulled your body against his until there was nothing between you. Like some devilish magic, even the little clothes you had disappeared from your body, leaving you bare to his gaze.

“It’s not about offering something new or different. It’s about authenticity, willingness. With many souls, their desires are transparent, their intentions clear, and it’s something earthly they want to gain from you. With you - - it’s more like you are offering yourself to me, rather than me taking it.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What can you do when the unknown is oh so interesting. Few mortals can do what you have already shown to me.”

Raphael’s skin was hot against yours as you gazed into his eyes, trying to see his thoughts without succeeding in your efforts. Raphael’s fingers tenderly brushed your cheek as he kept you close, feeling every part of him.

“I have always wondered how different a cambion is from a human.” You moved yourself to him, feeling his length gently with your fingers. “And with everything you’ve promised, it would be a shame to turn away now.”

You lowered your body slowly, feeling how Raphael’s cock pushed to you, and even the slowest movement made you gasp for air. The sensation filled your body as he filled you, his eyes not leaving yours while your body adjusted to his size.

Raphael had been charming and alluring to you from the first time you met him, and even though it had been evident that his sweet words had been little more than flattery, you hadn’t cared. From the beginning, you had felt that pull to him, although not admitting it to your companions, and hoped that if you didn’t accept his deals, he would return to you time and time again.

“I don’t want to be just another soul in your collection.” You murmured, your eyes locking onto his as you slowly ground yourself against him, taking more and more of his cock with each thrust.

“You’re not.” Raphael said. “I’ve been around for eons, since Netheril fell, seen countless souls come and go, but you... you stand out.”

Raphael’s nails dug into your sides as you kept the pace slow, almost painfully so, sliding along the length of his cock. You felt Raphael trying to move so he could sink even deeper into you, but couldn’t do much under you. It felt good. As much as you had gone to Raphael, ready to beg him to take you, he was now under your command. A slow smile tugged at your lips.

“How does it feel, being held down by a mere mortal?” You grinned at him almost in a mocking tone.

He returned your smile with his own, full of mischief and allure. “Who has said that I’m held down?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, not out of fear but anticipation. There was something about Raphael, who was willing to let you lead the situation that made you question what was coming. Something he was not ready to show you yet. Your back arched as his cock hit the deepest spots of your body, sending shivers through you while his grip on you tightened.

You leaned in, close to him, your lips inches from his. “So, what now? I am sure the mighty devil is not sated with just this.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that, my mouse?”

“Oh, now I am yours. How charming.”

“You have been from the moment you stepped into my house.”

Before you could answer him, the flames surrounded you, devouring your bodies. In an instant, the all-consuming flames enveloped the both of you and just as quickly as they appeared, they vanished, leaving the two of you atop a lavish bed that overlooked the very pool from which you emerged. Silken sheets, a deep shade of blood red, contrasted the golden detailing in the bed frame. The bed was perched on a raised platform, granting a panoramic view of the luxurious chamber below.

As you tried to gather your thoughts, Raphael’s form began to shift before your eyes. His once pale skin transformed into a rich shade of crimson, and majestic, vast, and bat-like wings unfurled from behind him, casting dark, undulating shadows around the room. You had seen him transform to his devilish form before, but while you had initially been mesmerized by his changing on top of you, you were quickly reminded of your position. His cambion form was taller than the form he took as a human, over seven feet tall, and while the nails on his hands grew to claws and horns framed his head like a crown, you also felt how he grew inside you, pushing your body to its limit while his cock stretched your hole unlike nothing had before.

“Please, I can’t - - my body can’t.” You panted as you felt like never before.

“You asked for more, so I am simply granting you what you wished for.”

Your body tried to adjust to Raphael’s cock shaping your body while he was still transforming from his mortal disguise to his true self. His eyes, previously a deep brown, now glowed a brilliant shade of gold, and as you took in his newfound form, you felt the slithering sensation of something wrapping around your ankle. Glancing down, you saw a sinuous tail, tipped with an arrowhead, coiling and uncoiling around your thigh.

“Impressed, little mouse?” he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice even more pronounced, sending a thrill down your spine.

You bit your lip. Thinking of the right words while forming any words was an arduous task in your current state of mind. Even without moving, it felt like he was consuming you, and for the first time, you wondered if you had made the most horrible mistake in your short lifetime.

“Ah, cat got your tongue?” Raphael mocked you. “Maybe you need a tad bit of encouragement. You were so talkative before.”

Raphael’s clawed hand took yours, pinning them on top of your head. While he had been unable to move previously, you were to share his fate now, and you knew there wasn’t fighting against him. His hand pressed against your wrists, but the pain wasn’t anything compared to when he pulled away, only to push into you moments later.

You gasped and moaned when Raphael’s cock pushed to you, barely fully inside, as his tip hit your cervix. Not only was his length almost too much for you, his cock was wide enough to push your walls to their limits. Thrust after thrust, in the same gentle pace as you had taken him previously, Raphael sent waves of shivers through your body as he pushed in and out of you, his hand still holding you in place while his other hand dug into your side, his nails leaving red marks on their way. There was no way you could escape from this situation, but while your body felt like you would break into pieces at any moment, you still wanted Raphael more every passing second.

“Nothing better than a devil you know. I wasn’t lying about that, wasn’t I?” Raphael purred to your ear.

“Hells with you. You’re going to break me.”

“Oh no, dear mousie, I am positively certain you can take much more than this.”

Your eyes locked with him as his pace quickened, and the slow pace that let your body adjust to him was gone. He wanted you, and you had very little to say to that. His tip hit your back wall again and again, making you gasp as your body tried its hardest to withstand him. You had a moment to breathe each time Raphael pulled out, only to feel all of the said air leave your body when he pounded your body, unlike nobody had before.

“Such a beautiful little creature you are.” Raphael stopped for a moment while still remaining inside you, and you took all the time you could to catch your breath. “I think you deserve something special, just for you.”

The tail that had pressed against your tight started to move, and your eyes widened as you realized what was happening. You looked at Raphael’s golden eyes, and his expression alone was enough to confirm what you would go through.

“Wait - - wait - - no no no. I can’t - - my body can’t take that.” You had hoped that your voice would’ve been more convincing, but instead, it was filled with panic.

“The mouse wanted to see what would happen after the chase, in case you have forgotten. Now you get to see that, so look at me when I show you.”

Raphael’s tail pressed against his cock at your entrance, already stretched to fit his cock. You tried to free yourself, but his body pressed you down, rendering you helpless as the pointed end slithered slowly up as you wondered how your body would manage to endure what was to come. Raphael pulled his cock halfway out, making room for his tail that invaded you as he pushed deep inside again. The quicker pace had been almost too much for you before, but now you weren’t even sure how to breathe as Raphael overpowered you with all he had. Your chest, marked with red lines from his nails, your wrists bruised from his grip, and most of all, your insides invaded by both his cock as well as his tail.

“This is what happens when you deal willingly with me.” Raphael looked at you, and however much you wanted to evade his gaze, you couldn’t but stare at his eyes, filled with fire and hunger. “And you have proven yourself worthy.”

You weren’t sure how your body could handle everything Raphael made you go through or if you had already gone over the edge when the pain in your body replaced itself with pleasure. You felt both his tail and his cock moving in you, varying in pace and pushing as deep as they could, only to retreat and enter deep inside you time and time again. Raphael panted as his pace quickened yet again, and you felt his cock pulsing inside.

His tail pulled out from you, and his previously overwhelmingly feeling cock felt manageable for the first time. Raphael must’ve felt that, too, as he hit you with greater force than before, and your body screamed like you were split in half. One thrust, two thrusts later, Raphael pushed deep inside you, his cock pulsing, as you felt how warmth filled you, to the point you weren’t sure if you were burning or not. Whichever was the case, you felt how the pleasure was too much for you, and your vision went from white to black, only to return when you felt Raphael collapsing on top of you, and you felt how your fluids dripped down on your inner thigh, still warm but not as burning as the devil’s body against yours.

Exhausted, you tried to catch your breath, Raphael’s warmth enveloping you. “Did the mouse prove itself?”

Raphael shifted, propping himself on one elbow to better see you, laying in the bed next to your still aching body. The intensity in his golden eyes was unmistakable.

“From the first time you ventured into my domain, you captivated me. Today was merely an affirmation of a connection between us.”

You raised an eyebrow, tracing a finger along the red marks on your skin. “And what now? Do I become another tale of your conquests? Another soul you’ve ensnared? Another poor mortal that fell into your hands, only for their soul to be ripped from their body to serve you for eternity?”

His fingers caressed your cheek, and for a moment, the devilish demeanor was replaced by something softer.

“You’ve surprised me at every turn. You may have entered my realm willingly, but I confess, I didn’t anticipate becoming so... entranced by a mere mortal.”

“Would you mind if a mere mortal would visit your house from time to time?”

Raphael laughed at your question in a low voice. “House of Hope has always room for such a charming mouse as yourself, darling.”

#my story #fanfic #raphael #raphael bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 #bg3 oc #x reader #reader insert #reader #one shot #wattpad #ao3 #demon #smut #naughty

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yournowheregirl · 1 year

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remember when i said this was gonna be 5 parts? psych! it’s gonna be six parts of the secret-dolly-parton-fan eddie munson saga (thanks again for all the love on this fic & a special thanks to @gothbat99 and @legitcookie for listening to my rambling about this part 🥰)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 5] [part 6 + complete on ao3]

part 4: i will always love you

Eddie never thought himself to be an overthinker.

In fact, during the majority of his life a lot of people assumed he didn't think at all considering the way he flunked senior year twice (He got there in the end, though). But lately - well, actually ever since Pat swore up and down Steve isn’t as straight as Eddie originally thought - Eddie’s brain has been running at a hundred miles an hour.

More specifically, Pat’s words have been echoing through his mind, haunting him, torturing him, every time he hangs out with Steve.

“Hey man, that shirt looks really great on you.” Steve says one day when Eddie shows up at Family Video wearing a red henley. It’s an old shirt he found earlier that week when Wayne forced him to clean out his closet, a little tight but it still fit so Eddie decided to keep it.

“What, this old thing?” Eddie scoffs, playing with the frayed hem of the shirt.

“Yeah, it’s… it suits you. Looks nice.” Steve smiles.

“Thanks.” Eddie replies. His smile is tight, in the hopes that he doesn’t give away the swarm of butterflies currently residing in his stomach.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

“Wait, what’s happening again?” Steve asks one night during Will’s latest Hellfire campaign.

It’s the first time in literal years that Eddie’s been playing a character instead of DM’ing and so far, he’s been very impressed with Will replacing him. Though his story lines can be a little too detailed at times, which makes it hard for Steve - who hasn’t been there during every D&D night - to keep up.

So, Eddie explains it to him. He’s patient, keeping his voice low so the others won’t overhear and carefully watches Steve connect the dots. Watches how that cute little frown in between his eyebrows slowly fades away and is replaced with a soft smile.

“Which brings us here, to the Rotting Grove and now we gotta wait until Dustin’s character makes a decision.” Eddie says finally, but Steve stays quiet. He’s still looking at Eddie, eyes wide with wonder, maybe he still doesn’t understand the plot just yet. “Sorry, did I go too fast? You want me to start again?”

“No, no, I got it.” Steve shakes his head, smiling. “Thanks for explaining it, though. You’re a great story teller, Eddie.” He says, bumping their shoulders together but never pulling away.

Steve stays glued to Eddie’s side throughout the rest of the night, whispering the occasional question or snarky comment in his ear, sending a chill down Eddie’s spine every time he feels Steve’s lips brush against his skin.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

“You really gotta be more careful.” Steve says sternly one afternoon, after Eddie has fallen face-first onto the ground during one of Max’ skateboarding lessons, leaving him with a nasty graze on his cheek.

“I was being- fucking Christ, Steve.” Eddie hisses as Steve dabs a washcloth against Eddie’s bloodied cheek. “Will you stop that? That hurts like hell.”

Steve ignores his protests, rolling his eyes. “An infection hurts even more, so just stay still, will you?”

His hand, big and warm, finds Eddie’s hip, holding him still against the bathroom counter, as Eddie tries to think of literally anything that’ll stop his blood from going south because this not the place or time to pop a boner right now. Which somehow results in him being particularly mopey to Steve.

“I can take care of myself y’know? Been doin’ it all my life.” He grunts when Steve slowly removes the washcloth.

“I know you can.” Steve replies softly. “But sometimes it’s nice to have someone taking care of you for a change.”

He runs his thumb over Eddie’s cheek, wiping away the last of the blood before placing his his hand on Eddie’s jaw, turning his face to see if there are any wounds to be taken care of. When Steve nods, obviously proud of his work, Eddie almost wants to go out there and trip another time, just to feel Steve’s hands on his skin again.

“Besides, you need someone around here who actually knows first aid. God forbid something happens to that pretty face of yours.” Steve smirks, before patting Eddie’s chest and walking out of the bathroom, leaving Eddie speechless for the first time in his life.

But are ya sure that boy’s straight?

Pat’s words keep getting louder and louder in his mind to the point that it’s the only thing Eddie can think about. He overanalyzes every single one of Steve’s movements, every word that rolls off his tongue, every glance sent his way, to the point that he swears he’s going insane.

Because the more he starts thinking about it, the more Pat might actually be right and isn’t that the most terrifying thing in the wold?

-xxx-

“Dude, will you stop that?”

Eddie looks up from where he was mindlessly staring out the window and glares at Dustin, who glares right back at him. “What?”

“Your leg.” Dustin pokes him in said leg, the one that’s been bouncing uncontrollably for the past few minutes. “It’s fucking annoying.”

Dustin’s been at the Munson trailer since early afternoon, figuring out the perfect songs to put on the mixtape he’s mailing Suzie for their anniversary. Eddie had felt honored that Dustin came to him, rather than the so-called leading expert on romance (Steve) but now his patience is wearing thin.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves the squirt with all his heart, but Dustin’s been contemplating between two very similar songs for thirty minutes now and his indecisiveness is starting to get on Eddie’s nerves.

“Maybe if you hurried the fuck up, my leg wouldn’t be shakin’ Henderson.” Eddie retorts. “C’mon, hurry up, will ya? I got places to go, people to meet.”

Dustin snorts. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“You know, going out to the woods to deal doesn’t exactly count as Friday evening plans.” Dustin says.

“Hey!” Eddie protests. “You know I don’t do that shit anymore, not with those shady government assholes watching my every move.” He sighs, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “But if you must know, me and Steve are having a movie night at his place and you know how huffy he gets when I’m late.”

That’s not entirely true. Sure, Eddie’s going over to the Harrington house tonight and sure they’re gonna watch a movie, but it’s also the night that Eddie decided to finally make a move on Steve. And maybe, if everything goes right, tonight will be the night that he finds the guts to Steve how he feels.

Which is why Dustin needs to get a move on because he really needs those extra few hours to contemplate his existence, have a panic attack, talk himself down from said panic attack and figure out what he’s going to wear.

“Okay, now I know you’re lying.” Dustin says, looking anything but impressed with Eddie.

“What? I ain’t lying, Henderson.” Eddie frowns. He grabs the VHS tape from the coffee table and waves it in Dustin’s face. “See, I got the movie and everything.”

“Yeah, well, you must have gotten the days mixed up.” Dustin shrugs. “Steve’s got a date tonight.”

“Yeah, right.” Eddie says, rolling his eyes at Dustin and ignoring the way his heart is starting to beat a little faster out of sheer panic. “Steve hasn’t been on a date since he broke up with Emily. And even if he has a date, I doubt he would’ve planned it at the same time as our movie night.”

“Well sorry to burst your bubble, but I know for a fact that Steve’s got a date tonight because he told me.” Dustin’s tone is bordering on condescending but Eddie doesn’t even have energy to tell him off right now because what the fuck? What does Dustin mean by that? And maybe more importantly, why did Steve leave Eddie in the dark about all this?

A heavy feeling settles down in his stomach, but he can’t let Dustin see his inner turmoil so he goes with indifference instead. “Pff, sure he did.”

“I saw him buy roses, Eddie! They were red too and that’s like, a dead giveaway for romance!” Dustin declares. “And when I talked to him about it he got this… weird, mushy look in his eye, which by the way gross, and said something about making tonight special and shit. Which again, gross, but if that doesn’t scream romantic evening to me, then I don’t know what is!”

Slowly, as Dustin’s words are starting to sink in, the heavy feeling grows stronger and stronger until Eddie feels his stomach drop.

Steve’s going on a date.

Steve’s going on a date and just ditches Eddie without saying a word.

Steve’s going on a date with someone who isn’t Eddie.

Steve’s going on a date which means Pat was wrong.

“Get out.” Eddie says, voice on edge.

“Geez, didn’t know you’d get so upset. It’s just a cancelled movie night, I’m sure Steve-”

“Out!” Eddie exclaims, his tone way harsher than it needs to be. It obviously affects Dustin, who flinches at his words, but Eddie doesn’t care. Well, he does but he’ll apologize to Dustin later, once he starts to feel normal about all of this.

Dustin quietly packs his stuff, mumbling something under his breath as Eddie just stands there, frozen. Eyes glued to the coffee stain on the carpet, mind reeling with thoughts of Steve ditching him for some date he didn’t even tell him about.

He hears Dustin say a quiet goodbye but he stays there for a good few minutes before he finally snaps out of his trance and grabs the keys to the van from the kitchen counter. He doesn’t even see the dark clouds forming in the sky, he just gets in the van and drives.

-xxx-

Rain is still pouring down when Eddie arrives at the Off-Road. Not that he really cares about the weather right now, he’s got other things on his mind. He pulls his leather jacket over his head and jogs over to the entrance, only to find the door closed and the lights off.

Great. Like his day couldn’t get any worse.

Eddie slumps down on the porch in front of the bar, not caring that he’s sitting on wet wood or that the wind is blowing the raindrops right in his face. The rain is actually pretty nice right now, hiding the tears that are slowly rolling down his cheek.

Crying over Steve motherfuckin’ Harrington. That’s a new low, even for him.

And the thing is, any other time Eddie could’ve dealt with Steve getting another date. Yeah, it’d probably hurt like a bitch and Eddie would’ve been sulking for a day or two, but he would’ve been fine. It would’ve been just another Emily situation, just another reminder that Steve would never been his.

But Steve keeping him in the dark about his date, Steve just flat-out cancelling their movie night without even telling him, after weeks of, let’s be honest, low-key flirting? That somehow hurts even more. It just feels like Steve doesn’t really care about him, like Steve’s using him like a fucking Kleenex - use once, then throw away when it’s no longer useful.

The thoughts in his head are so loud, so overwhelming, that he doesn’t even hear a pick-up truck stopping a few steps from him. Doesn’t hear the hushed voices or the wet sounds of footsteps through the mud.

“Ed? Whatcha doin’ here kid?”

Eddie looks up from where he had been staring at his feet, only to find Pat and Tish standing in front of him, huddled together underneath an umbrella. The worried looks on both their faces makes Eddie just cry even harder.

“Oh honey.” Tish says softly. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

Pat and Tish lead him inside and up the stairs that lead to the apartment above the bar. It’s small, but cozy and feels like a home, with little trinkets and old photos scattered just about everywhere. Pat firmly plants Eddie down at the kitchen table and hands him a couple of towels as his tears slowly start to fade. He hadn’t even realized how cold he was until Pat throws a woolen blanket over his shoulders and Tish puts down a pot of hot chamomile tea.

“So…” Pat says as she sits down across from him at the kitchen table. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Eddie sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “It’s stupid.”

“We’ll be the judge of that.” Pat says sternly, though her eyes are soft. “Now tell us what happened.”

And Eddie just spills everything. How Pat’s advice has been haunting him, how he’s been overanalyzing every of Steve’s moves, how he was so sure that Steve liked him back, only to be tossed aside without a care. He tears up again a few times and it’s so embarrassing he wants to be buried alive, even with Pat and Tish just listening and telling him it’s okay.

Once he’s done, he just feels empty - no more tears to cry, no more words to say, just an empty, hollow feeling where his heart used to be.

“Eddie, I’m so sorry, honey.” Tish sighs as she pours him another cup of tea. He’s not usually a tea drinker but he’s had two cups already - he swears Tish put some kind of crack in it, rather than sugar cubes. “For what it’s worth, he doesn’t deserve you. Not if he treats like you like, pardon my French, dogshit.”

Hearing Tish swear, while she’s generally so prim and proper, makes Eddie laugh, even through his dried-up tears. “Thanks, Tish.” He sighs, slouches down in his chair and looks up at the wooden ceiling. “But I guess this was good, in some twisted, fucked up way. Just the slap in the face I needed.”

“What’d you mean?” Pat frowns.

“It’s just… I been running after him like some lovesick puppy even though I know he’ll never feel the same.” Eddie says. “And it’s not doing me any good, now is it? Guess this is a sign that it’s time for me to move on.”

He knows he said that before, back when Steve started dating Emily, and even though it clearly didn’t work out the way he wanted to, Eddie has to make it work now. He has to say goodbye to Steve because he’s not so sure his poor heart’ll survive if he doesn’t.

And he knows exactly how he’s going to do just that.

Eddie jumps up from the table and races downstairs, ignoring Pat and Tish’s confused noises as they follow him. He fumbles with the lights for a moment but as soon as the lights are partially on, Eddie walks up to the podium, grabs the guitar off the wall and sits down on the stool that has become so familiar to him.

The bar is silent because of course it is and for a second Eddie just wants to laugh at how weird this whole situation - singing in a bar just to process his dumb feelings, even with no audience around (well, there’s an audience if you count Pat, Tish and the wind howling outside). But he has to do this, needs to do this, audience be damned.

His hands are shaking, hesitating to play the first few chords. It’s not like he doesn’t know the song, in fact he knows it by heart and played it plenty of times, But he never actually sang the words, too scared what’ll mean if he’ll say them out loud.

“If I, should stay… I would only be in your way. So, I’ll go but I’ll know, I’ll think of you each step of the way.” Eddie sing softly, voice already wavering because he was right for not singing this song before - it fucking hurts. “And I… will always love you.”

Eddie’s voice echoes through the empty bar, causing to sound more hollow than it already is. A shiver runs up his spine when he feels a cool breeze of wind - the wind must’ve flung the door open. Eddie doesn’t look up, closes his eyes instead and lets the music take him.

“Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m taking with me.” He hears Pat and Tish whispering to another, can’t really see them from where they’re standing in the dark but their hushed voices sound tense. Not that Eddie’s really listening, it’s all background noise as he continues strumming his guitar.

“Goodbye, please don’t cry. We both know…” Eddie chokes on his on voice, the words hitting a little too close to home. He takes a deep breath and tries again, refusing to shed anymore tears. “We both know that I’m not what you need.”

“Eddie?”

Someone’s calling out his name. A familiar voice. A way too familiar voice.

Steve’s voice.

But that can’t be. Steve’s doesn’t knows he’s here. Steve’s too busy wooing his goddamn date with those goddamn roses.

It’s just in his head. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him. He just needs to finish this song and then this fake Steve will disappear and-

“And I… will always love you. I will always-”

“Eddie, please.”

Eddie stops playing as a shadow washes over him, a figure blocking the spotlight. He squints, trying to identify whether it’s Pat or Tish who interrupted him, only to find that it’s neither of them

Because there, with floppy wet hair plastered to his face and a thoroughly soaked pink button-down and blue jeans, stands the one person Eddie had run away from in the first place.

Steve.

tag list (there are so many of you now omg ily):

@cheatghost @henderdads @unclewaynemunson @goblin-eddie @trikigirl271 @alienace @fandomcartographer @stevethehairington @blank1eboi @this-earlobe-is-naked @fruitandbubbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @stereoteleversion @wrenisflying @spectrum-spectre @hotluncheddie @punkharringtxn @remislupinsthevoiceofgod @panicatthediaz @thegingervulcan @sharkruption @goodolefashionedloverboi @thelastwalkingsoul @undreamingscatworld @starrystevie @magipemuseum @mightbeasleep @corrodedcoughin @linkydinky06 @hardboiledeggs @gamerdano @limpingpenguin @blackpanzy @piningapple @teelagurl558 @theokatz @moonlightmirrorball @milf-harrington @raisedbylibrarians @eddiemunsonswife @catateme9 @stranger-poets-society

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #i wanna say i'm sorry for the cliffhanger but i'm not #stay patient friends!! it'll all be good soon #alice's writing adventures

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argisthebulwark · 6 months

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How senseless death, how precious life

summary: Losing you would hurt enough, but being the cause of your demise would ruin him. gn reader, no y/n or pronouns used. original request here! feat: Cicero, Miraak, Brynjolf, Farkas warnings: explicit depiction of death, grief, and canon typical blood/injury.

Once the fog lifts, Cicero is left with silence. Blood still thrumming with the thrill of violence he begins searching, desperate to find his Listener. Surely you would be looking for him too, right? After battling so many assassins you would want to check on your Keeper, always so eager to bandage his wounds. Knife in hand Cicero hurries through the Sanctuary, once bustling areas reduced to deadly silence. Leaping over the bodies of fallen assassins he pauses, mind slowly clearing from the bleary red haze of bloodlust as he faces what he'd done. Your body's slumped over the desk you’d spend so many hours hiding behind. Staring at your back he relives the many times you’ve dozed off while working, the way you snuggled into your beloved Keeper as he whisked you off to bed. Cicero’s numb fingers quiver around the blade that had so carelessly taken your life. His knees smack against the stone floor, horrified shrieks echoing along stone walls. Choking on guilt he prods at you, begging you to come back to him. The dagger clatters to his side as poor Cicero realizes that once again he is alone in the world.

Miraak fights it. He would tear the world apart if it would free him from that damned prophecy. Gods, he's tried - exhausting every option and tearing through every text he’s gotten his hands on. For ages he’s fought back against the destiny leading him to this dreadful place, your body clutched in his arms. Your skin’s still warm against his, blades thrown aside and mask forgotten. Your arm is limp around his shoulders and the last words you would ever speak ring through his mind - 'there is no other option.' He can’t breathe. Miraak is sure all air has vanished from his world. For years he’s fought against this inevitable end, believing that together you could overcome destiny. Cradling you so delicately in his arms he breaks, mind numbed to his reality as his body trembles with each sob. Miraak vows revenge against the cruel world that ripped you away from him, the last shred of his humanity dying with you.

Grief is crushing, a never ending weight that Brynjolf carries with him. He is granted no reprieve from the memories of you - the smile you flashed before leaving the Cistern, your fingers combing along his scalp as you braided back his hair, the haunting echoes of your scream when his blade pierced armor. Rationally he knows it was Mercer’s spell that had forced his hand to move, gripping his mind and his muscles without his consent, but the guilt never ceases. He’d thought that killing Mercer would help but the grief only deepened, the hole in his chest ragged and painful. His hands grow cold without yours there to warm it, your pillows clutched to his chest when he eventually rests. He grows reserved, adrift in his grief. Your grave overflows with flowers where it stands guard outside the Cistern's entrance yet Brynjolf cannot face it. Seeing your headstone reminds him of each terrible step he took back to Riften, the heft of your body in his arms as he brought you home one final time. Distance grows between him and his fellow thieves. He is tethered only by his undying sense of duty. You’d died for the Guild and he vowed to keep it afloat if only to honor you. Time does not heal all wounds, Brynjolf can attest to this as he will mourn you until his last breath.

Ever ready for a good fight, Farkas bounds through the battlefield searching for you. In a daze and clinging to the scraps of clothes wrecked by transformation he hurries, trying to locate your scent through the metallic haze dampening the grove. He only lost track of you for a moment during the battle, the beast blood too enticing for him to remain entirely focused. It’s happened before, he reasons - your spellcasting ability has never failed to keep you safe. He’s already planning the meal you’ll share as a treat when he stumbles across you. Blood stains robes he’d tied so carefully only hours ago. The warmth of joy leeches out of his body, leaving him a silent shell as he kneels before you. Gathering your body so delicately Farkas searches for the pulse he knows he will not find. Tears leak down his cheeks as he silently carries you home, cradling you to his chest with each step. Farkas would never forgive himself for losing focus. He would grow to resent the beast he’d once lived in harmony with, forever chastising himself for his carelessness.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfic #x reader fanfic #writing #cicero #brynjolf #miraak #farkas

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ceo-of-sloppy-men · 7 months

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Head Bowed In Attonment

Ship: Tav/Zevlor Rating: Explicit Tags: love confessions, rough sex, slightly submissive Zevlor, oral sex, references to tiefling mating cycles & tail headcanons Summary:

Misphi finds themself at the grove, following a familiar voice shouting across the Sword Coast. It awards them a chance to finally talk with Zevlor… and maybe a little more.

Much to Misphi’s utter frustration, it seems as if their life has been a series of unfortunate kidnappings. One after the other. Elturel dragged to the Hells, their wrists chained as they’re carted off to Baldurs Gate, and then finally, a mindflayer ship snatching them off the road. At least they’d managed to escape them all - even if it left them stranded on a beach with a notably absurd band of similarly inflicted acquaintances.

It helped them accept their fate; knowing others were in the same boat made the impending ceremorphosis seem less horrifying. Although, why they’ve yet to transform was beyond anyone’s explanation. Even Gales (apparently). So, they were left to wander their way across the sword coast in hopes of finding a cure.

Until they heard a name they hadn’t dared hope to hear again since leaving Elturel.

“Open the bloody gates, Zevlor!” Someone cried from up ahead and a tsunami of emotions slammed into them all at once.

Their face must have looked positively emotive, as Astarion leaned over and whispered:

“Someone you know? Or someone we should avoid?”

Without answering, they break into a dead sprint toward the voice - although they suppose that is an answer in and of itself. The sound of a curse in a whining tone at their heels lets them know they at least aren’t being abandoned in this endeavour. Rushing up a small hill in front of them, they make it just in time to see a band of goblins rush towards a small group of humans, arrows soaring through the air, piercing and killing a tiefling atop the parallel wall. A pained yelp of his name echoes through their ears. The voice starkly familiar, sending fear trickling into their bones.

The goblins fall in a blur. They might not have all the powers they’d gained in Avernus (damned tadpoles) but, they still knew how to tactfully place spells. And their companions were competent – as well as this so-called Blade of Frontiers. Somehow, the group of humans manage to hold their ground despite their atrocious formation, and the handful of them rush into the gate the moment it’s raised high enough for them to duck under. Astarion wastes some time picking up trinkets from the fallen enemies, Shadowheart picking up the weapons to sell later, while Misphi rushes past the gate.

Their heart thunders in their chest as they search the group of tieflings with wild, wide eyes. Instantly, as if time itself freezes for them, they see him standing there, exchanging harsh words with the man from the gate. They can see his balled fist and the way he tenses, straightening his posture to try and make himself seem imposing. They’re certain he didn’t see them on the battlefield – or perhaps this was all a mistake. Perhaps all of it had been merely situational. Surely if he had seen them he’d be trying to find them in the aftermath. Right?

Hesitation gathers in their chest, weighing them down. They approach slowly, as to not interrupt or seem too… forward? Intentional? Hopeful? They’re not quite sure which word suits this situation better.

“SHUT IT HORNS! I’d be lying dead next to the goblins if you stalled any longer!” Aradin hisses, scrunching his nose in anger.

“My duty is to this camp,” Zevlor insists, making an attempt to at least keep his head.

“Oh, God forbid you risk your precious tail. But I shouldn’t be surprised, foulbloods ain’t known for –“

WHAM.

It’s a blur, one moment Misphi feels it all boil over inside them, the next, Aradin is lying in the dirt, clutching a broken nose and whining. They shake their fist, knuckles aching from the force of the strike. Out of the corner of their eye they see Zevlor gawking at them, mouth hanging open.

“Get up, and I’ll make sure you’ll never have children,” Misphi hisses, glaring down at him. “I’ve had quite enough of men like you.”

Aradin groans, but at least he’s smart enough to know what’s good for him. He remains sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his nose until Misphi is satisfied and turns their attention from him. They’re fairly certain he scampers off the moment their back is turned. Their hand still aches – they’re not used to the physical aspects of violence, even after Elturel. But they weren’t about to waste a spell on him.

“Misphi?” Zevlor asks incredulously, his voice barely above a whisper.

He’s a sight for sore eyes. Worn down and ragged, clearly exhausted from whatever journey had led to him being here. They can see the way his shoulders slump forward, his head dipping towards the ground. They press their lips together, wanting desperately to wrap him in their arms and tuck both of them away from the world.

“Zevlor,” they whisper softly, tail inching forward to test the waters.

When it gingerly brushes against his and he responds quickly by wrapping his around theirs, they echo him, stepping forward and tucking their arms under his. He folds into them, head resting on their shoulder as he clutches them to him, arms wrapped around their back, hands gripping their sides. He can feel their purring rumble against his armour and he’s certain they can hear his as he tucks himself against them.

“Not that I’m one to reject a blessing, but I thought you would be in Baldur’s Gate by now. What happened? How are you – why are you here?” Zevlor questions them quickly.

Their heart flutters when he calls them a blessing, curling closer to him and allowing themself a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of sweat and smoke on his skin.

“I escaped. Sort of… there was an, er – we were attacked by a Nautaloid. It plucked me from the caravan, along with a few others. It crashed shortly afterwards, not far from here, which is how I escaped,” they admit sheepishly, going slowly as not to startle him. To his credit, he makes no move to pull back from them.

“So that’s how you escaped,” Zevlor muses quietly.

“Yes… I need a healer, Zev’. Is there one here? You were shouting about a druid before, are there more here? If not, do you know where to find the druid you were speaking about?” Misphi asks tentatively, relaxing their arms to let him pull back if he wants.

He does, but rather than stepping away, he scans over them, trying to assess them for any injuries. When he finds none, he arches an eyebrow at them as if expecting them to elaborate.

“They put a tadpole in me,” Misphi admits, pulling their hands away and expecting him to do the same.

Instead, he pulls them closer, curling around them protectively as if he could shield them from this horror as they did for each other an innumerable number of times back in Elturel.

“There are a few druids left, yes. This is one of their Groves. But I fear we’re not on the best of terms… they’re attempting to kick us out now that Halsin is gone, and I suspect that if he doesn’t return, they’ll do just that. They don’t care that we won’t make it on the road – not with the army of goblins in our way. Er, sorry, you don’t need my problems on your plate as well… He has an apprentice, Nettie; she might be able to help you. If not, well, you might need to go find him,” he adds the last part hesitantly, tail tensing in their hold.

“Your problems are my problems,” Misphi insists, playing with the little hairs not gathered in his ponytail. “I should seek out Nettie and figure out if she can help. If not… well, I suppose I’ll have to find this Halsin. Then maybe see about our goblin problem.”

“I’m afraid the goblin problem and Halsin are one in the same – he’s not a goblin, but he is captured by them. Or perhaps killed if Aradin is to be believed,” Zevlor admits sheepishly, and Misphi makes a small ‘o’ with their mouth.

“Well, then this just got more complicated,” they giggle awkwardly. “I feel like we’re back in Elturel, pressed up against a wall, without really a choice in the matter.”

“I… I suppose you’re right,” Zevlor sighs, shaking his head to hide the smile. Elturel is by no measure a fond memory for them. But being by their side? That makes him smile like a fool. As if they gently pull the weight of the world from his shoulders like he’s come in from a blizzard, and they’re at the door, helping remove his snow-crusted jacket.

They lean back and offer him a soft smile.

“I need to talk to Nettie, but afterwards, we should talk. You have a lot of explaining to do. Starting with why you’re out here, in the middle of nowhere, with a group of tieflings, instead of back in Elturel –“ Zevlor stammers, attempting to answer them before they swiftly cut them off – “But, that can wait. I’ll give you the time to gather your answers first.”

“Right, I – take all the time you need. I will be in my office; it’s down in the lower section of our camp, past a round stone door. If you can’t find it, ask around. I’m sure someone is willing to help you,” Zevlor says, stealing a glance at their lips. He desperately wants to lean forward and leave a parting kiss on their lips, yet he hesitates. He has no right to them. He’s not even certain they would welcome it. So, instead, he butts his head gently against theirs, and they return the gesture.

“I’ll come find you; I promise,” Misphi says as their parting words before heading down lower into the grove.

He stands there, watching them go as a strange group trails after them, already bickering about their decisions. More crash survivors, he assumes, seeing the way they shake their head at the elven man, chastising him. He huffs and relents, clearly not as adamant on his point as he wants them to believe. As he watches them, the ghost of their touch lingers on his skin until they’re well out of view, and he’s tucking himself back into the grove. Back into the safety of his office to wait for them to seek him out. He tries to pretend like he doesn’t tidy up the space, but there’s only so much he can get past Tilses.<hr />

Zevlor waits quietly in his makeshift office. A candle burns next to him as he examines his maps. Tilses up at the top of the room, guarding the door. There’s a quiet guilt that has snuck up on him, rearing its ugly head the moment he casts a glance at the trunk sitting by his bedroll. Their belongings, and the afternoon, he gathered them. He can still remember his hand wrapped around his erection, rutting his hips into it desperately, and the shame of it consumes him faster than any Avernus-born fire. How can he think to face them now? How could he think to hold them after everything he’s done? Let alone beg of them to soothe his problems. He’s a selfish creature, dirtying his hands in their private space to lecherous pictures of them. There are so many times one can wash clothes before it begins to tatter the material. There are only so many times one can wash their hands before the skin is rubbed raw.

His hands ache as they rub against his gauntlets. He’s long since passed, flinching at the pain.

Despite his spiralling train of thought, it doesn’t surprise him when the door rolls open, Tilses calling down to him that she’s going on patrol. She probably can’t bear to stand there and watch him, this stark reminder of their infernal heritage. A failed commander. An oathbroken paladin. He offers her a word of acknowledgement, refocusing his attention on trying to find a way around the Goblins. Maybe if he can discover something – like a secret passage – he could help Misphi get to Halsin quicker or find a way for them to all slip past unnoticed and get to Baldur’s Gate and find a healer there. Surely, there are healers in the city who can help. There has to be. Maybe if he can help them, it might burn a little of the shame off the edges of him. Even if he knows it won’t fix the blue roses curling in his chest, twisting every time they walk by.

A hand trails down his tail, and he’s violently yanked from his mind, thankful he has the self-control to bite back the needy noise that builds in his throat at a stranger's touch. His hand flies to the pommel of his sword until a blue, calloused hand wraps around his torso, the visitor resting their weight on his back with a sigh. Tentatively, he places a hand over theirs, and they hum in approval, a fracture of a purr in their chest. He doesn’t deserve this, he thinks dismally to himself. This is some cruel joke of the universe, and any moment now, they’ll pull away and take with them the vivid daydream he’s spun for himself. Yet, their hand remains on his tail, carefully clipped claws toying with the ridges, forcing him to keep an iron grip on the pommel of his sword for an entirely different reason. It rumbles through his mind, this tide of desire drowning him as he vividly recalls himself sprawled across a chair in their bedroom. The memory ties his tongue into knots as he’s trapped between the table and their warm body, unable to pull away out of shame and wanting desperately to melt into their touch.

“I didn’t think I’d see you until I got back to Elturel,” Misphi sighs, resting their head on his shoulder.

“We were heading to Baldur’s Gate, for you,” he says, adding the last part without thinking.

“For me?” Misphi questions instantly, their ear quirking up against his shoulder.

He coughs, attempting to regain his composure. Helm, he’s not even looking at them, and he’s already losing himself in them.

“What I mean is you wouldn’t have known tieflings were banished from Elturel until after you were released. We wanted to make sure we were there to support you or at least give you a place to stay while you decided what to do.”

“We? What about you?” Misphi asks in a calm, measured tone as their ear lowers back to a resting position.

“What I want is irrelevant –“

“Yes, but I asked, didn’t I?” Misphi hums, rubbing the pad of their finger against the tip of one of his spines. Had they not been a tiefling, he could almost mistake it for absent-mindedness. But, surely they had to know what they were doing to him? Surely, they had to see the way he dug his claws into his pommel, trying to force himself to reason that its all in his head.

“I was –“ he pauses, voice trembling and takes a deep breathe – “I was looking forward to a garden. And retirement. I have seen enough death for one lifetime. I’d like these old hands to be covered in something other than blood,” he admits, deciding that openness and honesty would serve him better.

Misphi’s hand stills on his tail, and he almost sighs in relief, mourning their touch at the same time. They pull back a hairs breathe, and he cannot stop himself from chasing after them, relieved when their head doesn’t leave his shoulder.

“I hadn’t expected that. A garden, eh? I can see it. A little cottage to match too, a quaint little path up to the front door, a warm bed to welcome you home each night, and some buns in the oven.”

He has no right to reach for their tail, yet he finds it nonetheless. They offer it willingly, intertwining them as they lean against his back, a smile pressed into his neck. His mind buzzes, replaying their words as he tries to find the appropriate response. Surely, that last part had to be literal; just fresh bread baking because it smells nice. Not because they’re picturing a tiny, purple hellion running underfoot. Just because he is does not give him the right to assume they are as well.

“It sounds like a dream,” he mumbles pathetically, unable to find better words in the fog of his brain. They hum in agreement, nonetheless. “I took the liberty of gathering your belongings for you – they’re in a chest over there if you wanted clean clothes.”

“Thank you,” they sigh in relief, pulling away, this time fully, until they stand behind him. He chokes down the grief of the cool, stagnant air where they used to stand. “I’ll take a look later; there’s something else I’d much rather do. If you’d do me the honour of turning around to face me…?”

He turns around in an instant, pressing himself up against the desk, tails still wound together and heart hammering in his chest.

“You need not call it an honour to ask anything of me. Simply hearing your voice is a far greater honour than I shall ever deserve. Your presence outweighs the honour of any request you should ever make of me.”

Misphi chuckles softly, such a sinful noise that rings through Zevlor’s ears like a symphony. There’s a small smile on their lips as they reach up and gently cup his jaw. He cannot stop himself from leaning into the touch, closing his eyes as he draws a slow, languid breath into his weary lungs. They brush their thumb gently against his skin, tracing over the infernal ridges on his cheekbones.

“It is an honour merely to gaze upon you. Therefore, I shall always ask for the pleasure of your company,” they whisper, and Zevlor draws in a stuttering, befuddled breath. Before he can protest, they continue, the sea of their pitch-black eyes rendering him a statue:

“Though, I suppose honour does impose something heavy upon this, does it not? I don’t want to place more weight upon your shoulders. If anything, I wish to share it, if only to see you stand a little straighter. A little more confident and assured, without all of the responsibility the world has placed – and continues to place – upon you… No, honour has nothing to do with any of this. It never has. There is no honour in surviving Avernus. No duty or divinity either. We did what we had to, and maybe, hopefully, a little more than necessary where it counted… I know I did.”

Zevlor’s jaw works, trying to find his words without letting forth the pathetic, weary plea for their company hiding in his chest. He desperately wants to lean forward, to kiss them, to hold them, to find it in himself to admit to any of it. In the end, he comes up short, left staring at them, letting them cradle his weary bones.

“You may touch me,” Misphi whispers as if reading his mind.

Suddenly, he reclaims himself, and everything happens all at once. He’s pulling them into his arms, stumbling over his own feet as he forgets about his armour and tries to pull them flush with his body. Only to pull back a moment later, taking their face in his hands. His fingers hide the freckles scattered across their skin like tiny stars, and he almost loses himself in counting each and everyone until he blinks himself back into focus.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me now, please. I don’t deserve this – I don’t deserve you. None of this kindness should ever be mine. You are a perfection I should never be able to obtain. Not after everything I’ve done,” he begs, searching their eyes for any trace of doubt. His heart hammers in his chest, nearly having come up with the words. He feels as if it has, cradled gently in his hands as their eyes flicker across his face.

He feels the callouses of their staff-worn hands brush against his skin as they lift his gaze to meet theirs. Despite their black eyes, he has always been able to discern even the subtlest emotions within them. Now, he finds himself utterly lost in a reverent gaze, pinning him in place, torn between waiting for their response and acting without it. Thankfully, they speak first:

“If this scares you, I won’t rush you. I will wait until silence blankets Avernus at the end of the Blood War if that is what you need. I have waited and will continue to wait for as long as you need… But if you want this, if you want me, I am yours. Forever and always.”

“I’m an awful thing to wait for,” he scoffs before he can catch himself.

“Not to me,” they state stubbornly. He finds himself wanting to break their gaze, unable to imagine anyone would actually want to gaze upon him with reverence. They plant a delicate kiss on his cheek, and he nearly crumples, hands trembling against their face. “You have never been an awful thing to me, Zevlor. You are the first breath of clean air after we dragged Elturel out of Avernus. I care for you more than the moon cares for the sun it chases each night and far more than a dragon cares for its gold. If you’ll have me, I am yours.”

He can think of nothing more than to kiss them. Words abandoned on his tongue, devoured by permission, he leans forward and presses his lips against theirs. They respond instantly, wrapping their arms around his neck, pulling him closer and freeing his hair from its constraints. He threads his fingers in their short locks, the double-edged memory of cutting their hair bubbling to the surface. Unlike him, they seem indifferent to the memory, humming against his lips as they wind their tails closer together. He feels the desk hit the back of his thighs and lets them guide him to sit atop it. They break away from the kiss only to breathe, hands flying to the ties that pin his armour to his body. An hour ago, he might’ve brushed their hands away and insisted that he doesn’t need to go this far. He might not have even kissed them to begin with.

Instead, he helps them undo the ties, expecting it to fall to the floor, surprised when they set it carefully to the side. A hungry kiss is laid upon his lips each time they remove a new piece until he’s left in his undershirt and pants, reaching for the clasps of their robe. Yet, they step back and fear leaps in his chest. Are they going to leave him here? Like this?

A clawed finger reaches out and tilts his chin up, bringing his gaze back to theirs. His heart thrums in his chest, the fire of arousal sparking in the pit of his stomach as he finds heady passion in their gaze. Their hands lift to the clasps of their robe, deftly undoing them as they hold his gaze. He swallows thickly as it drops to the floor, leaving them clad in a pair of orange and white boxers. His cock leaps in his pants, coming to life at the sight of their freckled-covered hips and soft breasts. Remembering their words from earlier, he finds it in himself to reach forward and pull them back between his legs. They do so easily, humming in approval as he cups their breasts, rolling his thumbs over their nipples.

However, he has other plans than to leave them on their feet. Recalling days spent sparring with other Hellriders, he hooks his legs around their waist and flips them until they’re suddenly on the table, and he stands between their legs. Their leg rests on his shoulder, tail wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. He watches their chest rise and fall under his hands, back arched into his touch and a pleasantly surprised smile on their lips. Suddenly, guilt drips down his spine like ice, and he nearly bows his head.

“Before we… continue, I should probably tell you that I – well – you’re allowed to leave after this if you want. I would understand. Frankly, I’m disgusted by it myself and wish I could go back and –“

“Zevlor,” they say, yanking him back to reality. They’ve sat up, hand cupping his jaw, with worry painted clearly across their face. “What is it?”

“Back when I was packing up your… belongings, I might have found the bottle of wine you kept in your room. I cannot blame my actions on those of a drunken fool, but I… Oh, Helm above,” this is tortuous to admit! Must they watch him with such a patient, concerned expression? “I found myself relieving myself of an unfortunate side effect of – no because that sounds like an excuse,” he huffs in frustration as they tilt their head to the side.

“Zevlor…?” Misphi presses softly, maintaining a neutral expression.

“I jerked off with your briefs against my face!” he blurts out finally, slapping his hand over his mouth the moment the words leave his lip.

Misphi’s eyebrows raise, and he waits for them to push him away, to say something – anything. To call him disgusting or perverted or –

“Which ones?”

He balks at them, trying to register their question in his mind to no avail.

“The yellow ones?” he squeaks out, hand absently falling to the pocket they’re still stuffed in.

They catch it instantly, reaching their hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against his half-hard dick, making his hips jump forward as they pull out the yellow lace briefs he’d stuffed there. They appraise them with an arched eyebrow, feeling the lace under their fingers as they regard him in the background of their gaze.

“I washed them,” he says for the lack of something better to say.

He’s not prepared when they reach forward and stuff the briefs down the front of his pants, fingers brushing against his erection and straining against the fabric. He yelps; their hands are cold, and his breath catches in his throat. All he can hear is the pounding of his heart until they hold his chin between their thumb and forefinger. Despite the shame thrumming through his body, his blood still manages to run hot, arousal heavy in the pit of his stomach, as if trying to burn him from the inside out.

“What else did you find?” they ask with a lazy curiosity of a predator watching its prey.

“It’s in the trunk,” he nods his head toward it, letting them force his head back where they want it.

“What was your favourite?” they continue to press, leaning forward and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his neck.

He shudders at the sensation, weakly managing to squeak out:

“The harness!”

Their eyebrows shoot up in surprise before a devilish grin curls their lips.

“So obedient, too. Maybe some other day I’ll show you, but not tonight. Tonight, I want just want you, and as much as you’re willing to give,” they promise, pressing a fluttering kiss to his lips, and his heart sings at the idea of another day spent like this. “Thank you for being honest with me, but you can untuck your tail. I’m not mad; it’s actually rather hot. In a perverse sort of way.”

Zevlor swallows the knot in his throat and nods his head. His mouth is abruptly dry as if he’d wandered a desert for days before coming upon an oasis. He drops to his knees, face inches away from their open legs. He can feel the briefs shift against his weeping dick, scratchy lace sending sparks up his spine. He steals a glance up at them, heart quickening as they watch him with that same lazy, predatory gaze.

“If you’ll allow me to, I’d like to atone,” he rasps, gingerly placing their legs on his shoulder.

“I’ll allow it,” Misphi hums, dragging him forward with a hand wrapped around his horn. Their nails drag through his hair once he’s in place, lazily toying with his locks.

He revels in the burn against his scalp as he presses his face against their cunt, taking a deep breath and shuddering at the scent. Familiar and addictive, he runs his tongue across the length of them, yanking a moan from their lips. Suddenly, he’s rather glad he has to file down his nails to wear his gauntlets, as it lets him push a finger against their sopping wet core as he mouths at their clit. For once, he’s glad to have a forked tongue, dragging the twin ends on either side of their clit and feeling them writhe under him, gasping his name into the stagnant air. He feels them arch against the table, pulling him closer with one hand clutching his horn and their tail wrapped around his back. He can’t bring himself to care, rutting his hips into the air as he works them open with his fingers. Each pleased moan he pulls from their lips only spurs him further, lapping at them and unable to take more than a moment to breathe before returning to them.

He has three fingers in them, down to the knuckles, stretching them open when he feels them clench and spasm around them. They gasp and writhe on the table, horns hitting against the stone as they groan his name like a feverish prayer. It has never sounded better, even as he continues to suck on their clit, listening to them repeat his name until they’re pushing him away, rendering a twitching mess in front of him.

“Helm, you taste better than any wine gold could buy,” he moans, sucking on his fingers to clean them off.

“Do we have to leave this room tomorrow? Can’t we stay here all week and let our cycles ravage our bodies?” Misphi sighs, pulling him forward by the horns.

Zevlor stumbles a little, planting his hands on either side of their head as he leans over them.

“As much as I wish we could, there is still the matter of the goblins and your… condition. But once we are safe? I am yours. I’d gladly spend all of my ruts with you so that you’d never need to wear bells on your tail again,” Zevlor promises, wrapping his lips around one of their nipples and fondling the other with his hand.

“Then we’ll have to make the most of tonight,” Misphi moans, arching their back to push against his mouth. Their tail scrambles against his pants, trying to shove them down as their legs lock around his hips. He takes the hint and forces them down until they pool around his ankles.

Zevlor doesn’t even bother to step out of them as he takes himself in his hand and ruts the weeping head against their core. He aligns himself, thrusting forward once and missing deliberately. They sigh in frustration, rutting their hips against his until he finally sinks into them, yanking a debauched moan of his name from their lips. He groans against their skin, releasing their nipple with a wet pop to mouth his way over to the other one, giving little, shallow thrusts into them.

Misphi grabs his horns and yanks him back, looking him dead in the eyes:

“Fuck me.”

“What?” he squeaks.

“I’m not going to break, despite what everyone thinks of wizards. I survived Avernus. I’ve earned this. You say you want me? Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like I’m helping you with your rut, and you’re desperate to please me,” they demand of him. He gawks at them, blinking a few times as their words sink into his mind. They bite their lip, watching as he turns the request over in his head, with half a mind to take it back and assure him he was doing fine as he was, even if they wanted more.

Then his hips snap forward, and he leans over them, pressing a growl against their neck. With one leg bent up on the table, he angles them so he can thrust deeper and sets a brutal pace. As if months of being trapped in Avernus, of wasted ruts and tense survival, has finally boiled over into messy, brutal sex. His tail twists around theirs, intertwining until they can’t get any closer. His free hand wraps around the base of their tail, stroking it roughly and pulling a keening whine from them. He mouths hot, wet kisses against their neck, biting their cursed skin as he clutches them closer. They wrap their arms around his back; one holds his horns, and the other digs into his shoulder blade, pulling him closer still.

The wet sound of their hips meeting echoes off the walls of the fortified office tucked into the corner of the grove. Neither care who might walk in and see them or if it’s even soundproofed. They can deal with that later. Right now, all that matters is sinking their claws and teeth into the other, desperate for something they’ve held at arm’s length for far too long.

He does his best to hold himself together for as long as they need. He can feel them rut against him, bucking their hips into his hand as he rolls their clit between his fingers. They pulse around him, moaning his name, dragging their claws down his back, biting at his neck. All of it is utterly overwhelming. And all his. Somehow, by some divine misjudgement, they’ve chosen him. He’s determined to last as long as they need, even if he desperately needs to finish. He fucks into them roughly, keeping an uneven pace in hopes that it’ll stave off his climax.

It's only when they dig their claws into his back and press their lips to his that he loses control. His hips stutter forward, pressing against theirs roughly, trying to force himself as deep as he can as he pants for air through his nose. They wrap their legs tighter around his waist, using it as leverage to rut against his hand until they arch their back and break away from the kiss with a breathless moan of his name. He nearly thanks the gods for freeing him from guilt as he presses his head into the crook of their neck, panting harder. He fucks into them until they start to mewl, even if it’s too much for his oversensitive body.

“We should have done that ages ago,” Misphi sighs, nuzzling the top of his head, their horns knocking together.

“We’ll just have to make up for it later if you’ll have me,” Zevlor hums, gently squeezing their tail with his own.

“Of course, I’ll have you,” they whisper softly, kissing his temple. “I meant what I said earlier, Zev’. I care about you.”

“I care about you too,” he mumbles back, lazily kissing their shoulder before straightening up. They’re a sight to behold, dishevelled and boneless on the desk, surrounded by battleplans he’ll have to set up again tomorrow. “Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?”

“We’re sleeping in the grove for the night. The rest of my party have already found somewhere to settle in for the night. I can go back to them if you need me to,” Misphi offers, ghosting their hands down his sides.

“Stay here with me. Please. I haven’t been able to sleep properly on my own anymore; I keep seeing Avernus in my dreams,” Zevlor admits sheepishly, placing a kiss in the centre of their chest rather than meeting their gaze.

“So, have I,” Misphi replies, cupping his face in their hands. “I’ll stay.”

Zevlor feels his heart flutter at the soft look in their eyes. The urge to kiss them overwhelms him, so he leans forward, carefully pressing his lips against theirs with a contented hum. They card their fingers through his hair, feeling his spend trickle down their backside as they revel in the waves of heat his body gives off. When they finally find it in themselves to pull apart, it’s only long enough to clean up and curl up together on his bedroll. As they move about the room, they never stray further than arm’s length from each other.

#ao3 link #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x tav #tav x zevlor #tav/zevlor #zevlor/tav #bg3 fanfiction #nsft

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lorei-writes · 2 months

Text

Decade in Lilies

Chevalier x OC (OC Chart: Esther) Comfort / Angst-adjacent ~1.1k words

I suppose it's an accidental collab with @wordycheeseblob ? When I dropped off a request in Saki's inbox (here's said request -- it's gorgeous), I didn't think she'd combine it with a part of our chat. But she did! And I said I'd write that story! So I did!

A little something about Bloodstained Rose Day... among other things, possibly. :)

Content Warnings: blood mention

The road coils; it raises, and it turns, to eventually disappear among grass. Not a pebble remains visible, hoofbeat soaking down into the very roots of all things. The answer does not come, however – not a vole leaves its liar, not a panicked mouse flees from its nest. No birds chirp. It is quiet in the grove, only a thousand miniscule white bells ringing out a silent tune. Fragrant pollen spills in mist, noxiously suffocating and pungently sweet. They rock, clapperless despite their duty to sing. Fragile stems enter a state of resonance.

Neighing fades in a cloud of shouts, powerful hooves striking the ground for wheels to turn. Muscles strain as arms lift and load logs onto heavy carts, a cacophony of hammers played by human hands raising above the garrison. Stone to stone and nail to wood, soldiers-turned-workers march on to fight off the damage brought by flames, each with resolve harder than chitin shells. Foundations tremble in fervour of repairs. All is well, however, not an ant being unaccounted for under Chevalier’s astute gaze. He leans against the railing, the fur of his collar bristling at the wind.

Footfall echoes up the staircase and precedes its very source. Chevalier listens, the heels of Esther’s shoes clacking against the floor. Muffled flutter of pages, a breath that is but a touch too sharp. When he sees her, her eyes are narrowed, blonde hair having fallen into her face. However, she settles by his side all the same.

“None of the soldiers have seen the arsonist,” Esther reports, quite agitated.

“But?”

A deep breath. “But I’ve been talking with the washerwomen, and they found a part burned uniform. It was mixed in with the batch of linen they were supposed to wash on the day of the fire. One saw a soldier rush out of the staff quarters, she thought he was running to help put it out…” Esther purses her lips, clearly displeased with what she’s about to say. “But that’s about it.”

“I see.”

Men hurry, mouths shouting orders that minds are yet to process fully; however, the very top of the soot-soiled wall is quiet. It is not a place anybody would dare to approach unprovoked. Chevalier pushes himself away from the railing – he has assessed all that there is to be assessed. There are few things he’d wish to look at twice (or more). And one stands in front of him.

Esther clutches the papers to her chest, wind tugging at them, her hair, her capelet, skirt, sleeves of her shirt. Part troubled and part embarrassed with herself, she attempts to smooth out her curls, thus almost losing a page. He catches it for her, however, just as effortlessly as he tucks the few wayward strands behind her ear. Chevalier meets her blush with a smirk of his own.

“I-I’ve compiled the register of all the materials lost and being in use right now,” Esther stutters against herself, but regains her composure. “When are we departing?”

“Before noon. We should arrive at the other affected location soon after sundown.”

***

Wispy rye sways like in a crib, juvenile ears lying as low as to touch the softened soil. Clack, clack, click, clack, horses step a steady rhythm into the dirt road, the muddy ground being rather reluctant to let go of their hooves. Only deepened by patrol marches and carts carrying supplies, the furrows stretch long, the land itself clearly wishing to part. Winds herd clouds.

Chevalier searches the sky. Whatever it is that he’s looking for, he must find it in the image of the setting sun. Light paints bloody scarlet streaks across his face, but it is just a mirage. It must be. Chevalier spurs his stallion into a trot, a grove flickering somewhere at the end of the horizon, the few sparse branches a promise of the overdue shade.

But that is all there is.

Chevalier scrutinises the scene, as he always does. He takes in the greenery, a branch, a leaf, a stem and a speck of dust at a time. It has been years since the grass consumed any footworn trails, yet he still traces their outlines as if they still bore some semblance of importance; likewise, he apprises the new sapplings, some of which have grown considerably, their previously smooth bark starting to acquire its due roughness. Out of habit, he searches for trunks that once were there and have since succumbed to rot – and however preposterous an action it is, he engages in it fully, further lured by the crimson of the dying sun. Sage turns red, wiry shadows expanding their grasp, combining into low-hanging miasmic clouds. Chevalier’s nose pricks at that nothing of a smell. The quiet whispers a melodic not-memory. It is only those hollow quiet bells, thousands, tens of thousands, of them, each a reminder of what once was but is not there.

… of what he is.

… of what he has always been.

Chevalier spurs his horse once again. Frozen to remain calm, he stares ahead, seeing that which he has never seen, but will never forget either. Leaves may rustle, discarded twigs may crunch – all sound is lost on him, the irrelevant fading away in face of his pre-objective. His grip on the reins tightens, frigid resolve purging his eyes of any selfish inefficient warmth. Chevalier rushes further into carmine, paints himself in wine and sangria, viscous vermilion reopening its arms…

… and a rider follows in his tracks, quite unpractised and visibly struggling to catch up. Chevalier slows down, Esther bringing her chestnut mare to ride beside him. All he needs is a single glance – a crease has formed between her brows, determined fingers trembling faintly as she steers the horse. He understands… and perhaps this once he also wishes she did not search his face the moment he’s given her the chance to. Esther exhales slowly. He does not allow himself to look at her.

Ground swallows even the drumming of the hooves. Not a word is exchanged, not until they reach the very edge of the grove. Esther stops her horse. Part against himself, Chevalier does so too. Indifferently uncomfortable, he anchors his gaze in the horizon.

“We’ve always been told that lilies of the valley are born from tears of mothers,” she says, so very softly he cannot help but await the inevitable scorn. “But we also say they’re the first sign of the better days.”

Chevalier looks over his shoulder. Her mellow dark eyes shimmer, suddenly turned golden when in this light. Esther gives him a smile, tilts her head to the side to then shake it, gusts sweeping her hair back. The bells sway, but their voice rings hollow now, as if merely echoing from the past. Esther straightens her back and urges her horse to walk. Chevalier nods as she passes him.

“I see,” he finally replies.

Perhaps he can be forgiven for sowing valleys worth of lilies across Rhodolite.

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tavyliasin · 4 months

Text

ATG 5 - Day? Night.

In which a little invention it tested on a willing subject...

Pairing: Astarion/Tav SPICE Rating: 4/5 (sex, toys, mild kink) Content Warnings: Slight power play, blood, biting,

Spoilers Set in the middle of Act 2 again, but not a lot of plot, just the setting of Last Light Inn Canon Compliance Canons Got Fired - Look it's fun to diverge. A little. Vaguely remembering the hidden rooms under the Inn for some setting, and trying to keep close to how I see the relationship developing more between the dynamics of these 2 and how their life views may come in to conflict. Other Notes Darlings we are here for the fun headcanon and toying with ideas of how different aspects of the world and lore could be utilised. Got ideas for additions? Drop them in the comments. Song/Mood Poison Apple by Echo Black "Another midnight, I saw your face, The hunger hit me and I had to have a taste. No need to fight it, temptation reigns, Your touch is wicked and it's burning through my veins. Never refuse forbidden fruit My strength is waning and my demons running loose I should've felt it, before the fall, I saw the apple took a bite and lost it all." ----- FULL CHAPTER BELOW THE CUT -----

It seemed like their time in the cursed Shadowlands might never end. Searching through ruined towns for clues to the past, fighting their way through the souls that had fallen before them, seeking light to chase the shadows. At least they now had the blessing to protect them, and somewhere to sleep safely in the Last Light Inn surrounded by Harpers and the Tiefling refugees from the Druid grove had also arrived safely. Tav had been relieved to see Dammon was with them, alive, well, and willing to trade once more. His help for Karlach was invaluable, too. She glanced over at the barbarian, sleeping like a small child now cuddling up to a large stuffed toy that Gale had enchanted to be safe from her heat. She looked peaceful, for a change. Unfortunately, Tav was far from peaceful herself. She felt completely restless. The Sword Coast was apparently full of painfully attractive people, and sharing a communal room did not allow for privacy to scratch certain itches. It did not help at all that Astarion flirted as easily as breathing, and she had yet to build up an immunity to his undeniable charms. Truth be told, a few of the others had flirted too, but she wasn’t too certain that everyone felt the same way that she did about lust and love. There was only so far she was willing to go with flirting back, some lines once crossed would end with someone getting hurt, and she was not going to let that happen. Luckily for her, the night was about to get a little more interesting, as she wasn’t the only one still awake. “Not even trying to meditate through the night? Darling, it is bad for your health to go without resting. Look at those bruises, they’re not going to get any better if you just toss and turn all night are they?” Astarion kept his voice low, but the wink was a very clear hint. He held out a hand, an invitation to leave the confines of the room.

“You’re up to something.” Tav stated plainly, but still took his hand and stood up, following him out of the room. “Are you disappointed? We can get by on less rest than the others by meditating, but that doesn’t mean I can just leave you there unable to do even that.” His words held concern, but his voice still carried that flirtatious edge to it. “Well, what are you suggesting?” Tav raised an eyebrow, scouring his face for any hint of what he might be up to.

“You’ll see~” He winked again, and kept leading her down the stairs. --- A few minutes later, they were in a secret room beneath the Inn. A hidden door had brought them to a place that looked like a storage area. It was dusty, smelled a little like mildew and…did cobwebs have an odour? They might as well, but it didn’t matter much. It was a small place, alone once the lever had swung the door closed behind them. “You better not have trapped us in here, I haven’t brought any lockpicks down here.” Tav laughed a little, but not without a hint of real concern. It would be terribly embarrassing to end their days locked below the Inn where nobody could find them. “Darling you worry too much, I checked it all myself earlier while you were busy with dinner.” He made a few motions and spoke a few words, prestidigitation replacing the scents clinging in the air with…

“Roses? You made it smell like roses? Is this dusty old storeroom meant to be romantic?” “If it doesn’t suit we can always leave, you know.” He almost sounded offended.

“I didn’t say that. Wait, why do you have a bag with you? And where else did you go during dinner?” She had wondered where he slipped off to, as he didn’t really partake of much food or drink with the party. After all, when he was hungry, she could happily offer herself to slake his thirst. The arrangement was not entirely just for his benefit, either.

“Wouldn’t you like to know~” He smirked playfully, putting his bag down to one side and dusting off some old sacks and cloths from a shelf. “Of course I want to know, that’s why I asked.” She regretted her impatience, but couldn’t resist the temptation to answer with as sharp a wit as she received. “Well, love, I know it’s no luxury bed with silk sheets - which is what I would far prefer to compliment a form as beautiful as yours - but the sight of you will certainly brighten up the place.” His eyes travelled the length of her curves, a slight hunger betrayed by his tongue absent-mindedly moistening his lips, the hint of fangs glinting dangerously. Irresistible, Tav thought, even in a dank rotten storeroom… She removed her outer clothes, taking her time for his benefit as he sat down to enjoy the show. All a part of the game, really, test his patience as well as her own, knowing full well that their blood ran hot when they were alone. “Hungry, are you?”

“You could say that…” His voice trailed off for a moment, eyes lingering on her neck as she tied her hair up again. He took off his shirt and reclined slightly, his back against the wall. “Come, sit right here.” Tav followed his instruction with rising tension, sitting between his parted knees, her back leaning against his now bare chest. “What about your bag? Come on you can’t leave it a mystery all night.” “Well well aren’t we impatient… No, not yet, it’s a surprise. For now,” he began to run his hands up her sides, travelling from her hips to her waist, caressing her chest, and coming to rest in a firm grip on her shoulders securing her against him as his lips came so tantalisingly close to her ear. “May I have a little appetiser, first?” A shiver ran down Tav’s spine and through her whole body, which answered for her. Without even thinking about it she rolled her head back onto his shoulder, exposing her bare neck to him, her breath held in anticipation. She didn’t have to wait long, it had been days since he last fed. Astarion kept one arm around her chest, the other hand rising to her forehead to hold her firmly in place as his fangs penetrated her waiting neck. She gasped, the decadent blend of pain and intimacy coursing through her veins like lightning. Her body felt like a coiled spring, tensed, every muscle screaming danger in a discordant symphony with delight. His tongue caressed softly, lips pressing gentle kisses, even as his fangs stung and drew fresh blood. His moan vibrated against her throat, but her own voice was muffled as his hand moved down to her mouth. The heat of lust rose within her alongside the heated torment of the pleasured pain as he fed, careful, ever careful not to take more than she could handle, but still leaving her breathless with desire for more. Tav almost didn’t notice when he loosened his grip, her mind was almost blank from the experience. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever get used to the intensity when he fed like this, and she also wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to. Before she could even begin to regain her bearings, though, a soft cloth covered her eyes, tied securely at the back of her head. “Are you comfortable, love?” His voice at her ear made her head spin again, she just about managed to nod an affirmation. “Perfect. Stay still, now.” She tried very hard to resist the temptation to try and see what might be coming out of the pack next to them, but she kept that trust. His chest, warm and firm against her back, held a comforting strength. His legs, either side of her hips, pressed against her sides like a lover’s embrace, even without his arms. Just when it began to feel empty in the breathless anticipation, she felt a cool sensation pass over her skin. There was no touch, but like a breeze came from nowhere. Next came heat, moving across different areas still left exposed. Then…a stinging, but not unpleasant. A hint of electric pain lighting up her nerves, sparks carefully measured and controlled, pinpointing the most exquisite sensation. Tav’s breath now came in ragged gasps, each new shock just a little more intense, but soothed with the heat and cool before she could feel pain. If she’d had the ability to form any sound other than a wanton moan, she might’ve asked what all this was, but even this was silenced the moment she felt something pressed between her legs.

---

Behind his lover, Astarion grinned. The symphony he was playing on her body was making such a sweet melody, and he was drinking every second like wine. The little effects of a cantrip were easy to manipulate, and Gale had been very helpful in showing him ways that it could be controlled. He briefly wondered exactly what it might be like to lay with the God of Magic herself, but Gale wasn’t quite the type to kiss and tell. Or at least, not to tell every detail. His smile widened as Tav moaned again, the small object in his hand pressing right where she wanted it most…but there was more to this little metal device. He almost laughed as he remembered how red Dammon’s cheeks had become at the suggestion, but of course the craftsman was incredibly skilled and willing to try making something new. “Oh it’s just for relaxing tired muscles” Astarion had grinned when describing the device, though whether either of them believed that excuse didn’t matter. Now all he had to do was channel just a little electricity through it, and-

---

Tav heard the humming of the tool just as she felt the vibrations. She didn’t know what it was, but she had some idea of what might have been going on whilst she was busy and leaving Astarion unsupervised. Having her eyes covered made every sensation so much more intense, too, and it was becoming almost maddening. But just as she felt close to cascading over the edge, the device moved away. “N...no...you can’t-” She could hear the desperation in her voice but she didn’t care.

“Not yet, Darling, I want you to feel everything. ” His words arrived in her ear as a low growl, the sound waves shaking her foundations. A distraction, as he shifted behind her. Strong hands took hold of her hips, lifting her smoothly, holding her where she could just feel what was coming next, pressing her hips down as he entered at last. His legs move a little beneath her, allowing a little leverage to both of them, the kisses along her neck and shoulder giving her the silent permission. Tav’s body became utterly enveloped by sensation. The depth of her lover pressing inside, the feeling of the sparks from his fingertips caressing her body, and his lips tracing loving lines wherever they could reach. She kept her pace slow, too, as much as she longed to rush to the hedonistic release, she was enjoying drawing it out now as much as he did. Fangs cut tiny holes in her back, a quick tongue tasting her flesh and blood with a growing greed, and soon the little device was back with more delicious torment. Her muscles quivered with the intensity building to fever pitch, drowning in a sea of pleasure, the edges of pain only heightening the ecstasy. She might have even felt his pulse racing through her back, had the subtle vibration of his own moans echoing through his chest not silenced that particular drum. As the more intense vibrations began to drive her towards the climax she so desperately desired, Tav matched a more relentless pace with her hips. She was lost to it all, filled, surrounded, caught, controlled, and in that moment so utterly free. Her head rolled back, her neck soon feeling the passion of a myriad of kisses, bites, and the sign they were about to fall so deliciously into the pleasure together. Every nerve lit up, every muscle tensed and release, this time a full volume voice escaping their throats as a single noise echoing from the walls. Time almost slowed down as they felt the incredible rush of euphoria, drawing out the moment as long as they could before it passed, leaving them weakened and breathless in the dark. A small noise on the floor told her that the mystery device had now been abandoned, as Astarion’s arms surrounded Tav, holding her even closer against him while they regained their senses. “You are so beautiful like this,” he whispered, finally lifting the silk from her eyes and kissing her cheek, “see?” “What do you-” Then she saw it, the mirror on the other side of the room, the only clean thing around, with the cloth that had likely covered it when they came in discarded on the floor beside it. Mage Hand, she thought to herself, of course he would- “It felt like a shame if I couldn’t see you, all of you, enjoying this~” He pulled her into another kiss before she had a chance to argue. “Wasn’t it just exhilarating , love?” “I… You know it was… But…” Tav looked at the mirror. “You’re not even there, are you…” “I haven’t seen my reflection in centuries Darling, I don’t miss it,” a little lie, and one that did not get past her notice, “but I saw what I wanted. You. Your body moving with pleasure, your face flush with blood and heat, the way you gasp when you want more …” It was hard to argue, besides which, Tav finally felt tired, like it was time to rest at last. “We should-” “We should stay right here. It doesn’t matter, does it? I’ll wake you up by morning, and we’ll just slip in to the room like we were there all night and just went for a little fresh air .” He brought his legs around her now too, trapping her in a comfortably tight embrace. “You’re not in a rush to escape me, are you?”

Tav yawned, the exhaustion beginning to surrender to the warmth and safety of being in her favourite place. “I don’t suppose you’d care to argue, and those beds were never that comfortable anyway.” “Good girl,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head softly and bringing a blanket around them, “now get some rest. Plenty of running around and killing things to do tomorrow, after all.” She relaxed further, shuffling down a little so her head could come to rest against his chest, listening to the slow heartbeat as her own personal lullaby. It didn’t take long for her eyes to fall closed in the peace they shared before the next storm could draw in.

---

Astarion held her close, savouring the warm weight of her body coming to rest against him. He still didn’t understand how she could give herself so completely to him, how she could relax so easily in the arms of a killer…but he wanted nothing more. His hand idly caressed her soft hair and skin, pulling the blanket a little closer where it had slipped off her shoulder, the bruises still refusing to fade from the reality of their daylight hours. The night , he told himself, belongs to me…to us , he found himself correcting himself, much to his own surprise. What am I supposed to do about this… A dozen thoughts and feelings fought for dominance in his mind as he finally drifted into an uneasy rest himself, holding his heart in his arms.

----------- ----------- ENDING NOTES ----------- ----------- Honestly, that art with the mirror? You know the one, loves, ohh that was delicious~ I don't have much more to say with this chapter though, it's all just some nice spice to solidify how close they have become, the trust that has built, and the odd kind of "new normal" before that is broken back down again.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion #astarion x tav #a tav's guide #fanfic #mirror vampire sex

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greenapricot · 7 months

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wip thursday

I didn't manage to post yesterday, but I've decided I can do what I want.

This is from chapter 4 of The Names of All the Winds. The chapter has been giving me all kinds of trouble (and made me realize that I really am going to have to finish a full draft of each chapter to work out the lore before I can post chapter 2), but I think I finally cracked it this morning.

____

The church bells ring out eleven. Robbie stands a moment longer as clouds cast quickly moving shadows across the water, and the chiming of the bells echoes through the narrow streets of the village below, then turns down the path.

The path leads to a street that’s little more than a lane, following the steep slope past stone walls with flowering rosemary cascading over top, and two storey stone houses that look as if they may be unchanged since the first mystics planted the olive groves that stretch up the mountain on terraces behind his B&B.

With all his years living in Oxford, Robbie is well used to old buildings—many of them older than these—but here, it’s not only the architecture, or even the landscape. There is that presence as well. He hasn’t felt it as strongly as he did the day he found James busking in that little out of the way piazza, but it has been there, sort of hovering in the background, ever since the first night he came north. He just hadn’t realised what it was until it mingled with James’ music and led him through the streets.

Robbie’s grown used to the presence by now, even a bit fond of it. It feels almost as if it’s keeping him company while he travels around on his own. Which is a bit mad, the idea of some ancient power wanting to have anything to do with him specifically. Most likely it’s a sign that the stories James told him about the great protector beast that dwells in the depths of the lake have gone to his head.

All the same, it is rather nice to be alone and yet not feel alone. To feel a gentle nudge down one lane or another when he’s got no particular destination in mind and nowhere he needs to go, like a walking companion matching his stride; not unlike the way he and James had fallen into step with each other.

Has Laura felt this presence too, he wonders? Is this why she suggested Lago di Garda as a destination? She didn’t mention it, but then if she had before he was here to feel it for himself, he would have scoffed at the very idea of it. May have even picked a different holiday destination entirely.

#wip wednesday #my fic #itv lewis #inspector lewis #lewis fic

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godofdystopia · 2 years

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Mina Harker: Vampire Slayer

To everyone who thought “Gee, that post about Book accurate Mina being Dracula's reincarnated Nemesis instead of wife would be awesome to see” Well do i have good news for you!

I went ahead and wrote the thing!

It’s more of a proof of concept, to see if people like the ideas i have about it. And to get others to maybe look at them and write something better. Mostly, i wrote it because it sounded fun and i wanted to.

Anywho, here’s part(?) one of (???) of Mina the Vampire Slayer

words: 3.9k

She had always been an adventurous girl.

With sword and axe she ran off around the groves and the fields slaying dragons and giants. Her parents always chuckled as her weapons were whatever sturdy branches she could find. Her black hair ran wild and only got wilder as she grew.

She had lived her entire life in the lowlands. The tribe stayed close and why not? Fish and game were plentiful, the lands were easily planted, the surrounding tribes were quite peaceful with only the occasional feud between clans. Life was good.

The screams echoed across the camp as the fires, caused by the desperate and the dying, raged in the night.

Until The Beast came that was

She raced through the burning homes, stopping only to help those she could. Her long black hair was tangled and covered with ashes from the inferno around her as she grabbed a spear from one of the fallen warriors and charged forward.

Over the screams and the crackling of burning wood, the air was filled with the howling of wolves.

He had come long ago and built himself a stone fort much like the men of far Greece would. He had come in the night and all the elders could say was that night every wolf in the lowlands howled in pain and fear.

She slid under the archway, carved with Sigils to gods of the Earth, and beheld the central plaza. She looked upon a wolf, its eyes cloudy and hazy, as it tore into the arms of one of the hunters who had gone looking for The Beast.

At first he had kept to himself, back when they all believed him to be a man like themselves. Back before they knew him for the monster he was. The elders said he would come through the tribes and make merriment with everyone.

He had become a friend to so many throughout the lowlands and all of it was lies.

When the first people went missing they went to him for help. It was only when the missing kept growing they had begun to suspect. When their own hounds began to obey his commands they realized the Beast they had allowed in their midst. All the lowlands lived in fear now.

Fear of him.

She hurled the spear like a lightning bolt into the side of the beast and got it right through the chest. It went down quick, the only mercy she could afford the wolf at such a time. She raced over towards the fallen hunter and was shocked to find that she knew him.

“Why?” Was all she asked the dying man.

“He… He took her.” He coughed, his breath struggling around the blood. “I… I wanted to save her…” She felt him begin to still, his breath growing short till he fell limp in her arms.

The howling was growing faint, The Beast had gotten his fill of the lowlanders and would draw back to his stone fort in the mountains. He would sup and revel in the slaves he had acquired and would delight himself in the torment and suffering they felt.

Just as he had always done, and would always do. To her people, to the other tribes in the lowlands, to anyone and anything that came across his crimson gaze.

And all she could feel was hate. Hatred for him, hatred for what he had done to the people she loved. Hatred for the lives he ruined, hatred for the people he broke.

Seeing the burning wreckage of her home, something that she had seen many times before when The Beast came to pillage, and looking at the bodies around her, something inside her broke.

She screamed at the smoke filled skies, she screamed till her throat burned and her chest tightened. She screamed even when the fires died down and the survivors drew around her.

She screamed till all she had left were tears. She got up, the ash on her face mixing with her tears all the while. The people all around her were frightened, terrified, and broken. And just like her, they all had eyes filled with hate.

“Enough.” She pulled the spear from the side of the fallen wolf and the axe that was gripped in the dead hunter's hands, and glared towards them all. “Enough!”

The people stared at her, waiting.

“I’ve had enough! You’ve had enough! Every tribe in the lowlands has had enough!” She growled low in her throat, gripping the weapons in her hands like they were the very last things in this world.

“I’m going to kill him.” grumbles and growls spread through the crowd. “I’m going to kill him, and I will never rest until I do!” The grumbles and growls turned into yelling and shouts, the people bayed for bloody vengeance. “Send every messenger we have left to every tribe who will listen, and every tribe that won't: Before The Beast slinks out of his lair again we will burn it to the ground around him!”

Cries of hate and anger rang out through the approaching dawn as the tribe prepared for war. She simply glared through the smoke towards the east, towards Him.

He would die by her hands.

This she swore.

**********

The black forest surrounded her as she rode like all the hounds of hell were behind her.

Considering the howling all around her, that wasn’t quite far off. Her horse was clearly terrified but was still a well trained war beast. It would hold fast even in the face of death, and though she would do her best to avoid as such it was most likely inevitable they would both die here tonight.

The horse was supposed to go towards some poncy nobleman who wanted to show off to his friends before he left for the second crusade. It was a beautiful chestnut mare with splashes of white all about her barrel and snout. She had decided that her needs were greater and, with a final prayer at the chapel, had departed.

It had taken her years to get to this point: years of training herself to fight with a sword, years of scavenging battlefields for armor and weapons, years of searching and questing had all led to this one singular moment.

She had found him, the Demon that had tortured her parents and killed her best friend… her everything.

The trees stood like dark monoliths as the horse weaved between the trunks. Flashes of fur and fangs shot through the mists around her as the wolves kept apace with her. One particularly fearsome specimen leapt out from the darkness and sought to sink its jaws in the horse's neck.

Without even moving her head, she brought her sword up in a vicious swing that removed the creature's head before bringing it down on another wolf that had been edging closer and closer.

All throughout the chase, she never took her eyes off of the Demon before her.

Black as night with eyes like hellfire, the wolf raced ahead of her. She’d chased him into the carpathians and back again, each time taking out the demons He left behind.

She could not say that the journey was all bad. She had made many enemies over this quest, more enemies than a woman should ever have outside of a noble's courtroom. And yet, despite the pain and the wounds and the constant fight with death, she had also made friends.

Wonderful friends. Companions and Comrades in Arms to face off against the Demon and his fiends. She’d even met the man she would marry on her quest.

At any other time, the thought of her love would have drawn a smile to her face. But nothing could remove the snarl of rage that had been cemented since she had found Him.

She’d heard of the tales of the Black Wolf, and had waited. For days on end she waited for him to reappear in the village. And finally, like the gluttonous demon he was, he appeared. He had been shocked when she had broken down the door to the room where his prey was struggling in his grasp, even more shocked when she’d taken her sword and tried to cut off his head then and there with a scream.

He’d taken the form of a wolf and fled and she had given chase. She’d run him down for hours and now, in the middle of the Black Forest she finally, after more than a decade of fighting, had him right in her grasp.

He wouldn’t leave this forest alive.

As if God gave her the wings of an angel, her horse drew closer to the fleeing Demon. Both her hair and her mare's mane flew through the wind free and clear. He made a quick turn to the left and had her charging towards an approaching wolf pack.

She roared as she wheeled after him, killing yet another wolf with a vicious blow. Her steel armor had long since gone red, covering up the scratches and dents from her battles against the Demon.

She chased him for what felt like days, ever so slowly growing closer and closer to the Demon. Every twist and turn he made she was there: Sword in hand and hatred in her eyes. Wolves came by the dozens to hound her every movement. Those that stayed simply chasing she ignored while those who came at her with fang and claw were cut down.

The mists came about to blind her and she simply followed the sound of The Demons footfalls. Yet another wolf came at her with a snarling leap and she cut it apart as she finally came within killing distance of the Demon

She could make out the individual hairs on his wolfish form and brought her sword up, a roar of anger on her lips that shook through the forest for miles on end. The Demon looked back at her, its hellfire red eyes filled with malice and rage.

And buried deep beneath both, she could see the very first hints of fear.

She kept screaming even as she brought her blade down.

**********

The manor stood half finished amidst the rocky mountains of the Pyrenees. Teams of workers from across lower France and the kingdom of Aragon worked day and night to finish the vast construction. It would be a mighty fortress once finished, one of a number that would be built all across Europe at the direction of her prey.

He did ever so like having backup options.

Like a wraith she snuck through the vast camps of sleeping workers and made her way to the base of the fortress as masses of rising laborers came to begin toiling through the day while their nighttime brothers went to rest up for the coming dark.

It was almost laughably easy to slip into the lower reaches of the construct as the many dungeons and basements were, after the foundation, the first to be finished up. The workers had grumbled at the oddity of how deep and winding their master wanted the dungeons to go, all built around a central chamber that he specified would be shaped like a small throne room once done.

Of course, they also complained about the rising number of missing persons from the work camps. Most simply thought that they left in the middle of the night but there was enough… strangeness that they hurried with their work so they could all go home and leave this wretched place.

Workers grumbled, complained over their drinks at how strange and unnatural everything was, and those who listened carried the rumors onward to spread like wildfire across France until they came upon her ears.

She knew, she knew deep in her heart it was Him. He was attempting to spread out from whatever hole he hid in after being defeated the last time.

She decided to send him back in.

Her outfit blended in with the darkness of the dungeons, leaving her nothing more than a shadow as she flit from room to room searching. She knew where he was in this grand maze, but she wanted to be certain that he would have no backup or traps waiting for her when they clashed.

As she drew closer and closer to her target as she checked the outlying rooms, she heard the sound of her heart begin to beat like a drum as she finally appeared at the central chamber.

It was a large chamber made with many wooden pieces of furniture and timber columns carved to look like the Reaper, though it was particularly threadbare of the many trophies and treasures she knew He liked to hoard like a dragon from legend. AT the dead center of the currently vold and dreary room was a massive coffin delicately carved with profane symbols and horrible scenes of death and murder.

‘He does so like to show off’ she thought to herself as she waited. She waited for any sign to appear that he was not currently resting in the coffin. If she had gotten this wrong even slightly, she would die.

She would take him down with her.

An hour passed, then two, and finally she knew that either he was far far away from her reach or he was in the coffin. Either way was fine for her plan, the only difference would be if she had to fight the monster.

She got to work reaching to take the satchel off of her bag and remove the contents: ten pounds of dry kindling. She spread it around the coffin evenly, making sure to spread as much of the sun dried leaves and wood shaving over the twigs and branches as she could.

Then she brought out her flint and tinder.

Sparks flared out into the darkness and fell across the kindling she had spread. She kept at it till she finally began to see an orange glow before her eyes. She quickly drew back and waited.

The glow of burning kindling spread, turning into raw flame as it spread all around the coffin. The lid began to burn as the wood began to smolder and glow hot. The various pieces of woodcraft furniture also caught flame all around her till the room went up like an inferno.

And still she waited.

Just as she began to turn around to flee back where she came from the coffin burst apart and the lid flew off with a scream of rage and pain.

Her prey hurled himself from the burning casket and looked about the ruined room in a rage.

“Things not going to plan?” She asked simply as she threw off her cloak into a nearby fire.

Her prey whirled around, rage plain on his face as he looked her up and down. She had dressed in simple leathers like what a brigand or highwayman would wear, but had a chainshirt and armored shin guards. In one hand she held an old long sword.

A familiar long sword.

“The last time I saw that blade, it was lost in the Black Forest.” Her prey said slowly, his mind working feverishly as he tried to understand. “How did-”

She cut him off “The last time you saw this blade.” She said as she began to walk towards him. “It was buried in your stomach in the middle of the Black Forest.”

She felt a small thrill as he actually took a nervous step back. He looked into her eyes and his burning crimson eyes widened in shock.

“I killed you.” He whispered as he stared at her like he had seen a ghost. Perhaps he had. “My wolves took down your horse and I ripped out your throat. How are you back!? How are you here!?”

“Simple.” She said right before she charged forward, her blade glinting in the light of the fire all around them.

“I’m back to kill you.”

**********

Abe’s arms burned with the exertion.

The teenager heaved yet another mound of dirt out of the ground, adding it to the pile next to the hole he stood in. He had to get it right.

Father would have wanted him to get it right.

That thought, like a spear, shot straight into his soul and he felt the shovel slip from his fingers as he was overcome with the grief that had become his closest friend these last few days. He collapsed into the dirt, tears falling freely from his eyes as his body shook.

A pair of strong arms wrapped him in a gentle hug as a voice began to make comforting sounds towards the grieving boy.

Abe sobbed, he sobbed for his mother who had died slowly over days. He sobbed for his father who had been killed by the thing that had replaced his mother. And he cried that they both were now dead.

‘There but for the grace of god…’ Abe thought to himself as he finally felt calm enough to try and stand.

“Whoa there lad. Just take it easy.” The kind voice said, her tone just as calm and reassuring as before.

She was old, older than even his grandfather had been before he passed away. Her long curly hair was as white as fresh snow while her body was wrinkled with age. Despite everything, though, her body was also quite fearsome to behold.

Her arms were still muscular and covered with nicks and scars and her hair was wrapped tight in a simple bun, revealing that though it was covered in wrinkles her face was still stern and commanding as ever.

She was dressed in a simple soldier's uniform, and she still refused to tell him how she acquired such a thing, and it was dirty and torn from what looked to be a lifetime of use. A thick workman's belt wrapped around her waist and held an odd and unusual assortment of tools: Hacksaws, stakes, vials of water, and odd smelling white flowers oddly enough.

She’d yet to introduce herself even after dispatching the horrid things his mother had become.

Abe still couldn’t bring himself to care.

His parents were dead, what more was there to say? That his mother was possessed by a demon? that they hadn’t prayed hard enough? That old misses Greta down the road really had cursed his father after he bumped into her at the market two months ago?

The thought caused a laugh to almost bubble up from him and yet it came out as a mix between a hiccup and a sob.

“It’s never an easy thing, burying those you love.” She said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled at him. “No boy as young as you should have to bury them alone.”

“I’m not a boy!” Abe protested lightly, still numb. “I’m almost sixteen.”

The old woman just smiled at him. “Even brave young men should never have to bury someone alone.”

Together they worked in silence, the sun rose higher and higher in the sky before it began to fall once more. The sky was orange and purple before they finally finished. His parents are now freshly buried in the ground with wreathes of white flowers around their heads and rosaries in their hands.

“I just wish I knew why.” Abe muttered to himself.

“Believe me, you don't.” She replied simply before wincing. That was entirely the wrong thing to say. She really had gotten old.

Abe whirled around and looked her in the eye, his face shocked. “You know.” it wasn’t a question.

She sighed to herself. “Yes, I do.”

“Please.” Abe begged, he could feel fresh tears begin to pool in his eyes and he begged. “What killed them?”

She looked at him, really looked at him. She could see… she could see a girl screaming amongst a burning tribe. A knight riding down a black wolf with a roar of anger. A thief stealing into a castle to torch it to the ground. A soldier leading a band of fellow warriors to kill a monster. A soldier filled with hate who wore a hundred different faces.

All those faces stared back at her from the eyes of a boy who had just lost everything.

“If I tell you, there's no going back.” She said, kneeling down on bad knees to look him in the eyes. “Once you know what’s out there, you can never return from it.”

“I can handle it.” Abe said seriously.

“Really? Even when I train you how to recognize the signs? When I teach you how to kill the things they leave behind? When you have to give up your nights off from university to give your nights to training?”

To his credit, Abraham Van Helsing didn't hesitate for a second before nodding. As he was now, his rage would destroy him like it did so many before him.

She’d have to teach him how to live before she could teach him how to Hunt.

“Say a few last words before we head back to your house. You’ll need to take only what you need.” She told him as she got back up. “I’m not sure how much longer I have but I'll teach you everything I know come hell or high water.”

“Thank you… um…” Abe trailed off as he just continued to look at her.

She chuckled. “My name is-”

**********

“-Mina! Mina, it’s him”

Mina Harker looked away from the beautiful woman she had been staring at… respectfully to look at who her darling husband was, and wasn’t that a thought that would never grow old.

As soon as her eyes fell on the dark clad figure something felt different. He was tall, with a dark mustache and darker hair. His clothes were fine, as if fit for high society. Not that high society would enjoy the presence of a man with a face as cold and cruel as he wore out in the open. Usually you need to hide such a face amongst them.

She looked at the cold and cruel looking man, with his ruby red lips and his pale white skin, and she felt something new. Something different. She almost felt like she knew this man and yet had never seen him before in her life.

She knew one thing though: She hated him.

Her Jonathan was trembling, shaking like a leaf as they both watched him disappear after the beautiful woman she'd seen earlier. She hated him, for she knew that he was responsible for the state her husband was in.

But even as she comforted Jonathan on the park bench she led him to for fear he would collapse, she could feel that there was almost… more to her hatred.

She hated him like God hated the Devil. She…

She wanted to kill him.

Had it been any other situation, Mina Harker would be terrified of her murderous impulse against someone she did not know.

But this was not any other situation. This was a situation where she had to hold her Jonathan as he trembled in his sleep every night, where he had just come down with an attack of panic at the sight of the man, where her best friend lay dead and a very loud part of her mind screamed that she was dead because of Him.

She welcomed the murderous impulses against the monster that had caused this.

#dracula #Dracula daily #mina harker #mina murray #mina harker: vampire hunter #jonathan harker #abraham van helsing #jonmina #but only near the end im afraid.#ill write more if people are interested.#dracula au

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wall-legion · 1 year

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A Whisper through the Leaves

It had been a long time since she had allowed herself to slip into the Dream in her sleep. Being so far removed from the Grove kept it at arms length to be sure, but Oaklinna preferred the silence of a night’s sleep without the whispers of the thousands of her siblings in the background of her mind. Danica also kept to a night time routine of tea and quiet towards lights out, and that also helped keep her from relying on the “white noise” of a multitude of voices sharing their experiences, their knowledge, and their lives to help her sleep every night. Especially so when she knew that somewhere in that noise, he would be there. Because he had to be. He was like a perfect, shining golden thread in the tapestry of the Dream: inescapable, distinctive... unforgettable. Almost everyone had a memory of him as well, so it was as if he even echoed in the Dream. Tonight, though, was different. There was a massive blizzard coming in, so the wind was blowing in an unsettling way outside and there was a cold draft coming down the chimney. Danica didn’t seem to mind, but it was making Oaklinna just a little uncomfortable. It was something in the way the trees outside were creaking and crackling under the strain of the snow on their boughs and the winds whipping between them. It made her crave reassurance and familiarity. Maybe that’s why she let herself slip into the Dream as she settled into bed after her cup of tea, bundling herself in her blankets and trying to get warm as quickly as possible. There was the usual chatter about finding new species or new foods, making new friends. Some about fighting the dragons or their minions, still some about a place called Cantha... and then there was something, seemingly buried under everyone else, about someone called Brother Tree. What or who is Brother Tree? she sent into the Dream before she could contemplate the consequence of what she was doing. There was the familiar pull of someone’s mind connecting with hers as they sought to share information, to broaden the Dream. He is the one who will inherit the Pale Tree’s responsibility when she fades and leaves us, the voice said. He fell in Maguuma to the dragon, and rose again with greater purpose. She felt her throat and chest tighten suddenly. Who is he? Before, I mean. And how did he fall? He has not told us of his name before his fall, the voice said. Only that he was not touched by the dragon. He was one of the Pact who was working to kill Mordremoth. A second voice joined them. We rest under his branches. We seek his voice. He is always near us. So where is he, then? Oaklinna thought, blankets gathered into her hands to try and keep herself from balling her hands into fists out of... something. Anxiety? Excitement? She wasn’t sure what. He grows where the last remnant of Mordremoth was slain, said the first voice. Oaklinna did not sleep that night. Danica did not understand in the morning when she said she needed to finally go back to the jungle, but she would not let the sylvari go alone. For this much, Oaklinna was grateful: she was unsure of how she would be able to manage herself once she was in the place that had cost her so much and caused so much loss and anguish in her life. Together they made their way into the jungle’s depths. If it had not cost her so much the last time she had been adventuring her, Oaklinna could have perhaps found this place beautiful. Instead she perceived everything around as a threat and found she could not let her guard down at any time, even with Danica by her side. Because of that mentality, she was quite worn out by the time they reached their destination. Where Trahearne had fallen in that accursed seed pod Mordremoth had enclosed him in, there now stood an impossibly tall tree, its trunk at least six feet across. Its branches reached out far and wide, with a multitude of thin, bright green leaves sprouting from them. The same shade of green as his face, his hands... Oh she wanted to cry, she wanted to run. But instead she put her hand on the tree and took a deep breath, fighting herself as she hoped she’d find her courage somewhere. Brother Tree, I believe? she whispered into the Dream. I hope you’re listening. I have a question for you. There was a long pause, and she looked up as the leaves rustled seemingly without wind. As she was trying to figure out how that worked, a voice spoke in the Dream that robbed her of her breath. Oh, my Oaklinna... I never thought I would ever see you again. I’m glad that you’re well.

#gw2 fanfic #gw2 writing #gw2 trahearne

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enruiinas · 2 months

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@climatact — [Godverse || Main] — cont’d.

There was a fire in this woman’s eyes that even the thinly-veiled threat of a god’s wrath could not quell completely. A steadfast resolve Law suspected ran much deeper than the usual lashings out of certain other headstrong souls he’d come to collect throughout the centuries - not that he’d had any intention of doing the mortal more harm than he had by simply being here in the first place.

Still, a sense of quiet relief washed over him when she decided against whatever she’d been opening her mouth to spit back at him. Time had taught him well enough that this temporary truce would be just that, but he’d learned ago to make the most of such fleeting ceasefires while they lasted.

For the moment, he used it to survey the mortal in her natural environment. He’d seen glimpses of the small home in flashes of memory from their brief contact in the clearing before, but had largely tuned them out beyond what he needed to bring her back here. Only now, actually looking at her amidst the hut she’d grown up in, did Law let himself evaluate the woman not as the latest in a long line of wayward souls, but as someone whose voice and personality, whose very presence, had echoed off the same four walls that surrounded them now. A centuries-old weight settled heavy on his shoulders as he wondered how empty the space would feel in her absence.

And though the incredulity in wide chestnut eyes left him with the distinct impression her village was far worse off than he’d imagined (never mind the possibility of his own failed perception to the value of the coins in his hand), the reprieve her admission allowed did nothing to alleviate his regret.

Eyes drifted to the room’s other inhabitant at the concern in the mortal’s voice. Law frowned. Even if her sister wasn’t the one to find the delicately placed body tucked just off the main walk leading out of the village, she would find out soon enough regardless.

He wished she’d never stepped foot in the grove in the first place. There was far more to it, of course. A deep and unsettling turmoil amongst the immortals that had left these lands in the conditions they were in to begin with - that had left villages run dry and led more like her than he cared to admit to the forbidden orchards in search of salvation they wouldn’t find. He wished every one of them had burned where they stood.

But they hadn’t despite the god’s best efforts. And here they were.

❝ I don’t know, ❞ he admitted, unable to meet her gaze as he shrugged. ❝ I doubt it, unless she’s got business out of town or goes looking for you herself in the next few hours. ❞ If anything, he anticipated the discovery to come by one heading into the village. Had arranged the signs meant to lead someone to her with that framework in mind. But who was to say her sister wouldn’t wake up and head out to search for signs of the redhead’s arrival before the sun went down?

Rubbing his eyes, Law let slip a weary sigh. He’d always hated this part of the job. Not in doing the only thing he could (offering what little comfort he might as he intended to do now), but in doing what he must in the first place.

❝ No, ❞ he amended after a moment. ❝ It won’t be her. ❞ He’d see to it himself if it would make this any easier for either of them. Go back to where he’d left her and keep watch until they found her. What were hours in the face of eternity?

Features softened imperceptibly as he placed the pouch of coins noiselessly on the table’s smooth surface. A mysterious appearance that would not make sense until the blue-haired woman matched them to the one they’d find with her sister’s body, arranged neatly against the discarded fruit it would appear had fallen from the woman’s limp hand.

She’d know soon enough who had come for her sunset-haired sister. They all would.

#climatact #♡ // ic ;#♡ // verse: godverse ;#Godverse || Main

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dragonedged-if · 1 year

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Writing Prompt: Inner Demons

So I played Sekiro yesterday and till now my mind is filled with samurai's and katanas lol.

I couldn't concentrate on my IF so I decided to write a snippet.

Also, if you're a writer or a reader you can use this as a prompt to your story or just write for fun but remember if you use it, just give me credit :)

I am standing beneath the towering bamboo trees, seeking refuge from the scorching sun. Despite the shade, the sun's rays still manage to sneak through, causing me to adjust my sedge hat for the third time. Sweat beads form on my forehead, and I can feel the sun's gaze burning down on me.

As I scan my surroundings, I can't help but feel as though the sun is taunting me, shifting its angle to intensify its fiery glare upon me. My skin feels as though it's on fire, and my throat is parched from the sweltering heat.

My hand instinctively reaches for the gourd hanging from my hip. With a quick flick of my wrist, I bring it to my lips and tilt my head back, allowing the cool, refreshing water to quench my parched throat. It's not the smooth, satisfying taste of sake, but it does the job. I'll have to find a proper bottle of sake once I pass through the next town.

With a deep breath, I take a step forward, my feet sinking into the dirt beneath me. The path ahead is uncertain, but I must remain focused and vigilant. As I walk, the sound of rustling leaves and chirping birds surround me, and I take solace in the peace and tranquility of nature.

As the sun reached its peak, a gust of wind swept through the Valley of Whispers, stirring the tall bamboo stalks into a synchronized dance. Their rustling whispers filled the air, resembling the soft murmur of human voices.

The forest earned its name not from its topography, but from the eerie sounds produced by the bamboo grove every noon. Locals believed that the whispers belonged to the spirits of fallen samurai, haunting the valley in search of peace.

I'm never been a supertitious lot but I can say that the whispers are starting to sound more clear as the minute pass by and if you listen close, you can even pinpoint a voice of a little girl.

But I dismiss the thought and focus on the read ahead, no use getting my imagination the best of me.

The wind begins to subside, but the whispers persist, accompanying me like a loyal ally. Suddenly, a blur of movement catches the corner of my eye. My instincts kick in, and I subtly adjust my hat, affording me a better view. My eyes dart to the source of the disturbance, and there, among the bamboo groves, I spot a shadow darting from cover to cover.

My senses are on high alert, and though my mind tells me that the stalking shadow is merely a trick of the forest, I know better. I have felt this sensation before, the feeling of being hunted like prey. Without hesitation, I raise my hand and grip the tsuba of my sword, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

As a ronin, I have traveled far and wide, never once straying from the teachings of my master. Even in death, his voice echoes in my mind, guiding me with his wisdom.

"Kenji, listen to me," he had said. "I will impart to you three rules that allowed me to live a long life as a samurai. First, remember that the sword is an extension of you, a part of your soul. Train it like a muscle, for if your blade is dull, you will surely die. Second, be calm of mind and hone your senses. In this world, there is no good or bad, only those who seek to kill you. And finally, never doubt your instincts, no matter how ridiculous they may seem."

As I draw my sword with lightning speed, my instincts take over. Three kunai knives come hurtling towards me, but I am ready. With the precision and grace of a master swordsman, I deflect them effortlessly, each strike ringing out like a bell.

As I turn to face my attacker, I catch a glimpse of their black shinobi garb, as dark as the night sky. It's as if they are swallowing up the light from the sun. I can feel my heart racing, but my training keeps me calm.

The figure is adorned with kunai knives strapped to their legs, and polished metal balls are hanging from their belt. But it is the mask they wear that truly sends chills down my spine. It is the mask of a red demon oni, its teeth sharp and pointed like daggers. It is a symbol of death and destruction, a warning to all those who cross their path.

I raise my voice, hoping to provoke the mysterious figure to speak. "So they sent an assassin!" I shout with conviction, my hand firmly grasping the hilt of my sword.

The stranger responds with a swift movement, shifting their sword to their left side and drawing a wakizashi from its scabbard. The small sword is like a little brother to the katana, and I can tell this is a skilled warrior.

But the stranger is not finished yet. With two swords in hand, they slowly raise their free hand to their mask. I hold my breath, knowing that revealing one's identity can be a fatal mistake in the world of assassins.

With a deft movement, the mask is removed, and my heart skips a beat. I am face to face with myself. We share the same nose, the same clean-shaven chin, and even the same eyebrows. The only difference is in their eyes, which seem to glow like red orbs, and their pale, almost lifeless skin.

"I have come to claim your soul, ronin!" the assassin growls, their red eyes glowing menacingly as they brandish their weapons.

My hand tightens around the hilt of my sword as I prepare for the fight of my life. This enemy may look like me, but they are not me. They are an assassin, sent to kill me.

But as I ready myself, I cannot help but feel a twinge of fear. This opponent is unlike any I have faced before. They know my every move, my every thought. How can I defeat them?

I close my eyes and bow my head, calling upon the wisdom of my master. "Guide my sword and offer me your wisdom once more," I pray silently.

With a deep breath, I open my eyes and charge forward, meeting the assassin's attack with a fierce clash of steel. The sound echoes through the forest as we exchange blows, each strike ringing out like a thunderclap.

As we fought, I could hear my master's voice in my mind, guiding me with every step. His teachings echoed in my heart, giving me the strength and skill to hold my own against my doppelganger.

"Kenji, remember that the sword is an extension of you," his voice whispered. "Let it flow like water, and strike with the force of a thunderbolt."

With a swift motion, I raise my sword and take a defensive stance, watching as the assassin approaches. Their movements are quick and precise, their two swords flashing through the air like deadly snakes. I can feel their eyes on me, their gaze burning into my skin like hot coals.

The sounds of our swords clashing echoed through the valley as I stood, face to face with my opponent. I was a ronin, a samurai without a master, and my enemy was a skilled warrior, trained in the art of swordsmanship.

With every clash of our blades, my enemy seemed to know my next move. It was as if they could predict my every thought, every action. But I had one advantage: I was not bound by the strict code of honor that governed the samurai.

As my enemy swung their sword towards me, I deftly parried the attack and raised my own weapon, striking them in the face with the handle. They staggered back, stunned, and I seized the opportunity to strike.

I sliced my sword across their midsection, and black blood spilled forth, sizzling in the bright sunlight. I pushed my blade into their stomach and dragged it across, watching as the blood disappeared in a puff of smoke.

But my victory was short-lived. Behind me, I heard the sound of laughter. "Is that all you've got, ronin?" my enemy taunted, rising to their feet.

I turned to face them, gripping my sword tightly. This battle was far from over, and I knew that my opponent was not to be underestimated.

#Ronins #my writing #creative writing #writing prompt #writing ideas

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reciprocityfic · 2 years

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champagne problems, chapter six

title: champagne problems fandom: little women pairing: theodore laurence x amy march rating: m summary: amy accepts fred's proposal, and laurie comes home and marries jo. but instead of it being the end of something, it's just the start of something bigger.

(or, how laurie and amy find their way back to each other.)

chapter one: champagne problems chapter two: right where you left me chapter three: it’s nice to have a friend chapter four: the end is here chapter five: moments that we stole (on begged and borrowed time)

this godforsaken mess

She leaves the Laurence residence not long after that. He helps her bundle up again for the short walk to Orchard House, and sends her off with a long kiss to her cheek. His lips are so soft and loving against her skin that it makes her want to cry. Again, she feels the urge to stay with him, to just love him, the world around them forgotten.

But level-headed, clear-eyed, guilt-ridden Amy wins out - at least this time - and she leaves. She does look back once as she walks down the front steps, sees him standing in the doorway watching her, infinite sadness and infinite longing in his eyes. She forces herself to turn away, and she doesn’t realize that a few tears have fallen from her eyes until the winter wind blows against the dampness on her face and stings her skin.

When she reaches the road, she stops, makes an attempt at taking a steadying breath and takes off one of her gloves, wiping at her eyes with chapped hands. She takes another deep breath, but her chest still shakes as she exhales, and she decides trying to collect herself is a fruitless endeavor - she’ll just have to try to sneak past her family and close herself in her room until she can calm down.

Her family. What will they think of her, she wonders, when the curtain is finally pulled back and this whole façade comes tumbling down. She quickly pushes the thought away, because she can’t stomach the probable, obvious answer. Still, it echoes in the back of her skull.

They’ll hate you. They’ll hate you for what you’ve done.

No, she thinks. Marmee is too good to hate, and so are Meg and her father. Jo, though…

Jo will hate her. Jo will hate her.

She shakes her head, trying physically to clear her mind, somehow. She gazes off into the distance, thinks more of her family. Of her sisters. Of Meg, who will be somehow understanding through her worry and disappointment. Of Jo, who will burn with wild, intense vitriol. Jo, who wouldn’t even look at her as she tried to apologize for burning her book, whose tearful yet sneering voice rang out into the night.

She doesn’t deserve my forgiveness! And I will hate her, I will hate her forever!

And she’d sworn - she’d sworn. Never again.

Finally, she thinks of Beth. Of Beth, who would love. Simply love, without condition. She’s been thinking of Beth even more than usual lately, missing her so palpably that sometimes the pain of it causes her to stop and suck in a quick, deep breath through pursed lips.

And her feet move all of the sudden, start to walk before she’s even consciously aware of where she’s going. The distance between her and Orchard House and the Laurence residence grows and grows, until the two homes are mere specks on the horizon behind her. A little more than a mile down the road, her path veers into a grove of trees that clears and opens up into the town’s graveyard.

She stops in front of Beth’s headstone, lowering herself ungracefully to the ground and not caring as the wet snow begins to soak through her coat and skirts. She reaches out and brushes snow from the cold stone, traces her fingers over the letters engraved on its surface.

ELIZABETH MARCH

“Hello, dear Beth,” she whispers.

She doesn’t speak right away, instead focusing on the flood of memories that fill her mind. Memories of her sister. Of her kindness, graciousness, of her long, wavy, strawberry blonde hair and soft voice. Of her fingertips, calloused from all her time playing music, guiding Amy’s over the keys of the piano. Of the way she would shyly hide behind her, even though she was the older of the two, when someone new would come to visit. Of her gentle smiles as they played, her quiet excitement on birthdays and Christmases.

And again, of creeping over to her in the middle of the night, the single candle illuminating their room almost burned to nothing, and whispering in her ear. She can still feel the heat of embarrassment flush her skin as Beth giggled, and the way her quick, nervous heartbeat had slowed slightly when her sister squeezed her hand in comfort.

And she promised she’d never tell.

“I don’t know what to do,” she murmurs into the air. To Beth. She, again, tries to steady herself with a breath, but it turns into a sob as she exhales. Her eyes blur with tears.

“I don’t know what to do, and I just - I miss you. I miss you.”

Her hand still rests against the headstone, and her fingers curl around the edges in desperation.

“I miss you so much, Beth.”

She lets herself cry - there’s no one around to see her anyways. She leans forward, pressing her forehead against the stone, the roughness of the rock scraping her skin.

“What do I do?” she asks. “Beth, what do I do?”

And tears continue to fall from her eyes.

* * *

By the time she returns to Orchard house, it’s the middle of the day, and glimpses of afternoon sun are trying to peek through gray clouds. She opens the front door, and hears the laughter of her parents. She hopes the sound will drown out her footsteps and the creak of the door, but as she tries to escape up the stairs, she hears her name.

“Amy! You’re home!”

She turns to find Marmee walking towards her, a smile on her face that quickly falls when she sees the state of her clothes. She’s still wet from sitting in the snow.

“My goodness, what happened to you?!”

“I…fell,” she lies stupidly.

Marmee stares at her incredulously, but shakes her head after a moment, and reaches out her hand.

“Come, sit in front of the fire. You must be freezing!”

She hasn’t really thought about it, but now that her mother has said, she realizes that she is cold, and that her teeth are chattering as she shivers.

But she can’t go into the front room and face her family. Not now. Not yet.

“I want to get out of these clothes first,” she tells Marmee.

“I’ll help, then,” Marmee says, and the tone of her voice lets her know that her mother won’t be stopped. The woman has already started up the stairs, so she doesn’t protest.

Marmee closes the door behind them as they enter her room. She removes her gloves and unbuttons her coat as her mother removes her hat.

“You were gone quite a long time. Breakfast with Laurie must have gone well. How is he? I’m surprised he didn’t come back with you.”

“Oh, yes,” she answers, wringing her hands together nervously. “It was fine, and Laurie is fine. I left a while ago, though. I…took a walk.”

“You and Laurie?” Marmee asks, as she helps her shrug off her coat. Once they’ve hung it up, her mother starts on the buttons on the back of her dress.

“I went myself, actually,” she says, and Marmee is quiet, waiting for her to explain. “I went to see Beth.”

Her mother’s hands stop their work on the ties of her skirts.

“Oh, Amy,” her mother breathes. “Here - let’s finish getting you out of these wet things, and then we’ll talk.”

After she’s undressed and put on some dry underclothes, Marmee sits down on the bed, patting the empty space between her as she beckons Amy to join her. She sits slowly. She feels odd, all of a sudden. Like something is bubbling up inside her and pushing her slightly off-kilter.

Marmee wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“You miss your sister?”

She nods her head stiffly, still feeling strange. Feeling like she’s on the peak of something tall, and about to fall off. Or maybe she’s deciding whether to jump off or not.

“I wanted to talk to her,” she murmurs, barely. “About…about Laurie.”

Her mother doesn’t speak right away, and she can feel Marmee pull back slightly as she turns to look at her.

“Laurie?” she questions. “What did you want to -”

“I’m in love with Laurie,” she tells her mother softly.

She’s suddenly hyper-aware of everything - of her Marmee’s sharp inhale and arm that is suddenly stiff around her shoulders. She hears the whooshing of air as she breathes, the creaks of the house as it settles in the cold. She hears another laugh from Hannah and her father drift up the stairs and past the closed door.

“And Laurie is in love with you?”

Marmee’s question surprises her, and she looks up at her mother with wide eyes. Her mother’s stare is soft but knowing, and she’s reminded of the time that the woman almost caught her and Laurie in the attic.

“You knew,” she whispers incredulously. “All this time, you knew.”

“I suspected, but didn’t know anything with certainty,” Marmee tells her. “The two of you aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

She feels her blood rush from her head at that, and a chill runs up her spine.

“Does Father know?” she asks quickly. “Meg? Hannah? Does - does Jo…”

She trails off as her stomach drops. She feels like she’s going to faint.

“They don’t know,” her mother answers. “Or if they do, they haven’t said anything to me.”

She nods, relief flooding through her. She looks up at the ceiling and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, but Marmee's questions start again.

“Have you told each other how you feel? You need to tell me what’s gone on.”

“Yes, we’ve told each other. And…and we’ve kissed,” she says sheepishly, and she begins to fidget as shame fills her. Her mother’s arm around her shoulders doesn’t relent, though.

“Just once?” Marmee asks.

She doesn’t answer immediately, and her mother squeezes her arm.

“More than once,” she breathes.

Marmee clears her throat, and takes a sharp breath.

“Has there been anything more than kissing?”

“No,” she answers immediately, but she can’t help but think of earlier that morning, of his hot mouth against her, his body between her legs, how much she wanted him.

Marmee rises suddenly, and she drops her head into her hands. She waits for her mother to scold her, but when she doesn’t, she scrambles to apologize.

“Marmee, I know it’s wrong - it’s despicable - and I’m so, so sor-”

“You received a letter from Fred this morning,” her mother says, interrupting her. She raises her head and watches as Marmee picks up a letter from the table near the window in the room and then comes to sit next to her again. She pushes the letter into her hands.

“Read what we he has to say, and then write to him that you’re coming to him,” Marmee instructs. “It doesn’t matter where he is - Europe or America. You want to go be with him and begin planning for your wedding immediately.”

She looks at her mother desperately, her fingers tightening around the envelope in her hands. Marmee smiles back sadly, lifting her hand and running it down her daughter’s face.

“It’s sudden, and I’ll miss you terribly. We all will. But,” she says, exhaling quickly and closing her eyes briefly. When she opens them again, they shine with tears. “It’s what must be done. Although we can’t change what has already happened, we can stop it from happening again.”

She stares at her mother, the wisest person she’s ever known.

“Alright,” she whispers.

“Alright,” Marmee repeats, and then wraps her in her arms, hugging her tightly against her chest. “Alright,” she breathes again, into Amy’s hair.

It feels wrong. It feels so terribly, awfully wrong, just as everything has since she ran from Laurie in the garden after his proposal, and so often she tries to pinch herself and hopes she’ll wake up from this horrible nightmare. That she’ll be able to rush back to him, tell him that yes, she’ll marry him, of course she will, yes, yes, yes.

But she never wakes up, and she knows this isn’t a dream. And now, this is the only path forward.

It feels wrong, but it has to be right. It has to be.

She hugs her mother back, burying her face into the fabric of Marmee’s dress.

“I’m so sorry, Marmee.”

“It’s going to be alright,” she whispers, her voice wavering slightly. “We will fix this, and everything will be alright.”

She isn’t sure she believes her mother, but she doesn’t tell her that. Instead, she hugs her more closely, and closes her eyes.

* * *

The next morning, she’s just finished telling her father and Hannah of her new plans when there’s a knock on the door - three times, loud and succinct.

There’s only one person who knocks like that, and before any of them can make it to the door, it opens, and there she is.

Jo.

Confusion overtakes her at the same time her stomach drops. She glances at Marmee out of the corner of her eye, who gives her a tight-lipped smile before focusing back on her sister.

It’s Amy who speaks first, though.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming back from New York for at least four more days.”

“Well, hello to you as well, dear sister,” Jo answers, frowning slightly before pulling Amy into a hug. “You’re not glad to see me, then?”

It’s not that I’m not glad to see you, she wants to say. I just can’t stand the guilt that eats away at me when I do.

Instead, she tries to hold back a grimace as she embraces Jo.

“I’m always glad to see you, Jo,” she murmurs in a low voice, squeezing her sister more tightly for a moment before stepping away from her and staring at her feet as Jo goes to Marmee.

“Amy.”

Her head snaps up, sees him standing there in front of her. He’s wearing a dark gray suit. She recognizes it immediately as the same one he wore the day she first saw him in Paris and jumped from her carriage without a second thought, throwing herself into his arms.

It’s Laurie, she’d told Aunt March, as if that was enough of an explanation.

I know, the old woman had said, like she’d somehow understood.

It’s Laurie. It’s always been Laurie.

“Laurie,” she whispers, her heart twisting.

She can’t read the expression on his face, namely because there isn’t much of an expression there. Other than the small, almost regretful smile he gives her that is there one second and gone the next, his face is blank. He maneuvers around her, careful not to touch her as he follows his wife further into the house.

“My business in New York finished up early, so I decided to come home and surprise Teddy and the rest of you,” Jo continues as she lets go of Marmee and comes to stand in front of the fireplace, looking at Father and Hannah. Neither of them have moved, despite Jo’s arrival; her father sits with a pensive frown on his face, while Hannah simply gazes at Amy, her eyes beginning to shine with tears.

Jo slowly frowns as she picks up on the mood of her family, which is decidedly more reminiscent of a funeral than of a celebration.

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?” she asks, something like panic seeping into her voice. “Is everyone okay? Where’s Meg and John? Daisy and Demi?”

“Everything’s quite alright,” Marmee says suddenly, stepping forward and wrapping her arm around Jo’s shoulders. “More than alright, actually. Amy just shared some wonderful news with us. Right, dear?”

The enthusiasm in Marmee’s voice is clearly forced, but no one points this out. A beat of silence settles over them. It isn’t until her mother clears her throat that Amy realizes she’s meant to speak.

“Oh, yes!” Amy says, inserting the same false excitement Marmee used into her voice. “Very wonderful news.”

She falls silent again. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her, and before she can find words, another voice rings out.

“Well, tell it, then,” Laurie prompts.

His voice is like ice. Like somehow, he knows what she has to say. What she’s decided.

“Amy,” Jo urges her, after another moment of silence. She can hear in Jo’s voice that her sister is still unsettled and on high alert.

“I’m going to Fred,” she finally murmurs.

“What? Speak up,” Jo demands. “I can hardly hear you.”

She wrings her hands together, and clears her throat.

“I’m going to Fred,” she repeats more loudly. “We’re…we’re going to get married.”

Silence falls over them all again, and it’s so quiet that they could hear anything - the drop of a pin. The squeak of a mouse. Her ears begin to ring slightly. Again,she feels everyone’s gazes permeate her being.

She can sense his eyes the most, though. Laurie’s gaze, boring into the back of her skull.

Jo is the first to find her words.

“Fred is here? In Massachusetts?”

“Oh, uh,” she hesitates, glancing at Marmee, who tries to give her daughter an encouraging glance. “Not exactly. He’s still in Europe - London, to be exact. I’m going to him.”

“You’re going to Europe?”

Amy looks up at Jo, who stares at her incredulously, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes, Jo,” she answers.

“I thought Fred was coming back soon.”

“He was, but -”

“But what?” Jo interrupts.

“But things got hectic and now he needs to stay!” she says, her voice raising now at her sister. At Jo, who always found a way to criticize everything she did. “And I should go be with him! What am I doing here, Jo, really? You’re married and in New York constantly, Meg has John, Daisy, and Demi. And here I am, doing nothing and with nobody!”

“You don’t have nobody. You have us,” Jo counters, motioning to the other people in the room.

“Things need to change,” she says, ignoring Jo. “I’m ready to start the rest of my life. I’m tired of waiting.”

Jo gapes at her for a moment, and then narrows her eyes.

“Ready to start a life with a man who doesn’t love you?”

Amy’s mouth falls open.

“Jo!” Marmee scolds.

“What?” Jo scoffs. “It’s true. He won’t even come home and marry her, for goodness’ sake! And, besides - she doesn’t love him, either.”

“That’s not true,” Amy says, almost growling the words at her sister. Jo’s right, of course, but she’s offended and angered Amy now, to the point that Amy would argue with her about anything.

“It is true. I know it.”

What do you know about love? she wants to ask her sister. You, who’s stuck in a marriage with a man who doesn’t love you and who you don’t love. You, who ruined everything when you decided to reconsider Laurie’s offer. You, who created this whole godforsaken mess. You, you, you!

She bites her tongue, barely, and crosses her arms over her chest.

“It doesn’t matter what you think you know, Josephine. I’m doing this, with or without your blessing or permission.”

“No, you’re not.”

The sound of Laurie’s voice jolts her. Everyone falls silent, and she turns slowly to face him. He’s at the edge of the room, a stern, pensive look on his face. But he’s looking over her head, staring at nothing.

“Excuse me?” she murmurs.

“You’re not doing this,” he says, finally turning his eyes towards her. His gaze is resolute. Like he’s decided something.

“What I do is not up to you,” she tells him, her anger flaring up at him now, too.

He must know why she’s leaving. That it’s what is best for the both of them. That it’s the only solution to their mess of a situation.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “What you do, or don’t do, is not up to me. But I also won’t force you into a decision you’re unhappy with. If you go to Fred, then you’ll go to him for the right reasons. Not because you feel like it’s your only option.”

Suddenly, his intentions hit her like a sound punch to the stomach. Her eyes darken, and her voice drops.

“Laurie,” she whispers carefully.

“What are you talking about, Teddy?” Jo asks, confusion in her voice.

He gazes at her for a moment more, before turning his attention to his wife.

“Laurie, what are you doing? Don’t do this,” she tells him desperately, trying to grab onto his sleeve as he walks past her and towards her sister. But he pulls his arm from her grasp.

“Jo, I need -”

“Laurie, you can’t do this,” she begs desperately, panic setting in. Her hand shakes as she reaches up and takes hold of the back of his suit jacket, trying to pull him away from Jo. “No good can come of this! Laurie, please don’t do this.”

He turns to her suddenly, peers down at her with eyes that are decidedly weary.

“Aren’t you tired, Amy?” he asks her. “I am. I’m so tired of everything. And I won’t…I won’t do this anymore. I can’t. I’m too tired.”

“What’s going on?” she hears Jo ask, but she’s too focused on Laurie to offer a response.

“Laurie,” she begs once more, tears welling in her eyes.

“What you do is not up to me,” he says, “but what I do is not up to you, either. Your sister - everyone here - they deserve the truth. My wife deserves the truth.”

“The truth about what?” Jo asks, the breathless worry from earlier settling back into her voice. “Teddy, what is going on?”

He stares at her for a moment more as a tear falls from the corner of her eye. He reaches out, wipes it away with the pad of his thumb against her skin, and then drops his trembling hand. He turns towards her sister.

She hears his next statement as an echo from some faraway place. It almost feels like she’s a girl again, and she’s just fallen through that frozen lake. Her ears are full of water and she can’t catch her breath. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

“Jo.”

She’s so scared.

“Jo. I have to tell you something.”

#amy x laurie #laurie x amy #little women #little women 2019 #amy march #theodore laurence #amylaurie #cprobs

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