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nctsworld · 5 months

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golden hour

SUMMARY | in which you make love with mark in a tent during the golden hour. // part of the connection series

WARNINGS | sexual content, (lovey) pwp, unprotected sex, brief impregnation fetish (breeding kink), some praise kink, oral sex (m and f receiving)

RATING | explicit

AUTHOR'S NOTE | inspirations are (besides the connection teaser vid and pics) jvke's golden hour, mark's golden hour, and this picture i stumbled upon

TAGLIST | @neocitycafe @sehunniepot

NORTH

North is home, where you left behind for this short road trip down the coast of California with the love of your life.

During this trip, home every night has temporarily been your two-person sized tent being dragged around to different campsites.

This stop is more arid than others, with many rocks and cacti surrounding the ecosystem rather than grass and trees. Because of that and it being an off-peak period in the beginning of spring, it is likely why this campsite has no one else besides the two of you.

Although it takes some time, Mark and you finally finish pitching the tent and setting up the inside around the late afternoon. At this point, you mutually decide to take advantage of the area's solitude.

North of your bodies is also where it all starts.

Mark and you are lip-locked between initial smiles and giggles. The oncoming sunset's rays beam through the translucent tent, creating a natural, ethereal glow around each other's faces.

There's no hurry. Mark usually doesn't hurry his kissing with you; he likes to savour every moment he can—each groan exchanged, each dip of his tongue into your mouth, and each suck you grant to his plump bottom lip.

But at some point, kissing each other's lips just isn't enough to satiate your desires.

EAST

East is where everything rises.

Passion ascends as his mouth swerves away from yours, and instead captures the right side of your neck. You gasp sharply, eyes fluttering due to the power of that one spot. It's overwhelming, so much that it makes your knees buckle. You're grateful you're sitting on the ground with your sleeping bags laid out comfortably to catch you at the ready.

You return the favour by kissing places that make him weak—the constellation of moles on his face and neck, that one particular section behind his right ear, and right above his clavicle.

He hotly moans in your ear, letting his hands take a mind of their own. Your waist, thighs, and ass are his to squeeze, his to grip roughly. In turn, your hands latch onto Mark's rugged frame and back, admiring the firmness and contours in each muscle. Then, you begin lifting up his white tee, feeling up his fit stomach.

And at this point, because you're now straddling him, you feel his rising desire blatantly against yours.

Clothes are tossed aside to an area of the tent. Mark, now only in his underwear, aids you in stripping every piece from you, except for your panties.

SOUTH

Without a doubt, the absolute sweetest things happen in the south.

Mark roams downward your body as you lay flat, displayed beautifully in front of him. Your lover lives up to his name, marking you with gentle kisses over your goosebumped skin. It's due to the slight bite of the breeze that enters the tent.

The sun dives further into the horizon, and your being is now enveloped in the golden hour of the hues of red and gold meshing in the sky and radiating over the Earth.

When he reaches your breasts, he imparts small licks upon your hardened tips, along with kneading and thumbing them throughout. Arching your back, you shiver, more so from his aching teasing than the breeze.

Further south, he traverses and his mouth leaves love upon your stomach before he spreads your thighs apart. He lays on his abdomen, his legs positioned awkwardly as a result of the tent's size, but all the while manageable and comfortable enough to continue.

He snakes his arms around your legs, staring up at you with his shiny, starry eyes. Mark chastely kisses your inner thighs, revering the softness of your skin, then kisses you once over your soaked panties. With that mere move, it causes you to lift your hips up in want.

Impishly, he chuckles and pulls aside the fabric to give one slow, extended lick from your centre to your clit. You gasp at the sensation, but Mark is addicted to teasing you. After he drags your underwear off, he simply continues to innocently kisses your thighs. A whine expels from you as you're about to protest, but then he dives in without warning.

Dulcet whimpers fill the air besides the rustling of the tent and the occasional sound of faraway birds. Mark prides in himself in times like this, having you prettily on display and breaking you down. You're all his to have and to hold—all for him to drink and devour to his heart's content.

Not only does he skillfully lap his tongue against your folds, but he sinks it deep into you and thumbs your clit simultaneously. Your fingers' hold tighten onto his hair the more he plays and unfurls you at the seams.

Noticing your body being keyed up by your tight hair gripping and hip thrashing, he takes you to another plane when he slips two fingers in and tongues your bundle of nerves, scissoring you into madness.

After letting you come down from your high, he pulls away and runs a hand through his disheveled hair, giving you his signature tender smile with glistening lips before it quickly fades into a sinful smirk. Just like that, with one look and a couple of minutes to catch your breath, you're ready to have more fun.

Often in the confines of your bedroom, Mark likes to stand by the bed when he watches you take him into your pretty mouth. Due to the tent's spatial constraints, he's gotten used to shimmying off his boxers and opting to do a standing kneel on your sleeping bags instead.

He strokes himself, preparing for what's to come. Inching nearer in a cat-like position with your ass up in the air, you instinctively jut out your tongue, wetting your mouth at the ready, and fixate on his desire gracing you with its presence.

At first, you stroke with him with your hand on top of his, but then he eventually slips it away and lets you do your magic.

We're back to kissing, but all attention is on his length, from the base to the tip. You dab your tongue at his tip leaking with precum, evidently worked up from before. A dab becomes two, then three, and when his tip is wrapped by your mouth, Mark dispels a high-pitched moan. All of his entirety is quickly loved by you.

Amidst the head bobbing, you ensure to also swipe at the underside of his cock, licking at a particular vein that always entices you when you're on your knees for him.

At some point, he raises an arm behind his head while the other weaves through your hair. With his possession still in your mouth, you glance up at him. Although half-lidded, he stares back intently, maneuvering your hair out of your eyes and bunches the rest into a makeshift ponytail.

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, eyes still trained on you.

Although you would never disregard his praise, you don't need him to tell you you're doing well based on how he grasps harder at the root of your hair and from the trickling of choppy, higher moans that compete with your lewd slopping.

Since you don't want it to end just yet, you draw back soon after. Giving him a sugary fleeting kiss, you then go on all fours in front of him. Taking his sopping desire, all thanks to you, he rubs himself against your folds, then eases into you.

You cry out in pleasure, and adjust to his fullness inside of you. Mark goes at a measured pace—fast enough that it gets you to the edge quicker, but slow enough to make you feel all his inches. Out of habit, you press the back of your hand against your mouth, muffling yourself.

“Don’t hold yourself back, baby,” he murmurs. “We’re all alone out here.”

You nod thoughtlessly and comply, dropping your hand. It's an uncommon feeling to let yourself go, but you relax and try your best. Your soft moans elevate and gain traction in volume with each movement against your body.

“That’s it,” Mark says, reaching forward to caress your hair and sliding his touch downward to the small of your back. “That’s my girl.”

Preening in the praise, you moan gutturally in response. The deep sensations enrapture you, blooming to every point of your body. Exerting the pleasure, you fall face-forward into your pillow and bunch some of it beside your head.

He continues to pound into you, groaning, “Love it so much when you moan for me...”

A few moments later, your lover pulls you up by the arms, bringing your body almost parallel to his and picks up the pace. In this position, it's not as buried, but it's still just as satisfying, being filled with his cock like this.

When he slows the pace down, he releases you, having you land on your arms again. Kissing your shoulder from behind, he pants beside your ear, “Do you wanna switch it up?”

You shake your head. “Don’t care”—at an unexpected thrust, you gasp sharply—“just want you.”

Turning your head to face him, he follows-up with an ardent kiss. Despite him holding you by your chin, it's more delicate than you expect, unlike the sex so far. Mark takes a few moments to remind you how, no matter how crude it can be, sex with him will always be laced with love.

The sunset continues to fade as he removes himself from you and lovingly pats your hips, signifying you to turn around. Facing him now, you spread your legs once again for him, and you giggle as he drags you closer to him in one smooth move. He grins with his hair sticking to his perspired forehead, and once again, he lines up with your centre before gliding into your perfection.

In tandem, both parties' eyes tremble at the sensation. He fills you deliciously; for him, you squeeze around him like a vice he never wants to detach from. Hands are dragging along everywhere on each other's skin. Lips crash into the other's, then his to your breasts and yours to his shoulder. You're soon tied chest to chest, hearts racing in synchronicity.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Mark mumbles into your neck. “Love seeing you like this for me.”

He lightly slaps the side of your thigh, causing you to moan further into his ear. Despite not wanting to, he opts to tear away from you. Readjusting your bodies, he draws you closer by a tight yank of your thigh, bottoming himself out in your crevice and uses his other hand to rub your clit.

He's on a mission to take you to the stars.

“Tell me when you’re close.”

It doesn't take long for you to get there with how long this has been going on, nor with how skillful he is.

“Look at me, beautiful. Open your eyes,” he orders, his voice dripping with carnal assertiveness. “Look at me as I fill you up.”

You obey, snapping your eyes wide open, about to watch him come undone inside of you. You're transfixed on the point where you intersect, where he disappears so deeply in you.

But then, in a split second, you force yourself to stare down your love. Looking up at him, relishing in his pre-climactic image, you're on the verge of screaming, almost as if you're dying from the pleasure. His breathes come quicker, his facial features twisting. However, he dares not to shut his eyes, wanting to see you fulfill his command until the end of his surmise.

“That’s my good girl, such a good girl…”

A beautiful low, drawn-out moan emits, and ecstasy permeates through the air, intermixed with the much needed cool breeze. Mark's hips jerk, then stiffen as he spills into you, painting your walls with his thick load.

WEST

And in the west, the sun finally sets almost to completion. The golden hour sinking away into the purple and pink hues of the spring sky.

A sliver of the last light peeks through the tent's opening and lands directly over your face, the last of the golden hour saying hello and good-bye.

With your respective sleeping bags covering some parts of your bare bodies, Mark tenderly swipes his thumb over your sun-touched cheek, admiring his angel of light that always leads him home. Just like Polaris in the night sky, you’ll always shine and guide his way back home.

You two eventually eat some prepackaged sandwiches for dinner in the comfort of your tent, but not until he kisses your temple and pulls you in for a tight hug, whispering sweet nothings and running his fingers through your hair until the sky becomes completely pitch black.

#mark lee x reader #mark lee smut #mark lee fluff #mark lee scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #yn brainrot

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one-idea · 5 months

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Master list

This is more for me so I have a record of all my Aus in one place but incase anyone is interested.

Dream dream

A devil fruit user with the ability to steal a persons dreams/ambitions steals Luffy’s dream to become the pirate king. This leaves a despondent Luffy who doesn’t believe in his or any of his crews dreams (their dreams have become part of his) the crew is left to get his dream back.

(Big family feels for all of the Strawhats and some Zolu)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

How Luffy loses his dream/ Zoro’s vision of Luffy’s dream

Reverse Strawhats

In a parallel universe where Ace meets Whitebeard early and much like Luffy and Shanks makes a promise (to one day surpass Whitebeard) when he sets out to sea he meets with Kuina, Nojiko, Kaya, Reiju, and many others. They go on the strawhat journey (with some twist and turns)

One day (maybe in the Wano fight maybe not) a devil fruit activates sending Luffy and the strawhats to this world. Allowing for Luffy and Ace to reunite, but also Robin and Olivia (her mom) Chopper and Dr. Hiriluk, Law and Rosinante and many more.

Part 1

Part 1/2

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Kaya’s weapons

Kaya’s role on the crew

Possible backstories for Reiju

Reverse strawhats crew relationships

Ace and the East Blue crew

East blue crew relationships

Shipping?

ASL and AceDeuce plans

What about Sabo and Deuce?

More about Sabo and Deuce

What about Luffy and Ace’s fruits?

Dressrosa, the sun god, and ASL reunion

Sabo and Joyboy

Acedeuce and bounty posters

Garp and his roll in Marineford

Reunions

Rough draft of the reverse crew meeting the Strawhats

Things to think through/still making decisions

What are their pirate names?

Help me name the crew

What happens to Luffy’s Strawhat?

Where is Luffy buried?

The original idea!!!

Art of Reverse Strawhats

Dr. Hiriluk’s reindeer design by @onepiece-treasurecove

All of the following designs are done by @majestick-posts-op

Kuina’s design

Nojiko’s design

Kaya’s design

Reiju’s design

Nico Olivia’s design

My designs for this au

Kaya - Syrup Village to Drum Island

Zoro’s arc

I really wanted a Zoro arc. Where his old sensei contacts him about needing Wado Ichimonji (to defeat an enemy that can only be cut by one of the 21 great grade blades) Zoro has to return but he hates leaving the crew. He tells Luffy (there’s no way he’s leaving without an explanation) and Luffy is not letting him go alone.

There are many twist including old memories and new knowledge (maybe Kuina’s death wasn’t an accident)

Big Zoro feels, his relationship with the crew and some Zolu (cause I can)

(Pleant of Zoro and crew feels but mainly Zolu)

Part 1 - brainstorm

Part 2

Part 3

Nika cult

A Nika worshiping cult wants to bring Nika back to the world, to do this they have to kill Luffy. They almost succeed, Nika takes over to keep Luffy alive. Now it’s up to the crew to find away to save Luffy. But it’s so weird to travel with Nika. Who knows them, because Luffy loves his crew, but Nika is not Luffy. So it’s like hanging out with your loved ones friend you never met.

Big focus on the crews love for Luffy. (All the crew including Jinbei) big focus on Sanji (whole cake guilt) Robin (she adores her captain and crew) and Zolu

Part 1

Part 2

Wado’s pov

A retelling of One Piece from Wado Ichimonji’s point of view

Her pride in her dumb son Zoro, her adoration of their captain and king, her love of the crew, and her absolute annoyance with Sandai Kitsune. (Also the relationships with Yubashiri, Shusui, and Enma)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3 whiskey peaks part 1

Part 4 whiskey peaks part 2

Sun god and king of hell / madoka magica fusion

If you’ve watched Madoka Magica you know. But Luffy loses himself to Nika. Maybe to save the crew of maybe the whole fleet, but Luffy’s no longer in control. Zoro truly becomes the king of hell and uses his power as Asura to block Nika’s influence over Luffy, allowing Luffy to be Luffy. But every now and then Nika tries to break free.

Please just watch the end of madoka magica revolution

Part 1

An actually plot?

Who remembers and why Ace is a problem

Roger and Rouge live and raise Ace/Sabo/Luffy

Roger doesn’t die for his illness and lives with rouge and Ace. Shanks finds Luffy and adopts him, but leaves him in the east blue. Roger comes to meet Luffy and takes him a and Sabo (who Luffy befriended) with him

Part 1: main concept

Shanks raises ASL brother

This involves a lot of rearranging of cannon events. But basically Shanks realizes that Luffy is living alone and promises him the next time he comes to Dawn island he’ll take Luffy with him. Crap finds out and take Luffy to Dadan, where he meets Ace and Sabo. Shanks returns just in time to stop the Bluejam pirates from separating the ASL brothers. He spends some time getting to know the other two boys and decides to take them with him.

Part 1

Part 2,

Part 3 make it Mishanks

Part 4: Meeting Mihawk, Sabo’s future

Part 5: Ace’s reveal

Part 6: Ace and Shanks finally talk about Roger

Part 7: Heavy on the Mishanks.

Part 8: a coming storm.

Part 9: Higuma finds Luffy, Shanks confronts Higuma

Ask: What about Dadan and the bandits

Ask: When will the boys return to Foosha

Ask: Grandpa Rayleigh?

Poll: Does Shanks lose his arm?

Skyward Sword/Zelda au

Luffy remembers his past Life and Nika while separated from the crew. The crew is trying to find him while slowly remembering their own past lives. They are only finding bits and pieces but one memory stands out. The death of Nika at the hands of Asura.

The whole story follows the idea of Skyward sword. That Luffy is Nika reincarnated and needs to finish the job Nika set out to do before he past. Other people (the red hair pirates or the revolutionary’s) are helping him remember his past life while stoping the Strawhats from interfering.

The main idea

Who is guiding Luffy/who is taunting the crew

The Spade’s save Ace

Masked Deuce, Mihar, and Skull the officers of the Soade pirates chase after Ace when he leaves the Moby. They catch up just in time to pull him out of his fight with Blackbeard. Hurray Ace is safe, but they have a new problem. Blackbeard is going after Luffy.

Part 1 the main idea

Part 2 the race to Water 7

Question about Thriller Bark

More on thriller bark

Actual outline of Thriller Bark part 1

Thriller Bark part 2

Thriller Bark part 3 Moria’s defeat and Kuma’s return

How does Blackbeard become a warlord?

What about Ace’s secret?

One shot ideas/asks

Acedeuce: cooking

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #straw hat pirates #roronoa zoro #one piece zolu #zolu #reverse strawhat pirate au #dream dream fruit au #wado ichimonji pov au #portagas d. ace #Koushiro villain au #Nika cult au #sun god nika #the spades save Ace

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the-illiterate-pirate · 8 months

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Shame on the Night

Notes: NSFW, fem!reader with afab parts, AU?, cock warming changing positions, messy (writing wise), it's also messy story wise, Dio being an asshole, blood, vampire shenanigans. Does it go with the vibe? Not particularly, but vampires are hot, so who's complaining. Tell me if I missed anything!

Outside a storm raged on. Rain pelted the windows, threatening to break the panes and sounding like rocks getting thrown at the glass . Thunder rolled ominously on the horizon, lightning lighting up the sky, but you stayed inside, warmth seeping into your bones, protected by the thick walls of the Joestar manor and the heavy arms of your lover wrapped around you.

Fire crackled and snapped in the fireplace. You enjoyed the noises from your seat in Dio's lap while he enjoyed a good book. All was set up to be a perfect, peaceful night... If only it wasn't for the aching lust in your core keeping you from enjoying such a domestic night.

As Dio read, you suffered. Quaking thighs shivering around his legs, fingers digging into his scalp and shoulder, trying to hang on for dear life before you could slip. Your heat and juices flooded his lap hidden underneath your dress skirt hitched above your thighs. His gorgeous shaft was plunged deep within you, but he didn't allow you to move as he sat in the blissful silence, indulging in your sweet heat and the good words of his book.

It was torture. Pure, agonizing, orgasmic torture.

You tried to hide your whimpers and cries of his name in the collar of his dress shirt. Tears and drool alike stained the cloth. But Dio seemed to stay unaffected. His beautiful amber eyes stayed trained on the spiraling paragraphs of letters printed on paper as you continued to babble and whine in his lap.

After a louder cry of his name that threatened to wake up the mansion, Dio sighed, bookmarking his novel with a thumb and training his attention on you now. You jumped pathetically at the feeling of his hand now on your bare waist, just underneath the curve of your breast. He watched them heave with every intake of breath, a sly glint in his warm eyes. He was proud of his work, getting you to strip off your dress top, left only in the skirt with nothing to protect your naked flesh from his predatory gaze.

The sharp nail of his thumb lifted up to play with the peak of your breast. Dio took sadistic joy in the noise of pained pleasure you gave him, watching you writhe in your seat.

"Now, now, love... No moving." His toying hand moved to swiftly grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Remember what happens when you break one of our little rules..."

You flat out moan, collapsing into a heap against his chest again. Your nails dug deeper in his shoulder, your whole body vibrating with his baritone chuckle.

"Dio... Dio, I can't take this anymore! I feel like I'm about to break!"

You felt his hot cock throbbing deep inside you, but you craved more. You needed him to move his goddamn hips already.

Dio only kept smiling. The thumb on your pretty face left to rub against your lips. They were soft like rose petals, tempting the man. He found himself entranced, like a cobra hypnotized by the sound of a flute. "Love... Keep speaking like that and I..."

Dio leaned in slowly, lips parted, eyes hazy and half lidded. Your eyes were shielded from the lightning outside as he went in to kiss you, only to be interrupted so rudely by the thunder.

You squeak, grabbing on to his head for dear life. Muffled by your skin, Dio laughed lightly into your chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively. Your flesh was on his lips. Might as well, he thought, since he was there. He attacked your chest with passionate kisses, licking the sweat off your skin, feeling you tremble in his arms. He moved east. Taking your breast in his hand to suckle at your left nipple like a thirsty babe while the other hand went underneath your skirt, where he found your aching wet cunt and your throbbing clit. His cock was soaked, Dio loved the bodily jolt that happened to you once he teased you little bundle of nerves, drinking in your every pathetic mewl of his name.

He detached his wet lips from your tit, finally looking at you with his electrifying eyes. While he held you so dearly, his hand still touched your oh so sensitive core, enjoying the nonstop twitching of your legs around his drenched thighs.

"How much more do you think you can take?" Dio cooed into your mouth. "I only have a few more pages left... Can you be a good girl and wait?"

Could you wait? His thumb was still playing with your clit. You couldn't think straight. Dio would punish you if you came too quickly. Finishing his book could take forever... But you wanted to be good. You wanted to be so good. Just thinking about what Dio would do to you if you stayed still made you want to....

Your thoughts were silenced by a kiss. "You're thinking. But you're not answering me." He whispered. "Well? Can my beautiful doll take it?"

"I can take it." Your fingers gripped tighter around his shoulders, and you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth. Dio kissed you again so sweetly, settling back into the chair and grabbing his book.

"Good girl. Now, join me, it shouldn't take but a couple more minutes." Reluctantly, you accepted your fate, burrowing your face in his neck.

A couple minutes sounded like an eternity... But you'd try your best. Dio kept stock still, occasionally flipping the page he was reading. You, on the other hand... You could feel his cock throbbing inside of you, feel his heart fluttering underneath your chin. Dio acted calm, he breathed softly as he read, but you understood he was going just as crazy as you were. And that made this all so much worse for you.

Tonight he was wearing a white collared shirt. Three of the buttons were snapped open, giving you access to the smallest bit of his bare chest. Just then, looking down at his pale beauty, you decided you wanted to see more.

So, with the least bit of moving, your hand opened two more. And then a third. Until half of his shirt was open. Dio didn't stop you. Now you could see how he sweat. His slick skin shimmered in the golden light of the fireplace. You trailed your hand down to feel his jumping muscles without complaint from Dio.

You should stop. You might get punished, but... He was too beautiful to stop.

You may be stuck on his lap, but that didn't mean he couldn't be tortured just as he was doing to you. Dio's jaw and his thick neck were perfect prey to your bites and kisses. Your arms cuddled his head, fingers running through his blond locks. Technically you weren't breaking his rule. You weren't allowed to grind on him, or move your hips in any way. Dio said nothing about kisses and fleeting touches, and you indulged in it. His neck was getting covered in red bruises from your lips while the fingers of your left hand found his hardened nipple, doing the same things he did to you, and pinching them until they were hardened peaks.

"Y/n." He said lowly. His eyes weren't on his book anymore.

"You said I couldn't move my hips, nothing about kisses." You teased, going as far to kiss his nose, testing how far you could go. "You've tortured me all night. Now let me indulge." You turned his head to clash your lips on his. You started a heated makeout, your tongue exploring his mouth, catching Dio by surprise.

The feeling of your tongue on his. Your hands on his pectoral and in his hair forced an airy moan from his lips. The sudden noise of his book slamming shut made you jump. It was placed beside you on a table, Dio not even caring to mark his page. You watched with wide eyes, frozen, as his hands gripped your hips, his hold tightening and trapping you in his lap.

"Why did you stop, dear?" His icy tone of voice made you shudder.

You barely squeak out a response before Dio begins to forcibly grind your hips down on his. That squeak was replaced with a moan you tried to hide, but your boyfriend didn't allow you.

He gripped your wrist so tightly, looking through you with his glowing amber eyes. He dared you to look away, using all but his voice to tell you. "This is what you wanted, right, love? You wanted to win our little game, right?"

You can't respond. The feeling of his cock dragging so deliciously against your clit, rendered you a whimpering puddle in his lap. Dio didn't need to wait for a response. He doesn't look away from your fragile body, with lust in his eyes his arms brought you off of his soaked cock, and pierced you down right on it again.

You're not allowed to scream. Just as your mouth hung open, Dio captured your lips with his to swallow your moans. The force he was using on you was too much, he made you see stars with every thrust of his hips.

You moan into his mouth, "D-Dio!" and hold on to your boyfriend tighter, your fingernails threatening to break the skin of his pale, beautiful neck.

"Fuck." You can barely speak over your exaggerated pants, after Dio left your lips the only thing you had left to silence yourself was his skin, you bit down on his shoulder, hard. You hear Dio's gasp morph into a breathy groan at the pleasurable pain. You weren't cohesive enough to realize how sharp your bite was. All you knew was that Dio would never let you forget this night if your whorish shrieks woke up any of the staff or worse, his family. You continued to bite down until you tasted a metallic tang on your tongue, and stayed that way until Dio had stopped fucking you mad.

He had suddenly stopped his thrusts, collecting you and your frivolous dress skirt in his arms to stand from his chair. You're amazed by his strength, but miss the feeling of his cock pounding into you. Before you can complain, you're scared silent by your boyfriend's lustful, sadistic grin.

"I'm going to fuck you to sleep, just like this. Does that sound good, pet?"

He doesn't wait for a response. Immediately he begins to use your body like he did before, except gravity was against you now. The new position helped him reach deeper, allow you to feel him more, and left you inconsolable.

"I'm close, love." He panted against your neck. His cold nose pressed just underneath your ear. Something else prodded at your sweat slick skin, sending tingles down your spine. Dio pleaded further.

"Allow me to suck you dry in two ways, instead of one." Without anything more, two fangs punctured your neck. The red hot feeling of his mouth sucking you free of your blood coupled with his cock draining you of your energy sent your body into overdrive. You come apart in his arms, your weak legs wrapped around his middle barely holding you up. If not for Dio's possessive hold on your hips, surely you would've fallen.

Once you came, Dio didn't stop drinking your blood. He continued to suck selfishly on your pierced skin until he was full of your offering. But he still hadn't cum. You knew this as he placed you down on a table, books pushed off to the floor to make room for your body, others digging into the precious skin of your back once your arms couldn't hold you up any longer, and you fell backwards into the table. You're practically unable to move as Dio stands over you, drained of your blood and cum. He reminded you more of a succubus than a vampire.

He wiped away the blood on his lips with his tongue, not allowing any of it to go to waste. "I'm going to use you. Again, and again, until I'm satisfied. Doesn't that sound lovely, my dear?"

"Dio..." His hands grip your thighs tighter, pulling you closer until his cockhead is at your entrance. He slowly pushed himself inside you again, drinking in your tiny whimpers of pain.

He makes good on his promise. He pounds into you until you lose count of how many times you've come. By the time your body has decided it's had enough, the corners of your sight are blurring, the pain of hardcover books in your back have dimmed into a soft ache, and the echoes of the burning fire and the wet slap of his hips on yours begun to bounce off the walls of your mind. There wasn't anymore rain falling by the time Dio was done with you, and you were nothing more than a husk of the woman you were before you came into his library.

You don't remember anything after you blacked out. Waking up in a warm, soft bed was a surprise to you. The curtains were drawn, no light from the gloomy, rainy morning was allowed in. Even with the sun hidden behind grey clouds, Dio didn't want to risk anything.

You awaken, sitting alone in his big canopy bed. Your thighs screamed in pain, as did your throbbing neck and aching back. You were never allowing Dio to do anything like last night to you ever again. You didn't enjoy being used like a toy. Well, maybe you did, so long as he kept his late night rendezvous inside his bedroom. You were not sleeping on a bed of books ever again.

Dio entering his room severed your mind from their thoughts. He had a tray in his hands, holding breakfast and a drink of water for you. He'd changed clothes, that sadistic smile from before was replaced with the same smile he used to charm his family, appearing innocent and kind, but you knew better than to fall for your boyfriend's sick charades.

He bid you a good morning, placing your tray of breakfast on your left on the nightstand. He soon climbed into bed with you, delicate hands rubbing against any piece of your body they could, as his devilish lips pressed kisses onto your covered arms.

"You fell asleep before I could treat you properly, we didn't even get to cuddle."

"And who's fault is that?" You snap with no real venom. You're too exhausted to be angry. Dio doesn't falter, he still smiles. "I took care of you the best I could."

You notice you're not in the same dress you were in before. It's a plum purple nightgown you're in now. One from the many other stays here at the Joestar mansion. You still didn't have underwear though, of course. The bastard rid you of your favorite pair last night. He'd pay once you've healed. "You clothed me?"

"Of course I did." His smile widened.

"And you bathed me?"

"It's the least I could do for my favorite blood donor." He chuckled at his own bad joke, kissing up your arm until he found your neck, pressing an apologetic kiss on the two wounds he found there. "I wanted you to be comfortable in my home. And I wanted to make up for my rash decisions last night, today."

"How so?" You didn't stop his attack of kisses. It was nice, actually. At this point he had kissed up to your ear, nibbling on the lobe teasingly before he whispered. "By being your personal servant for the day."

He started kissing his way back down, all the way to the back of your palm, holding it in both of his dearly as he kissed each and every knuckle on your hand. "Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you. Food, drink, books, even if it's the world you want, it's yours."

You smirk, "That does sound nice. But it will take much more than food, or the world on a silver platter for that matter, to make it up to me."

You fall backwards into bed. Dio is immediately on top of you, caging you in his body. He holds you dearly, so much softer than last night. He wants to steal your lips, but stops himself from doing so.

"What else can I give you, dear?"

You pretend to think, playing with his lips, watching the way the sides quirk up in the tiniest smile, and the way his fangs protrude from them noticeably. It's incredible how his family hasn't found them yet. "You can start... by drawing me a bath. I feel filthy."

"That I can do, my dear." Dio pecks your lips with his before drawing away. "But what will you change into? You have no clothes here."

"No worries, love. I'll steal some of yours." He laughed a little, "Fine, if that's what you wish. I'll have the servants clean your dress during your stay."

He quickly got himself busy with finding an outfit for you. His clothes may be large on your frame, but that was no problem to you. It wasn't like you were leaving Dio's room any time soon. He placed them folded perfectly at the foot of his bed, and left to begin your bath, while you enjoyed your fresh breakfast.

#jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba #phantom blood #dio brando #dio brando x reader #steamy writing #jjba x reader #The Pirate Writes | JJBA

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bluemoonperegrine · 5 days

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One Giant Leap - Part I

This is a silly yet angsty one-shot in the Hallmark by Knight universe that combines an idea @vicarious-rebel and I had kicked around with Jake being the one to finally tell Jack about the system's DID. This isn't how it will go down in HbK canon. It's an AU to the AU, if you will.

Translations of the handful of Spanish phrases are at the end.

Jack frowned on his perch atop the Giant Dipper, the old wooden rollercoaster he hadn’t ridden since the whole family had visited Belmont Park when he and Lissa were teenagers. Mostly to distract from his urge to help Marc, he said through his balaclava to the mic clipped on his T-shirt, “Bebé, this isn’t natural.”

The spiky creature the size of a tractor trailer got its webbed feet under itself as Moon Knight, grass-stained and soaked from fighting in Bonita Cove, flew straight at it. A Bluetooth earpiece carried Marc’s reply. “YA THINK?!?”

Marc slammed into the beast, sending both of them into the miniature windmill of an already mostly trashed mini-golf course. Authorities had evacuated the area an hour earlier, when the monster had lumbered out of the Pacific. One of Marc’s contacts had alerted him, which immediately changed their plans for the day.

“Frogs can’t tolerate salt water,” Jack informed his partner, who probably wasn’t listening because the giant frog had wrapped its long tongue around him. “Bebé! Let me—”

“No!” Marc cried as he took to the air again despite his pinned arms. The tongue pulled taut but held, pulling a thrashing Moon Knight toward its gaping maw. “Stay safe!”

Finally! Jack thought, half sliding and half climbing down the ladder he’d used to get to the rollercoaster’s peak. “Stay safe” had a lot more wiggle room than “Stay there.” Although Khonshu would bring Marc back from death, Jack wasn’t about to stand back and watch his partner die if he could intervene.

The earpiece carried increasingly frantic cries as Jack neared the bottom of the ladder with his back turned to the fight in progress. With twenty feet left to go, Jack pushed off the ladder, twisting around in mid-air and hoping to find Marc breaking free.

The monster’s wide mouth snapped shut on white cape as Jack’s feet hit the ground. Wet, stomach-turning noises replaced Marc’s screams.

Jack's wolf side roused, furious and lethal, and he found himself at a dead run aimed at the predator. His halves had reached an unspoken agreement: his human mind was needed to save his mate. If that was unsuccessful, he’d bite and slash and kill as the wolf.

With forty feet between him and his target, Jack jumped a custodian’s cart, grabbing a broom along the way. The broom head was useless, but the handle could skewer the monster’s eyes.

Twenty feet.

The huge amphibian turned and trudged east, toward the cove’s sandy shore.

Holding the broom overhead, Jack leaped while roaring as best he could with human vocal cords. A similar cry sounded in his ear—one he hadn’t heard since the Tecate mission—as the wooden pole pierced a tire-sized eyeball. Then the frog’s enormous webbed foot lashed out and Jack was hurtling backwards. He hit the ground hard and rolled.

With the gory sounds of a brawl straight out of a horror movie in his ear, Jack looked up to find the frog writhing from something within.

The sound of blood rushing in his ears nearly swamped out what he heard from the earpiece. He murmured, “Bebé?”

The frog’s mouth opened and poured out blood.

“Más o menos,” Marc gasped.

Half of a gold crescent blade jabbed through the creature’s flesh and slashed a wide arc. The frog bellowed as blood and bile flowed, then collapsed.

The wireless earpiece carried Marc’s panting and swearing in Spanish as he pushed through the cut he’d made through the monster.

Beaming, Jack rushed up to him, wishing he could take off his balaclava and Marc could remove his bloody cowl and mask. Although no people were around, surveillance cameras surely were, not to mention the helicopters and drones overhead.

“Corazón,” Jack sighed as he wrapped his arms around his partner despite the ichor. Marc’s hug seemed hesitant; he must be injured.

Jack let go and took a step back, noticing how the suit’s mask and some of the linen wrappings were now black instead of their usual white. Chuckling, he said, “Being swallowed by a giant frog inspired a new look?”

------------

[ This isn't a scene break. I need to get some work done, is all. I was inspired, so I banged this out. ]

bebé = baby Más o menos = More or less corazón = darling, dear (literally "heart")

#moon knight #werewolf by night #fan fiction #hallmark by knight #crack treated seriously #angst #werewolf by night fanfiction #moon knight fanfic

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sirowsky-stories · 8 months

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The Old Prince

So, this is my entry for the Halloween themed Pedro Pascal Writing Challenge hosted by @pedrocontestsrus Thank you for organizing this! And if anyone else is interested in entering the competition, here's a link to the post with all the info.

I chose Prompt #2 Theme: A Dark and Stormy Night. However, I suck at short, so this is basically just a teaser which I'm gonna have to continue outside of the contest.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Game of Thrones AU, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, reader is attacked and abducted. Also, this is my first time writing Oberyn. Word Count: 4041 Author's Masterlist

You run at full speed despite the darkness, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the furious pounding of your heart, even though you know that he’s already gone and that your running would only scare him off if he wasn’t. The woods have always scared you and even now, in your mid-thirties, you still panic when you’re alone among the creaking old trees, spider webs and nightly active animals, all of whom seem intent on eating you. At least, to your own imagination.

“Damned it, Casper…” you breathlessly curse the horse for leaving you, once you’ve been forced to a stop by the pain in your lungs.

He’s normally very brave but being in the woods in the middle of a building storm is apparently too much even for his stout heart. So, you’re left to walk the remaining four miles to your house, and not for the first time, you find yourself wondering why the hell you’d chosen to live all the way out here, surrounded by the very woods that have always been such a source of discomfort to you.

“Because that was all you could afford, dimwit,” you chastise yourself out loud.

The house you now live in had been put up for sale after the previous owner had been missing for a few years and was eventually declared dead, despite her body never being found. It’s small and old, but well maintained and very charming, so you’d been surprised to be the only one interested in it.

You’ve lived there for over six years now and while it’s a bit secluded and a little too far from town, you do love it. The hiking trails leading up to the seven hills that make up the east boundary of the region run right by your property, and in daylight, you love to ride or just wander up to the peaks and admire the view.

There are rarely any larger wildlife passing through so for the most part, it’s quite safe, so long as you remember to bring water and check for lose rocks on the steeper sections of the trails. But now, in the near pitch-black darkness of night, you can’t even recognize the trail you’re on. So, why are you even out here?

Well, that would be because you’d started out in daylight, as usual, but then gotten involved in a search for another missing person in the hills, which had left you out there until well after nightfall. You had of course expected Casper to bring you home safe and sound, like he usually does no matter what’s going on around him. But unfortunately, on this occasion, the horse had lost its footing and fallen to the ground.

He’d gotten up without trouble, but since you’d no longer been on his back at that point, he’d gotten spooked, probably by the reins getting caught in his legs or something, and had taken off. You hope that he gets home without hurting himself, but you’re also quite angry with him for not recognizing your voice and staying by your side instead of running off on his own.

But your thoughts are disrupted by a creaking sound coming from behind you, a sound definitely not created by a tree. You stop, feeling a cold shiver move slowly down your spine, and you know that you’re in danger. You have no idea exactly what is watching you right now, but you know that something is.

You hear that same sound again, mere moments after the first, and even as you instinctively set off running, too panicked to even know if you’re still on the trail, your mind tries to work out what the hell that sound is. The winds are picking up, building towards the forecasted storm that has all the kids in town excited because of how perfect it is for the Halloween celebration, but it’s making it so much harder for you to hear if something’s chasing you.

Unable to stop yourself, you throw a look over your right shoulder, and a strangled scream escapes you when you catch a glimpse of something impossibly large and strangely shiny, and then just teeth. You try to run faster but you can’t. The dark world around you is a blur as you wait for those teeth to sink into your flesh and torture you to death. It seems to take so long.

And then it happens. You’re snagged to a stop so quickly that it makes your legs lift off the ground as they’re kicked forwards by the momentum. Something has your shoulder between its jaws, but that’s as much as you’re aware of before the world fades away and nothing exists anymore.

-=¤=-

You wake up on a bed in a room with a strange ceiling and stone walls. You’re groggy and only half awake, so it takes you a moment to realize that there are paintings covering the ceiling, making the stones look kind of fluid. Beautiful images of stormy seas and a red sunset flow across the domed shape, bringing it to life in a way that stone shouldn’t be capable of.

Then you remember, and bring your left hand up to examine your right shoulder, half expecting it to just not be there. But it is, and it feels fine. You sit up, relieved but also confused that there’s no pain, and as your bare feet hit the cold floors, your eyes are drawn to the rest of the room. It’s round and there’s a window in every direction, revealing the daylight outside, but also every detail inside.

The bed is easily large enough for two people, and the sheets and blankets are the softest you’ve ever felt. There’s a loveseat underneath one of the windows, with plush pillows leaned against the armrests. In the middle of the room is a carpet which you can tell just by looking at it, likely costs more than your house. And the curtains, four matching pairs, all a deep red, somehow seem both heavy and feathery light.

There’s a door to your left, and it’s standing open, so at least you’re not a prisoner. But you don’t feel like one regardless. All of this is so strange, because you’re sure that something bit you, but you can’t find any wounds in your skin. There are holes in your shirt, though. And where’s your jacket? Why are you barefoot?

You head for the door and find a winding staircase leading down, so this is apparently a tower. At the foot of the stairs is a corridor and then more stairs, twirling the other way this time, so you keep heading down, passing closed doors and empty spaces until you reach a pair of large double doors that are left wide open.

There’s a fire crackling inside and your cold feet and bare arms have left you shivering, so you head inside, finding the biggest open fireplace you’ve ever seen, in the other end of the huge room. It must be a ballroom or excessively large dining room, but it’s completely empty, save for a padded short stool in front of the fire.

You sit and warm yourself, trying to think back, to remember any details that might help you understand what’s happened to you, but nothing comes to mind. And then a movement to your right startles you to your feet.

“My apologies, miss. I have a habit of moving quietly,” a dark and low voice says, and when you locate the man who that voice belongs to, you’re momentarily stunned into silence.

He’s tall and broad, but quite lean, with a perfectly chiseled jaw and a beard trimmed to accentuate that. He wears no jewelry, but his dark green coat has golden threads and small embroideries on the cuffs and along the collar. Shapes too small for you to make out at ten feet of distance, but which from afar remind you of snakes. Still, it’s his eyes that rob your brain of most its function.

So dark, but also incredibly expressive. He’s curious, intrigued, but wary. As though you might pose a threat to him somehow, which seems impossible to you.

“W-… Where are my shoes?” you manage to croak, still unable to break away from his eyes.

“I took your shoes and your jacket to encourage you not to run away once you awoke. I’m afraid I am going to need you to remain here for the time being,” the man explains, and suddenly your brain wakes up in full.

“So, I’m your captive, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes, and no. You are my captive, as much as I am yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I have no idea who you are,” you counter, getting angry because that’s all you can do to keep from panicking.

“My name is Oberyn, and this is my home. You’re welcome to explore as much as you like, but I would recommend staying away from the basement. Especially at night.”

“Why? Do you have more prisoners down there you don’t want me to set free?”

“Oh, there are cages down there, and many of them are occupied,” he says, while taking a few steps closer to you. “But I doubt that you would want to release any of the creatures that are locked inside.”

Creatures? What the hell does he mean by that? He’s only three feet away when he stops, just as the outside light catches his eyes at a different angle, and you can swear that you see something else within them. A bright golden shine seems to illuminate them from within for just a fraction of a second, as if reacting to the sun’s rays.

“The tower is yours. I will not venture there without your approval for the duration of your stay. But the rest of the castle is my domain, and you move through it at your own risk. Do you understand?” he asks, to which your anger flares.

“Understand? No… I really don’t. Who are you?! What is this place, where the hell am I?! There aren’t any castles anywhere near the seven hills! And what the hell was it that chased me last night, and why do I have bitemarks in my shirt but not on my skin? What the fuck is going on?!”

He lets you scream and rant without so much as a twitch bothering his mustache, and says nothing as you begin to pace in front of the fireplace, crossing your arms in silent defiance, but also an attempt to guard yourself against all this strangeness.

“You were bitten by a serpent,” he quietly says, just as you’re about to give up and leave the room.

“It was a lot bigger than any snake, and it had a lot more than two fangs,” you counter, all but spitting at him now, further angered by the notion that he might be trying to convince you that you imagined the whole thing.

“I didn’t say that it was a snake,” he replies, and you stop pacing.

“And what is a serpent if not a damned snake?” you challenge, but he seems unbothered.

“Is that all it can be? You must think broader than that, young one.”

His words make no sense to you. Serpent, snake, fucking danger noodle, it’s all the same. And “young one”? He’s at most five years older than you.

“Please, just tell me where we are?” you finally ask, deciding that there’s probably no point in trying to argue with this mystery man.

He looks at you for a good minute then, as if trying to decide if he should answer, and you notice that he doesn’t blink a lot, which is surprisingly unsettling.

“We are six hundred and nine miles from your home. Give or take a few dozen feet.”

That takes you a second to process.

“What!?” you almost scream, unable to take any more of this incomprehensible nonsense. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you had a fucking helicopter hidden in the woods, or something?”

“Take a look outside the windows,” he calmly suggests. “I’m sure the snow on the ground will help you come to terms with the truth that you are no longer as far south as you think.”

Unwilling to take his word for it, you walk over to the nearest window, where the view makes your heart sink. Because he’s right. Not only are there several inches of snow covering everything in sight, but you also don’t recognize the landscape at all. And that’s when the realization of just how much trouble you’re in, finally dawns on you.

Turning away from the window, you now meet your captor’s eyes, for the first time with fear brimming within your own. Unable to stop yourself, you try to back away from him but there’s a wall in the way, so you start moving sideways instead, heading for the open double doors of the room. He doesn’t try to stop you, but just before you turn your back to him as you’re crossing the threshold, his expression turns incredibly sad.

You run through the halls, fully panicking now and having no idea where you’re even going. But then another set of large double doors are in front of you, so you grab the handle on one of them and pull it open. It’s the front entrance. You’re standing on the top ledge of another staircase, this one twisting off in both directions, leading down to a massive courtyard.

There’s a fountain in the shape of a rearing Pegasus in the middle, so big that the lilac shrubs which surrounds it barely even reach halfway up its hindlegs. And beyond that, is a giant garden of cherry trees and rhododendron hedges, in the middle of which, a wide driveway comes straight through, right up to the courtyard. A driveway that’s so long, you can’t even see the end of it, where it disappears into the surrounding woods.

You couldn’t run from here even with your shoes and jacket.

The freezing wind brushes over your exposed skin, making you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself while sorrow suddenly burns through you, bringing tears to your eyes. But then something soft and warm falls over your shoulders and you flinch, spinning on your heels and quickly backing away, further out onto the ledge to try and get away from him, which means stepping into the icy cold snow in just your skin.

“Please…” he says, and he sounds alluringly soft and inviting now, which only adds to your suspicions. “I have no intention of harming you.”

“Then how about you tell me what exactly your intention is?” you counter, barely able to keep your jaws from clattering with how badly you’ve started shaking.

He takes a deep breath and then slowly releases it, somehow looking sadder and more tired with each milliliter of air that escapes him.

“I just… I’m sorry. Please, come back inside before you get frostbite on your feet.”

“That’s n-not an answer,” you challenge, already trembling all over now.

“I know, this is why I’m sorry, but how is hurting yourself going to help the situation?” he wonders, and you have to concede that it doesn’t.

You huff once in defiance, and then step forward, allowing him to wrap the blanket around you. But you hadn’t expected him to sweep you up into his arms and carry you inside.

“Hey, I c-can still walk, p-put me down!”

“The floors are cold here. I will put you down once you’re in a room with a rug.”

“Or you c-could just give me b-back my shoes,” you gripe, and he hums in what sounds like a thoughtful manner to you, as if he’s conceding that maybe he was wrong to take them from you.

But he says nothing more, and as he carries you through the empty hallways, none of which look familiar to you because this place is apparently a damned maze, you steal a few closer glances at him. His skin is in better condition than yours ever has been, to the point where even his stubble looks soft. And his hair looks flawless. Not one strand of the curls on his head seems damaged or less bouncy than the rest. And the same goes for his beard and mustache.

His clothes are perfectly tailored, and they look new, but they don’t smell like it. Instead, the only smell you detect seems to be his, and it’s not at all unpleasant. Contrarily, the longer you smell him, the more inviting the scent becomes. You’re somewhat embarrassed to realize that you’ve stopped shivering with the warmth that spreads through you from within, just from that delicious scent.

The room that he finally turns into is small and smells of paper, reminiscent of the old bookstore in the city back home, run by a sweetheart of an old lady who also happens to be the grandmother of the missing woman who’s house you live in. She was the only one who’d come by with a housewarming gift after you’d moved in. That’s how sparsely populated your social circle is.

It looks to be an office, of sorts. There’s a fireplace here too, already lit and crackling warmly in the far corner of the room. To the left is a desk filled with scrolls of paper and what looks like old maps of countries you don’t recognize, and to the right are shelves filled with more scrolls, books and scraps of paper. There’s an armchair and a small sofa in front of the fire, and he sets you down on the sofa before kneeling in front of you to inspect your wet and freezing feet.

You’re about to argue that you’re perfectly capable of tending to your own extremities, but something about his touch stops you. His fingers seem warmer than they should be, almost feverishly so, but more than that, his skin feels like it’s giving off tiny electric impulses where it meets yours. And the feeling is highly intoxicating.

He quickly examines your feet and then sits back and looks up at you again, where a curious expression flashes across his features as he notices that you’re suddenly a bit out of it. He seems concerned at first, and then… is he blushing?

“If I get you your socks and your boots, will you promise me that you will not go running into the woods and getting yourself lost?” he asks, sternly holding your gaze while he looks for any traces of deception in your answer.

Except you don’t give any. Because you can’t make that promise. Not when you still don’t know why he’s brought you here or why he intends to keep you here.

“I don’t suppose it would make much difference if I told you that we are much too far away from any other people for you to make it there alive in winter?” he sighs, and he does seem genuinely worried that you won’t believe him.

“Actually, I do believe you on that part. I just also believe that dying while running for your freedom might be better than living in captivity,” you explain, and once again, something terribly sad comes over him.

“I really wish you could trust that I don’t intend to harm you, young one.”

“Why do you call me that? I can’t be that much younger than you.”

He chuckles drily at that, but it’s a sound of hopelessness rather than bemusement.

“If only that were true…” he says quietly, turning his gaze to the floor for a moment before he rises and leaves the room.

When he returns, only a few seconds later, he’s carrying your shoes and wool socks, both of which he appears to have cleaned, hands them to you and then steps back while you put them on. For a moment, you contemplate more questions, but the more you think about the strangeness of this whole situation, the more you just want to pretend that it’s a dream and that you’re gonna wake up and laugh at yourself any second now.

“The tower’s mine?” you find yourself asking, instead of any real questions.

“That whole wing is yours for as long as you’re here,” he nods.

“And how long might that be?”

“For now, I can’t say with any certainty, but hopefully no more than a few days.”

He does look genuinely apologetic as he says that, but you’re relieved to hear it. Somehow, you’d envisioned being a captive for years, locked away in that tower. But there’s something innately honest about this guy. You have no reason to trust anything he says, and yet you do.

“And what determines how long my stay ends up being?” you wonder, while rising from the sofa and daring yourself to take one step towards him.

He doesn’t react in any visible way to your truly minimal challenge, but you wonder if perhaps he likes that you don’t just accept your circumstances when they don’t feel right to you. There’s a little glimmer in his eyes that might just be a hint of awe.

“How long it takes me to figure out how you’re still alive,” he quietly answers, bringing you back to the severity of the moment.

Turning away from you, he reaches for an old-fashioned candlestick holder, lights the candle and then hands it to you.

“Living light reveals the path to the tower,” he says, as if that isn’t the most useless piece of information you’ve ever gotten, and then gestures to the open door.

Utterly confused, you step out into the dusky hallway, half expecting the wooden door to slam shut behind you, but it doesn’t. When you turn back to ask him which direction to turn, you find him right behind you, already showing you to the right with a gentlemanly open hand aiming that way. You nod your thanks and begin walking, still without a clue as to what the candle is meant to show you. Until it does.

Once the dancing light hits a certain wall, a faint glow appears in a thin line running along the wall, around waist-height. You follow it, seeing it fade away as soon as the flame isn’t directly in front of it, and before you know it, you’re back at those winding stairs. Walking back into the chamber at the top, you find that nothing’s moved since you left.

You walk around the room, examining everything more closely, finding two large and fully stocked bookcases hidden behind drapes on either side of the fireplace. There’s also a closet built into the wall next to the bed, and there are very old dresses hanging in there, covered with dust, making you wonder who the girl might’ve been that those clothes had originally belonged to.

Realizing that you haven’t asked your captor how to get food or how he intends to figure out how you’ve miraculously healed, you spend a few minutes pondering on whether you’ve got the energy to make the long walk back down to look for a kitchen and ask if you’re expected to come down from your tower at any specific times. But ultimately, you decide to leave it for now, picking out a book instead. You’re too stressed still to be able to eat anything anyway.

The book keeps you occupied for the entire afternoon, and it isn’t until it grows dark that you eventually close it and get up, intending to go looking for that kitchen. You’d left the candle holder in the window that faces the front of the castle, although you can’t see the courtyard from behind the main structure, but as you go to pick it up, a movement outside catches your eye.

Peering down towards the ground, you see a door swing open, and then something runs across the section of the yard that you can see. It’s so fast that you can’t be sure, but it looks like it could be what attacked you last night. And it looks like… a dragon. A dragon that just ran out of the same castle where you’re trapped.

Part 2

Thank you for reading! I had so much fun with this and I'm nowhere near done with it. Huge Thanks to @joelswritingmistress for inspiring me to take on Oberyn, I didn't think I ever would.

If anyone wishes to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

#PedroHalloween2023 #pedro pascal character fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones au #modern!au #halloween writing #sirowsky stories

90 notes · View notes

azsazz · 1 year

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Dead by Dawn (Part 7)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, eventual poly!relationship, undead, death.

Word Count: 4,921

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

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Day 191

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

When you wake up you’re surprised at how peaceful the world around you is. The sun is shining down into the van, warm across your face. It’s quiet, which normally would have alarm bells chiming off in your head, but you’d fallen asleep to the touch of Cassian’s soft hands kneading your tender ankle just like you’d been needing. Knowing Feyre was in the front seat and had some kind of strange sway over Rhysand had made you feel safe enough to succumb to your exhaustion.

You blink the sleep from your eyes and stretch your limbs. You hum at the stretch of your legs, noting how dull the throbbing of your injury has become thanks to Cassian.

It only takes a moment for you to notice that you’re alone. The small van is empty but there are signs that your friend and traveling partners haven’t been gone for long. Weapons gone from seats where they’d been sitting, extra crates of clothes tugged out and rifled through, even Cassian’s bag of seeds had been left open in a haphazard way and you wonder who would’ve dug through there and left it like that because you surely know that it isn’t him.

It’s late, you can tell by the sun in the sky, bright and nearing its peak. You must’ve slept almost half of the day away. The doors of the vehicle are wide open, letting in that summer breeze that you can’t help but to take a hearty breath of. If you strain your ears, you can hear Rhysand and Feyre bickering – or maybe it’s flirting – softly.

You haven’t felt this content in a long time.

Rubbing your eyes with your fists, you wince as the injury slashed across your palm pinches. You’d forgotten about the clumsy slice you’d given yourself and a flash of embarrassment heats your cheeks as you remember how you’d lied on the ground so willing to give up on everything.

Before Azriel had saved you.

Sure, Rhys was there too, looking out for the both of you and shooting zombies in their rotting faces if they stumbled too close, but all you can think about is how warm Azriel’s chest was, how big his hands were as they held you tightly, how deep his voice was when he’d been muttering under his breath to keep you awake–

You clear your throat, shoving away the fluttering feeling that starts up in your stomach when you think about him. You’d gotten the same sensation while Cassian’s thick fingers had been poking and pressing in all of the right ways into the delicate injury of your ankle. You wonder what else he might be as skilled at with those hands–

You flail around for your backpack, finding it shoved under the seat. You tug it out with your good hand, unzipping it to rustle through your things before you realize that you don’t have any water left to clear your suddenly dry throat.

Collapsing backwards onto the bench once more, you let yourself have a minute to wallow about the loss of something so important and gather your bearings. You could probably sleep the whole day away if you wanted to, with how tired you are, but you figure you better go save Feyre from the three strangers you’ve been riding with.

You groan softly as you sit up, cringing at the mess you’ve left behind on the seat. Dried blood from your wounded hand is smeared haphazardly on the perfectly worn leather, embedded into the cracks. Your shirt sticks to you when you peel it up to wipe at your face, and you frown at the feel of the crusty fabric rubbing against your skin.

You make a note to try and clean up before you move on.

“(Y/N), you’re awake,” Feyre grins when she spots you carefully shuffling out of the back of the van. “Can you please tell Rhysand that we should be heading west instead of east?”

You eye her suspiciously as you shuffle closer to the group, catching how she makes a face at Rhys as if to say ‘watch this.’ The way that she smothers her grin and bats her eyelashes makes your stomach twist, because right now you’re realizing that she might be starting to change her tune about the group, just as you are.

They’re lounging on folding chairs that you hadn’t even noticed they had. Where they kept all of these things in that tiny van is beyond you, but it also offers a sense of relief that the three men are so prepared.

It makes you feel taken care of.

You glance between everyone before taking a look at your surroundings. It’s an abandoned RV park. There’s only one other vehicle on the other side of the parking lot and it clicks in your brain that the chairs had probably already been here.

There are plenty of trees surrounding you and you know that while you wouldn’t have chosen this as a place to stop for the night had you been awake, you trust that if Feyre had agreed to it, you’ll keep your opinions to yourself. At least the place is mostly abandoned, the other looking vehicle most likely already ransacked and checked over by your group, so you find yourself relaxing a little as you perch next to Cassian, who beams up at you as you sit on the bench.

“Feyre, can you lower your voice before you attract something we don’t want around?” Rhysand huffs in retaliation.

“Awe, but with a voice as high as hers, it will be pretty easy to attract some wildlife,” Azriel mutters from where he’s sitting across the table from you, back towards you. His spine is stiff even though his body is posed in a relaxed way, elbows propped up on the table as he leans into it. His fingers twitch with the need to feel the heavy metal of his gun in his hands.

He is a true ray of sunshine this morning.

“Fuck off, Shadow,” Feyre flips him off even though he can’t see it, but he straightens as if he can.

“What the hell did I miss?” you ask, studying the interaction closely. Something must’ve happened while you were sleeping because as far as you remember, the two hated each other. But now there’s a determined gleam in Feyre’s gray eyes, like she’s accepting the challenge that is becoming someone Azriel trusts.

If she keeps up with that nickname of hers, she’ll be more likely to find a cure before ever befriending the broody man.

You brush the weird feeling off, not daring to join or delve further into your thoughts of what a friendship between the two of them would look like. Between what a friendship between you and Azriel would look like.

“I don’t know which way we should go, but I know that east is the way that we came from, so I’d rather not head back that way, right?”

Feyre smirks smugly as the men stare at her for a moment before their curious gazes swing your way. The shock on their faces nearly makes you burst out laughing.

“How do you know that?”

You furrow your brows, feeling as though the answer is obvious. “Basic astronomy. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west.” You chance a glance at Azriel but you aren’t able to make out the look on his face due to the dark sunglasses he has on. It makes you feel a bit off-kilter. You normally aren’t able to see what he’s feeling other than the hatred he has for you and your friend, but with his eyes covered and the straight line of his mouth, it makes you feel even more unsettled.

You swallow nervously, a tickle in your throat as you tack on sheepishly, “Plus, we have a map.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Azriel says at the same time Rhysand speaks.

“You let us drive around in what could’ve possibly been a circle all night?”

“I was a little preoccupied,” you defend, waving your hand around for emphasis before gesturing to your ankle for good measure. Rhysand shoots you an apologetic look and turns to Feyre, questioning her on how she’d forgotten to mention that you both had a map.

“How are you by the way?” Cassian asks you as Rhys follows Feyre back to the van like a duckling follows its mother. You need to keep a closer watch on the two of them but Cassian’s warm hazel eyes have you feeling fuzzy like you had been waking up safe under the sun.

Azriel watches silently as you and Cassian interact. You’re turned toward his friend and he takes the time to really get a look at you while you’re distracted. The structure of your nose, the set of your eyes, the pink flush to your cheeks when all Cassian had done was ask you how you are. Your face is dirty, blood dried to your smooth skin, along with sweat streaks and grime and now his fingers are itching to dip the rag into the bucket of water he’d gathered from the nearby lake and help you wash the grime from your pretty face.

He curses himself for his thoughts, but he can’t help but to look. He watches the way you react to everything Cassian does, the way your body language moves, and Azriel watches intently as you lean into Cassian only slightly, unconsciously as you answer him.

“I’m alright,” you answer honestly, “Hand hurts a little, but my ankle feels a thousand times better thanks to your magic fingers.”

Cassian laughs and Azriel watches him wink at you, follows you as you duck your head a little to bite back your smile, the tint to your cheeks. He frowns at the interaction, something hot flaring up inside of his body. He pushes away from the table, suddenly annoyed with the situation.

“Where are you going?” he hears Cassian call after him but he doesn’t stop. He slips a hand onto his holster, letting the metal cool his overheating hands as he stalks off without responding.

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After Azriel has walked away, Rhys and Feyre are quick to appear with the map, spreading it wide across the picnic table in front of the four of you so you can go over where you are. Once finding the general area of where you’d all stopped for the night, you mark it with an old pen Rhys had produced, and then he and Feyre had proceeded to argue about where to go next.

You excuse yourself because your ankle is becoming stiff, so you abandon a bored looking Cassian at the table.

Feyre passes you a water bottle and a granola bar as you go, without even a pause to her conversation with Rhysand. You’re more than happy to let the two of them take the lead on this one, knowing that she is on the move to find something incredibly important to her. You, on the other hand, have nothing.

You clap her on the shoulder in thanks and make your way towards the van, settling on the bumper to eat your meal.

The now rust colored seat taunts you as you eat, forcing yourself not to devour the snack that you’ve been without for too long. Your stomach growls loudly in protest, wanting more, but there isn’t any until your next meal, so you ignore it, letting your thoughts about the dirty seat consume you.

And that’s how you find yourself crouched over the seat in the back of the vehicle after you’ve eaten, trying to scrub your blood off of the leather.

It’s taking a bit more work than you’d like, and you might be a little worried about sore muscles in your arm and working your food off so quickly, but you should’ve known how hard it would be to get the seat clean. The throb in your ankle is back from the pressure you’ve been putting on it, even kneeling, and you’re pretty sure you’ve torn a stitch in your palm.

It’s not going well.

“You don’t use water to clean leather,” Azriel’s voice startles you and you flinch, nearly knocking over the small bucket of water you’d lugged from the lake to the car across the warming asphalt. Your heart races in your chest, unaware of just how quietly he moves.

Sitting back on your heels, you glare over your shoulder at the dark haired man who’s leaning against the back open doors with his arms crossed over his chest. You nearly lose your breath at the sight, a sharp exhale as your hand clenches subconsciously around the rag in your wounded hand.

Azriel looks considerably cleaner since you’d watched him stalk off this morning, a cleaner pair of jeans and a tight see-through white t-shirt that makes you wish you had some water left over.

It’s a stark contrast from his all-black attire, though his new denim is still as dark as his hair, the shirt makes him seem…brighter. White is not a color you would choose to wear during the zombie apocalypse, but maybe he hadn’t been able to be choosy at the time. Maybe white was all there was left.

You clear your throat, turning back to your work as you feel the blush creep up your neck because you’d caught yourself staring too long. He’d even let you drink him in, nearly preening under your darkening gaze as it traveled up his chest and across the still rippling muscles of his arms. Those extra push ups are paying off.

“We don’t have any damn leather cleaner,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. You scrub harder into the leather. Maybe you can blame your red cheeks on putting so much effort into cleaning the seats, though you don’t think anyone will even appreciate you doing so.

Well, perhaps Cassian will.

Azriel digs around in one of the crates, tossing it onto the seat next to you.

A bottle of leather cleaner.

You stare at it, mouth agape, before you scoff, snatching the bottle up from the seat.

“Of course you have this,” shaking your head and shooting him a withering look. “A necessity for the end of the world.”

Azriel shrugs as if he’s already bored with the conversation. “It was conveniently here when we found the car. The owner kept it in pretty good condition,” he says as he runs a hand alongside the door.

“Sorry to uh, ruin it then,” you stutter, refusing to look Azriel’s way again. He looks so good all fresh and clean and you’re itching with the need to put on clothing that isn’t crusty with your own blood.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, voice taking a softer tone and it shocks you. He continues, muttering under his breath so softly you nearly miss it. “Just glad you’re okay.”

Your breath catches in your throat and your hand falters where you clean. You don’t even know how to respond, if you should or if you should pretend you haven’t heard a word. You swear you can feel his golden gaze burning against the back of your head like the sun, but when you finally muster the courage to glance over at him, he’s gone.

You release the breath you were holding, finally relaxing a bit now that you’re alone again. There’s no point in overthinking, he probably was just thinking that it’s a good thing you’re safe for Feyre.

The cleaner works wonders, and you curse because you could’ve saved yourself so much more time if you had known about it before.

At least I’m done now, you think, sitting back on your haunches and admiring your handiwork. The seat looks back to the condition it was in before your blood had spilled all over it, and you think it might even sparkle a little in the golden rays of the afternoon sun.

You’ve worked up a sweat, and you hitch your shoulder up to wipe at the bead of sweat rolling down your cheek but the scratchy, stiff fabric has you retreating and shuddering at the incorrigible feeling again.

The dirty cloth you toss lands in the bucket with a soft splash and you climb out of the car, rolling your ankle to get some of the stiffness out.

Maybe if you ask nicely, Cassian will help you out again.

You so desperately want to rip your shirt off and toss it away, or at least drag it into the nearby lake with you, but instead you make your way back to where the group is still sitting around the abandoned table and plastic chairs, warped from the hot sun.

They all look cleaned and changed, more comfortable and relaxed than ever.

There’s not a dried splotch of blood in sight.

“What happened to you all?” you can’t help but to ask, suddenly jealous that no one had told you they were all going to wash up. You hadn’t even noticed anyone gathering the extra clothes from the van where you’d been cleaning for the past hour.

“Didn’t want to disturb you,” Rhys answers and you glare. He raises his hands in surrender as he continues, “You didn’t even notice I came for fresh clothes.”

And oh, so that’s what happened.

You swallow harshly, noticing their old clothes laid out on the table and various free spots around, drying in the sun.

“We went in shifts. Azriel had to help Cassian get clean while Rhysand watches over us because they still don’t trust us even after we’d gotten them gas and saved their asses, multiple times,” Feyre rolls her eyes. “And I went with Rhys because we didn’t want to go alone. You’re the only one left.”

You cut her a look as she explains that she’d gone alone with Rhys into the lake to get clean. From the pink tone to her cheeks that she’s so desperately trying to hide and the smug smile Rhysand is doing a shit job at holding back, you know something went down between the two of them.

You decide to keep quiet for now, though they’re both being about as subtle as a hungry zombie.

“Are you going to come with me?” you ask Feyre, hopeful to see if she has some sort of plan that maybe involves finding more food or something without the three men.

“Can’t. I’ve gotta stay here and make sure these three don’t up and leave us as soon as we get down to the lake,” she answers simply, and that’s that. You don’t miss the offended faces Rhys and Cassian give her. “Azriel will have to go with you.”

Your heart kickstarts in your chest. “What? Why?” you sputter, fingers finding their way to play with the collar of your shirt that’s suddenly clinging to your damp skin and making you itch.

That’s the last thing you want.

“Why can’t Rhys do it,” Azriel throws in, looking just as annoyed as you are. He can admit that he’s happy it’s not Cassian who’s going down there to help you get cleaned up, but he doesn’t exactly know how to act around you. You do nothing more than confuse him.

“Because Feyre and I are still trying to figure out where to go,” Feyre nods surely and crosses her arms over her chest.

“It’s Shadow or you go alone, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t go by yourself. Sorry, (Y/N).”

She doesn’t sound sorry.

“Here,” Cassian passes you a pile of clothes before you can protest again. He’s giving you an apologetic look that makes you sigh and begin feathering through what’s been passed your way. It looks like Feyre had pulled the clothes you’d stuffed in your backpack from the shop you’d ransacked because there’s a clean pair of jeans, fresh socks and underwear. You make a face when you hold up a shirt you don’t recognize and it unfolds into a top three times larger than yourself.

“What’s this?”

That cheeky grin of Cassian’s you’re becoming all too familiar with appears again as he shrugs.

“Feyre couldn’t find a shirt in your pack and she didn’t have any extras, so I offered up one of my own.”

You stare at the fabric in your hands. It’s a sooty brown and it's so soft that you could cry. Just the gesture alone is enough for your throat to go tight.

Azriel scoffs, startling you, “It’s not going to bite. Let’s go.”

He’s not waiting around for you, pushing up from his spot and heading towards the lake without a glance over his shoulder to see if you’re following or not. You know your cheeks are burning bright at his words and you gather the shirt with your other clothing. With a sincere ‘thanks’ towards Cassian you’re rushing as quickly as your ankle allows after the brooding man.

The walk to the lake is silent and it stretches on longer than you’d like because of the thick discomfort around you. You ignore Azriel’s stiff demeanor as you follow, keeping your attention on your surroundings, double and even triple checking for signs of zombies left behind.

When you’re sure the area is clear you find your gaze trailing to the tightness of Azriel’s shirt spread across his back. You wonder if the three of them set designated times throughout the day for push ups and other toning exercises or if their amazing muscle structure is all from the end of the world. Surely not, because your muscles don’t look like that.

If your gaze slips down to look at his ass, that’s no one's business.

“Here,” Azriel gestures to the spot they’d all used to bathe earlier. It’s shallow enough with no hidden shelves, so you won’t go tumbling off of the ledge into the lake and he won’t have to come wading in after you. He shoves a travel sized tube of shampoo at you that feels empty. “That's all we’ve got left.”

“Thanks,” you give him a forced smile, refusing to meet his gaze.

“We all cleaned our clothes the best we could with the lake water. Just toss them back onto the grass when you’re done,” Azriel explains, and coughs a little, “There’s no towel though, so you’ll just have to sit in the sun for a bit like we did.”

Your gaze snaps to meet his. “What?”

“I mean, you don’t have to,” he defends, and he hides his sudden discomfort well. He doesn’t think about what you’d look like splayed out on the grass glowing under the bright sun and he doesn’t think about doing it with you.

Azriel scrambles for something to say, “But that’s what we did. Or at least Cassian and I.” His tongue pokes out, running across his bitten raw lips, watching as your eyes follow the motion. He wonders if you can see the way they’re tingling, if they’re still swollen from Cassian’s own.

His response answers any and all questions you have about Feyre’s time in the lake with Rhys.

“Right,” you swallow the lump in your throat as his pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. You discard the feelings creeping up in the pit of your stomach at the sight and focus on the way Feyre and Rhys are seeming to be becoming awfully close so fast. You don’t like it one bit.

“Can you maybe turn around?”

He studies you for a moment, your words soft, shy, though Azriel doesn’t think you should have reason to be. If he were Cassian would you ask him to turn around? Are you hiding a potential bite? Or does he just make you that nervous that your cheeks are stained red and you can hardly meet his gaze?

Azriel gives you a sharp nod, the muscle in his jaw twitching as if you’re going to plunge a knife in his back as soon as he turns.

Right. You look for a dry spot to place your new clothes, keeping your eyes on Azriel as you strip yourself bare, frantically wading out into the water until it covers all of the parts you wouldn’t want his golden eyes touching right now. It’s cold, but feels like heaven especially when you use the last of the shampoo to scrub the thick layers of grime from your hair and body.

It’s tough to maneuver your bathing in the lake, having to keep your injured hand above the waterline so it doesn’t get infected, but you make as quick of work of it as you can, the murky water obscuring your vision to anything that might lie beneath. You know that zombies can’t swim, but they definitely don’t need to breathe. They could be anywhere.

Cleaning your clothes without getting your other hand wet is a feat in itself, so you decide that dipping them into the water is better than nothing. Maybe you can convince Feyre to come back down here and ring out the blood for you. You cringe at how gross that sounds.

You toss them back up to shore, a wet slap as your pants land perfectly on top of the pile of drenched clothes.

Azriel lets you take your time. He doesn’t turn towards you and he doesn’t complain once as you scrub your skin raw with the dirty water. It’s the best thing ever. You don’t move to make conversation with him either, your mind completely focused on cleaning yourself up for the first time in weeks.

You climb out of the water, covering yourself with your hands the best that you can manage. The constant walking and lack of food have changed your body in a way that you haven’t thought about until now. Usually you’re covered up or in blood.

Azriel listens to you struggle as you tug the denim up your legs. He doesn’t offer help, but it takes all of his self-control not to peek over his shoulder at you. There’s a soft voice in his mind, like someone whispering in the shadows of the night, telling him to turn around, admire the beauty of the female that is behind him. He curses at it instead, glaring holes into the thick tree he has pinned under his gaze.

“Thanks for waiting,” you murmur when you’re dressed. You don’t care that you’re still fairly wet in your clean clothes. You’d thought about foregoing the jeans and waiting until your legs dried a little because Cassian’s shirt covers the parts of you that you don’t want anyone seeing, but your rational mind had won out, struggling into the pants in case something happens where you need to run or defend yourself.

Azriel lets out a soft breath when he turns around and gets an eyeful of you. You’re even prettier now and he wishes that he would’ve looked. You’re swamped by Cassian’s shirt and your clean skin and big eyes make you look all the more vulnerable. His hands twitch at his sides as he refrains from tucking you under his arm to protect.

Your skin is clear of dirt and blood, creamy and slightly red from how hard you’d scrubbed it. The way the sun shines down on you makes him feel like he’s looking at an angel.

“What?” you ask, shrinking down on yourself. You knew he wouldn’t be happy about Cassian giving you his shirt to wear, they needed to keep the resources they have to themselves if they want to survive longer than they already have, and the way he’s staring at you like a void confirms it.

“Nothing,” Azriel responds quickly, startling at your question. He steps closer to you, some of the tension leaking out of his body when you don’t flinch or move backwards. The words bubble up in his throat before he can stop them. “You just missed a spot on your face is all.”

You haven’t, but he needs some sort of excuse to touch the creamy skin of your face, enraptured by your beauty. He prays that you don’t see through his façade as easily as his friends would.

“Really?” you ask, using the wet shirt you’d dipped into the lake to scrub at your cheek again.

“No, it’s–it’s right here.” Your breath snags in your throat when he takes your soiled shirt and rubs gently at your face.

You’re acutely aware of how close you’re standing to him. So close that if you dare suck in the gasp of air your lungs are screaming for your chest will brush against his. It’s a stalemate as you stare up into those glorious hazel eyes, the both of you so still as to not scare the other away.

Feyre’s squawk startles you both, jumping apart like your ass is on fire.

“I, um,” you trail off, shaking your head. You snatch your shirt back from Azriel who tucks his hands quickly into his pockets, and you spin on your heel to book it back towards the camp. You duck your head so no one can see the flames kissing your cheeks.

Azriel watches you rush off and sighs before scolding himself, getting himself back into check. He tugs his damp locks in frustration and trudges after you, kicking himself for what’s just happened.

“We’ve decided to spend the night here,” Feyre announces when you both return to the picnic table.

You’ve never wanted to drown her more.

#azriel x cassian x reader #zombie au #acotar #acotar zombie au #azs_azz #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #cazriel x reader #acomaf #azsazz

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rarepears · 8 months

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Just remembered the #if Cang Qiong had an Irish peak lord AU, and had this thought: What would happen if a Scottish cultivator and an English cultivator showed up?

Would there be war? Would there be peace? Who knows, but two things are for certain:

1) there is going to be a lot of alcohol

2) Mu Qingfang will be considering murdering all of them

Is that English cultivator really English if he doesn't make comments about how barbaric a lot of things in the East are? 🤔 How everything would be better in this sinful heathen society with God, church and prayer?

[More in #if Cang Qiong had an Irish peak lord AU]

#if Cang Qiong had an Irish peak lord AU #svsss #svsss au #mxtx #the scum villain's self saving system #svsss ideas #cang qiong mountain sect

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sp-newkidkris · 1 month

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The other eight freedom pals in the east peaks au! (Alley Cat is an oc made by my sister, but I have permission to use her, and I love her so much. Also, Citadel is the chaos droid i posted a long time ago)

Link to the main boys (+Clyde and the new kid)

#south park #south park au #east peaks au #south park hero au #jimmy valmer #wendy testaburger #craig tucker #tweek tweak #sp lola #annie knitts #south park oc #sp call girl #sp fastpass #super craig #wonder tweek

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pumpkinsy0 · 3 months

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in my 2000s au, pony learns how to skate in the gayest way ever

curly knew how to skate and pony thought he looked cool and cute cause hes GAY and sometimes while they were talking curly would just let pony cruise on his skateboard while he held his hand cause he didnt want old fella to bust his ass and go to the hospital cause they r BROKE (also bc hes also gay lmao)

sometimes when pony fell, or rlly was about to, curly would just hold onto him in like this hug and theyd stay there for a bit

ALSO FUN FACT/HC:

while skateboarding was mostly popular in like the 90’s, it can actually be traced back all the was to the 50s bc surfers wanted an alternative to use on sidewalks, and these ppl were like “asphalt surfers” and thats when skateboarding had its first peak!!! and then when it comes to the years 1959-1965 it just became more popular (mostly in the east and west coast however) AND TO SAVE U THE TIME I WENT THROUGH THIS, what im saying is, it is completely possible for curly to have learned how to skateboard in the 60s, maybe he found a skateboard in the trash somewhere and took it up a bit

#curly shepard #ponyboy curtis #purly

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snugglylime · 22 days

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Isla Sorna AU Snippet

Based on this post

Miraculously, no one dies.

Not so miraculously, they don’t shipwreck on a Costa Rican beach. The vegetation and humidity here are similar enough to that of Isla Nublar that for a moment Ben wonders if they somehow managed to make one big circle and end up right back where they started.

But the beach is hopelessly vacant of docks and stretches on for miles, lined on one side by a smattering of jagged rocks and on the other by a bright green spill of jungle. Beyond the jungle is a fold of mountains bulging against the sky, a stark contrast to the lone peak of Mt. Sibo on Isla Nublar.

Which means this can’t be Isla Nublar.

As he scrambles up the sand and away from the harsh surf, he tries to remember the maps he’d studied before the trip. Jurassic World, Isla Nublar, a lone island off the coast of Costa Rica. There’s nothing between Isla Nublar and Costa Rica to the North or East and going too far West would strand them in the Pacific. They must’ve gotten turned around and gone South, in the exact opposite direction of Costa Rica.

“Kenji!” Ben shouts half mad, half wild.

It’s unfair of him to pin the blame on Kenji rather than whoever put Kenji in charge, but he’s the one who lost the compass and got them turned around. So much for yacht experience.

Kenji’s head pokes up from where he’s sprawled on the sand looking like a dead starfish. “Look man, I know this isn’t great-”

“Isn’t great?” Ben laughs mirthlessly. “Isn’t great? We’re going to die because of you!”

“Ben,” Sammy rushes forward on her hands and knees and grabs his shoulder. “It’s not his fault. It was an accident.”

“He was careless,” Ben insists. “And now we’re shipwrecked on an island we definitely won’t survive on.”

Everyone goes silent. Even Sammy, who usually braves things with a smile, turns ashen. It’s an unspoken fact that Ben is the survivalist of the group, and if he sees the situation as hopeless, then it must be so.

“We can’t just give up,” Darius says. “If we can just get our bearings-”

“You don’t get it,” Ben groans in exasperation. “There were supplies on Isla Nublar. Food, shelter, weapons. We survived because InGen tamed the island. Here we have nothing.”

“That’s not true,” Sammy says. “A few cans washed up-”

“That’s not enough!” Ben snaps.

“Ben,” suddenly Yaz is at his side. “Cut it out. I’d rather not spend my last few hours alive listening to you babble about how screwed we are.”

That shuts him up. He hadn’t expected anyone to agree outright with his pessimism. He’s used to their exhausting optimism and refusal to believe that things won’t turn out all right in the end. But when he turns to look at her, all he sees is the slight tremble of her lips.

Oh.

He glances around. Everyone is waterlogged, downcast, and exhausted. They certainly don’t need him to tell them what’s already glaringly obvious.

They’re going to die.

#jurassic world camp cretaceous #jwcc #isla sorna au #ben pincus #kenji kon #darius bowman #sammy gutierrez #yasmina fadoula #this au has officially consumed me :')#jwcc fan first #human second

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anisette-blackwirth · 2 years

Text

SAGAU: Meeting Scaramouche [Part 1]

summary: Scaramouche finally visits to see what you're all about and subtly tries to process his feelings about having another creator in the background. He does not succeed. He'll need to try again later.

spoiler warning: references to scaramouche's backstory and inazuma archon quest spoilers. Today's leaks are NOT discussed.

content warning: language. Not exactly a cult AU but close enough. She/her pronouns for reader.

notes: I swear one of these days I'm going back to the start of this AU. I really will, I promise! I just felt like writing this chapter out of order, because I had a sudden urge to start a love letter to Scaramouche's current and potential future characterization. I'm sure you all know why.

Set prior to the Irodori Festival, but post-Inazuma.

[Under the cut!]

Of the three offices you had been gifted in three nations, you had to privately admit to yourself that you often adored the view from Liyue's the most. The building is located on the peak south of Jueyun Karst and east of Nantianmen, offering you a look at the radiant crystal of Azhdaha's tree, the glowing amber of Mount Hulao, and even the distant speck of the Jade Chamber floating near Liyue Harbor. It isn't technically within the adepti's domain, so visitors are still welcome, but the idea is that it's still enough of a hassle to get to so that only those who truly need to visit, would.

Unfortunately, the list of NPCs regular citizens who want to meet their newly announced link to the "real world" is long and many had banded together to do so, hiring bodyguards in groups to make the journey safely. After a relatively long day of seeing visitors and trying to get paperwork done in-between each, you're glad to hear that your guards have locked the front doors of the building for the night. Anyone who arrives after visiting hours will be given lodging and allowed to see you the next morning, if you weren't busy with other things.

You have the balcony doors open both so you can feel the breeze and to stare out them when you needed inspiration, but at the moment you're busy going over your third draft of answers to Mona's interview questions for her article. The woman certainly deserved the income an exclusive interview with you offered, and you felt guilty enough for ignoring her to accept her offer. It wasn't really her fault she'd pity-broken you on your first ever banner.... So you are engrossed in revisions when you hear footsteps land on your balcony.

"Hey, what's up, Xia-" you stop as you look up and notice that it is not the adepti approaching you, but a man in black, purple, and red traditional Japanese Inazuman garb, wearing a stylized kasa with a veil. The bells hanging from his hat chime lightly with each step towards your desk.

Uh oh. Oh no, no no. Ah, shit. Alright, yes, you're a Scaramouche simp, though you've managed to hide that from Aether so far.... but you also think you know his character well enough to know you might be about to die. Especially since he can't understand you yet. Better head this off as soon as possible. Haha. Shit!

You hold up your hands before you in (what you hope is) the universal sign of surrender, then clear your throat. "Xiao? Don't hurt anyone, but can you come here for a moment?"

Xiao appears next to you instantly, spear in hand. You shift one of your outstretched hands to him, begging him not to attack.

"No no! Don't attack. It's fine. I just need you to translate for me. Please tell this man you're not here to attack."

Xiao doesn't put away his weapon or take off his mask, but he does turn to the Harbinger who has now stopped dead in the middle of the room.

"I will translate for Her Grace. She can understand you, but you can't understand her until certain conditions are met," Xiao says.

"And you won't attack," you prompt Xiao.

He pauses, then says grudgingly, "I will not attack unprovoked."

Alright. Close enough.

"What are these conditions?" asks Scaramouche, arms now crossed. You pick up the basket of vials you and Albedo had collaborated on from your desk and hold it out to the Harbinger, looking at Xiao.

"You must drink one vial," Xiao says. You sigh.

"Please tell him that the vials contain elements from my blood - no wait don't say that. Bad idea. Say they contain an, uh, alchemical compound which makes communication possible."

"The vials contain an alchemical compound which makes communication possible," Xiao says faithfully, and you smile at him.

"Surely you won't mind if I confirm that for myself, will you, oh gracious deity?" Scaramouche says as he steps forward and grabs two colored vials from the basket, pocketing both immediately. Xiao bristles, but you shake your head and continue holding the basket out.

"I don't mind!" you say cheerily, hoping to convey by tone alone that it's fine. They're easy to make. "Oh, but we put some flavoring in them for kids, so the red ones are apple flavored, the yellow is berry, and the pink is sunsettia. That might mess with your analysis. Do you want an unflavored one?"

Xiao stares at you as you stare nervously at Scaramouche, who stares at you. …You glance at Xiao.

"....the red are apple flavored. Yellow is berry and pink is sunsettia. Take a clear one."

Scaramouche is now thoroughly and visibly confused by this entire exchange, and you don’t blame him. But he powers through and grabs a clear vial from the basket, pocketing that one too before turning to leave.

"Then I'll be back to test your hospitality later!" he calls with a wave, exiting the situation as gracefully as possible after that mess. Xiao waits until he's gone to speak.

"Were you aware he's a Harbinger, Your Grace?"

"Yeah, I know," you say. "Don't worry. I'll probably be fine. Nothing's been able to kill me yet, remember?"

"Nothing has seriously tried," Xiao points out, and you nod. But you doubt Scaramouche will ever speak to you properly with others present, so you persist in trying to convince Xiao it's fine to leave you alone the next time the Harbinger shows up until it's well past time to sleep.

-------------------

Scaramouche does return, three nights later. He enters your office via the balcony again, just after Noelle leaves your dinner on the desk and excuses herself for the night. That tells you that he's waiting for you to be alone, which is ominous but expected.

"Hello, Harbinger," you greet as you put aside your pasta. "Can you understand me?"

"I can. Delighted to meet you without your guard dog, oh illustrious creator," Scaramouche says with scathing sarcasm, and you wince.

"Before we talk, I feel like I should mention that if you kill me, I'll just come back to life at a nearby Statue of the Seven," you say. It's a lie. But you're gambling on the fact that no one knows how your powers work, and Scaramouche is probably still on the run with the Gnosis so you don't think he gave the vials to Dottore or any of the other Fatui scientists. Probably.

Scaramouche raises his eyebrows. "Do you expect me to try and kill you? I thought everyone loved you," he says, and you wince again.

"I- no, there's nothing forcing people to like me. I don't necessarily expect you to try and kill me, I just…. Thought I'd mention it in case. …You did try to kill Aether once, and corrupt him once. So." You gesture vaguely with your fork, then actually realize you're still holding said fork and put it back in the pasta bowl.

The Balladeer tilts his head to the side, mocking. "So if you know what I can do, and you aren't naive enough to assume everyone loves you, why haven't you called your guard dog this time?"

"I, uh-" You turn over a couple responses in your head, but only one feels right. "I like you and I want to talk to you?"

"Really? I knew you were stupid enough to favor Tartaglia, but now you're saying you're also naïve enough to like me?" Scaramouche glares at you. "I didn't expect you to be so childish. Do you think you can fix us? Make us your good little puppets? I'll tell you right now that you're not going to get Tartaglia to betray the Tsaritsa for you. He's the perfect brainwashed little soldier."

"I don't want him to betray the Tsa- no. Okay. Hang on. Wait." You clap your hands in front of your face like the prayer emotions and take a deep breath. "Do you think I'm a good person, Scaramouche?"

Scaramouche continues to glare. "Obviously. Your little vessels are running all over three nations, doing good deeds for anyone and everyone. You work them to the bone taking commission after commission, finding people's lost cats and playing fetch. It's sickening."

You shake your head. "But do you think I'm a good person? Because I don't. I know you all are sentient, and I'm still...." You trail off and look around you, then gesture at the ornate office you've been gifted. "Here. Taking advantage of this. Playing around. I don't possess anyone without their permission anymore, but…"

Scaramouche steps forward and puts his hands on your desk, leaning over to get right in your face. "If you ever. Possess me. I will destroy every single Statue in Teyvat and then kill you as many times as I need to for it to take. Do you understand?"

You nod, because you do understand why the abandoned puppet would be sensitive about that topic. That one's pretty obvious. "I understand. And I won't. I promise." At least, not without his permission, because you do still hope to main him one day, but!!

"I'm not a good person, Scaramouche," you reiterate, looking at the desk in front of you. "But I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm just selfishly taking advantage of the chance to be with charact- with people I like. I'm a hundred percent taking advantage of the power imbalance, but I don't care enough to stop.

"I like you because… you made your heart yourself." You hear him inhale and see his hands curl into fists in your desk, but you don't look up yet. "You didn't get the one you deserved, and there was no one there to help you. So you figured it out on your own. Sure, you're hateful and cruel and selfish, but… your personality is yours, you know?" You meet his wide, disbelieving eyes, hoping the gentle emotions in your heart make it through. Because he looks like he's about to either murder you or faint, and you'd prefer he do neither.

"I admire you. I don't agree with everything you do, but I admire you because you did it all yourself. You just… you made yourself a person out of pure spite. That's really cool."

He's still silent, so you might as well keep going. If this is the last time he ever comes to see you until you meet him again through the plot, why not? "Besides, you're ridiculously intelligent. You dismantled FOUR entire noble families through lies and deceit. You orchestrated all that before joining the Fatui, too, I think? That's stupidly impressive."

"How many people know that? Scaramouche asks. He tips his head down so his hat covers his eyes and repeats himself. "How many?"

"None, I think…?" you say. "The, uh… the world itself told me. I don't think most people in here actually have access to the artifact descriptions. The community - er, I mostly know because I can put together little hints from all over the place." You think for another moment as he continues to stand silent. "Oh. There are some old scrap papers in Tatarasuna which sort of reference your, uh. Old life there. …if you already know who they're talking about. I don't think anyone would figure out they're talking about you without knowing more."

Scaramouche turns and walks to the couch, then turns again and walks to the wall where he stands for a good minute, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry?" You call out. And you really are: bringing up his old life in Tatarasuna probably reminded him of his dead friend and also Ei and Yae Miko and- ughhhhhhhhh. Dumb. Dumb idiot simp who just wanted to show off her knowledge, dumb-

Scaramouche interrupts your thoughts. "If anyone ever does find out about this - including eavesdropping guard dogs who may be nearby - then I will kill that person and everyone they hold dear slowly and painfully. Are we clear?" The Harbinger turns to face you with a glare you recognize from the Unreconciled Stars event, and wow, you shouldn't find being threatened hot in person. But you do. Help.

"Crystal clear," you say weakly. Scaramouche nods and leaves through the balcony window without another word, clearly well past his limits.

You numbly take a few more bites of pasta before the shock and terror hit you full force. You drop the fork back in the bowl to bury your head in your arms.

You almost died. You were probably seconds away from dying and you can't even pinpoint when. God, that was the stupidest thing you've done in a while. Talking to a Harbinger - talking to Scaramouche alone? Scaramouche, who has more reason to hate gods and deities and being part of someone else's game than most? Who could definitely just have incinerated Aether at the start of said game??

You groan. And also, you probably pissed him off by bringing up his past and now he'll never want to talk to you again. Or let you pull for him when (if) he comes out!! Oh jeez, he's not gonna let you pull for him when (if) he comes out. You're doomed.

Xiao appears next to you again. "Are you alright, Your Grace? Do you want me to go after him?"

"Noooooo, leave him alone," you groan. "It's fine, I'm fine, he just probably hates me now."

"I fail to see how that's a bad thing," Xiao says. You just go back to eating to try and placate the hovering adapti.

—--

The next time you're in Tatarasuna, you notice you can't find the old letters anymore.

#sagau #scaramouche #sagau scaramouche #genshin sagau #cult au #I'm remaining cautiously optimistic #btw

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utilitycaster · 1 year

Note

it is entirely possible and probably likely that there is no real mighty nein massachusetts au and the caduceus cranberry bog remark was purely a joke, but I absolutely MUST ask about it on the off chance there is more to this concept

There will never be a coherent fic not in the least because I have not actually lived in New England for a decade, but:

Beau is from a wealthy suburb of Boston (in my heart I want her to be from Brookline but the vibe is further out, like Newton or something). Veth is from a not wealthy suburb of Boston, further out than Beau. I was going to say Caleb dropped out of Harvard but actually given his age at the time it should probably be some kind of Frankenstein of Boston Latin with Philips or Groton.

Caduceus is in fact from an ancient line of cranberry farmers in western Mass.

I feel like everything east of the Ashkeeper Peaks should just be like. New Hampshire and Maine, which sort of undercuts the grandeur of the Kryn Dynasty, but I'm really struggling to place Yasha and Essek in Massachusetts.

Actually for peak hilarity Essek should be from Montreal in this analogy which puts Yasha in rural Vermont or New Hampshire.

Technically I think this means Beau dropped out of College of the Holy Cross.

Obviously both Fjord and Jester are from the Cape; she is wealthy old money whose mother decided to live in the summer house all year long. He is a working class townie who is faking the accent and his native accent is just generic non-regional US. Uko'toa is real and I saw him in the Boston Harbor on a field trip in fourth grade. Veth still ends the campaign running a summer camp.

Every joke I had about Molly's death I have rejected for not being nearly funny enough to offset the incredibly poor taste it is in but most involved the violent and unhinged avian wildlife along the Freedom Trail.

Caleb crashing through the window with Cat's Claw but it's the Citgo sign

I was going to also joke that Teleport lets you summon the T after midnight but apparently it runs until 1 and possibly 1:30 now so fuck me I guess.

#answered #essektheylyss #the fact that the T runs after midnight and the metro doesn't really undercuts my joke huh #cr tag

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spicysix · 10 months

Text

「eddie munson X gn!reader • roadtrip!AU」

2.7k words | prev | next | masterlist | ao3 warnings: trauma bonding! mentions of violence, of torture and of near-death experiences. also, they're both kinda in a bad mood. a nightmare will do that to ya songs of the chapter: ambrosia - carole king • move on - david bowie • i wanna be somebody (and the entire self titled album) - W.A.S.P.

Friday, July 25

Eddie Munson was a hard-headed prick.

Not completely, no, you’d find out already he could be convinced at some point, but it took a while. And you figured the morning after your night in Sioux Falls that he was actually being really nice until then. Because on topics that were more important to him, the man was tougher to break than a brick wall.

One of those topics? His van.

Because Eddie’s back was still not completely recovered from the night he’d spent on the front bench of the van, and because of his nightmare that had kinda ruined his night, you told him you should drive the van to your next stop so he could get some more rest.

And, oh boy, was he relentless about that.

He wasn’t like Steve and the Bimmer, it wasn’t about jealousy or fear of you breaking something or getting something dirty. No, it had to do with the mechanics.

You had both woken up early, thankfully, for he had spent almost an entire hour speeching and groaning and basically throwing a tantrum about how the van was old, bratty, difficult, damaged, faulty. And how the van needed certain specific things to engage, to accelerate, to break, to park. And how the van had tricks and wiles and gimmicks to work.

You heard it all silently, nodding, not doubting him for a second even though his dramatics were off the charts. Only after his show was over and he had thoroughly explained everything about the van’s problems more than once, only then you asked him to show you, and if you could try. He showed you, also complaining the whole time, and then you tried.

And managed it just fine.

“Shouldn’t doubt my expertise, Eddie,” you winked at him — your grandma would call you smug — and he grimaced with a blush to his ears while you left the parking lot you were practicing on and headed for the road. You were cackling the whole time.

You took the I-90 and headed east, as Eddie had been doing since Chicago — on purpose or not, you didn’t know. Leaving the prairies behind and welcoming the great plains’ monotony, the beauty of the Missouri River once you crossed it again, the sun high and almost oppressive above you.

You were still a little tired yourself, but Eddie let you choose the music once again, bobbed his head to Bowie’s voice and hid a wide grin behind his hand as he stared at the window’s landscape, took a nap after two or three songs, and it was all right.

── ⇌ • ○ • ⇋ ──

“You ever been to Yellowstone?” he asked, reading a pamphlet while you gathered some food supplies into your basket.

You had stopped around midday in a town right by the border to Wyoming for a bathroom break and to get some snacks for lunch and for the rest of the road. The mid-summer brought its peak, and so the little town was unusually full of people going and coming from all kinds of nature adventures and travels.

“Do I look like someone who has ever been to Yellowstone National Park on a family vay-cay, Eddie?” you answered without sparing him a look, an abnormal tone of sarcasm in your voice because, yeah, maybe family vay-cays were a triggering topic to you. And you were a little hungry, which in turn got you a little over-annoyed.

Eddie didn’t know any of that, though, and you instantly regretted the way you said it.

“I don’t know you very well, sweetie,” he retorted just as ironically, the nickname raised in pure poison, and it hurt more than you cared to think about in depth. “All I know is that you’ve probably worked at every single retail job in Hawkins, that you go to mine’s to buy… stuff every four months or so without much small talk, that you, Harrington and Buckley are glued at the hip and that we’ve stopped the world from ending together. Nothing else.”

You stopped your strolling through the market’s aisle and turned to him, sighing.

“I’m sorry, Eddie, that wasn’t nice of me. No, I’ve never been to Yellowstone. I’d really like to, though.”

He seemed to be caught off-guard by your sudden sincerity and stuttered some words that he couldn’t completely form.

“And I’m sorry if I never stopped for a conversation when I went to buy stuff from you. I should have.” You took a step further, getting closer to him, and he looked truly startled. Was he really this unfamiliar with apologies?

“Yeah, no, I-” He closed his eyes and sighed loudly, “You’re alright. I was just thinking about it…” He went back to the initial topic, maybe not wanting to linger on the emotional aspect of the conversation since he’d been enough emotionally vulnerable the night before, and waved the pamphlet about tourist spots in Wyoming right in your face.

You caught the pamphlet in your hands, handing Eddie the shopping basket for him to hold instead, and examined it. You went through its pages quickly but with enough attention to catch the most important pieces of information.

“We could give it a call and see if we can make a reservation? It’s unlikely since we’re in high season, but we can give it a try?” you asked, looking at him again and he was still looking at you as if you were a hard puzzle to solve.

He cleaned his throat, “Yeah, sure, we can do that.”

“Not like we have anywhere specific to be or a deadline to meet, right?” You winked, handed him the pamphlet and took the basket back, continuing on your shopping spree, back with your enthusiasm. “We gotta stop by the camping supply store!”

His laugh reverberated through the isle and into a little warm space between your ribs as he went after you with a muttered ‘Fucking Yellowstone, man’ under his breath; following your plans once again, giving you his trust so openly, and you wondered if you even deserved it. Probably not, but you’d take it either way.

── ⇌ • ○ • ⇋ ──

Everything fell into place perfectly in a summer miracle as you used a payphone to call the reservations number for a camping ground on Grant Village, a last-minute cancellation from a couple that had given you and Eddie the opportunity of a lifetime — you were also able to make a reservation for dinner on the Grant Village Dining Room for your first night. And as it seemed, the entirety of South Dakota’s population had decided to go camping all at once and left you and Eddie the final tent to buy at the store. You also bought other basic camping supplies that you didn’t have and deemed important. That government hush money was making itself very useful.

Eddie assured you he was fine to drive and so he took the wheel for the rest of your trip for that day — it was too early to stop yet, but Yellowstone was too far away still, so you’d find another place to spend another night. Your reservation in the National Park also didn’t start until the next day, so you’d have to wait anyway.

You were once again delegated to co-pilot duties, reading the map and giving Eddie directions. You also picked a tape of his own for the soundtrack this time.

Not even an hour in, something caught your eye on the map in your hands. “Eddie, what do you think about a lake day?” He chuckled and shrugged in response. “Look, there’s a lake less than ten miles from here.”

“Let’s go, then.” He didn’t take his eyes off the road to check where you were pointing at the map, just followed your instructions.

You drove for just a little while until you reached an exit with a plaque that read ‘Pine Haven’. In about 20 minutes, after a few more turns, some decision-making about which way to go, and the payment of a fee for entering the State Park, you were the closest you could get to the lake, in what looked like a growing little town with a few houses built. Eddie parked the van a little further away from the road and you both left it, you stretching your arms and legs as he went around to meet you on your side.

A man approached you, introduced himself as Coop, pointed at his house — told you to knock if you needed anything — and then pointed to the best way to the lake (actually a reservoir). He told you all about the region, the State Park, the reservoir, his family; and you and Eddie were enchanted by his hospitality, the fact that he barely batted an eye about the weird combination that the two of you were. So when he invited you to stop by later for a shower and dinner, you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

After that, you and Eddie changed clothes to more appropriate ones in the back of the van and walked a few more minutes until you were finally facing the reservoir waters. Eddie found the nearest tree and rested under its shadow in no time, taking his notebook and a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket. You came to leave your supplies by his side and looked around. There were a few families, not many, it was very quiet and you were glad. On the other margin, though, you could see a few more people — Coop had told you the roads were more accessible and the state park was first established there, making it more popular. But you liked that you were on a more recluse part of the reservoir.

You stripped to the top and sports shorts you had changed into — intuitively, subconsciously, somehow you had brought many useful clothes so far — and covered yourself in sunscreen. Eddie had sunglasses on and seemed to be invested in whatever he was scribing in his notebook, but you felt his eyes burning on you from time to time as you turned your back to him. It made you smile for some reason (your grandma would call it wishful thinking).

He was still wearing dark jeans, they seemed more ripped, but less tight than the ones you had seen him using before, and so he rolled the hems up, took off his Reeboks, and buried his feet in the rocky sand. On his torso, he had a white tank — a surprisingly bright color, but you guessed an all-black look would make it unbearably hot for him. The scars on his neck that went up the left side of his jaw to his cheek were pink in the sunlight, but he didn’t seem to mind showing them off.

You approached him and offered the sunscreen: “You should take care of those battle scars, Eddie. They’ll likely be more sensible.”

He looked up at you, eyes still hidden behind the sunglasses (unfortunately, for he had pretty eyes you’d like to be seeing) but he accepted your offer and protected his scars and uncovered arms.

“How come you don’t have any battle scars yourself, soldier?” he asked, still spreading cream while you stretched your limbs.

“Mine are just covered.” You pulled up the hem of your shorts on your left leg and showed him the bite marks you had received from the bats on your first encounter with them when you all went after Steve into Lovers Lake. Turned around and pulled the fabric of your top that covered the bites on your right shoulder blade as well. “I was the one who got Dustin and Erica out back in Starcourt, so. No Russian torture for me as well, luckily.”

You draped a towel on the sand and lied down on it, ready to catch a tan. Your sun marks wouldn’t look pretty, but you weren’t so worried about that.

“If you hadn’t cut the rope, maybe we would be matching,” you said finally, before closing your eyes and enjoying the burning on your skin.

Eddie didn’t answer you. You didn’t intend for it to come out in a mean way, but maybe that’s how he interpreted it. And maybe you weren’t sorry for that — he could use a little snarl.

You were on his team with Dustin in the final battle. You were there because you had been able to protect Dustin once before, and you were trusted to do it again.

Which you did. You kept Dustin safe.

But you couldn’t keep Eddie safe, because he had cut the rope made of sheets after you fell through the portal, and left you and Dustin in the Rightside Up as he went back and faced those demonic bats all by himself in the Upside Down. If he hadn’t acted so impulsively, maybe you could have gone with him. Maybe the two of you would have been a more fair fight against the swarm of bats. Maybe he wouldn’t have almost died, maybe you wouldn’t have to see Dustin crying over his limp bloody body, maybe you wouldn’t have your own nightmares about that night.

You tried not to dwell on it.

You tried not to blame Eddie for it.

You tried not to blame yourself for it.

“You slept on my bed last night?” he chose to ask after a little while in silence, his voice a little shaky, and you bit your lip to stop your own eyes from tearing up before answering. You didn’t like talking about it, and maybe neither did he.

“No, I waited until you slept and went back to mine.”

You left out the part that you watched him sleep for hours, he didn’t need to know. You didn’t need to scare him like that. To make him aware that you were afraid he would stop breathing at any second, that his skin would go cold and his heart would stop beating. Like it had happened before.

No, he didn’t need to know that his worse nightmare was the same as your own.

He made a noise in acknowledgment and you took a deep breath and focused on the sun kissing your skin and the laughter of the kids playing in the water a few feet away. He focused on whatever he was doing, and you kept it to yourselves whatever was plaguing your thoughts. The air was crisp with tension, and you hated it, but you tuned it out. You could talk about it later.

── ⇌ • ○ • ⇋ ──

You didn’t talk about it later.

You didn’t talk about how neither of you dared to go diving in the lake, how you lingered on the margins, only going as further as to where the water reached your knees.

You didn’t talk about how Eddie didn’t take off his tank top.

You didn’t talk about how a couple walked past the two of you and stared too openly and too rudely at Eddie’s facial scars.

You didn’t talk about how you asked just as rudely what the hell they were staring at. But he smiled gratefully at you for it.

You didn’t have to talk about it. You knew how each other felt.

So he dragged you to a more hidden part among the trees and shared a joint with you. You laughed about nonsense together and went back to Coop’s house still giggling. You shared a towel for your showers because Betty (Coop’s wife) only had one to spare and you didn’t mind. You shared a couch during dinner because the table was already filled with Coop’s family and some other welcomed tourists, and you both received tight hugs from Betty before you went back to the van for the night.

You thought it best not to take the tent out of its package, both of you too high and afraid you wouldn’t be able to put it back later — and forgetting about the entirely available back of the van. Oh, well.

You both agreed to sleep on the same mattress, as much space between you as possible, backs turned to each other. After what felt like enough time, after you noticed that he was already asleep, you turned slowly not to wake him and stared at his back for a while. The repetitive movement of his muscles was soothing, and you matched your breath to his. The warmth of his skin still radiated and reached you somehow, even with the distance still fairly big between you two. And his calm, even breathing rhythm scared away your fears.

None of you had bad dreams that night.

end notes: i've made way too much research about this area of Wyoming for this chapter. Pine Haven was actually only Incorporated as a town by december of '86. I have no idea how the town looked months before that, so I didn't describe it a lot, made it vague on purpose. fun fact: Coop is the actual name of the guy who, alongside his wife Betty, founded Pine Haven back in the 50s - at least that’s what the town’s official website told me lmao. i obviously have no idea if they were actually this nice, but i wanted them to be a very wholesome and welcoming couple for the sake of the fic. also! let's suspend our disbelief, i know the chances of them being able to get a last minute reservation on what's probably the most popular national park in the US was very unlikely if not completely impossible. but everything is doable in a fic-world, right? right. to yellowstone we go, then

taglist (is open!): @amira0303 @rupsmorge @wyverntatty

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tsarisfanfiction · 29 days

Text

There's An Endless World To Rediscover

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Austin, Michael Michael... isn't dead. Two years and two more wars but he's back now, and it's weird. But it's a good weird, Austin hopes. TOApril day 22 - Never Forget. This fic is sort of a companion piece to my fic Dawn Rises From The East, although that isn't required reading for this. All that's important is that this is a Michael Lives AU!

There were some memories that just didn’t fade. Austin had had a few of those through his life, but the one that stuck with him right then was the staccato of a breaking bridge, the crescendo of water erupting from the river below, and the silence of bare cables. Many of his memories of Michael were fading, the way memories tended to, but that one was still pin sharp, even two years later. At this point, Austin was pretty certain it had cemented itself a place in his reel of memories for good.

This moment was going to join it.

There had been no staccato or crescendo ahead of the silence, just the usual ebb and flow of chatter between siblings, liberally sprinkled with interjections from their dad. It didn’t make it any less dramatic as, one by one, their attention was caught by the new arrival.

Michael looked rough. He looked tired, and dirty, like the two things he needed most in the world were a hot shower and his bed.

He looked alive, and Austin was glad for Will and Apollo jumping in, breaking the silence and proving that Austin wasn’t suddenly hallucinating his dead brother.

The rest of the day was a blurred whirlwind, one that Austin couldn’t tell anyone specifics of if asked. Yes, he knew that Michael had reclaimed his old bunk above Will, yes he knew that they’d filled an increasingly tired looking big brother in on the whole Roman side of things, and he even remembered that there had been happy birthday songs at the campfire, because apparently Michael’s birthday was close to Will’s.

Austin had never known that, although if he looked at a calendar he could understand why that had never come up before. The only summer he’d known Michael had been the summer the war against Kronos had reached its peak, and things like birthdays hadn’t been deemed important. They hadn’t celebrated Will’s that year, and now, remembering how bittersweet Will had been about it last year, and even that morning, Austin realised that the two of them had always had a joint celebration at camp, before the silence that had stolen Michael from them.

Now, he was back, and things were slotting back into place that Austin hadn’t even realised had fallen askew in the first place.

No-one really talked about it until the day after. It was surreal, getting out of bed to see Michael slipping down from his bunk like he’d never been gone, except for the clothes that didn’t quite fit him anymore, because apparently he had grown in the past two years. Austin only believed that when the physical evidence of too-short clothing made itself known, because Michael seemed smaller than he remembered.

He'd always been taller than him, but the gap felt larger now.

“You’ve grown,” Michael said to him, some time after breakfast. Austin had slipped away to the amphitheatre and the comfort of music, not Michael’s usual haunt at camp at all. He’d been certain his eldest brother would have gone straight for the archery range, with Kayla.

Kayla was adjusting to having her favourite brother (Austin was not a fool, they’d always been second fiddle to Michael, even in Michael’s two year long absence) back with ease. There had been tears, and tight hugs, but Kayla and Michael had always been like two peas in a pod, and it felt like she’d already forgotten the two years between his disappearance and now.

Austin hoped that didn’t come back to bite her, later, but didn’t have much time for additional thinking because Michael had singled him out, if he’d traipsed all the way to Austin’s haunt just to comment on his height.

He’d been going around all of them, that morning. Will had taken a chunk of it, but then Will had known Michael for significantly longer than the rest of them. Kayla, too, but Austin figured the favouritism went both ways, so that made sense, too. Even the new kids had had some sort of chat with Michael as he obviously tried to get to know his newest little siblings.

Austin hadn’t expected Michael to try and reconnect with him, though. In hindsight, it was obvious, because Michael had always had time for all of them, even when he was sniping with Clarisse or buried right to the top of his head in battle plans and contingencies.

“I’m older,” he said, rather belatedly. Michael seemed to take that as an invitation to find a seat next to him. Unlike most Apollo kids, who reached for instruments when they sat in the amphitheatre, he seemed content to keep his hands empty. Austin couldn’t relate.

The silence that descended over the two of them was awkward with expectations Austin didn’t remember how to fill. Two years ago, it was easy, talking to his head counsellor, but now, more wars and trauma later, to say nothing of a supposed death, he didn’t have a clue what to say to ease the pressure.

Michael didn’t seem to know, either, because he looked at his lap, twisting his fingers together, and said nothing else for a long moment. Austin’s own fingers kept fiddling with the violin, trying to check if the strings were in tune without actually breaking the silence between them, which didn’t really work too well.

Eventually, his brother growled. “Oh fuck it,” he muttered, and leaned back on his palms, looking up at the sky for a moment before Austin found himself on the receiving end of his stare. “Play something.”

The words were sharp, rough, and demanding – all things that Austin remembered Michael could be, had been during his first summer at camp, before his eldest brother disappeared – but the look on his face was closer to pleading.

“It’s been a long time since I heard music,” he added, softer and a solid gut punch, because Austin couldn’t imagine spending even hours without music, let alone however long Michael had gone without it, and he didn’t think his brother was just lying to make him play. Except…

“You heard music last night,” he pointed out. “The whole camp literally sang you happy birthday.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Last night was…” he faltered, and shook his head again. “Campfires are different. Campfires are supposed to be music. It’s different.”

Somehow, Austin thought he understood what Michael was trying to say. “Rehearsed,” he said. “What we do at campfire is rehearsed.”

“That,” Michael confirmed. “It’s not…” He waved his hands vaguely, words trailing away, but Austin got it, he hoped.

He plucked at the strings, adjusting the E string when it sang just a little out of tune, before nestling the instrument under his chin and just beginning to play.

It wasn’t a recital, like he’d default to with his sax. He’d played that for so long that his first instincts were always things he’d played a hundred times before, before he started to branch out and experiment.

He wasn’t at that stage with the violin yet. The notes that he drew out with bow and fingers didn’t align with anything in particular, just instinct guiding him into something new and raw. Something unrehearsed, something unattached to anything else, just pure music for the sake of music.

Michael smiled, a small thing but still undoubtedly a smile all the same, and reclined back further, until he was leaning against the next row of stone seats. He didn’t look at Austin, kept his eyes on the sky where the morning sun was gracefully evading any clouds that tried to get in its way.

Then he started to hum, and Austin almost dropped the bow in shock because he was certain Michael had never done that before. He barely recalled him singing in campfire songs, despite being head counsellor and arguably their leader (although Will never sang, either). Him humming along to Austin’s improv was different and weird but it was a good different and a good weird. It chased away the awkwardness hanging between them, two years of absence rendered insignificant by the sheer power of music.

Austin could get used to that. He could get very used to it.

#trials of apollo #trials of apollo fanfiction #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfiction #toapril #toapril2024 #tsari writes fanfiction #austin lake #michael yew

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