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otomiyaa · 7 months ago

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Hide Lyney under his desk.

No matter how tempting it was to show off how cute and ticklish his boyfriend was to someone as formal and dry as Neuvillette, he also did not want to make Neuvillette uncomfortable, especially when he was coming down here despite his busy schedule, and on Wriothesley's request.

So Lyney let out cute little squeak when Wriothesley suddenly pulled his legs apart, dropping him gently between his legs. He then pushed him a forward, fitting his small body perfectly underneath the desk.

"W-what?!" Lyney hissed, looking up at him with his face looking more adorable than ever thanks to the tickling and the surprise to suddenly getting stored under there. Wriothesley smirked proudly and blew him a kiss.

"I kind of forgot to mention I actually have a meeting right now," he admitted with a soft whisper. He looked up quickly to see the top of Neuvillette's head appear, and he bent down to add one more whisper while he caressed Lyney's head:

"So, be a good boy please and stay quiet? Let's not get caught, it'll be over soon." That last bit was an improvisation because his meetings with Neuvillette could get quite lengthy sometimes. But he didn't know what else he could've done with the little time they had all of a sudden.

"Were you talking to someone? Pardon me if I interrupted something," was the kind way Neuvillette chose to greet him as he entered and immediately scanned the room with his eyes. Sharp, very sharp. But also, who could he be talking to if not his boyfriend under the desk?

"Ghosts, as always. Thank you for coming today, Neuvillette," Wriothesley said, and he eyed Lyney who lay in the cramped space under the desk, his poor arms still stuck behind his back as he glared up at him like an angry little kitten.

"Of course. It would be my pleasure." Neuvillette took seat on the couch. Usually Wriothesley would remain in his own seat while Neuvillette sat on the couch. He wondered how awkward it would be for him to suddenly break tradition and sit right next to him. Perhaps it would be odd, but then he wouldn't have to see Lyney's cute and annoyed expressions under his desk all the time...

"So eh, tea? Would you like some?" Wriothesley asked as he found himself unable to make up his mind, but Neuvillette shook his head.

"I'm good. So, what was the matter you wanted to discuss?" he asked. Getting to business straight away like the busy man he was.

"Uh well, you remember the- eh, the suspect of the eh," Wriothesley mumbled, and he looked at Lyney again. No, no don't look at him!

"The case with eh..."

"You mean last week's abuse case at Lumidouce Harbor? The culprit pleaded guilty," Neuvillette said, reading his mind perfectly.

"Y-yeah that one. The man who got sent here," Wriothesley said. It had been some time since Neuvillette became the true source of justice rather than the Oratrice Mecanique D'Analyse Cardinale, and Wriothesley had called him here to discuss his doubts about the latest trial. It wasn't the first time for them to discuss some of the criminals down here, but it was one of the more spontaneous cases he wanted to discuss.

"What about him?" Neuvillette asked. Wriothesley would have responded, really, but he was laughing. Huh. Laughing?

With his hand covering his lips, he let out sudden uncontrollable chuckles and giggles, and with his concentration torn he only noticed shortly after he started laughing, that the cause of his giggles was a certain person underneath his desk. Said person was scribbling his fingers all over Wriothesley's thighs, tickling him in secret as a fitting revenge for earlier and- wait. Weren't Lyney's hands cuffed?

"Are you alright?" Neuvillette asked when Wriothesley continued to chuckle.

"YEHEeh, yeh- uhuhugh - cough, yes I - hhehe - cough, j-just a cohold," Wriothesley huffed, trying to cover his giggles with some fake coughs. Lyney, whose hands were in fact no longer cuffed, kept up the tickle attack, scribbling and squeezing at Wriothesley's tickle spots.

"Cough - oh nohoho I ahhah-cough," Wriothesley gasped out.

"Ah, do you need some water?" Neuvillette stood up to approach him, looking concerned, but Wriothesley quickly waved his hands at him and jumped up from his chair.

"No no no I am fine, really I'm - huwah!" Losing his balance, he fell back down in his seat when he felt those same pesky fingers trailing all over the highly sensitive areas behind his knees.

"I..." Neuvillette stood frozen in front of the couch, looking like he could walk over here any moment. Lyney stop it - it would be a humiliation to the both of them if they were to get caught like this, and he had no clue how Neuvillette would react. He did not want to find out!

"Thehehe-There m-must've b-been s-somethihing in my tehehea," Wriothesley said when it was too difficult to keep up the fake coughs. He tried to get up and escape, but Lyney was tickling him in exactly the right and wrong places. He even wrapped an arm around his legs, keeping them prisoner while his other hand tickled him exactly where it tickled most.

His legs were so sensitive, and of course Lyney of all people had to know it and take advantage of this weakness at this very moment.

"I'm sohohorry I r-really don't know w-what's hahappening!" Wriothesley lied, letting out more and more laughter.

"It may have been poison, though I am not familiar with the kind that causes uncontrollable laughter. Should I go get Sigewinne?" Neuvillette asked, and Wriothesley almost yelled out in relief.

"YEhe-yes plehehease!" he cried out.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Neuvillette was about to come closer again when Wriothesley, as an act of ticklishness and despair, banged the desk with his fist, startling his friend and not his boyfriend hiding right underneath that desk; Neuvillette jumped back, but Lyney didn't even twitch and continued to tickle.

Looking down, Wriothesley could see the smirk on his face and the twinkle in his eyes as he kept up the evil attack.

"Right. I'll go get Sigewinne," Neuvillette said stiffly, and he quickly headed towards the stairs.

"Yehehehs tha-ANKS!" Wriothesley was just too late to hold back the embarrassing little shriek he let out when Lyney's fingers crept too close to his inner thighs. He managed to only catch one hand, so the other resumed its path, tickling him wherever he could reach from under the desk.

"O-or... should I bring you to her? I can carry you," Neuvillette suggested, looking back with concern once more, but Wriothesley shook his head in a hurry.

"Nohoho plehehease cahahall heher h-here for mehehe! I'm not wehehell!" he said breathlessly, fighting desperately against the endless laughing fit.

"Good. I'll be back." Only when Neuvillette was out of sight and the door could be heard, Wriothesley squeezed Lyney's hand and pulled him up.

"You -!" he huffed with a blush, but Lyney only looked smug and even stuck out his tongue.

"Sorry Wrio. Did that tickle?" he asked. The little...! Wriothesley couldn't believe him and he gasped for air while Lyney took seat on his lap again, making himself comfortable. The handcuffs lay miserably under the desk.

"How'd you get out of those?" was all Wriothesley could get out first. He was too tired and unwilling to enter any discussion about Lyney's mischief.

"You ask your magician boyfriend how he got out of the handcuffs? Hmm, I'm not sure Wriothesley. What could it possibly be. Magic?" Lyney asked smugly.

Wriothesley glared. "Does that mean you could get out of them all the time? I mean, you acted like you were all weak and helpless when I tickled you," he said, poking Lyney's stomach. Now it was Lyney's turn to blush, but he remained a smug and adorable little shit.

"Who doesn't like a little roleplay? Hehe. Anyway, it's better if I go now. Right? Before he comes back," Lyney said. Wriothesley shook his head tiredly, but eventually nodded.

"Yeah." He was still breathless from the tickling but he just couldn't find even 1% of frustration, especially when Lyney grabbed his necktie and pulled him into a sweet, tender kiss.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you at work. I was somehow really convinced you had no appointments today," he muttered with his lips against Wriothesley's. Ah. Wriothesley now remembered he actually might not have noted the meeting with Neuvillette in their shared schedule since it was planned at quite the last minute.

"It's alright..." he whispered, moving his lips slightly against Lyney's to kiss him more. In his head he counted the seconds down of their time alone until Neuvillette would be back.

"Hm... Come to me after work and make me pay for what I did. Yes?" Lyney said seductively between more kisses. Wriothesley's entire body tingled. The temptation to run out together with him and postpone his meeting to completely wreck him and more, it was very tempting. But he only kissed Lyney's lips again and tickled his hip with a soft squeeze, enjoying the mewl coming from his lips.

"Oh I will make you pay big time... Now off you go," he finally warned gently, and with some difficulty, he lifted him off his lap and put him down.

"Alright. See you soon then~" Lyney winked at him and then skipped down the stairs and out of the office, luckily long before Neuvillette came back with Sigewinne.

Well. Wriothesley clutched his chest and felt his cheek which was still burning. Sigewinne was going to be worried if she was going go check him soon, but there was nothing to do about it. These were the symptoms of a pathetic person who was helplessly in love with a tease of a boyfriend, and he couldn't wait to meet him again for some real quality time, after part two of his meeting with Neuvillette.

A/N: Even with the poll result, I had 2 possible scenarios for part 2 of this fic, but thanks to @ticklygiggles & @lovelynim for helping me choose and make it easier 😘

Quality Time

Wriothesley x Lyney

A/N: Don't ask me when I came up with this. At the cinema when I was bored during a movie. Also if you enjoy this pair, click this, I recently commissioned this art and it's just 🤌 amazing! You won't be disappointed!

Summary: Not explicit but very suggestive - Lyney came to Wriothesley with a mission: to seduce him and make up for some lost time of intimacy. Too bad the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide is too busy to play...

Wriothesley stared, pinched his own cheek and shook his head. Hmm.

"Am I dreaming? Am I imagining things? Was my afternoon tea poisoned?" he wondered out loud in quite the dramatic way.

But there was a reason to be dramatic, and theatric. There in his chair, in his office at the the Fortress of Meropide, sat is boyfriend. Away from daylight and away from the spotlight of the theather, Lyney appeared to have made himself comfortable in a pretty unique manner.

He was lounging in the Duke's chair, hands secured behind his back with Wriothesley's very own handcuffs, but not looking like he was in any trouble. In fact, he looked rather comfortable and smirked playfully as Wriothesley took in the remarkable sight.

"You're not dreaming, Sir. You're not imagining things either, although I do hope those fantasies of yours are somewhat similar to this." He winked. "And no, I think your precious tea was perfectly fine. Hi, Wrio. How's your day?"

Lyney stretched his legs and crossed them at his ankles, looking way too comfortable.

"What are you doing here? Did you... cuff yourself?" Wriothesley asked, walking closer and reaching out for his hands, but Lyney turned away and flashed him the cutest and flirtiest little grin.

"I came to play, obviously. You don't come to me, so I come to you. Simple." He shook his hips seductively to make his point. Woah.

He came to play. He came to seduce him, to be naughty, convince him to take time off work while indulging in pleasure, the little minx he was. Wriothesley smirked. That was also what he loved about him.

Still... He sighed and gazed at the time. In just 15 minutes if not less, Neuvillette was going to be here for an appointment. There was barely any room for some sweet quality time. He clicked his tongue. The timing of Lyney's moment of mischief couldn't be worse.

"What, don't like what you see? I'm all yours~" Lyney licked his lips and writhed in Wriothesley's seat, displaying how helplessly tied he was. Thank the Seven he was still properly dressed. But yes. Of course he liked it.

Wriothesley was shamefully aware that it had been exactly 13 days since the last time they were intimate. All because work just sometimes took too much of his time and energy. He had hardly been home, and Lyney didn't exactly have an empty schedule either.

"Lyney..." He was burning with temptation and desire to just devour Lyney right then and there. But... 15 minutes had become 14 minutes already. Just 14 minutes until his appointment with Neuvillette. Still, was he going to tell Lyney 'no' in his pretty face when he was being this naughty, confident and playful, and make him leave in shame?

"I'm not going anywhere you know~" Lyney sang. The little brat. Wriothesley rolled his eyes fondly and grabbed his arm. He should really throw him out, but he couldn't.

"Is that right?" he asked, lifting Lyney off the chair with ease, and he sat down and pulled him down on his lap.

...He was not going to take the bait, but it wouldn't hurt to play a little at least. Well, maybe in a different way than Lyney intended. Lyney immediately arched his back and leaned against him in a flirty and sexy way, allowing Wriothesley to kiss his neck and ear from behind. Lyney really thought they were going to get all hot and steamy here, while in fact...

"HWAhhah?" Lyney let out a cute squeaky giggle and jolted when Wriothesley had made a claw of his hand and wiggled his fingers big and wide on his tiny and vulnerable tummy.

"What's wrong?" Wriothesley hummed seductively in his ear, and he wiggled his fingers some more, now adding another hand which he positioned at his hip. He squeezed his hipbone and enjoyed a little too much how he jerked in his lap.

"W-whahahat are you d-doihihing?" Lyney whined, squirming on top of him when Wriothesley used his two big hands to tickle him with.

"You wanted to play, didn't you?" he mumbled, taking Lyney's earlobe in between his teeth and nibbling and suckling on it. Suddenly when it wasn't meant in a sexy way but just to tickle him, Lyney wasn't being the flirty beast from earlier. No moan or sigh came from his lips. He was giggling his head off, and Wriothesley was enjoying every second of it.

"Nohoho not like thihihis! W-Wrio-ahahaha!" Lyney struggled and squirmed, but his hands that were stuck behind his back were becoming quite the disadvantage.

"What's wrong, Mr. Lyney? Are the handcuffs in your way? What happened to your magic?"

Wriothesley was a little mean to ask these things when Lyney had long lost the ability to speak. He lay helplessly in Wriothesley's lap and squealed as the Duke had lost every little bit of control and wrecked his cheeky boyfriend with all ten fingers.

"AHAha- wheheheeh Wria-hahahah! Naha-ehehe!" Lyney laughed and squealed breathlessly, and Wriothesley eyed the clock on his desk again. Still 10 more minutes, so he was going to enjoy tickling Lyney for every single one of them. And he really did.

He recalled how easily ticklish his sides were. The kitty-like mewl sounds he would make when he merely touched his thighs without even the intention to tickle them. And even in this position, he could wriggle his fingers under his arms and make him shriek by tickling those deliciously sensitive armpits.

"Pleh-plehehease Wriotheslehehey!" Lyney bucked on top of him when Wriothesley had at last moved to playing his ribs like an instrument.

He clawed and wiggled his fingers around, digging in and scratching occasionally, enjoying the kind of music it made. By kicking his legs, Lyney made quite the dance moves to go with his sweet melodious laughter, and Wriothesley couldn't help but smile as he admired the performance.

"Thank you, Lyney. I really appreciate that you came to play," he mumbled in his ear, then kissed and blew on his neck to tickle him there too. Lyney cried out and shook his head hysterically.

"You're so-aahahahaha!" Wriothesley was so 'ahaha', he knew that of course. Smirking, he continued the playful assault. Surely Lyney didn't know this was only because they only had very few minutes of private time left. Not enough for the fastest quickie, no, Wriothesley would want it to take forever. However the more he tickled Lyney, the more he started to regret this particular decision as well.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Wriothesley asked, trying to tease him while he started to suffer at the realization that he had to send Lyney out of his office really soon. He wished he could keep on tickling him like this minutes longer, hours even and - .... click.

His heart sank at the sound of the door downstairs. Then slow, quiet yet reconizable footsteps could be heard, coming up the stairs.

"Wriothesley? I am here."

Neuvillette. His fingers on Lyney's body froze, and he held his breath.

"W-Wrio? Who's...?" Why Lyney was so surprised he was expecting a visitor, he had no idea. However, Neuvillette was two minutes early, and Wriothesley had lost track of time after all.

He hastily looked at Lyney, all blushy and breathless in his lap, and considered what he should do. It was no secret to Neuvillette that they were a couple, but they always kept work and private matters separated like professionals.

He would also feel bad if he were to get caught like this, since it was the request of his own that Neuvillette, busy as always, should come down here for their meeting.

Now that he was already here, it was also too late to send Lyney away, so...

#genshin impact #2partfics #wrioney #tickling #tickle fic #wriothesley #lyney #otomiya!writes #lee!lyney #ler!wriothesley #lee!wriothesley #ler!lyney

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a-silver-dragoness · 2 years ago

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Just wanted to ramble for a bit. If it makes you uncomfortable to read about depression, mental health, or suicide, please do not read. Even though it can be mighty tempting to click on that READ MORE, please don't distress yourself to satisfy your curiosity.

I've always expected myself to die young. Like, I'm still just waiting around to die. Even though I'm on medication now, it hasn't helped with this... "I am waiting to die" feeling. I guess since I'm not desperate enough to take my own life, but still not okay with living this one, I resolve to just... wait. Wait to die.

I just can't wrap my mind around how I can't form simple habits like brushing my teeth or showering or combing my hair. Why is it so easy for other people and not for me? I'm trying nowadays to form these habits, but... I don't understand why it's so hard for me.

Back when I was a kid in middle school is when the problems started to present themselves. Leaving very sad drawings on the water fountains, and then getting called into the school's therapist office. I hated being there, and I greatly disliked anything to do with her.

My first suicide attempt was taking three nyquil tablets, and then getting scared I'll die. I know now it takes alot more than that to overdose, but little kid me didn't know that (for the better, perhaps).

My "second" attempt is when I texted one of my friends that I was going to jump out of a truck at highway speeds. I never actually made the intent to jump out, but the thought was so dangerously at the front of my mind that... I just texted a close friend that I wanted to kill myself. Maybe I was hoping texting him would make the thought go away. Maybe I just wanted to talk. I don't know.

After that, I learned to hide my symptoms. Stopped being vocal about it. I hated the attention it brought me.

I struggle immensely with motivation. I don't have the desire to move out, or get a job, or... be a member of society. Should I have a desire to do those things? Both of my siblings moved out, but I cannot?

I believe I would be called a hikikomori.

Hikikomori (Japanese: ひきこもり or 引きこもり, lit. "pulling inward, being confined"), also known as acute social withdrawal,[1][2][3][4][5] is total withdrawal from society and seeking extreme degrees of social isolation and confinement.[6] Hikikomori refers to both the phenomenon in general and the recluses themselves. Hikikomori have been described as loners or "modern-day hermits".[7] Estimates suggest that half a million Japanese youths have become social recluses,[8] as well as more than half a million middle-aged individuals.[9]

While many people feel the pressures of the outside world, Hikikomori react by complete social withdrawal. In some more severe cases, they isolate themselves in their bedrooms for months or years at a time.[15] They usually have few or no friends. In interviews with current or recovering hikikomori, media reports and documentaries have captured the strong levels of psychological distress and angst felt by these individuals.[16]

Sounds exactly like me.

Eh... I don't really have anything more to add. I'm actually looking forward to planting my flowers, and seeing the hummingbirds again, but I absolutely DESPISE bugs. I don't like being outside in general, but in spring and summer the bugs can come inside, and I hate that. There is no fiercer anxiety than having a wasp in the house and worried it'll sting you when you're not paying attention or sleeping.

But, I am looking forward to growing catnip and sunflowers.

#tw mental health #tw depression #tw suicide #random thoughts

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maladaptivedaydreamsx · 4 years ago

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‣ Guidelines for sending requests can be found here.

‣ Requests are currently tentative, but with no guaranteed turnaround time (things have gotten busier.). I ask that you place be patient, thank you for choosing to request from me!

❤️ Fluff | 🌧 Angst | 🔞 Smut | 🔥 Spice | 🩹 Hurt/comfort

💭 Headcanon | ✍️ Drabble | 🗨 Fic idea/outline | 👤 OC

❥MLQC

❀ GAVIN BAI

↳ Present ❤️🔥

❥Ikemen Sengoku

❀ YUKIMURA SANADA

↳ Second second chances 🌧❤️👤

❀ RANMARU MORI

↳ Faithfully Unfaithful* 🌧🗨

❥Ikemen Vampire

❀ MC × ARTHUR × COMTE

↳ Sweet Rendezvous 🔞🔥

❀ DAZAI OSAMU

↳ Reincarnation Devastation* (angst)

❥Ikemen Revolution

❀ ALICE / JONAH / KYLE

↳ Three's a Crowd* 🌧🗨

❥Ikemen Prince

❀ RIO ORTIZ

↳ Unrequited* 🌧🗨 (❤️?)

❀ RHODOLITE PRINCES

↳ Holding their newborn ❤️��

❀ CLAVIS LELOUCH

↳ The Littlest Lelouch ❤️

❥Ikemen Villains

❀ JUDE JAZZA

↳ Eternally Cursed ❤️(🌧?)

↳ Mean Kiss 🩹✍️(❤️?)

❀ HARRISON GRAY

↳ Afterglow ❤️🔥✍️

❥Obey Me!

❀ MAMMON

↳ You Wanna Bet? ❤️

❀ LEVIATHAN

↳ Brighter than the Fireflies ❤️

❀ SATAN

↳ Anniversary ❤️

❥Tears of Themis

❀ MARIUS VON HAGEN

↳ I'm All Yours ❤️✍️

❥Other (oc's/misc.)

❀ My OC's

↳ Aerin OC lore 💭👤

✎ A/N: I won't be officially opening requests, unless I temporarily state otherwise. I'm fairly busy and usually only write whenever inspiration hits (given that I have the time/energy to do so). Everyone's welcome to stop by the ask box/my dm's though! Whether it's to thirst (yes, anon is on dw) or just chat, feel free to stop by anytime. Who knows, I might not take requests but maybe a certain message might spark joy inspiration regardless. Heads up, unless gender neutral is specified, then fic is afab mc/reader (will be in fic's desc.)

** Please see the #aerin.writings & #mon écriture 💌 tag for more, as I nend to not add all my shorter pieces onto the masterlist, and there might be extra works found there!

↳ I write for: Ikemen series (presently: Revolution, Sengoku, Vampire, Prince & Villain), Tears of Themis, Obey Me!, Love & Deepspace, & Twisted Wonderland (sfw only for basically everyone, with the exceptions of: Leona, Malleus, Lilia & staff). Though I have some knowledge of others like MidCin, What in hell is bad, Code Realize, MLQC, etc., I do not currently confident writing for those at this time, and will just post for them.

Thanks for stopping by! ♡ xoxo, aerin

#masterlist #l'hôtel.entretien #l'hôtel.écriture #mon écriture 💌#aerin.writings #aerin.fics #aerin's masterlist #tempted to add a read more to separate the a/n just so that it looks neater . . '^'#trying to keep both mobile layout and desktop theme layout in mind is a nightmare xkdkdkf why must i want everything to look PERFECT...#despite knowing how well this site will actually allow me to execute that ...... 🥴💀#aerin.blogstuff #aerin.masterlist #l'écriture de l'hôtel #liste principal de l'otome hôtel #(yes this is my shabby excuse of making my tags diff so they don't clog the main ones...#but also an even shabbier excuse to practice my rustic basic french.. l'yoof-💀)#entretien de l'hôtel otome #my post 📫#last edited; may 13th 2024 #(only took about 2 whole years eh?💀)

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graycats-arcane-blog · 2 years ago

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I want Viktor and Sevika to meet up in season two and complain together about how Jayce and Silco did them dirty. Find my long-winded train of thought below.

So, you’ve got two pairs of people united by their dreams: Jayce and Viktor share their “Hextech Dream;” Silco and Sevika dream of a free Zaun. They revolutionize their respective regions (“Not necessarily in a good way,” Ekko might add as he watches countless Trenchers become deformed by shimmer) with Hextech coming to symbolize Progress Topside while Silco’s gang gains decisive control over most of the Undercity.

Jayce and Silco become the “poster boys” of their respective dreams. Jayce’s face is splattered across posters and mugs all over Topside; Silco’s eye-symbol-thingy is found on buildings and signs in the Undercity. Viktor and Sevika, although they both pull enormous amounts of weight with regard to bringing their dreams alive, are absent from the spotlight. Why?

Viktor and Sevika prioritize the realization of their dreams to receiving credit. The same could be said for Jayce and Silco, but, well, someone needs to lead their movements, and they’ve got the charisma for it. Meanwhile, Viktor and Sevika remain in the shadows, even skipping out on opportunities to have their contributions acknowledged, like when Viktor declines Jayce’s invitation to appear on stage with him at the Progress Day Address, and when Sevika turns down Finn’s offer for them to overthrow Silco and take his place. They seem content to take a backseat – that is, until things go wrong.

Viktor asks Jayce why he’s immersing himself in politics when they should be doing science. Sevika warns Silco that his ward is literally blowing holes in their operations. Both have valid concerns, both see their dreams in jeopardy – and neither are taken seriously. Jayce is determined to be a political boi, and Silco, although he does talk to Jinx about the potential harm she’s caused to his mission, does not take steps to prevent her from future explosive behavior.

Jayce and Silco take on additional responsibilities – politics and parenthood – that they are NOT PREPARED FOR AT ALL. And, what do you know, they do poorly. Jayce attempts to reform a corrupt government only to end up participating in the corruption himself, cutting deals with other Councilors under Mel’s guidance. Silco attempts to strengthen a disturbed individual, but ends up shaping an individual who can (and does) destroy him and his plans for Zaun.

(And, yeah, it’s a lot more complicated than just that. We could say that Viktor is also corrupting the Hextech dream when he kills Sky with the Hexcore. We could say that Sevika didn’t do Silco any favors when she was harsh with Jinx. We could say Jinx would’ve messed stuff up even if Silco hadn’t raised her.)

My point is, if there were a fanfic where Viktor and Sevika meet up at a bar to drink and rant about watching their partner/boss flush their dreams down the toilet, I would savor every moment of it.

(I might also be tempted to write such a fic. Anybody else want to read about Viktor and Sevika being drinking buddies who rant at each other? No? Eh, I’ll probably write it anyway. Eventually.)

#Arcane #lol arcane #arcane viktor #arcane jayce #arcane silco #arcane sevika #Jayce & Viktor #Sevika & Silco #analysis #lol viktor #lol jayce #arcane analysis

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sligheach-sidhe · 2 years ago

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I finally got around to trying out the Romance club app and I definitely wasn't disappointed (I'll admit, these apps and IFs are my guilty pleasures; though so is generally escaping into the written word but I digress)

From what I've read my top 2 stories (because picking a third is quite difficult) are:

Sins of London - Not only cannot I not find fault in the outfits nor character creation which so many of these apps fall down on, the story is intriguing (who doesn't like a bit of supernatural, romance and mystery?)and the MC is badass (I'm not ashamed to admit it took me a while to make some of the important decisions like Sepulchral Whisper or Crimson Shadow or accepting Glashtyn's offer). It also, in my opinion, has one of my favourite romance tropes, enemies → friends → lovers (as you can probably guess romancing Gray). Though I've heard so much about Glashtyn its ultimately Gray's character developement that has me sticking with him (a second playthrough will probably have me making the opposite choices - possibly).

On Thin Ice - I was humming and hawing on this one, mainly because of how much shit the MC had to endure and how she was first portrayed/written but as the story has progressed I've seen her developement and I'm pleasently pleased with it. She's a strong, independant character making the best with what she's given (though you are making the choices to be fair). I like how you get three different paths to chose from Light, Darkness or Balanced (I'm currently doing my best to remain balanced). My current LI for this is Hodge and I enjoy how he despite his shady dealings (I mean it theorised he’s mafia but has this been proven? Eh, not complaining) he has this fierce loyalty to those he loves. What can I say the, “I’ll kill everyone who dares to touch you,” line sealed it, I mean he’s a bastard to most but teddy bear to family and loved ones. Plus, slow burn romances are my jam (those with a friends to lovers trope or enemies to lover.)

Special mentions:

Hell and High Water - For me, its the character creation, I like how we can actually pick a body type, it offers what many IFs offer when it comes to character creation (though I know that there are limitations visually). I haven't formed much of an oppinion yet, except Baku is cute and I want one (yes I spend the diamonds for any pets that are offered).

Heart of Trespia - I like the story line plain and simple. I've also learned I'm a little vindictive and will do everything possible to destroy the MC's uncle - not just bring him to justice. I want vengence.

Heaven's Secret - Now this one of the one's where I wasn't particaully a fan of the character design nor the MC's personality at first, that being said I found the story engaging and read all the way through. I enjoyed the little twists but there were moments that I found myself desperately wanting a skip button. Once again, another story where you chose a path - Angel or Demon - though I made an attempt to stay balanced. In the end I was an Angel who romanced Lucifier, I find in these particaular stories being the opposite of the LI opens more dialogue paths/choices and it adds that little bit extra (like rivalmancing Anders in DA2). It was also a slow burn romance which are delightful and who knew he could be a sweetheart (won’t lie I enjoyed the soft moments as well as the teasing ones), "Just remember, if I'm against everyone, it doesn't mean that I'm against you. I'm not against you. I'll never be. Do you understand?"

Chasing You - I'm a sucker for a good murder mystery that is all. I spent each season trying to determine to decide whodunnit. Ended up romancing Alexander and was more logical, what can I say, an LI uses a pet name and I'm in, also it had some pretty good lines: "My crazy kitten with lion-sized ambitions." I'm tempted to replay and romance Ellia.

Path of the Valkyrie - This is more for my love of Norse mythology, I would have thought I'd prefer Rage of the Titans but I just couldn't engage and found myself skipping through most of the story (though I'm still reading it, mainly for Murphy and Aiden and hoping for the possibility to kick Zeus' ass). I'm also hoping for a chance to kick Odins ass too. Though it’s currently on hiatus for a while, I’m looking forward to its return.

Theodora - Strong MC who is a reporter. I'm curious to learn just how she gained immortality; in fact if I'm honest, what I've read so far has produced a lot of questions and I want answers the main being to her immortality but also do you get one LI (that you can choose int he first season) or are there multiples due to her immortality.

Please note these are just some of my opinions and thoughts, I haven't read all the books nor have I mentioned all the ones I've read.

Ones I've read but not mentioned: Shadows of Saintfour (I like the romances - each are different though some I would have prefered to have been expanded on for example Aaron or Cherry, even Derek and Michael simply by having more scenes with them) Seduced by the Rhythm (I actually enjoyed this and I found I prefered Brandon's route - I'm starting to realise I seem to gravitate towards a certain type, not sure if thats good or bad.) Sails in the Fog (First book I read - it was okay) Queen in 30 Days (Prefered the bodyguard over the Prince) My Hollywood Story (Meh) Wave Partol (Had potential just not for me which sucks because I was happy to play as an agent, I just struggled to enjoy it) Love from Outer Space (Alright, would like it to be continued. So wouldn't suggest if you hate leaving things unfinished at least for the time being) Dracula A Love Story (I wanted so much to enjoy this but I just couldn't. Determined to finsih it though.) Sophie's Ten Wishes (So, so. I'm almost finished it, so it was okay just not one I'd go back and replay) Gladiator Chronicles (No major opinion of yet, read first two chapers, interesting. Probably continue when a diamond free weekend comes up)

Considering reading next:

The One Arcanum The Flower of Tiamat's Fire Kali Call of Darkness

#Romance Club #rcbookclub #romance club game #sins of london #on thin ice #rc sins of london #rc on thin ice

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beachaire · 2 years ago

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My little babby eeuureu

Im tempted to call them a skrunkly but no,,, i will refrain

This is Mil!

I’ve based them off of my interests, while it’s already a theme on it’s own, my love for Sun/Moon from Fnaf did influence my love for the theming. Plus it’s pretty on it’s own

Im projecting so hard but that IS the point so-

Mil is made up of a lot of As!

-Aro/Ace

-Autistic

-Agender

Uh they are VERY tall, being a dragon hybrid i’d expect that but being a bee and a plushie does diminish their size, off the top of my head i’d say they’re around 6’7 but honestly they could be way taller and probably will be.

Originally i just had them be a large fluffy dragon bee [ or honeybee ehe ]

But i’ve been wanting to create my own little Sun and Moon DCA AU thingy and i thought Mil would be perfect!

[ This is a very basic ref, it was really just for colours ]

Anyways “ how do they fit into my made on the spot FNAF SB AU?” I ask myself, not you reading cus i have no clue what you’d say.

WELL

Um they would just be emotional support for Sun/Moon since their plushie-ness makes be specialised in giving and receiving hugs. Essentially they would just hang around the daycare, they can be awake at all hours to help both robot laddies. Of course kids will get hugs too but S+M probably need a lot more,,

Anything special about them?

-They hand out honeydrops, which can nullify the effects of Sun and Moon’s sundrops and moondrops respectively. It is a built in safety precaution just incase a child consumes more than they should.

-On their tail is a large zipper! It can store anything! And I mean anything! Mil mostly likes to keep spare teddies on hand, it’s also good for quick lost and found storage so they can quickly give back anything a child [ or S+M ]

They love arts and crafts so they keep a lot of art supplies and pages in there too! They even have specialised pockets in their tails just for paper, so it doesn’t crumple up etc.

Now here’s another question. for myself

Will i make it edgy?

…

Nah

My plan is to keep it as a light hearted story!

Just cute little interactions between characters, maybe a shitpost here and there. If i ever do decide though to delve into something more dark

[ keeping in mind different people have differing ideas as what constitutes as dark ]

I would add a quick warning to the post, simple as.

Most likely just Mil comforting Sun/Moon or vise versa

That’s all for now! Thanks for ready my ramblings :D

I’ll keep in touch and post…. whenever!

See ya soon!

#bee fnaf oc #fnaf security breach #fnaf fanart #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moondrop #sundrop and moondrop #Big gay homosexual bee dragon thank you thank you #They’re fecking massive like jasus #I don’t believe theyre a bee #something’s up with them #eh i’m too lazy to look into it #mil dca #art

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kitkatd7 · 3 years ago

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Barely Begun

Summary: This is a continuation of my story What You Do To Me, I do recommend reading the first part for context, although you don't have to. This has been sitting in a notebook for 8 months, totally finished but I was lazy so here it is finally! I hope you enjoy ;)

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+. Slight dom/sub elements, fingering (fem receiving) implied oral (fem receiving) implied smut, dirty talk, banter, maybe cursing.

Dialogue prompt #5. "This is one fight you won't win." (Will be in bold)

A/N: This is for @xbuchananbarnes awesome writing challenge mix!!! I hope you like it and congratulations!! I'm sorry this was so incredibly late.

Word Count: 840

Part 1 || Masterlist

________________________

You all but stumble into Loki’s room, lips and teeth battling for control of the kiss as Loki pushes you against the closed door.

"This is one fight you won't win," you feel Loki murmur against your throat; his warm lips making their way across the valley of your breasts as he pins you gently to the door, your wrists secured above your head by one of his large hands.

"I win either way," you breathe, reversing positions and leaning into his muscled frame tantalizingly, your lips a breath's width from his; so close you can smell the thin sheen of sweat that coats his skin from your workout and the warm, spicy scent of him that smells of cedar and honey sending a fresh wave of arousal through your simmering veins. You ghost your lips over the heated skin of his throat, nipping gently at the delicate layer as your hands work his trousers, glancing up in frustration when the stubborn leather refuses to budge.

An amused smirk accompanies his dark lust-filled eyes as his clothes disappear; leaving him bare while your still fully clothed. "Well, this hardly seems a fair fight," he says, a low rumble in his throat as your instantly left in your bra and panties.

"Since when do you play fair?" you retort, glancing down and sucking in a deep breath when your gaze lights on his length.

"I can assure you, darling, the amount of restraint I am showing now is most definitely not fair- but in your favor." His eyes glitter with a dark promise as one hand finds its way into your hair, the other resting at the nape of your neck as his gaze rakes over you possessively, sending a shiver over your sweat-glazed skin.

Shooting him a teasing smirk, you play with your still clothed breasts, an innocent, doe-eyed look in your eyes. "Perhaps you should play fair then."

His eyes follow your fingertips as they ghost over your hard nipples, his jaw clenching as a predatory growl leaves his lips. You gasp as your back reconnects with eh wall and your bra is ripped of your body and is replaced by Loki's large, heated hands.

Leaning closer he whispers, "Don't tempt me, pet." His lips travel down the hollow of your throat, sucking and biting the skin in such a way that your sure will leave marks. The thought pulls a soft moan from your lips, a chuckle escaping him. He soothes over the marks with his tongue before continuing down your collar bone and chest.

You tangle your fingers into his raven locks as his thigh slots between your legs and your soaked core clenches hopelessly. Tugging at his hair you elicit a heavenly, sinful moan from his lips.

"Loki," you beg.

"Already so desperate, pet," he tuts, "and I've barely begun," he says mockingly as one of his hands travels lower before teasing your clit through your panties, his lips sucking a nipple into his mouth harshly, drawing a soft cry from you as his other hand fondles your other breast gently.

Moaning, your hips stutter forward only for his fingers to withdraw; a desperate whine slipping through your lips as you look at him helplessly. He continues to tease your bundle of nerves softly, watching as you fall apart, your legs shaking as you shamelessly grind yourself against his well-muscled thigh.

In a moment your panties are gone and another pathetic noise escaping you as his cool digits come in direct contact with your heated core.

"Oh- oh my god. Loki, please." you gasp as his tongue soothes your aching nipples and he slips a finger into your dripping cunt; working you into a desperate, squirming mess.

"Please... what? Use your words, love. Let me hear you, pet. The sounds you make are delightful.”

"Please let me cum! Give me your cock, Loki. I need you," you all but sob, your confidence long forgotten as he draws you to the edge only to deny you.

Bringing his lips inches from yours he orders, "Look at me. I want to watch you come undone from the pleasure I give you." He inserts another finger, curling his long, slender digits to hit your g-spot as your eyes lock and your lips fall open in a silent cry of his name, your legs shaking as you come down from your high breathlessly.

He connects your lips in a slow, burning kiss as you cling to him, nearly spent. Removing his fingers gently, he lifts you into his arms as your legs wrap around his hips automatically. Loki deposits you onto his bed, hovering over you as his lips become more demanding.

Exhausted, your eyes begin to flutter shut even as you return his heated kiss until you feel his entire weight drop onto you, his fingers skimming your sides and hips as his lips travel your chest and further.

"I told you pet, I've barely begun to have my fill of you."

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

Feedback is greatly appreciated! Sorry, I'm still trying to get back into writing :\

Forever Tags: @leahs-reading-nook @saiyanprincessswanie @buckys-other-punk @kind-sober-fullydressed @notwithoutbarnes @malloryharris @itsunclebucky @teenagereadersciencenerd @chaotic-fae-queen @bugsbucky @imma-new-soul @wonderlandfandomkingdom @fablesrose @coffeebooksandfandom @tom-hlover @rebekahdawkins

Marvel Taglist: @timelordy-fangirl2 @divine-mistake @leyannrae @marvelatthisone

Add yourself to my taglist here

#kits writing #loki x reader #barely begun #smut #loki smut #marvel #fanfic #loki fic #danisawesomewcmix #kits marvel #dom loki #dom/sub #sub reader #writing challenge

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sdaomine · 3 years ago

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just stay here... (vynxrosa)

Having demanding working hours required earlier mornings—this young miss attorney always awoke at exactly five am during weekdays, and never once did she hit that tempting snooze button. She had done it before, almost every day when she was in university; and those days did not end well. She only learned how to avoid that demon-spawn snooze when she was one minute away from missing her finals.

Getting used to being such an early bird, she awoke the same time on weekends and holidays, too. She'd take a walk outside, cook breakfast for herself; then she'd playher favorite otome game before working on her latest case. Time was something not to be wasted. Every minute in the morning counts, but... not today.

A smile tugged on her lips as she gazed at him; at this handsome, young man on a deep slumber, with little to no plans on waking up before the clock struck nine. Strands of his silver hair fell just above his eyes, making him appear more peaceful, more child-like, more... vulnerable. Vyn... you greedy sleeper...

Rosa giggled softly against her pillow, shaking her head in disbelief of the raging knots down the pit of her stomach. She still felt the same about him, felt way more, actually—that her cheeks still burned, still flushed deep pink whenever she saw him. For God's sake, Rosa, you are married already!

Instinctively, she hoisted her hand and, tilting her head up, stared at the silver ring wrapped securely around her finger—and felt her cheeks heat up at the sight. At the thought, and at the fact that she is now married to Vyn Richter. She still couldn't believe it up until now; little did she know that her husband felt the same, unable to grasp with his fantasies waking into reality.

Rosa slid the ring off her finger—ah, this filthy expensive ring—so she could read what was carved beneath it.

Always, it said, Mrs. de Haspran.

Smiling, Rosa put the ring back. She then accepted the truth that Vyn isn't waking anytime soon, so despite her desperate yearning for a morning cuddle, she decided to leave the man be and prepare his breakfast—but to no avail.

She felt a tug on her sweater the moment she was about to hop out of bed. Looking back, Vyn was indeed gripping onto her top, preventing her to leave his side. His brows were furrowed, his lips in a tight frown; it’s as if he’s not half-asleep and instead, wide awake, aware that his beloved’s going to leave him alone in bed.

A cute giggle escaped her lips. “Good morning, Vyn,” she leaned down and whispered against his ear, “it's Saturday, so you can sleep in...”

A muffled—and painfully sexy—groan came from Vyn as he tugged her sweater more, bringing Rosa closer to him. Eyes still shut, he whispered back, “Good morning... my love...”

Rosa bit her lip. “Mm,” she hummed, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Her fingers came to caress his silver hair, moving to his face, feeling his soft and warm skin. “Baby, will you let me go now? I need to cook breakfast... you did say you need to accomplish some work today...”

She suppressed a laugh. Without a doubt, she knew her husband was asleep again. That quick, Vyn? Really, how do you even do that... you fall asleep so easily even at night...

Carefully, Rosa removed his grip on her sweater. She waited, and waited for him to react, to move; but fortunately he was that much of a deep sleeper that he was knocked unconscious again.

She tiptoed across the room and headed straight to the kitchen.

••

Scrambled eggs, bread and butter, pancakes with cheese fillings—Rosa was feeling quite generous today and cooked hefty meals for their breakfast. She had already finished cooking, and all there was left were Vyn's morning tea and her coffee.

“Right. Sugar... don't really want to sip bitter coffee today.” She took a teaspoon from the drawer and made quick work of adding some sugar. Well, a lot of sugar. Blowing on the coffee a few times, Rosa took a sip—and frowned. She grabbed the teaspoon again to add more sweetener. “Eh, what's wrong with me today? I suddenly forgot my usual dose of sweetener—”

Her cheeks tinted pink, Rosa tried to calm her flustered self. Vyn had suddenly embraced her from behind, his body flushed against hers, impossibly hot, hard despite her sweater and his thick, auburn robe. He had snuggled himself to her swiftly, like some thief in the night—his face buried against the crook of her neck, arms tight around her waist. The blush on Rosa's cheek grew more intense.

“Mm...” he groaned softly against her skin, sending tingles all over her body. “Good morning, my darling rose,” he said in a low whisper, “you left me too early...”

She chuckled. “Sorry, Vyn,” she said, “I'll make it up to you later. You want me to cuddle you?”

“Cuddle? Mm...” He rested his chin against her shoulder. “I would rather continue our... business last night.”

And Rosa thought her blushing couldn't get any deeper. She was yet to contemplate an answer when Vyn's fingers gave her sides a light squeeze, his lips grazing just a bit of her exposed neck. “Would you indulge me in a much better... breakfast today, my love?” he teased in his seductive, elegant voice, “perhaps... you?”

Her face in a total heat and her heart thumping undeniably faster, she pinched Vyn's arm and avoided his gaze. “V-vyn! Breakfast, Vyn!” she squeaked, earning a satisfied chuckle from her husband. This sly bastard.

“Hmm? What was that? I did not hear you,” he teased even more, the triumphant tone in his voice becoming quite a bit conspicuous. His fingers crept beneath her sweater, and Rosa let out a light gasp. “Ah, my sweet rose, you are impossibly warm and flustered...”

“V-vyn...”

“Heh.” He chuckled softly, his voice still raspy from sleep. “I am sorry. Did I distract you?”

Rosa gave him an eye roll, and did not suppress the grin that came after. “Seriously? You've been seducing me for five minutes now,” she laughed, “... and you're certainly good at it.”

“Mhm.” She felt him nod. “I do know that.”

“See?! You're playing with me!”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are!”

Vyn chuckled against her neck. “Ah, I truly am sorry, my love. It is just that you are too adorable not to tease,” he said softly, at the same time basking in the sweet, heavenly scent of her skin. He tilted his head higher to gaze at his wife; to yet again witness this woman and her splendor that matches no other. A lucky man, indeed—and he intends to keep it that way. “My dear rose,” murmured, his voice like a caress to her soul, “what must I do to earn your forgiveness?”

Perhaps the crimson shade on her cheeks isn't going to disappear yet; this man's way with words would be the end of her and he knows it, and he continuously, shamelessly proves it. But Rosa did not mind at all—in fact, she loved it. Adored every bit of it. And she doesn't mind getting all those tingles all day, all week, all year long, in her entire lifetime.

“Just...” she said, barely even a whisper as her mind went on a blank space again. She was head over heels—and she liked it. I like it so much. “Just stay with me.”

Vyn's grip around her tightened. “Like this?” he asked, his golden eyes gleaming with felicity.

“Mm, yes, just like that.” Rosa turned to face him, her cheery smile a mere element that set Vyn Richter's heart ablaze. “... Just like this. Always. Every morning.”

“As you wish,” he said, and kissed her cheek with a smile. “Always,” he whispered, “Mrs. de Haspran. Always.”

When Rosa turned her attention to their meal again, to his morning tea and her coffee that lacked sweetener—Vyn was given the chance to get himself together.

He wouldn't really admit it, no, not anytime soon—but he was so close to tearing up right then and there.

———

art by my lil sis !! 🥺👉👈

#vyn #vyn richter #vyn tears of themis #Mo Yi #vilhelm richard albert de haspran #vyn richter au #Tears of Themis #tears of themis vyn

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ddwcaph-game · 2 years ago

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Giveaway Prompt #1

Hello everyone!

I know it's been a while since the giveaway ended, but I only got the inspiration recently to work on some of the personalized prompts, and I didn't want to share anything that I'm unhappy with.

The prompt I received was: Patrick attempts to confess his feelings to Raven (his crush) but something interrupts him before he can.

So far, Raven only appears if you don't snoop on Lily when you visit the library, but I do want her to appear at least one more time in Chapter 4 during Roselyna's birthday. It's been a looong while since I last wrote from Patrick's POV, but I hope you all like it! 😊

"Huy, Theo!" Raven says, nudging me back to reality. "Blink twice if you can hear me."

C'mon, Patrick. That's like the third time you zoned out now, and I don't even know if I want her to get any ideas. With a sigh, I finally give her a lingering look, half-contemplating whether I should blink, and half-admiring her teasing smile.

She raises her eyebrows.

Crap. Nope, I can't do it when she's looking at me like that. And so I admit defeat. I let out a soft chuckle and blink twice. Quickly, not slowly—maybe I don't want her to get any ideas.

"What're you thinking about again, huh?"

You, I say. Or at least, the voice in my head does. But as much as I want to say that, I just can't bring myself to do it. "What, can't you guess?"

"Our science project? Your cousins…? Oh wait, that story you're writing! Yeah, yeah, don't think I've forgotten about it."

Not exactly, but I guess it is true in some ways. I just give her a smile and gaze across the library, absentmindedly tapping my pen as I enjoy the silence (with the occasional coughing in the distance) with her. It's not very often we get a vacant period with not much to do.

"Are you ever gonna let me read it?"

"I told you when it's finished," I say almost instinctively. "But… I'm kinda stuck on something." And that time, I say almost regrettably.

"Well, maybe I could help if you let me read it." Raven rolls her eyes and moves her seat a little closer. Maybe a little too close for comfort, and yet I can't help but lean closer ever so slightly. "Come on, it's not like I'd tell anyone else. You know I won't do that."

Except, that's not even the problem. There's no way I'd confess to her in the library. Nope nope nope. I close my eyes for a moment, and pretend to think hard—which I am! But for an entirely different reason. There's no way she'd know what I'm thinking right now, right? I don't blush. And I almost wish I do.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to tell her. I just need to make it sound like…

"I mean, it's tempting," she continues. "But I've seen you angry when someone hurts your cousins, so…"

I lean away from her in fake annoyance. "Raven naman eh! D'you want me to tell you or not?"

"Fine, fine, I'll stay quiet." She grins. "I really do wanna hear it," she adds in a whisper.

Welp, I backed myself to this corner now. Great job, me. You could've at least waited until dismissal to mention it so I could make an excuse and run off to fetch my cousins, as corny as that is. "Alright, so the MC is really confused about… something, and he wants to tell someone… something." Wow, great. Very helpful. "I—I can't tell. It's spoilers."

"Confused about what?" She asks with a smile, propping her head up on the table with a hand. If she wasn't smiling teasingly before, she definitely is now. "His feelings…?"

"Y… yeah? Well, if you're writing a story, do you let the character do what you think they're gonna do, or do you let them do what's best for the plot?" That's a good question, right? Yeah. Hopefully that satisfies her curiosity. And I'm technically not lying.

"Depends what the plot is exactly? Is this during the climax or what?"

Oh, it's definitely the climax. Or the darkest hour if I screw this up. But before I can answer, my unsaid prayers are granted as a deus ex machina comes to save me.

"Kuya Paddy! Ate Raven!" We hear two voices shouting whispers from behind us.

I don't even need to turn around. And soon enough, I feel a hug wrap around me from behind.

"Rosie!" I chuckle as I snuggle the delightful chubby little girl closer.

Raven gives Wayne's hair a quick ruffle and pinches his cheeks. "Ohh, what brought you two cuties here?"

"Well…" Wayne's cheeky grin disappears from my view as he sits down beside Raven. "It's a secret."

Roselyna unentangles herself from me. A little surprising and disappointing she ended the cuddle earlier than usual, but she bounces off to whisper something to Wayne as they give us both a smiling glance. We patiently wait for them to finish whatever they're... scheming, when Roselyna puffs her cheeks at us. "Um, heehee. Is it okay if we leave Tommy and our bags here? We're just gonna go look at some books!"

"Uh, yeah!" Wayne readily agrees.

"Of course," I say. "No problem. We got nothing to do here anyway."

"Yay, let's go!" Roselyna whisper-shouts, glancing at me one more time as she pulls her bestfriend into who knows where. Well, whatever their secret is, it can't be as bad as my own secret. Right?

"So… Very convenient, ha?" Raven smirks. "C'mon, are you actually gonna tell me about the plot or your MC?"

I glance at the little goobers once more, smiling as they disappear behind the shelves, much like my cousins. Much like Raven and I did when we were younger. "You know what… I think I figured it out."

Raven sighs, dusting off a speck of dust from Roselyna's penguin stroller bag. "I knew it. This better be really good if you're keeping me and Tommy in suspense this long."

I finally meet her eyes again, the first time since Wayne and Roselyna saved me from embarrassment. "Don't worry. When I let you read it, you'll know why."

#ddwcaph #dear diary we created a plot hole #raven #wayne #roselyna #shorts #prompts #paddy

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angelguk · 4 years ago

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→ bad behaviour 03 — a namjoon scenario

member: kim namjoon

word count: 7.5k

rating: 18+

genre: established relationship + smut + college!au

warnings: we’re ovulating!!! / introduction to the breeding kink that will plague this couple forever / was meant 2 be a drabble?? im incapable we know that / eh big joon!!!! / manhandling kink / pet names used a lot / joon thinks he’s gf is dumb and wants to breed her idk man / size kink / crying when cumming / oc shy for once / discussion of twitter porn / creampie / oc is on birth control (obvs dont do this if u dont want a kid but this is a fanfic u know) / mentions of fisting porn / cock warming!! / if u see a typo no u dont

soundtracks: more than enough + morroco, alina baraz

prompt: “don’t you think there is always something unspoken between two people?” (Something Unspoken, Tennessee Williams).

It’s a rather serene Thursday afternoon, the late autumn breeze sweeping through the campus air. The stillness was ideal for studying, alluding to assignment deadlines creeping round the corner. Which was why your butt is firmly parked in the mess of Kim Namjoon's sheets.

The man in question is hunched in the corner of his dorm room, one large hand idly tugging at the chestnut mane on his head and his neck curved with attentiveness. You wish you possessed the determinate focus that he had, but your thoughts have a mind of their own, spiralling further into the darkest depths of your mind as they gingerly coax forth memories that spark a searing heat deep inside of you. You feel tight, drawn like the bow of an arrow, a stark contrast to the tranquillity spilling around you. The fact that Namjoon is practically naked isn’t helping your consciousness. Your gaze lingers on the rows of muscles lining his broad back, the tension running through them emphasising the dips and curves in his golden skin. His eyes, however, are glued to the myriad of words before him, the pen grasped in his grip swift as he scribbles down notes you know you’ll never be able to decipher. Not that you needed too, it was intriguing that such a put-together man like Namjoon had handwriting that essentially resembled chicken scratch. It was atrocious — but still elegant, very much embodying the person to whom the writing belonged to. You can’t recall what assignment he intended to complete today — something about the presentation of nihilism in Russian literature or whatever — but he’s devoted all his attention to it, meticulous in the numerous sticky notes and page markers that line the novel perched on his desk. It’s bent with the remembrance of his fingers, sepia-toned dogged-ear pages staring at the ceiling of his dorm room. Something blooms within you the longer you look at him, faint but strong like a tide shifting towards the shores. You don’t even register the slip of your laptop from your lap, legs sprawling open unconsciously. It spurs so quick you can’t even clamp down on it, the desire you have for the burly man bent over his world of words just a few steps away. But you know how much Namjoon values his academics. It’s with a muffled groan that you roll over, burrowing your face into his pillows in hopes that the wave will subside. It doesn't — crawling beneath your skin begging you to give in.

It’s the click of Namjoon’s pen that gets you, a sharp note that cuts through the burning of your body. Your thighs seal together, the slick that collects between your legs sticking to your core. With a sigh that you shift again, reaching out for your laptop. It’s best to look for a distraction, give him the space he needs to concentrate. At yet, your gaze can’t help but drift. He’s not covering an inch of skin, burly arms and thick thighs on display like he wants to tempt you. There are no words to describe how much you hate him — nor how much you long to have him inside of you too.

You recall it with a jolt — the lave of his wide tongue against your folds, licking you apart with deft swift swipes that leave you weeping into his sheets more nights than you’d like to admit. You shuffle again, helpless to the yearnings of your mind. The heat on your inner thighs is a phantom. Namjoon likes to hold you down, press your hips into his sheets against the whims of your squirming. It’s the way he looks at you when you’re on the verge of tears, a wanton hunger in his eyes that unravels you fast. You can almost see it, thighs subconsciously nudging against each other. Then there’s the stretch of his fingers, larger than you own. He’s pushed you to the edge with just two of them before, persistent against that spot inside of you until he’s satisfied with the blissed slackness that descends upon your features. Then he’d add another, and another. There’s an undeclared thought between the two of you. You’ve noted the fisting porn in his Twitter bookmarks. Maybe one day you’ll have the guts to let him try.

For now, you swallow it down. Suffocate that longing until the embers burning within you smother to ashes. Your laptop returns to resting at an angle at your hip, gaze idling running through your readings. The words don’t sink in though, sitting on your skull before hastily floating away. There’s not much space for anything else but Namjoon at the moment, no matter how hard you try to reread the paragraphs or stare at your screen. You don’t even have to open the app on your phone to know what’s going on with your body. This is your first full ovulation with him. Usually, he’s preoccupied with assignments or TA responsibilities that cut your time together short, interrupting this part of your cycle and leaving you to your own devices. You hadn’t fully wormed your way into Namjoon’s life to demand all his attention just yet. This was still new, untested. Namjoon was independent and so sure of himself that telling your boyfriend that you needed him to stop focusing on his future to raw the crap out of you (multiple times) felt incredibly selfish.

You stare at the words in front of you until they swim, wishing you didn’t feel like this. Like you needed Namjoon to breathe. You can wait it out, maybe get what you’re dying for after post-studying cuddles and take-out. Even if it takes every ounce of your willpower to clasp your legs together and not jump the wonderfully large man that is your boyfriend.

Unbeknown to you, the same yearning that plagues you chips away at his resolve. A persistent want that wavers in the back of his mind, clamouring for attention, because even with his eyes stuck on the pages beneath him, he can sense your fidgeting.

Your attention span is incredibly short — Namjoon knows this. It ricochets off the walls even when you’re sitting still. It’s taken time, but Namjoon has gradually adjusted to it, muting the powerful waves of energy that radiate off of you when necessary. Today, however, is different. That energy he’s learnt to ignore eats him alive, sinking below his skin and leaving him buzzed as he scours his brain for any meaningful essay points. He keeps flipping through the pages of the novel, mind attempting and miserably failing to piece together a cohesive argument that correlates with the evidence he’s got highlighted in a loud neon yellow.

All because he can’t stop thinking about you.

He wants to blame it on the fact that he hasn’t seen you in a while (which is a blatant lie). Namjoon saw you two days ago. You were wearing that floral skirt that he loves, the fabric hiking up your thighs whenever you lined yourself against his side, snuggling deep into him like you never wanted to leave. He hates that skirt — hates it — because now he can’t think of anything but it, thoughts blurring at the memory of your bare skin. Skin that he loves to mark, latch onto until violets and blues blossom. His mind is running before he can catch it, falling into a dangerous reminiscence of images that sit heavy in his gut. That stupid skirt flipped up your waist and his head between your thighs. Nothing feels as good as you do on his tongue. He loves the way you taste, the sounds that drift from your lips, the way your thighs twitch and tremor as you unravel underneath him. You get so loud when your high hits you. He knows his roommates have heard you before, but he truly doesn’t care. He loves hearing you scream his name, drives him to the brink of insanity if he’s being honest. Yet, it’s the way you look at him afterwards, a deliriousness swimming in your eyes that makes Namjoon want to keep you in his bed forever. Fuck you until you can’t walk without feeling him deep inside of you. Paint your skin so that everyone knows who you belong to.

His head hits the table with a muted thud, a low sighing escaping into the air. The tent in his loose shorts hurts. There’s a part of him that’s mortified — how could he get hard just from the thought of you when you're sitting right there on his bed? Perhaps it’s proof that you’ve invaded everything he is. His space, his heart, his mind.

“Namjoon?” You question, tone tentative in the silence that consumes him whole. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts. And then his brain settles, a tightness in his stomach that he can’t deny. “Actually, no I’m not.”

You don’t even have time to register it before he's moving towards you. It's as if he's flown from his desk, gliding through the space between you to firmly plant himself on top of you. Your laptop is knocked to the side, lost in the muss of his bed sheets as Namjoon moulds himself into you. You can't help the breathless giggle that hits the air. It's cut by the weight of Namjoon on you. He's heavy, all hard muscles and broad shoulders. Your fingertips slip against the fabric of his shirt — 100% pure cotton because he's fastidious like that — a lightness forming in your chest just from the feel of him in your hands. He sighs and you melt, losing yourself in him as he burrows his head into the hollow of your neck. The kiss he places there is soft, but it hits like a torrent of rain, drowning you harshly. Your body ignites like the flame you wanted to smother was never extinguished. You cling to him, the only thing keeping you afloat in the wave of adoration that crashes into you.

"What are you doing? What's wrong?" You murmur, vibrating when he kisses you again. Namjoon hums in response, his wide hands shifting to settle on the back of your thighs, gently spreading your legs apart to nestle himself there. Your back jolts when you feel it — feel him. Hard and needy against your core, a heat radiating where you meet. The flutter in your eyes is automatic, brain shutting down when he rolls his hips. He nips your neck then, a light press of his teeth into the delicate skin. You stop breathing when he smothers the pain with a kiss, thoughts dissolving into the air as you stare at the ceiling of his dorm, thinking you're never going to let this man go.

"Namjoo—" His mouth is on you before you can even finish your sentence, swallowing the words with a gentle press of his lips until yours fall apart. Kissing him might be one of your favourite activities ever. He feels good against your lips, ginger but sure in how he works you open, drawing sighs from your throat like he was born to do so. It’s easy to give in, your hips moving against his and your fingers dragging through his hair. It’s with a soft gasp that you part, the air around you electric. His brown eyes are dark but they gaze at you with an adoration that makes your heart swell. There are moments where you feel it on the tip of your tongue, a proclamation that yearns to spill out. But it’s too early to say anything like that yet. So you draw him closer instead, the content laugh that floats from his throat caught in your mouth. This kiss is different, more desperate, a hope that he understands what you mean heavy in your chest. You think he does because he kisses you back with an intent that leaves you breathless, a heady thing that has you arching into him before it peters out into tender little pecks. Your heart is so full it could explode.

And it does a second later when he drops a light kiss on your forehead, his wide hands settling on the backs of your thighs as he presses himself further into you. You know he feels the slick drenching your underwear by the hitch in his breath.

“Study break?” He offers, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that ensnares you. A danger that glows like stars adorning a velvet sky.

“Namjoon,” you groan in response, legs wrapping around his waist. You can feel the length of him, hard and twitching against you. “You can’t just do that! It’s not fair.”

“Why? You don’t want me to fuck you?” There’s a nudge that coaxes another slip from your core. The whine that leaves your lips is instinctual.

“I do! It’s just that — um — just that I’m ovulating right now.”

The second the word leaves your mouth he freezes, broad body suspended over you and a distant look sweeping over his honey eyes. And then something clicks, his cock settling further into you, a twitch along his length that echoes in your nerves.

“Right now?” The words that leave his mouth are measured, his gaze locking on your own as if he’s weighing the consequences of his desires.

“Yes, right now. I don’t know if we—”

“Can I be honest with you? I haven’t been able to focus since you came over and the idea of you ovulating is doing nothing but making me extremely hard right now.”

“I — what? Really? Are you serious?”

He nods, unabashed as the blush rising beneath his golden skin. Your fingers dig further into his back, the want that sweeps through your system feral. It's so swift that you can’t control the rise of your hips nor the warmth that pools in your gut. Namjoon dissolves right back into you, the groan that slips from his mouth meeting the heat of your skin as he burrows himself back into the crook of your neck. You’re no longer thinking, your brain stuck on the feeling of his cock against you, direct with every drag of his hips. He wants this as much as you do, a realisation that you’re still trying to comprehend. You have to ask again, terrified of the teetering edge you’re on.

“You sure? Like really?”

He scoffs, shifting back to give you a look. “You’ve seen my NSFW twitter, baby. You know what’s there.”

“Yeah, a lot more fisting porn than I ever expected.” There’s a beat of silence, Namjoon’s gaze shifting into something you can’t decipher. “Not that I’m against fisting,” you quickly amend, “It was just surprising.”

“Fair enough, but that wasn’t the only thing there.”

You know what he's referring to but seeing other people commit the act and then doing it yourself were too completely different things. There are still some things you’re too ashamed to say out loud and that particular kink of one of them. While your ovulation had a rather stronghold over you, so did your inner mortification.

Namjoon, on the other hand, cannot be bothered to beat around the bush. “You’ve seen what’s there right?" He repeats. "Creampies? Cum play? Breeding—”

“Don’t say that!”

He pauses, a playful grin tugging at his lips.”Is that what you want? Because you’re ovulating? What me to stuff—”

“Namjoon, stop it!”

He laughs then, a low sound dangerous that fills the room and swallows the embarrassment that eats away at you alive. “How can I? My pretty girl wants me to breed her, stuff her full of cum until it’s leaking from her cunt. You want that right? Want my cock so deep you feel it tomorrow? Am I right, baby? Hmm?”

You’re not looking at him, cheeks burning with every word parting his lips, but your cunt agrees wholeheartedly, leaking against your panties at the thought of Namjoon fucking you full. He doesn’t take your silence well though, a firm hand clasping around your jaw and tugging your focus right back into him. There's a glint in his eyes, a sharp dark wild thing.

“Baby.” He says it slowly, the word tumbling from his lips and right into the heat forming in your core. “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe,” you retort, feeling the twitch that tremors through his jaw deep inside of you. Namjoon scoffs, hand dropping from your chin. The absence of his touch has you scrambling after it, the movement occurring before you can bite back your desperation.

“Maybe? Then you don’t want it enough do you? I should leave you to study, don’t you think?”

“Namjoon.” Your fingers grip into his shirt before he can shift away, a pounding in your chest that terrifies you. “Maybe I do want it — a lot — I just can't say it.”

“You can’t say it?” He cocks an eyebrow. “But you know how to use your words when you’re arguing with me.”

He’s infuriating and he’s doing it on purpose from the telltale gleam in his eyes. You don’t know what to despise more; Namjoon and his provocations or your inability to vocalise your desires. But that anger withers into wanting the second he settles back between your thighs, cock hard and heavy where you need him most. Yet, still, saying it out loud isn’t possible for you just yet. But you do want it, a great deal more than you’d ever admit.

“That’s different,” you say instead. “That’s when you’re being stupid.”

The eye-roll you're granted is brimming with exasperation. “Of course, you would say that.”

“And I’m correct.”

“Sure, you are,” Namjoon returns, nuzzling into your chest. He’s saying it to complacent you and it ticks you off

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, a warning in your voice.

Namjoon sighs, perfect face burrowed between your boobs. “I’m not arguing with you right now. You look cute when you get mad and I’m hard enough as it. Besides, that’s not the point.”

That should not have you buzzing, the word cute sticking out from the rest of his horrid statement like a neon light in the dark. But you let it rest, preoccupied with the fact that:

a. Namjoon is horny

b. So are you

“So,” you say. “What was the point?”

“The point is that you’re too shy to say you want me to stuff you—”

Point B no longer exists. You are no longer horny even when he’s looking at you like that with that stupid lopsided grin of his.

“I get it,” you retort, “I get the point. And I’m not saying that. Not today, not ever.”

“Oh? Are you sure about that?” There’s a challenge there, and like an idiot you fall for it, raising an indignant eyebrow in response.

“Yes, I will not—”

He’s got the band of your sweatpants down in a second, wiggling the fabric down your hips and past your butt faster than you can blink. You don’t object, a muffled giggle drifting from your throat when he finally gets them off, tossing the pants somewhere in the corner of his room, something to be searched for later, not now. That giggle shifts to a moan the second his face dives between your thighs, the deep breath he takes in kindling a flame in your gut. There’s the faint press of his tongue through the cotton of your underwear, the low groan he lets out when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties setting something off within you.

“Oh — oh — N-Namjoon!”

“Yes, baby?” Another lick, tongue quick and firm against your drenched core.

“Don’t play with me. I can’t handle that right now.”

“I’m not playing,” he remarks. “Just giving you a reason to say you want me to stuff you full of my cum. I know you want to say it anyway.”

You huff. “You think I’ll give in that easi — hgnh.” He’s tearing your underwear off, tongue landing back onto your wet folds before you can register the fact that the fabric is gone. A few firm wet laves of that muscle against your cunt and you can see your resolve crumbling. He knows exactly where to lick and drag his tongue, nose buried into the apex of your cunt as if he wants to breathe you in. You can’t help the buck of your hips, a tremor running down your thighs when his tongue slips into your hole, pressing in with purpose and leaving you breathless in his sheets. But then he’s drawing away and you glance down to find him staring at your cunt in wonder, his rouge mouth glistening with your slick.

“How can I not,” Namjoon says, offering a kitten lick that spikes a shock in your spine, “Play with you when you’re so fun to play with, angel.” The smile on his lips is dangerous.

Your hand settles on his head and Namjoon curls into it. But instead of dragging your fingernails against his skull and pulling him closer like you know he loves, you shove him away, swiftly squeezing your thighs shut. If you’re going to play this game, you’re doing it on your terms.

“You’re not being fair,” you say. Namjoon blinks at you like you’re insane, obviously thinking with the dick in his pants rather than his head. “Go back to your Isaac Turganife or whatever.”

“It’s Ivan Turgenev, baby,” he replies, sighing slow. “And I don’t want to go? Do you really want me to?” He plants a tender kiss on your bare thigh and you burst with want, slick leaking out even though you didn’t intend it to.

“Not fair,” you say again. But you don’t want him to leave you like this, at the mercy of your hormones and the sudden remembrance of Namjoon’s thick cock stretching you open. “But no, I don’t want you to go. Just don’t play with me please.”

“Okay, that’s fine. But if we’re being honest here all I can think about is seeing my cum leak out of you. I just want you to want that as much as I do.” He says it in a rush like he’s afraid he won’t have the nerve to admit it if he doesn’t do it right now.

But I do, you think, walls fluttering just from the flash of that image in your mind. I do, Namjoon. And yet, you can’t say it.

“I’m ovulating, Namjoon,” you retort instead.

“And you’re also on birth control,” he rebuttals. “PEMDAS or whatever. It cancels out the baby option, right?”

“You are so dumb it hurts, Kim Namjoon,” you murmur, fighting the urge to kiss your stupid boyfriend. It’s a very odd conversation to be having when your cunt is on display and his dick is hard in his pants but you’re having it anyway.

“We’ve fucked raw before though?” He continues, still not piecing it together. “And so far, no baby. So no problem right?”

“When I’m not ovulating. Less risk, at least that’s what I like to believe.”

“Well I suggest you start believing that right now because I would very much like to see you stu—”

“Stop saying that you’re making me want to turn celibate!”

“Oh?” Namjoon remarks. “And yet you’re leaking all over my sheets every time I mention it.”

“I will cut you off from sex for a week if you say something like that again,” you retort.

Namjoon grins like he knows this is affecting you on a deeper level than your cunt being wet. “Fair enough, but I have to ask. Do you want that?”

“Want what?” Feigning ignorance is the safest bet until that shift in his eyes appears.

“Want my cum?” he says it so easily, unaffected while your face rushes with heat.“Inside of you, leaking out of you… All of it?”

And maybe you stop breathing at the thought of feeling full of everything Namjoon had to offer you, your walls clenching tight.

“Maybe. Maybe I do, I don’t know.” You do know and Namjoon knows that you do too. It’s with a defeated murmur that you admit it, voice soft in his room. “Okay, fine. I do. I want that.”

“You do?” There’s an edge in his voice. “You want me to bre—”

“Stop it before I change my mind.”

He laughs, a light warm thing that digs into your chest. “Okay, okay! Sorry, babe. Do you want me to prep you? My mouth? My fingers? You can decide.”

It’s settled so quick in your brain you realise it was never up for debate. “Neither. Just you. I just want you.”

He halts, honey eyes locked on yours for a moment, before springing to his feet and tugging his shirt over his head with speed. “We can do that,” he mumbles, his knees bumping against the foot of his bed. His pants come off next, plummeting to the ground where he kicks them off a moment later. It’s only then that you see the consequence of actions, straining painfully against his boxer briefs. He shifts to tug those off too but you cut the movement before it happens, shuffling forward until your hand is cupped around his length. Namjoon doesn’t protest, rolling into the tiny palm of your hand. You love the way he feels underneath your palm, thick and hard and heavy, a weight you long to feel inside of you. He sighs low when you grip him, watching your fingers wrap around the outline of his dick through the fabric. It’s only then that you realise, your gaze slipping down his body, subtly noting the sharp intake of breath when your lips mimic what he did to your underwear before he ripped it off, that Namjoon has been holding himself back.

He wants this, badly. It’s evident from the tightness in his voice when he speaks a moment later.

“Angel,” It’s said low, a warning. “I thought we said we wouldn’t play with each other.”

He’s right. With a small pout, you lean away and Namjoon wastes no time moving into your space, strong arms swapping your arm just to land you back at the head of his bed. You suddenly remember your laptop, lost in the mess of his sheets. Namjoon is kind enough to relocate it before climbing right back into your space, cock digging into your stomach when he kisses you again. It doesn’t take long before your top is gone, joining Namjoon’s pants on the floor, and then you’re digging the band of his underwear down, your lips still slotted together and a wetness rapidly forming between your thighs at the feel of his bare cock against you.

But he’s impatient, shuffling you around the second his length is freed. Your back is hard against his mattress, fingers grasping at the sheets when Namjoon knocks your knees apart. There’s a moment of bated breath, his large hands lingering against the bare skin of your exposed thigh, brown eyes locked on your wet folds. His gaze is so intense you instinctively want to clamp your legs shut, shy away from how seen you feel under his eyes. Yes, technically you were naked in his bed but there’s something else that he draws out just from looking at you. Something that makes you nervous because you like it so much.

“Don’t hide from me.” It’s whispered in the heat of the air, Namjoon picking up on how your legs drift together. He’s got them pressed apart a second later, grip firm but gentle, and your stomach does a swoop so dangerous you’re left violently reeling, the ceiling above you spinning. “Don’t do that, angel. Too pretty to hide from me. I want to see all of you.”

You can only hum in response, throat clogged with words that won’t form into coherent sounds. But Namjoon understands you regardless, kissing you senseless as his massive body descends on yours. His hands are on your ass a second later, gripping tight as his length nudges against your core. You just might cry, desperation bubbling in your chest. He draws away gently but you don’t want to let him leave, fingers taut on his broad back, gripping onto the very muscles that had you heady just earlier today. There’s a whine on your tongue that he swallows before you part once more. The laugh that slips from his lips at the sight of your pouted mouth is fond. He grants you another peck, soft and tender, before Namjoon rips himself away, determined this time.

His hips are lined against yours a moment later, cock stiff and dripping with precum. And yet your gaze doesn’t tear from the arms trapping you in his sheets. His biceps look huge, massive actually, all hard muscle and pure strength. It’s doing something to the base part of your brain because you can’t stop thinking about how large Namjoon is. Caving you in, your personal shelter from the world. Is it weird that you feel protected? Safe in the bed of this boy. You wouldn’t mind hiding here forever. A part of you wants to kiss him again, but Namjoon’s focused on other things, oblivious to the cave-woman looking for a mate thoughts running amok in your brain.

They dissipate the moment the head of his cock nudges at your entrance. Just a light tease, but he splits you open quick enough.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, angel. Didn’t need me to prep you at all.”

You mumble a noise that you’re not sure leaves your throat. He’s taking it slow on purpose, pushing in inch by inch so that you feel every part of him filling you up. It’s intoxicating, how the feeling of the slow drag of his cock overtakes everything in your brain. You’ll never get over how big Namjoon is, no matter how many times he fucks you. Each shift of his hips forward coaxing slick from your cunt. It pools at your entrance, dripping over his length until he’s glistening with your wetness.

“F-fuck,” He head drops down to the hollow of your neck the moment he’s sheathed inside, the velvet walls of your pussy gripping him hard. It’s too much for the both of you, bodies strung high on the want that threatened to consume you both. But he feels good like this, lodged in your cunt, stretching you wide and making a place for himself right between your legs. He gives you a moment to adjust and then the coiled spring in him snaps.

“So fucking tight around me, angel. Taking my cock so well.” There’s an edge in his voice, a warning for what’s to come.

You groan when he draws up, a tiny squeal erupting from your throat when he slams back down, hips angled to piston you into his sheets. The pounding is hard and unforgiving, a contradiction to the gentle look in his gaze. He holds you tight, giving you no room to shuffle under the bruise of his thrusts.

You can’t do anything but mumble his name, tongue numb in your mouth as he fucks you senseless.

“You’re dripping so much, baby. Making a mess on the sheets. You wanted my dick that bad, huh? Wanted me to fuck you full? Stuff this dirty cunt of yours?”

“J-Joon!” There’s an arch in your back, a dangerous tingle fluxing through your nerves when his mouth latches on your neck, your chests pressed against each other. Each drive into you pushes out a haggard breath, the heat into the room wrapping around your joint bodies, your arms slung over his shoulders, gripping him tight as he unravels you with his cock. Time stops, nothing punctuating the moment apart from the lewd sound of your meeting, your slick slipping from your cunt each time he hits deep. And he keeps at it, fucking you with a vigour that feels new and vicious.

You can feel him tensing beneath your fingertips, a soreness spreading through your muscles with every hard thrust of his hips into you. But you don’t care, delirious with the feeling of his cock deep within you, slamming right into that spot that has you dangling off the edge. The tight grip on your thighs adds to it, Namjoon pressing you down as he fucks you open like you’re nothing but a toy for his pleasure. He slams into you with abandon, his lips on your neck. Every drag is loud in the room, the slick pooling around your entrance orchestrating the sound of your meeting. You love how he feels over you, broad and big and pinning you down with an ease that shouldn't have you stomach twisting but it does. And he knows that, reading the whimpers that leave your throat well. You can feel it, the knot that tightens with every hard drive of him into you. So close, a blink of your eyes and you could be there. But then he slows, cock squelching against your entrance with a half-hearted thrust.

“Namjoon—" You’re burning, fingers scrambling to push his hips down, shove your hips up. Anything. Anything because if he gives you nothing you’ll implode.

“My baby is so quiet today. Hmm? Why are you so quiet? You don’t want my cum? Don’t want me to breed this tight little cunt of yours?” There’s a in his tension colouring his deep voice, like he’s holding back from saying something. You want to ask but your needs are forefront in your mind clamouring for attention.

“Joon!” He nips your neck at that whine and you dissolve into his sheets, nothing but pleasure running through your limbs. “Namjoon please, please, please. I want it, Joon, need it.”

He cocks his head, a languid roll into your core that has you squirming underneath his hold. “Need what? Words baby, words.”

“Need your cum.” It’s shameful to say and the heat in your cheeks makes it obvious, Namjoon doesn’t care, shifting his hips so that his cock slowly slips out. Your legs clamp around him so quick that his chest smacks into yours, a muffled sigh escaping into the air.

“Need it where?” He says, hips rigid with how he holds himself back. It takes tenacity to make you work for it. You feel perfect around him, tight pussy stretched around his length and your slick dripping all over. So needy, so wet, velvet walls clinging to his cock leaving him weak even though he tries to hide it. You’re intoxicating, your heat, the feeling of your body moulded into his, the way you moan his name. He wants to hear you scream it though, hear your throat go hoarse with each cry until you're a blubbering mess in his bed. There are other things he wants too, but he needs to hear you say this first.

“Inside,” you reply, a perfect whimper drifting from your bruised lips. “Inside me, Namjoon, please.”

He gives in then and there, resolve shattering when his gaze drifts to the minuscule grind of your hips against his own, his cock sinking deep with every shift of your waist upward. It’s not long until he’s sheathed back inside of you, length twitching against the heat of your walls. He wants to take it slow, make you beg for him a little more, but there’s a weight in his gut that threatens to drop. And then his focus shifts to the span of your stomach and it slams into him so quick he nearly chokes. He may joke about it as a kink, the idea of fucking you until you were bearing his child, but the actual vision of your stomach swelling hadn’t occurred in his thoughts until right then. You would look ethereal, round with evidence of his love for you. He can’t help the palm that settles there as his hips slowly rut forward, forcing himself deeper, needing to see you stretch out for him.

“Joon,” you sigh, shuddering at the press of his balls against your ass.

He hums, thoughtful, dark eyes lingering on the sway of your chest. “Yes, baby?”

“Harder, please, harder.”

“Anything my baby wants, she gets. Isn’t that right, princess.” And then he’s falling out of you, quick when he slams back down. Your voice sounds foreign to your eyes, brain roughly registering the harsh feeling of his hands as he swiftly rearranges you, cock still buried deep, until your knees are folded over his broad shoulders. The quake in your thighs is violent. But you don’t protest, mind unable to shift from the hard pistons he delivers into your cunt, thrusts demanding your release. There’s the sway of the bed beneath you, soft sheets bundling underneath the weight of your joint bodies, a heaviness in the air you breathe. He fucks you with a purpose that wasn’t there before, as if he needs to see you stuffed with his cum, unravelling around his length, a mess beneath him.

And you give it to him, shuddering when his fingertips sneak to your clit, the flickers he lands there unfaltering. That combined with the steady drag of his cock has your vision blanking, contentment spilling through your nerves as your high hits. It’s quick; a hard fast thing and spreads right from your core and through your system. Namjoon fucks you through it, swallowing your incoherent mumbling with a deft press of his lips against yours. You don’t realise you’re crying until he swipes a thumb along your cheeks, dropping a kiss on the damp skin of your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. You don’t miss how his hips speed up, muscles tense underneath your trembling fingertips. “So pretty. My pretty girl.”

“Cum in me,” you reply, breaking away to catch his gaze. Namjoon chokes, hips faltering. You don’t let him process it, still riding high on the look colouring his features. This is what he wanted from you, and you’re drunk enough on the feeling of him deep inside of you to say it. There’s still a tremor in your walls that grips him tight and you aid it by raising your hips upwards, the bend uncomfortable but worth the darkness that consumes the brown of his eyes. A part of you wants to say it again and you do, voice low in the room. “Joon, I need you. Need to feel full.”

“Fuck me.” It’s said under his breath but you don’t miss it, stomach twisting when his cock slams into you. It’s hard and mean. Namjoon takes everything you’re giving him, folding you into his mattress and driving his hips hard enough for the bed-frame to shift, a low thud against his bedroom wall. You let him have his way, groaning into his ear, the sheen of sweat that builds on both your bare bodies glimmering under the dwindling glow of the sunlight. There’s a faint tepid heat flickering in your core and it sparks up when Namjoon lands a hard kiss on the span of your neck, moaning low as he splits you open on his cock.

“So fucking tight.” There’s a hitch in your rugged breathing, your grip on his ruined sheets fierce. “So wet. All for me. All mine. Right, baby? This is mine, isn’t it?”

“Yours,” you whisper in return, lost in the feeling of him enclosing you in. “All yours.”

His lips are soft against your own, a delicate press of his mouth that doesn’t match how hard he’s fucking you. But you revel in it, rupturing into something bright and wild and full of love underneath the piston of his hips. It’s good now, the sensitivity you felt a moment ago ebbing into nothing but heat and want. You don’t miss how he twitches against your walls, thrusts growing erratic with every lewd slam of his length inside of you. And you want it, reminding Namjoon of that fact with wicked whispers in his ear. He caves fast, a few last hard rolls before he paints your walls in his release, the moan he lets out bleeding into your skin. You’re on edge now, the feeling of Namjoon’s cum coating your cunt when you’re at peak fertility doing something stupid to your brain. It shouldn’t turn you on — in fact you should be terrified. You weren’t ready to be a parent, yet the weight of him on you, the spurt of cum that slips from your cunt when he draws again, sends your spiralling. It’s swift, the swing of your legs back around his waist.

“No — don’t, don’t move. Not yet.”

Namjoon pauses, checks still warm and his skin a pretty golden rouge. You don’t enjoy the way he reads you.

“We can’t cuddle like this. Remember what we did last time? The cockwarming?” He suggests it easily. He gets what this is doing to you even when you don’t understand it at all. You nod because the idea of Namjoon not lodged inside you sounds abhorrent. He shifts the both of you quick enough, his softening dick back to half-mast the moment your protest emerged. It’s easier like this, with you sprawled on his broad chest. You don’t want to acknowledge it but you’re still somewhat wound up and the feeling of him holding you close, your cunt stuffed full of his cum, is doing unimaginable things to your brain. You pretend it isn’t, snuggling into the valley of his massive chest, feeling safe and secure. And then Namjoon opens his mouth.

“We’re going to have to talk about this. You know that right?”

“No, we don’t have to talk about it. Ever. Pretend this never happened.”

His laughs echoes in your heart. “Baby, I just came in you and you’re ovulating. That’s fairly risky, don’t you think?”

“I told you!” You whack his arm for good measure. “I told you it was dumb.”

“But I liked it,” Namjoon continues, staring intently at the ceiling. “A lot.” You flutter, cheeks hot at his admission, a bubbling in your chest that shouldn’t be there. “And judging from how you’re using my dick to keep my cum inside of you, I’m guessing you liked it too.”

“...Maybe.” You hate it but he’s right. You liked having him use you like that, the prospect of his cum doing more than leaving you euphoric with satisfaction lingering in the depths of your mind.

“Maybe?” He scoffs, wide hand gently pushing you off his chest despite the whine you release. “Get off then, I need to check if my dick is intact. I think I saw the fifth dimension when I came.”

“Shut up, please!” You cling to your boyfriend, viciously wiggling around until you feel him twitch inside of you. It’s too nice of a feeling to lose just yet. “Why are you ruining it?”

“Why can’t you admit what you’re into? Speaking of that subject, I don’t know what your kinks really are. So far there’s been a bit more exhibitionism than I expected from you but the breeding one… is different. Not bad. Just different,” he suddenly rambles.

“Because it’s embarrassing.” Your voice is small, landing on his naked chest in the silence of his room. His hand shifts from shoving you off to gingerly resting on you back, rough fingertips languidly tracing patterns on your skin. The motion is reassuring, yet you can still hear the eye roll in his voice when he speaks.

“You’ve seen the fisting porn on my NSFW twitter, what the hell do you mean embarrassing?”

“It just is!” You protest. “I’m not sure what I’m into.”

“I think you are, you’re just not comfortable admitting it to yourself. Don’t you watch porn? Or have any particular fantasies?” Namjoon’s persistent despite your deflection and while some part of you hates it, you know he’s right. He always is — well most of the time.

“I do,” you retort instead, refusing to give him an ounce of triumph. “You know that don’t be dumb.”

“Well then,” Namjoon returns, curiosity colouring his voice, “What’s your NSFW twitter? I’ve shown you mine, let me see yours.”

“I don’t have one…”

There’s a pause, the hand on your back drawing to a halt. You can hear the cogs in his head turning.

“You don’t? What do you use then?”

“...Yours,” you whisper. The breath that falls from his lips is horrified. “I like most of the stuff you like,” you quickly tack on. Somehow this is more shameful than admitting that you like being stuffed with Namjoon’s cum. The silence carries on and you're left stewing in your thoughts, looking for a way out of this awkward mess when Namjoon starts up again, a tentativeness in his tone that concerns you.

“Most of what I like,” he says. Another pause. “... Including the fisting porn?”

“Namjoon,” you snap, “Shut up.” You can’t believe you’re allowing this man to plug his dick in you after sex, can’t believe it at all. It’s a horrible realisation to come too especially when he breaks out into a loud laugh, his chest shuffling you around with every quick intake of air and the sound of his glee resounding in your heart.

“Sorry, angel,” he offers between muffled laughs. You hate him. You do even if you love him ten times more than you hate him. “We should make you one after this,” Namjoon says. “And then get food. Sounds good with you?”

“Food first,” you retort, mellow in the arms of your lover. “And then the Twitter porn.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #smutcentralnet #bts x reader #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #*posts then runs away*

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years ago

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 15 - The Storm’s Prelude.

Words: 15,264.

You can read the rest of the story on AO3 here :)

Summary: Three heart stones are required to wake the Guardian. Your group manages to find the first two without a lot of difficulty, save for a moment of bleak realisation that rattles your perception of yourself and brings out a side to Death you haven’t yet seen. The Horseman realises a few things about Karn’s perception of you. And then, you find the final stone....

---

The passage of time, if overlooked, can often prove to be a ubiquitous inhibition. Walls can crumble and fall in your path, great swathes of the earth can be torn apart by shifting, tectonic plates. Rivers and streams carve through even the toughest rock, eroding it away over millions of years to form the steep walls of a gorge that impedes your progress when you stumble upon it – a gorge much like the one you find yourself at the edge of now.

You, Death and Karn stand silently on the precipice of the escarpment, peering across it to the far side of a great, long hall. The western wall has completely collapsed in on itself after having suffered through centuries of faulting and erosion, and the stone blocks that once stood so strong have fallen into the wide gorge sitting between you and progress.

Death's eyes are fixed ahead, occasionally flitting back and forth in search of a way to cross, all the while aware that he's being watched expectantly by a human and a maker. He knows precisely what the pair of you are waiting for, and the longer he fails to come up with an alternative route, the more irritable he becomes, because it means that he'll have to once again reduce himself to a horseman-shaped projectile.

Still, he does appreciate that you've both stayed quiet whilst he stews. It takes him a few more moments of bitter contemplation before he finally concedes and accepts that if he wants to get across, he'll need the youngling's help. “....Fine,” he growls.

Teeth grit, the Horseman turns his frightful glare onto Karn, who at least has enough sense to keep his lips firmly sealed as he moves to the edge of the escarpment and wordlessly lowers his hand.

“You know,” Death grumbles, clambering into the maker's waiting palm, “I'm beginning to suspect that you two enjoy this far more than I do.”

Karn doesn't reply, merely peels his lips back and flashes you a grin.

“Hey, I'm just glad it's you and not me,” you say, holding up your hands appeasingly, “I don't have your knack for sticking a landing.”

If he wasn't so certain you'd accuse him of hypocrisy, he'd call you a coward. After all, he'd made it abundantly clear that he doesn't even want you to be thrown by the maker.

Biting his tongue, Death merely expels a weary sigh. “Let's just get this over with, Pup.”

Bracing himself against Karn's thumb, he twists his head around to catch your gaze and holds it firmly, waiting until he's sure you're paying attention. “Stay close to the maker,” he tells you, then as an afterthought, he adds darkly, “And if either of you go wandering off, you'd better pray that the Corruption finds you before I do.”

Then, with that thinly-veiled threat still ringing in your ears, Karn tips his arm back and launches the Horseman into the air like a boulder fired from a trebuchet.

Admittedly, your heart skips several beats at the sight of Death sailing gracefully over a plummetless gorge, but just as before, Karn demonstrates that he has impeccable aim and judgement, for the Nephilim lands on the far side with practiced ease and little more than a low grunt of exertion.

Only then do you release the breath you'd been holding.

Standing up, the Horseman dusts himself off and throws a quick, backwards glance across the gorge, eyeing his two protégés for a moment longer before he turns on his heel and strides onwards, disappearing through a set of dilapidated, wooden doors.

With Death gone again for the time being and little else to do but wait, you venture back towards the edge of the escarpment and peer down over it, at once noticing the pull of gravity as it tries to tempt you into that dark, fathomless chasm. A stone that had been resting on the very lip is nudged loose by your boot and you anxiously watch it tumble down the side of the cliff, feeling decidedly nauseous that you can hear it bouncing off rocks and debris long after it has disappeared into the darkness below.

“Heck of a long drop,” Karn chuckles nervously, shuffling a little closer to you.

“Yeah. It is...” Seemingly lost in a world of your own, you're quiet for a minute longer, and the youngling opens his mouth to make another observation, only to find himself cut off when you suddenly ask, “Hey, Karn? Do makers ever feel l'appel du vide?”

“La.. apple doo... Eh?”

“It's the call of the void,” you explain with a faraway smile, “A lot of humans get it, I just wondered if the feeling was universal.”

His ears prick forward with interest and he admits, “Never heard of it, what's it do?”

“Well, mostly it's this phenomenon where you get the urge to jump from high places-”

You nearly choke on your own spit when gloved fingers suddenly curl around you and you're hurriedly ushered back to what Karn deems is a safe distance – right behind his boot. “Don't say stuff like that!” he all but howls, agitation turning his breaths shallow.

Amused, you raise a brow at the ruffled maker and say, “...If you'd have let me finish, I was going to say it's the urge to jump from high places, but knowing that you never actually would.”

All at once, Karn blinks hard, and some of the colour rushes back into his cheeks. “O-Oh, right. I knew that,” he tries to save face, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck.

“You didn't really think I was going to jump in, did you?”

“No, no! O'course not!”

'Liar,' a voice whispers at the corner of his mind. Fumbling for an excuse, he glances around rapidly before his gaze falls on some loose pebbles gathered on the cliff's precipice and he gestures to it, eager for a distraction. “But the, err... The.. the ground's weathered away right near the edge. Don't want you fallin' in by accident, ey?”

Poking your head out from around his leg, you cast a wary eye over the drop off and hum, “No, I suppose not.” Then, in a more jocular tone, you flash him a grin and add, “I don't think I'll be able to save you from Thane a second time if anything happens to me.”

Karn's face instantly pulls into a grimace. “Ach, don't remind me of that. Thought he'd never stop yellin'.”

The youngling hesitates for a few beats and you watch curiously whilst he rolls his tongue around in his mouth, a thoughtful expression drawing his brows together and puckering his forehead. After another few seconds, he angles himself so that he's turned away from you slightly, his stare pointed towards one of the holes in the ceiling. “Actually, I've been meanin' to thank you for that.”

“Thank me?” you echo, “For what?”

Rain trickles down from above in sporadic patches all across the chamber, allowed in through the gaps where the ceiling has eroded away. Karn just watches it fall for a while before his shoulders raise into a shrug and he lets them drop heavily again, sucking in a breath that seems to glue his throat shut. Still, he manages to admit, “For stickin' up for me - against the Horseman, and against Thane.” Pausing to scratch at his chin, he stammers, “I – uh... I've never really.. had a – a friend who'd do that for me before...”

He still won't look at you, but you can't hold that against him. So, rather than try to catch his gaze, you instead follow it up to the ceiling whilst one of your hands lifts surreptitiously and gives the side of his leg a few, companionable pats. “Well, you've got one now,” you tell him, “Just... please don't go riling anyone else up for a while, yeah?”

“Ha! You're one to talk! Maybe I’ll tell ol’ Eideard about you standin’ so close to cliff edges, eh?” he retorts with a smirk, at last dragging his gaze down to look at you, finding that you're already peering back, the corners of your eyes forming pretty crinkles that seem to hold a boundless supply of sincerity.

“You would not,” you challenge.

Without really knowing he's doing it, Karn's face slowly tries to mimic your expression in the hopes that it might convey to you the immensity of the gratitude he wishes he could say out loud.

All too soon though, movement on the other side of the hall draws your attention and you break eye contact with the maker to squint across the gorge, your face brightening at the sight of Death as he emerges from the far doorway. “Hey!” you wave, raising your hand high into the air before the stretch sends a twinge of pain down to your side and you wince, trying to casually lower your arm again.

From his relatively safe distance, the Horseman allows some of the tension to seep from his shoulders when he notices that you and the youngling are still standing where he left you, and in one piece, to boot.

“Didj'ya find a way around!?” Karn hollers.

“No luck, in that regard!” Death replies, “We'll have to turn back and try a different path! The heart stones must be elsewhere!”

His response elicits aggravated groans from the pair of younglings and he finds himself letting out a chuckle that comes dangerously close to the realm of fondness. Snapping his jaw shut, he's quick to catch it and stuff it back down before he clears his throat, continuing, “Just stay where you are – I'm coming back across!”

He sees you share another confused glance with Karn, then you turn back towards him and shout, “Um – How're you going to get back over here?! It took a maker just to get you to that side!”

Death doesn't seem nearly as perturbed as you think he should be. “Let's just say... this wasn't an entirely wasted journey!” Beneath his mask is a self-assured smirk and it remains plastered on as he takes several, calculating steps backwards, away from the precipice he stands upon.

“Wait!-” he hears you call, “ - You're not going to?! -”

Before you can even finish your sentence, the Horseman is on the move, darting forwards into a reckless sprint and garnering a yelp of alarm from the other side of the gorge.

“Death! What are you doing!?” you can't help but shriek, throwing your hands up to bury them in your hair, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The Horseman leaps clear from the edge, sailing out over the gaping maw that lays in wait below him.

Then, he begins to drop.

Blinded by panic, you dash around Karn following some, misguided thought that you could stop Death's fall. Even the maker jerks his arm up, stretching it towards the descending Nephilim, although he at least has the presence of mind to throw his other hand out in front of you to keep you away from the edge.

Whilst you watch, your stomach drops alongside the Horseman, plunging into your shoes and you wonder if this is the kind of panic that Karn had felt when you mentioned the Call of the void.

All of a sudden, to your astonishment, a brilliant flash of purple light erupts from Death's outstretched hand.

You'd almost think you were seeing things if you weren't already standing in a different plane of existence next to a giant.

What looks to be a large, ethereal hand explodes out of a gauntlet strapped to Death's wrist and stretches up towards the roof, riding on threads of coiling, purple smoke. Translucent fingers wrap around one of the ceiling beams and the room fills with the sound of creaking wood as Death launches himself across the vast gap, thrusting his body forwards at the apex of his swing and you gasp when the purple hand abruptly lets go of the beam.

The Horseman's momentum carries him the rest of the way and you stare agape as he lands lightly on the plateau in front of you, straightening up without a care in the world.

For several, quiet moments, both you and Karn blink owlishly at him, whilst he merely peers back until at last, his brows dip into a frown and he snaps, “What?”

With the spell of shock broken, you shake your head rapidly from side to side and adopt a scowl of your own. “What do you mean, 'what!?'” you bark, gesturing to his arm, “Why didn't you tell us you could do that? Karn and I nearly had a heart attack!”

At that, the maker clears his throat, picks his jaw off the ground and breezily attests, “Ah, I knew he had somethin' up his sleeve the whole time.”

“Quite literally, in this case,” Death muses and holds up his arm, showing off the new accessory adorning his wrist – a gauntlet carved into the shape of a screaming, silver skull.

Unnerved by the blank-eyed face staring back at you, you drag your eyes away and turn them to Death, softly admitting, “I thought you were going to get seriously hurt.”

“Yes, well...” He pauses to shove aside an ensuing burst of warmth and folds his arms tightly, partially obscuring his gauntlet from view, “I hardly think you're in any position to be casting judgement after some of the stunts you've pulled.”

Your mouth opens despite having nothing of any real substance to say in your own defence, and the flat look he's giving you is enough to extinguish the fire in your belly. Biting your lip, you glance away from his pointed stare and mutter, “Touché.”

With a smirk, the Horseman claps you on the shoulder, steering you around and giving you a guiding nudge back in the direction you'd come in from. “Now then, if you've finished sulking, I'd like to get a move on,” he says firmly, “We need to hurry if we want to get these heart stones before nightfall.” He strides ahead of you to once again lead the way, leaving you sandwiched between himself and the maker at your rear.

“I reckon we'll manage,” the latter pipes up, “Should be easier now that you've gone and found yerself a new toy.” Struck by a sudden thought, the maker trails off, frowning down at his boots for a few steps before he murmurs, “S'pose that puts me out of a job, eh?”

Craning your head over a shoulder, you shoot him a quizzical look and ask, “What d'you mean?”

“Well-” He gestures to Death “- He's got that fancy new trick now. He can get about on his own just fine. Won't be needin' me anymore, will you.”

“Of course we'll still need you, Karn,” you assure him, smiling when you see his ears perk up at your words, “You're the group muscle, after all.”

Death can practically hear Karn's chest swell up with pride and he stifles a scoff at the notion that a youngling could be stronger than the eldest of the Four.

“Huh. Reckon you might be right there,” the maker agrees, hooking his thumbs into the straps of his pack, his ego adequately stroked, “We adventurin’ types tend to carry muscle more than most, y’know.”

The Horseman's low, grumbled comment is lost underneath your ensuing chatter.

“That must make me the brains of this outfit....”

Fortunately, neither you nor the maker seem to hear him and he lets out a sigh, shaking his head as he continues to lead you through the Foundry, back in the direction of the Guardian.

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

Your journey through the enormous structure's depths soon brings you to another, dead-end chamber. This one however, unlike the first, at least contains one of your sought after quarries.

Stretched out before you lies a long, marrow catwalk that stands mere meters above a roaring moat of lava, and at the far end, suspended high above the ground by a vast, metal clamp, is the first heart stone.

Unfortunately, much to the Horseman's chagrin, it doesn't look to be quite as accessible as he'd assumed it would be...

Upon stepping through the doors of the chamber, the heat encompasses you like a heavy blanket and you let out an audible gasp, instantly raising your hand to fan yourself. “Ugh, god, it's like hell's sauna in here!” you complain, earning a chuckle from the maker behind you.

After taking just a few steps into the room, you stop in your tracks and begin to fight with the hem of your jumper and Karn's amusement swiftly turns to a grunt as he's forced to come to a dead-halt as well, lest he trip over you. Curious, he tips his head to the side and blinks down at you, watching you tug the fluffy garment up and over your head...

….And then, he promptly swallows his tongue when your tank top is pulled up as well, giving him an uninterrupted view of your midriff. For a few, glorious seconds, the sounds of the chamber, nay, the whole world seem to dip to a graceful hum.

Perhaps it's because this is a part of you he's never been privy to before. Perhaps it's because the flash of skin he catches sight of feels so... intimate, as though this is something he shouldn't be allowed to see, and now that he has, his heart has set to pounding like a war drum on the brink of a fearsome battle.

Then all too soon, your head pops out of your jumper and you breath a sigh of relief, and Karn is given no time to regain his composure.

If he thought your midriff was entrancing, he's wholly unprepared to see the rest of you.

In the rich, golden and orange light cast by the churning lava, your skin glows like it's on fire, every pore seemingly beset by thousands of tiny jewels that sparkle when you move and the sweat beading on your collar bones appears more like a cloak of shimmering stars to the young, awestruck maker.

All the magic in the realm couldn't have held his attention the way you do when you twist your head back to smile up at him and he catches the delicate bob of your throat, his ears twitching forwards in anticipation to hear the sound of your voice.

“Hey, would you mind hanging onto this? It's way too hot to wear it, even if I tie it around my waist.”

Seconds tick by and all you receive as a response from the maker is a long, dazed blink.

“Karn? You... don't have to if you don't want to...”

“PUP!”

The two of you jump at Death's abrupt, authoritative bark and you whip your head over a shoulder to find him glaring up at the maker with a look that's cold enough to send icy fingers dancing up your spine, despite the heat surrounding you.

“I believe she asked you a question,” the Horseman drawls, his casual tone a million miles away from matching the rigidity of his stance.

Raising a brow at the unexpected hostility rolling off him in waves, you turn back to Karn and see that he's giving his head a hard shake, blinking back into focus. Fumbling over his words, he reaches out and takes your proffered jumper between two, colossal fingers, gingerly lifting it out of your grasp. “A-aye, sorry.”

At his stumbled apology, you put on a heartfelt smile and say, “Thanks, Karn.”

The youngling only manages to gulp, “Yup,” in response.

You try to catch his gaze again, but the effort is futile and your confusion only grows when his lips tug into a troubled frown that he punctuates with a sigh, flipping open a pouch on his belt and carefully tucking your jumper inside as though it were made of glass. Giving a mental shrug, you turn back towards the heart stone and you can't help but notice that Death keeps his glare trained on Karn until you pass him, and only then does he tear his eyes away from the youngling to watch you instead.

“So,” you declare loudly, eager to ease the unplaceable atmosphere that has descended over the room, “How in the world are we going to get that stone down from there?”

At your side, Death regards the heart stone with equal perplexity. From the corner of his eye, he notices that Karn has sidled up next to you as well, the youngling's face now a rather satisfying beet-red and his eyes fixed on the ground at his feet. It's almost laughable that the look of quandary plastered on his face has nothing to do with the heart stone's inaccessibility. Death only hopes he doesn't hurt himself by thinking too hard on it.

The Horseman is no fool, and unlike you, he can see all too clearly that the young maker is struggling to get to grips with his fondness for you. Actually, after having witnessed the conspicuous glances that Karn has been shooting you every five minutes ever since he first laid eyes on you outside the Cauldron, Death is inclined to believe that this may have surpassed the realms of fondness.

No... unsettlingly, the territory being trodden upon here has begun to border the realm of something far stronger, something the Horseman can no longer ignore.

Karn is immutably, unflinchingly besotted with you...

The very idea causes Death's lips to curl in distaste. After all, the foolish notion has only come about because you've been overwhelmingly kind to the youngling, and now, what he thinks he's feeling is nothing more than an intense need for companionship, garnered after such a long time spent being lonely.

However... Now is not the time for Death to let himself be distracted by such matters, he reminds himself sternly, not that he should ever have been distracted by them in the first place. What does a Horseman care of the tender friendship being cultivated right before his very eyes?

Brushing the thoughts aside, he focuses on the heart stone dangling high overhead and narrows his eyes, musing, “I could knock it loose, if I could get up there.”

“What about using your new gauntlet?” you ask, but the Horseman only shakes his head.

“It's reach is impressive, but I don't think it'll carry me that far....” Trailing off, he swivels his eyes around to contemplate the maker, humming deep in his throat as his mind begins to form an idea. Seconds later, he barks, “Pup, don't move.” “Eh, what-?” The youngling goes rigid when Death begins stalking deliberately towards him, his concern mounting with each step that brings him closer. Still, he remains obediently still, only just suppressing a shiver as the Nephilim suddenly scurries up his back and onto the bewildered youngling's shoulder where he straightens up and smirks at the look on your face.

“You know, if you wanted a boost, Horseman, you only needed to ask,” the maker huffs, though he finds his complaint largely ignored by Death, who simply lifts an arm over his head.

From his gauntlet, spectral, purple limb bursts forth and flies up towards the ceiling. Ethereal fingers snag around one of the clamp arms that hold the heart stone in place and then, Death kicks off from the maker's shoulder and zooms into the air, dragged up by his unconventional grappling hook. Just before he crashes face-first into the stone, he throws out his real hand and catches the flat top of it in a vice-like grip.

Fascinated by his feats of acrobatics, you watch raptly as he braces his boots against its side and dangles there, one hand keeping him suspended far above your head whilst the other pulls his scythe off his back, and he flips the weapon upside down to use its blunt edge like a hammer, slamming it violently down on top of the heart stone. Each strike produces a resonant chime that rings in your ears.

At first, you don't think Death's strength alone will be enough to dislodge something so well-secured to the ceiling, but after a few more hits, the whole thing suddenly comes loose and falls at an alarming rate to the ground far below. With a deafening 'WHUMP', it lands, and not a second later, Death follows, though his impact is carried out with far more grace and poise, thankfully.

“I've got it,” Karn declares, stepping around you and sauntering up to the heart stone. He crouches down beside it and wraps both hands around each side, his teeth grit together tightly as he lifts the gigantic load up, throwing it up and onto his sturdy shoulder, one hand keeping it steady whilst the other is free to use his hammer, should he come to need it.

Death rolls his eyes at the maker's obvious peacocking, but you at least seem entertained, clapping your hands appreciatively when Karn checks to see if you witnessed his impressive display of strength.

“All right, enough showboating, the pair of you,” Death grumbles, placing his scythe back on his hip and striding past you along the catwalk, “We need to get this stone back to the Guardian.” Pausing mid-step, he casts the youngling a sly, appraising glance, “Or... we could head straight for the second stone... if Karn thinks he can carry two of them at once?”

The youngling seems to visibly wither under Death's cool observation, but he still sputters, “O'course I could!” all too aware that your gaze is also trained on him.

To his relief however, he's let off the hook after you rather kindly suggest, “One stone at a time, Death. Karn needs a hand free to fight constructs, right?”

Putting on a dramatic sigh, the Horseman replies, “Ah, but of course. Sensible as ever, aren’t we.” Sarcasm drips poignantly from his lips and he half expects you to offer a retort, so it's somewhat disappointing when you don't, at least to his knowledge. With his back to you, he misses the obnoxious face you pull, though he does have to wonder why Karn suddenly begins to snicker.

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

You can't ignore the strange feeling that the Guardian has been awaiting your return as you all stroll across the courtyard and between its legs before coming to a stop in front of it once again.

No lights bloom in the construct's carved-out eyes sockets, but in contrast, the heart stone begins to pulse with a dazzling, blue light, as if it knows its purpose is just moments from being served and its host is finally, finally within reach after centuries spent apart.

There's also a sense of anticipation in the air whilst you wait for Karn to raise the stone from his shoulders.

“So... what happens now?” you ask, wondering how you're ever going to scale the Guardian to fit the first heart stone in place.

All you get in response is a secretive smirk from Karn and a whisper of, “Watch.” He doesn't tarry any longer though.

Lifting the stone into two hands and heaving it over his head, the maker offers it up to the Guardian, and while at first you regard his antics bemusedly, your jaw promptly drops open when the stone is simply lifted out of his hands by an unseen force.

It floats gracefully through the air and eventually slows near the construct’s left shoulder where it snaps into a carved hollow and seals itself in place with a flash of dazzling light.

“Magnets?” you blurt out, so busy trying to rationalise what you're seeing that you momentarily forget the magical occurrences you've already witnessed. “Sadly, no,” Death sighs, “Only magic, Plain and simple.”

It's a strange reality you've found yourself in where magic is considered run-of-the-mill.

At the look of of perplexity on your face, the Horseman snorts and jerks his head towards one of the remaining doors you haven’t tried to enter yet.

“Shall we?”

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

“Okay. Let's try again. Ready, Karn?”

Death's thumb and forefinger reach into the sockets of his mask and he indulges himself in a moment of massaging his twitching eyelids. As much as he's privately grateful that Karn had set you upon his broad shoulder after you started falling behind, he wishes you hadn't taken it as an opportunity to entertain the youngling by teaching him one of your juvenile 'earth games.'

Keeping to the head of your bizarre group, the Horseman tries to focus on the twisting cavern path that stretches out ahead, eyeing the corruption that grows from its walls in the form of pustule-yellow crystals, each one oozing rivers of glistening, black liquid. He picks his way carefully around a puddle of the vile substance and tosses his head over a shoulder to check that Karn is keeping his eyes peeled as well.

A scowl darkens his glare when he notices that the youngling barely gives the puddle a fleeting glance and just steps lazily over it in one, gigantic stride before returning immediately to the human on his shoulder.

You have an arm stretched out before you, fingers curled into a loose fist and after regarding your appendage closely, Karn lifts his hand and does the same. Giving him an approving smile that turns his ears beet red, you begin yet another round of the strange game, exclaiming, “Rock, paper, scissors, GO!”

On the word go, your fist bursts apart and you thrust it in the maker's face, your fingers pressed together and held flat like the 'paper' you're trying to emulate. At the same time, Karn lifts his bulky arm and holds his own fist up for you to see, earning himself an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, now I think you're just letting me win.”

Perplexed, the maker lowers his hand and frowns down at it. “How come I lost that time?” he asks.

“Because!” you laugh, “That's the fifth time you've chosen rock!”

“Aye, 'cause rock's the strongest,” he retorts matter-of-factly, crossing his arms and tipping his chin back.

“That's not – I mean, that isn't really how the game works.” Pausing to chuckle at the absurdity of explaining the logic of such a simple game to someone who'd never even heard of scissors five minutes ago, you continue, “Okay, so the rules are, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock, and rock breaks scissors.

“Aha!” The maker's exclamation is so abrupt, you can't help but flinch as his head whirls sideways to look you in the eye. “There, you see? Rock breaks scissors! Rock's stronger!”

“Yes, but I didn't choose scissors, I chose paper,” you explain, patiently.

“....But... rock could just tear through paper!” The pitch in Karn's voice raises a little alongside his mounting confusion, prompting Death to finally interject.

“Perhaps, Y/n, it would be sensible to stop this game before the amount of brainpower it requires to play literally kills the Pup.”

Sticking out his lower lip, Karn glowers at the ground, but the quick pat you give his neck is enough to put the maker's smile back in place. “Don't worry,” you assure him, “There are plenty of other earth games I can teach you.”

“All of which will have to wait, I'm afraid,” Death quickly interjects, shuddering at the prospect of another minute spent listening to Karn fail to grasp even the most basic of concepts, “Whilst I understand that you two are having... ugh, fun, we can't afford to lose focus in this place.”

Like a switch has been flipped, whatever good mood had taken hold of you is promptly snuffed out.

'...Fun?...'

Something uncomfortable accompanies that word. It hits you more jarringly than it logically should, and your laughter tapers off to an uncertain chuckle, which in turn becomes a smile that fades slowly until an invisible weight settles itself over your heart and wipes any semblance of enjoyment clear off your face.

'I'm having fun...'

It doesn't seem... correct, somehow. Fun implies an instance of happiness. ...And happiness... Well. The term sits like a bad taste in your mouth and you can hardly believe it took the Horseman’s throwaway comment to draw your attention to it. You can't be happy, can you? How can you be happy after...

A ball of anxiousness starts to form in your stomach. 'Y/n,' your horrified mind seems to whisper, accusing and cold, 'Are you getting over them so quickly?'

“Oi?”

Your leg is given a gentle shove and you flinch, startled to see Karn's finger slowly pulling away. He has his sights set on you, his jaw hanging open in a way that radiates concern and when you flick your eyes ahead for a second, you notice that Death's head is twisted to the side, just enough to give you a glimpse of white bone behind his ebony hair.

“You okay? We lost you there for a moment,” the maker urges, quietly adding, “...again.”

It comes far too easy, the knee-jerk reaction to throw yourself into an overenthusiastic response. Kicking your heels against his shoulder, you huff out a quick laugh that grates at your ears. “I'm still here, buddy. Just thinking about how you and the others are going to react to Monopoly.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Seriously, Karn,” you chirp, the grin stretching at your lips uncomfortable and awkward, “I'm fine.”

God, isn't that just becoming easy now? Far easier than it ever used to be. 'I'm fine' rolls off your tongue like a lie that you're desperate to convince yourself is in fact, a truth. Still, it at least seems to have placated your gigantic companion, whose smile has returned within moments of seeing your own, so ready to accept that his friend really is okay.

Or perhaps, he's just desperate to believe it, like you are. You wish Eideard was just as difficult to lie to, thinking back on the conversation you'd had with the Old One in Tri Stone yesterday.

Stalking ahead, Death is once again turned away from you, but you aren't sure if he's ever been an easy man to fool.

The network of vast corridors finally come to an end as you turn another corner to see dull, grey daylight pouring in up ahead.

With you still sitting astride his shoulder, Karn follows the Horseman through an arched entryway and out into a spacious, grandiose courtyard, where you're pleasantly surprised to note that the rain has finally started to let up, leaving you all doused in little more than a light drizzle.

Shielding your eyes, you squint up at the blanket of clouds overhead and spot the pale suns hiding behind them, trying to break through. You appreciate their effort, but the courtyard is still bucolic without the suns' rays shining down on it.

Like its sister, the stone is held fast to the gazebo's roof by a great, metal claw. “How come you makers all put the heart stones in such hard-to-reach places?” you gripe, raking your gaze over the area to search for anything that might be lurking in the shadows, unaware that Death has already done the same and found the coast is clear.

Karn's boots splash through puddles as he stomps after the Horseman and replies, “If a maker lives long enough, their soul gets too old to pass through the Well. N'when that happens, they'll seek out an empty vessel - like a heart stone. And what would you do if you had your hands on a stone that held a human's soul, hm?”

You consider the question carefully for a moment, then lift your arm in a shrug. “I... guess I'd try and keep it as safe as possible?”

“Exactly!” Karn grins, snapping his fingers, “Those heart stones ain't just powerful artefacts – they carry the life force of our ancestors. We keep 'em up high like that for their own protection. S'a way to stop wee beasties from scratchin' em up, and the like.”

Up ahead, you fail to notice that Death's fingertips are creeping up to gently touch at the wound on his chest. He ascends the steps into the gazebo and comes to a halt directly beneath the suspended heart stone, tipping his head back to regard it pensively with half of his attention on the surrounding area whilst the other half idly hones in on the faraway voices that whisper in the dark recesses of his mind. To quiet them, he brushes his fingers over the amulet's remains that are imbedded in his skin, just above the spot where his heart used to beat.

Suddenly, the Horseman is yanked from his thoughts by a loud splash and a cold spray of rainwater spattering on his leg. Cranking his neck around slowly, he glares hard at the human who has appeared unexpectedly next to him.

Evidently, Karn had lowered you down from his shoulder and – like a human would – you'd elected to jump the last few feet to the ground, landing squarely in a puddle beside Death. The Nephilim's icy glare has you ducking your head and pressing your lips together.

“Pup,” he growls, never taking his eyes off you, daring you to let a grin slip onto your face, “Come over here. I'm going to need another boost.”

The young maker strides forwards, raising his boot as he passes you and giving it a threatening jerk towards the puddle you're standing in, causing you to let out a gasp and leap backwards, shooting him a playful glare once you're safely out of the splash zone.

Showing off his tusks, Karn stops at Death's side and offers his hand. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the Horseman gives it a dirty look before he eventually steps onto the glove, his pride taking yet another hit. Karn however, is beaming from ear to ear as he lifts Death up past his head, more than likely glad to be of help.

The Horseman's scowl recedes ever so slightly at the young maker's expression and with a bit of difficulty, he manages to swallow some of his pride and dips his head in an almost imperceptible nod, as close as he'll ever come to admitting thanks. He doesn't see the maker's reaction, but he does feel Karn bounce excitedly on the balls of his feet, prompting him to turn his eyes skyward and heave a sigh as he sends his phantom appendage up to snag the heart stone.

As soon as the maker's hand is free, he shifts his gaze down and sweeps it across the ground at his feet, heart rate spiking when he doesn't immediately spot you nearby. Opening his mouth to call out, he raises his head and suddenly, your name catches in his throat.

It turns out you haven't wandered far at all. You've only moved several steps away and turned your back on the maker, currently busy staring down at your reflection in a puddle. Curious, but erring on the side of caution so as not to startle you, he carefully leans sideways and tries and get a look at your face, hearing the telltale ‘shing’ of scythes being drawn above him.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded, yet they remain transfixed upon the water, its placid surface casting a grubby and hazy reflection back up to you, and Karn wonders what you must be seeing in there that has caused your face to grow so haggard.

Are you merely seeing yourself? From his angle, all he can see is the vague shape of a human.

Just then, a loud clang shatters the peace of the moment and you suck in a gasp, snapping to attention once more.

Death raps his scythes mercilessly against the heart stone until it comes loose from its metal bindings and plummets to the ground just as the first had, causing Karn to grimace at the treatment. Whoever's soul has inhabited the stone, he only hopes they don't take umbrage.

“Well, Pup,” Death grunts as he drops down beside it again, bending his knees as he lands, “I believe you know the routine by now.”

Brushing a thumb under his nose, the maker nods and waddles over to hoist the stone up into his grasp whilst the Nephilim begins to head back the way you’d all come from, only faltering in his step when he finds you staring down into the puddle once more.

Karn doesn't notice this time. He's too focused on digging some dirt out of the heart stone's notches with the tip of his forefinger and then using the back of his hand to sweep it clean.

It's only when you finally speak up, your voice quiet and subdued, that he tips his head towards you and begins paying close attention.

“Can... can I tell you guys something?”

“Well, o' course you can!” Karn booms eagerly. In contrast, Death merely spares you a curious, sideways glance.

Picking absentmindedly at a nail on your left hand, you try to speak, only to find the words aren't coming as easily as you thought they would, so you let your jaw fall shut again and swallow thickly before making another attempt. “It's just something that's, uh, well, it's bothering me. I feel guilty about it, but – Christ, I hope you guys don't think less of me for saying this but – I think I… I'm actually having a -.... a good time?”

The heavy weight of their stares presses upon you until, after a moment, Karn's face brightens and he announces, “Well that's great,” moving the heart stone further up his shoulder so he can beam down at you, obviously failing to see why your having a 'good time' might be causing you distress.

“No, it's not, Karn! It’s wrong.” Sighing roughly, you rake your hands through your hair and try to explain in a way the young maker would understand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, I just... I’ve been feeling a bit guilty lately.”

“Guilty?” he asks, “For havin’ fun?”

“No, no. Well, kind of but... I mean, It’s only been a few days. How can I be feeling happy after losing so much? It just doesn’t seem....” Fishing your hand through to air as if you might pull the right words out of nowhere proves futile and you eventually give up, letting your hand drop back to your side.

“...Right?” Death's voice flutters into your ear and you pull your gaze up off the ground to stare at the swaying, ebony hair in front of you, uncertain whether he'd intended for you to hear him.

All the same, you answer. “Yeah... Exactly.”

You fail to notice that Death's jaw has set into a hard line, teeth clenched tighter than a vice underneath his mask.

The Horseman remembers vividly how he'd been nigh inconsolable the day he took Absalom's life. His own brother... Every fibre that made up his wretched, twisted body had come alive with a rage unlike anything he'd ever known.

Creator... He'd been so angry - at the Nephilim, at Absalom, at the Charred Council and his siblings... It had taken centuries before he'd been ready to admit that all he was doing was distracting himself from the real target of his ire. Death always liked to believe he was above falling victim to guilt, yet there it was – still is, in fact - settled in his chest like shards of glass, and no matter how much time passes - centuries, eons or a hundred thousand years – it will never be enough for the Horseman to escape the shadow that guilt casts upon him.

It bears no significance how often he tells himself that his shame is foolish and unnecessary, that he and his brothers and sister did what had to be done. The Nephilim could not go on the way they were. They had to be destroyed, or else the rest of Creation wouldn't have survived.

They had to be.

In moments that are few and far between, Death catches himself wondering what his un-life would have been like if someone else had taken up the mantle of 'Kinslayer.' No, he doesn't regret what he did. He would never choose to go back and change the past... But that doesn't spare him from experiencing the residual shame of what he'd had to do, even so many years down the line.

He almost envies you, in a way.

How easy had it just been for you to admit that you're haunted by guilt? What kind of bravery is that and where in the nine hells had it even come from? How could you say – out loud – something that had taken Death centuries to even admit to himself?

Well, at least in that regard, you're less of a coward than he is.

“It sounds as though you’re clinging to guilt,” he murmurs.

His words strike you hard in the chest. “Clinging?” you echo, “Death, I don’t like feeling guilty!”

“No,” he concurs, patient as ever, “But you don’t like feeling happy either. Because feeling happy makes it seem as though you’re coping. And feeling you’re coping is almost worse, because who could possibly be coping after they’ve lost so much?”

The Horseman’s question is rhetorical, you know, yet still your mouth falls open to respond, though you soon find nothing emerges other than a silent breath in place of words. When you don’t offer up a reply, he turns to the entrance and tilts his head over a shoulder, regarding you from the corner of his eye, adding, “You think being happy after a tragedy makes you a bad person?”

Swallowing down past a thick lump in your throat, you give a hesitant nod.

“Well...” he huffs, “From what I’ve seen, I think I can safely attest that you’re not.”

“Definitely not,” Karn agrees with a decisive bob of his head.

You have to blink hard a few times to chase away the tears that threaten at the back of your eyelids. “Thanks, guys... Doesn’t make me feel any less guilty though.”

“And it likely never will,” Death says matter of factly.

“That’s a bummer.”

The human colloquialism is lost on him but he gets the gist of your expression and lets out a soft snort before he replies, “Perhaps. But grief and guilt do become easier to bear.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Well, maybe not for a long, long time, and perhaps, every so often, they will rear their heads and strike with a vengeance, but it does get easier, because you will learn to live alongside it. I’ve seen it time and again in humans. You’re nothing if not a resilient little species. You will live with anything, if you give yourselves time to learn how.”

And with that, he faces forwards again and begins the long trek back across the courtyard to the tunnels that brought you here. It isn’t long before you catch up to him and keep stride for a few paces, followed, as always, by the loyal maker at your back.

“Huh... thanks, Death,” you smile earnestly up at him. The heaviness hasn’t shifted at all from your chest, but you find that it isn’t quite as difficult to carry as it had been moments ago. “I think that’s one of the most comforting things you’ve said to me yet.”

“Hmph. Yes. Well,” he grumbles, “Don’t get used to it.”

---

With the second heart stone offered up to the Guardian and sealed into place, the three of you turn your attention to the third and final tunnel - the one you’ve yet to travel down, and not least because, emanating from the entrance is an eerily familiar, yellow glow.

Still, with little other option, the three of you gradually make your way through the open doors and find yourselves in a lower subsection of the Foundry. Karn is almost suffocatingly close to you, causing even the maker-intended tunnel to feel cramped and claustrophobic, although you have to admit that having a giant walking so near to your heels does leave you feeling adequately protected from behind, that is, until you come upon a relatively small, nondescript chamber. Or, it would be nondescript and wouldn't even particularly stand out from many of the Foundry's other chambers had it not been for the dozens upon dozens of corrupted, crystalline growths that burst like a fungus from every, available surface.

Death's eyes narrow upon them. “Stay close,” he warns, leading the way down the narrow staircase and keeping as far from the crystals as he can, more for the sake of the two younglings behind him than any sense of self-preservation.

He hardly needs to tell you twice.

The light from those terrible growths of corruption almost seems to burn at your skin as you pass them, and for a moment, you begin to wonder if it's radiation that causes the unnatural glow. Then, you decide you don't know enough about chemistry and put it from your mind. There are far more pressing matters to worry about, after all.

“Death?” you hum, feeling the familiar, winding knots of unease begin to coil around in your stomach.

The Horseman's eyes zero in on a dead construct sitting slumped in one corner. “Stay close,” he growls, but even then, he reaches a hand backwards and blindly grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging you until you're very nearly stepping on the heels of his boots.

On an unspoken whim, Karn closes the distance to an even more claustrophobic degree.

Dangling from a clamp set into the ceiling overhead just like its brethren, you spot the third and final heart stone, and from just one glance, you know you'd been right to worry about things that come in threes.

“Uh, isn't that supposed to be blue, like the others?” you ask, nodding towards it.

“Aye.... It is,” Karn mutters darkly, ears flattening to his head, “There's somethin' very wrong with this one...”

The heart stone glows the same, pus-like yellow as the crystals growing all around it. Black gunk oozes from within it, dribbling down the patterns carved into its surface until each rivulet converges right at the stone's pointed tip, forming one, big globule of corrupted liquid. Eventually, it grows too large and you watch in horrified disgust as it finally relinquishes its hold on the stone and drops to the ground with a loud, wet 'Plop!'

“Ew,” you declare.

“At least this stone doesn't require that I use you as a springboard, Pup,” Death remarks, rolling his shoulders and lifting his arm towards the ceiling.

Recognising the steadily increasing glow emitted by the gauntlet around his wrist, you dart out a hand and snatch his arm back, earning yourself a fearsome glare in return. With the Horseman's golden eyes boring down into you, your nerve begins to waver until you eventually pull away, yet the question bubbling up inside your throat still manages to find its way out. “What are you doing!?” you blurt, “The stone's corrupted!”

“I can see that,” Death coolly replies, making to raise his hand once more before he catches the fleeting look of alarm that you send up at the maker beside you. Sparing you a brief sigh, Death forces his glare to soften, if only a fraction. “Y/n, if we stop here, we'll have come all this way for nothing.”

“But if we put that thing in the Guardian, something could go wrong!” The Horseman subjects you to his most uncompromising glare, one he's often been driven to use on his petulant siblings.

“And if we do nothing, then nothing will change. Corruption will continue to spread across the Forge Lands, Tri Stone may eventually fall, and we'll be no closer to the Tree of Life.”

“But-” Hesitating, you chew on your lip and glance up at the maker. “- But Karn will have to carry it... You said we shouldn't let Corruption touch us!”

Death's expression turns grave and you can see the pinch of his brow, hidden as it is beneath his mask. “I know,” he admits quietly, “It’s a risk. But unless you can think of another way to get it to the Guardian -”

“I don't mind carryin' it!” Karn interrupts, jabbing a thumb into his own chest, “Corruption'll have a tough time gettin' under this thick skin.”

You tip your head back to look up at him, worry laying heavily across your brow. “But, Karn-”

“Oi, don't you go worryin' about me.” The unexpected gentleness of Karn's voice is anything but typical and reminds you more of the dulcet tones you might hear from the soft-spoken shaman, not your zealous and excitable young friend. “I'll be all right.”

Helplessly, you turn a pleading look onto Death, but you find no reassurance in the Horseman's calm and enigmatic eyes.

Your acquiescence comes in the form of a resigned sigh, and once he's satisfied you won't protest further, Death hums approvingly and raises his hand once again towards the heart stone.

It seems so baffling to you that the ghostly appendage that flies from his gauntlet can be so strong and solid. Long, skeletal fingers latch easily onto the stone's uneven surface and clamp down, hard, seconds before Death is pulled up towards the oozing stone and clings to it, withdrawing his scythe.

As he knocks the stone loose of its clamp, you can do little but hold your breath and watch, hands jumping into closed fists when it suddenly crashes to the ground with a dull but tremulous 'whump!' and a moment later, Karn is using the back of his gloved hand to nudge you away from it, giving him enough room to step protectively between you and the corrupted heart stone.

Death drops down to the earth beside it and moves around the maker, keeping a close eye on him whilst he bends down and slides his hands around the stone, braced and ready to react should anything begin to happen. After a few moments of regarding it as though he expects it to spring to life at any second, Karn sets his jaw and with a strained grunt, he hefts the cumbersome load up and settles it upon his shoulder.

The tension in the chamber is thick and oppressive enough that you can almost feel it lend a heaviness to the breaths that enter your lungs. Whatever time-stream this realm rides upon seems to grind to an abrupt halt and you're all left in perfect stillness, watching.... waiting.....

… But nothing happens.

One of Karn's eyes cracks open, having been squinted shut after he first touched the heart stone, and he glances down at himself, letting out a muted 'oh,' of surprise.

“There, you see? He's fine,” Death tells you, “Now, let's get this stone back to its host.”

Barely needing to be told twice, Karn begins to pick his way around the crystal growths and heads back toward the entrance whilst you and the Horseman walk in line with one another, following his path.

“So,” Death starts, folding his hands behind his back, “Are you learning to trust me yet?”

“I already trust you, Death. I mean, it took a while but, I am there.” You're too busy admiring the broken construct you pass by to notice the shock that flashes across Death's eyes.

You trust him?...

And you really think a few days is a while?

He drags his gaze off your face and elects to frown pensively at the straps of Karn's boots. At his silence, you continue, “Just because you trust someone doesn't mean you don't think they can be wrong sometimes.”

The old Nephilim huffs, uncertain of whether he should be insulted that you think he makes mistakes, or impressed at the philosophical side to your argument. After all, he himself would trust his siblings, but is more than aware that they're capable of erring from time to time.

Appraising you thoughtfully from the corner of an eye, Death opens his mouth to accuse you of spending too much time around the puzzling and sagacious Eideard when, all of a sudden, Karn lets out a startled cry, disturbing the relative peace that's fallen over you.

Yelping his name, your eyes snap up to the maker, whereas Death's immediately land upon the reason for his alarm.

From deep within the heart stone, Corruption's hideous consciousness had sensed a fresh, unwitting host, and temptation spurred it to send an insidious part of itself forth in search of the body it yearns to inhabit.

Blood rushes into your ears at the sight of the black, oily tendrils that stretch out of the heart stone and you barely register that you've taken several steps towards Karn before a hand is suddenly hauling you back and you soon find yourself gaping up at the bristling shoulders and jutting spine of a predatory Horseman.

However, much to your shock and dizzying relief, Corruption’s target isn't the youngling.

The heart stone lurches in Karn's grasp and he digs his fingertips into its callouses to keep it steady as the tendrils detach from their main cluster and drop to the ground near his feet. Rankled, the maker back-peddles up the steps and away from the writhing mess of darkness, whilst all you can do is watch from behind Death's guarding arm as corruption slips and gurgles its way across the room like a grotesque slug, heading straight for the broken-down construct slumped in the corner.

By the time Death realises its intent, he's too late to stop it.

The flailing ball of corruption reaches up with its tendrils and slides them underneath the stone plates that make up the construct’s chest.

“What is that thing!?” you exclaim.

When Karn takes in the pieces of stone on the ground, his face turns pale and he sucks in a sharp breath, his stomach sinking like a stone. “It... it’s a custodian,” he utters, his horror lending to your own.

“Karn!” Death barks, and you suddenly find yourself grabbed yet again and shoved none-too-gently towards the young maker, “Get her out of here!”

Acting swiftly, Karrn drops the heart stone and dashes back down the steps, clumsily curling his fingers around your torso and ushering you back to the entrance, away from the shuddering custodian.

A pair of brutally strong hands that look well-equipped to dish out some serious, blunt-force trauma pound into the earth, gripping fistfuls of stone as the thick and undulating strands of corruption knit the broken body back together. The arms are first, dragged across the ground and slotted into the shoulders whilst a blocky head is set into a round, open cavity on top of the custodian's torso, which in turn, is lifted onto the last component; a rotating, stone sphere.

Suddenly, the crevasses where its eyes would sit fill with the sickly yellow light you've come to know so well, and they lock straight onto the Horseman, who stalks backwards further into the room, deliberately drawing the construct away from you and Karn.

With his quarry's attention fixed wholly on him, Death whips out his scythes and splays his shoulders out wide, offering himself up as a challenge, though you can't help but think that bait would be a more appropriate term. Eerily, the hulking beast doesn't utter a sound from its stony maw, it merely pivots its body towards Death and begins to roll like a charging bull across the room, carried by its spherical base.

It reaches him and rears itself back, arms thrust high over his head, ready to pummel the Nephilim back to dust. You're ashamed of the way his name leaves your lips in a helpless, desperate cry.

Less than a second before he's flattened however, Death strafes expertly to the side and skirts around the custodian, leaving mere inches of space in his wake as its fists obliterate the ground where'd he'd been standing.

Lightening-quick, the Horseman strikes out at its exposed back, though it doesn't stay exposed for long.

The custodian's size and weight give the impression of a creature that should be slow, it's movements cumbersome, yet the ball that bears its mass allows for a much broader range of movement. Namely, within a split second, the custodian whirls around on its axis to face Death, swinging its arm out in a wide arc, a move that would have bowled him clear off his feet had he not leapt back out of the way in time.

Even from halfway across the room, you can hear the growl of frustration that escapes from underneath his mask as he makes another attempt to get close enough to the wildly swinging construct to even land a single blow on it, yet every time you start to think he may have found an opening, he's sent careening back by a sweep from one of the custodian's fists.

“We have to help him,” you realise after the construct once again bludgeons one of the yellow crystal growths to smithereens in an attempt to reach Death. Glancing up at Karn, you find him staring grimly out at the battle with his lips peeled back over gritted teeth and it soon becomes evident that he hadn't heard you.

Jaw setting, you turn about and begin to falteringly make your way down the steps. No sooner have you made it to the bottom than Karn suddenly snaps to attention and he lunges after you, throwing out a hand and slamming it to the ground right in your path, blocking the way forward. “What're you doin!?” he barks, frantic, “You tryin' to get yerself killed!?”

“We have to help him, Karn!” You attempt to sidestep his hand, but the maker is persistent, moving to stop you wherever you go. Grabbing his leather-bound thumb, you pull yourself up onto your toes and peer over the appendage, catching sight of Death just as he deflects a particularly savage blow that sends him skidding backwards for several yards until he's able to regain his balance.

Now borderline hysterical, you cry, “He can't do this alone!”

“He's Death! He's always done things by himself!”

Even as Karn speaks, a foul curse is spat from the Horseman's mouth as he tries and fails to sever the beast's hand as it makes a clumsy grab at him. You twist your neck around and peer up at the maker behind you, causing his heart to thunk down into his stomach when he sees tears welling up in your eyes.

“He shouldn't have to, though,” you utter, your fingers curling tightly into his glove, “Please, Karn?”

The youngling stares back at you. There's not a force in the universe that could move him to action quite like the sight of your tears. Hesitating for all of a second, he sets his mouth into a determined line and his eyes grow as hard and unyielding as the stone underfoot.

“I'll help 'im. You stay here,” he growls, nudging you back and standing to his full height.

You get the impression that he's not asking.

Death's scythes are battered by the custodian's fist yet again, though they still hold strong, even as their wielder's patience is quickly wearing thin. Unleashing a furious growl, the Horseman holds his ground, his back to the staircase as his assailant rolls like an unstoppable steam train towards him, its arm raising high into the air.

Unfortunately for the corrupted construct, due in part to its one-track mind, it's so focused on Death that it doesn't even see the new and far larger threat barrelling in its direction.

There's a gut-wrenching instance in which you're convinced that Karn has entered the fray too late, and the Horseman will surely be unable to counter the coming strike. As the custodian's fist begins to descend, Death braces himself, crossing his scythes in front of him and wondering why he's been unable to call upon his Reaper form during this fight.

All of a sudden, something enormous whooshes past his mask, and from the corner of an eye, he sees a hammer, swinging up through the air to meet the construct's downward swing in a head-on collision that throws the enormous beast off balance and, more pressingly, away from Death. Momentarily stunned, the Nephilim risks a quick glance up to see Karn standing beside him, rolling his shoulders.

“What do you think you're doing?” Death hisses venomously, “I told you to get-”

“Suck it up, Horseman! She's right - You can't do this one alone.”

Curling his lip at the maker's snappish interruption and your insinuation, Death discovers that he has no time to retort because the custodian is suddenly upon them once more.

Karn, although slower, is at least equipped to totter the construct on its axis with every swing of his hammer, and his addition to the battle allows Death more opportunities to get in close and tear a chunk of stone off its arms, back, anywhere that he can reach.

Following only a few minutes of combat, it becomes clear that the speed and unrivalled agility of the eldest Nephilim, coupled with the sheer, brute strength of a maker is too much of a challenge, and the sinister force driving the custodian pauses, rolling its host back a few yards and assessing the threats ahead of it in search of a weakness, an opportunity, a chance.

Karn and Death have planted themselves directly between you and the construct, the maker quivering with adrenaline and the Horseman just as calculating and cold as you expect him to be.

Suddenly, the custodian's head stops swinging back and forth between the two and comes to rest with its yellow gaze pointed straight through the middle of them.

“Why's it just standin' there?” Karn rumbles, an uneasy feeling blooming in the pit of his stomach at the custodian's decidedly thoughtful pause. Next to him, Death's eyes are narrowed to thin slits as he considers the stone behemoth warily whilst it simply peers back, unmoving.

A sensation that he's still unaccustomed to hits him in the chest at full force when he finally realises what – or rather, who – the construct has turned its sights onto.

He's too late to shout a warning, or to try and stop it as the custodian suddenly explodes into motion and lurches forwards, hurtling straight for them and keeping its shoulders low like a battering ram, forcing both maker and Horseman to dive instinctively out of its way rather than risk being mowed down, just as it had planned.

Within a fraction of a second, Death is wheeling about, a cry of outrage lingering in his throat. Karn is quick to follow suit and the maker's entire face drains of all colour once he sees the disaster about to occur right in front of them.

Corruption – fuelled by hate and spite – had spotted the group's vulnerability, and they had just stepped aside to let it pass.

Fear is not something that Karn ever likes to admit to feeling, but in that moment, watching you trip backwards up the steps and land painfully on your backside when the custodian careens towards you with hellish intent, the maker is certain he's never felt so afraid in his life.

Deep below the crashing waves of fear however, there's something far more reactive bubbling to the surface. He's never been an especially aggressive maker, not in temperament at least.

That all changes in a split second at the realisation that you're in imminent danger.

Without even taking the time to think, the maker discards his hammer, leaving it forgotten in his wake in favour of charging after the custodian as though a fire has been lit underneath his boots. But even though he's running at a speed he's never reached before, down in a dark, frightened corner of his heart, Karn knows he's too slow to get there in time. That doesn't stop him from willing himself forwards though, a bellowed shout of 'NO!' blasting from his mouth and a hand reaching out to you.

Behind him, the Horseman's own arm shadows his movements, lifting towards you as well.

Death is aware of only two things.

The first, his Reaper Form is suddenly trying to return with a vengeance, bucking against the magics that keep it shackled. And secondly, even if it manages to emerge, neither it nor the youngling will make it to you in time.

He doesn't even register that he's sent out the mental command to his gauntlet, hardly notices the flash of purple light or the phantom hand that lunges forth and flies across the room towards you, long, disjointed fingers splaying out wide, reaching, stretching to their limits in a desperate attempt to win the terrible race.

Scrambling futilely backwards and blind to everything but the construct bearing down on top of you, your mouth falls open, but no sound escapes, throat too tight with terror to even scream. There are fists as big as cars lifting high above you and all you can think about is how much the next few seconds are going to hurt.

They do hurt. Just not in the way you'd expected.

Pressure suddenly cinches around your torso and you don't even have a second to take a breath before the air is knocked from your lungs as you're ripped forwards violently, your head snapping back from the abruptness of the motion. You collide with something hard and cold that immediately curls itself around you, and when your head stops spinning and you can open your eyes again, you look up to see the underside of Death's chin.

Confused as to how you've come to be in his grasp, you turn your gaze outwards and find yourself staring in horrified awe at the brutal scene playing out in front of you.

The custodian's fists had all but demolished the steps where you'd been sprawled mere moments ago and the beast appears just as confused as you are to find that you're not a blood-stain beneath its hands.

Without slowing for even an instant, Karn rams into the construct's back and digs his fingers into the grooves around its neck, wrenching it back and hurling it sideways into a cluster of crystals that shatter upon impact. You hardly recognise the youngling with the way his teeth are bared, revealing the real extent of his formidable tusks as he bellows resoundingly and unintelligibly, casting aside all decorum to bend down and engulf the custodian's head in his fists.

With you pinned protectively against his heaving chest, Death tries to block the view with his arm, but you still manage to peer over the top of his limb, watching raptly whilst Karn squares his shoulders and gives the head a nauseating and vicious twist, wresting it clean off the custodian's shoulders and effectively severing the corruption from its host.

An awful screech turns your blood to ice, yet you still stare agape at the oily rivers that slide down the custodian's body and sink into the floor, followed moments after by crumbling remnants of limbs and stone plates that are no longer held together by tendrils of corruption.

At last, the chamber falls still and quiet once more, save for Karn's guttural grunts and your tentative sigh of relief.

Flexing his hands, the maker glares hatefully down at the mess and gives it a dismissive snort before he whips his head around to face you, his chest convulsing with every breath. Suddenly, the body curled over you begins to unfurl as Death straightens up again and lowers his arms, letting you take a shaky step out of them before you turn around to face him.

The Horseman doesn't even bother to stop his eyes from darting over you from head to foot in search of any fresh injuries.

“So...” you croak, rubbing at the back of your neck where an ache has already begun, “That was-”

“-Close?” he guesses.

“I was going to say terrifying, but yeah, it was pretty close.”

Booming footfalls alert you to Karn's approach and you turn to meet him, only to be startled by a pair of gigantic hands that curl around you, hovering just close enough to keep you trapped amongst trembling fingers.

“Are you all right!?” Karn blares, beads of sweat trickling down his forrid, “Did 'e hurt you!? Tell me you're okay!”

He's still shaking as the last threads of rage seep out of his bones and you're quick to place a calming hand on his thumb, raising your voice to be heard over the maker's babbling. “Karn, I'm okay! Chill! Death pulled me out of the way in time.”

The youngling's ears remain plastered to his skull and he doesn't look even remotely reassured, his eyes roving up and down your body as though he expects to discover a hidden injury.

After yet another near-death experience, you aren't quite sure where you find the capacity to crack a joke, but somehow, your lips manage to quirk up into a faltering grin and you say, “I-It's a good thing Death found that gauntlet, huh? It.. uh, it came in really handy back there.”

You may have tripped over your words, it may have been awkward and clumsy and you may be subjected to a very unimpressed glare from the Horseman, but for the time being, your focus is on the crumbling maker in front of you.

Karn's heavy breaths pause for a few seconds whilst he takes in your words, blinking at you with a perplexed frown. Then, he draws in a long, shuddering breath and expels it roughly again, his chest deflating as the warm air washes over your face until his exhale turns into a rough, throaty chuckle. “Ha... 'handy,” he grins.

Not even Death's deadpan stare prevents your shaky, wheezing giggle, if anything, one glance at the Horseman and you dissolve even further, breathlessly leaning against one of Karn's hands.

It's clear that the thrill of surviving another potentially fatal encounter has left you feeling giddy, something that Death can't fault you for, and in fact, he even lets a flicker of an indulgent smile bend the curve of his lips. Glancing up at him, you suddenly fall silent, peering at him as though he's sprouted a halo. “Death?” you say, incredulous, “Are you smiling?”

Quick as a flash, his face drops into its usual scowl and he crosses his arms, cocking a hip and drawling, “And why on earth would I be doing something like that?”

Undeterred, you lift a finger and point to one corner of your mouth. “You smile with this side. Your left eye sort of half-closes and gets all wrinkly whenever you do it.”

To that, the Nephilim can't come up with a response, more-so because he's taken aback by the knowledge that you've obviously been watching him far more closely than he'd assumed. Fortunately for his pride, you don't press the matter and rather than wait too long for a response, you let out a hum and push yourself away from the maker's glove as he gets back onto his feet, giving you a clearer view of the now destroyed custodian.

“Talk about putting the 'Karn' in 'carnage,” you say, appraising the pile of rubble before raising a brow at the youngling, who returns the look with a sheepish smile.

“Aye, sorry 'bout that. Hope I didn't scare you none.”

“Don't worry, you didn't. It was weird to see you angry though.”

Pressing his lips together, Karn makes a sound at the back of his throat, something between a hum and a grumble. “Doesn't happen often,” he admits quietly.

As the pair of you absently start to make your way back towards the entrance together, walking side by side, Death goes entirely unnoticed. He considers you both in silence, catching everything from the way Karn lazes into each step which gives you the chance to keep pace, to the lack of distance between you both, always staying within reach of one another...

You make... rather good friends, he realises, stubbornly ignoring the pit that opens up in his stomach at the very thought, reminding him that he wouldn't know friendship if it came up and slapped him around the face. He might not be any kind of expert, but he does recognise it when he sees it.

Earlier, when he had been searching for a way to open the fall gate, he had heard you through its thick stone, his keen ears picking up on the muffled conversation held between you and the maker when you thought yours' were the only ears listening.

You planned to stay with the makers.

Well.... Fine.

Good, even.

The Forge Lands... will make an adequate home for you, Death can't help but privately admit. And the makers will be perfect guardians. Of course, he shall have to have a word with Eideard before leaving, to ensure that the Old one keeps you and Karn out of trouble, as much as he can.

Yes... It's the perfect solution. You'll remain here with the giants, and Death can carry on, alone.

Karn will be happy to have you all to himself. Perhaps in time, you’ll actually even notice the way he looks at you.

“Death?”

The Horseman blinks and looks up, tugged back to the room by the sound of your voice. You've stopped on the staircase and twisted around to face him even as Karn continues on to cautiously retrieve the heart stone.

“Are you coming? Or are you just gonna stand there until the end of time?”

With an air of nonchalance that only Death could summon, he shakes his thoughts away and saunters over to you, using his knuckles to prod you up the stairs once he reaches your side.

“Get moving,” he grumbles, though the command has no real heat behind it, “I'd like to get this stone back to the Guardian before we run into any more surprises.”

You're walking ahead of him, so he doesn't see your smile wither and die as you make it to Karn's side, the youngling already having reclaimed possession of the corrupted heart stone.

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

The heavens had once again split open during your short walk back to the courtyard and the rain drums mercilessly down on your heads as you all emerge from the tunnel and step out into the courtyard. Aside from nature’s downpour splashing noisily against the ground, your journey has passed in relative silence, although Death gets the sense that there are several, burning questions you're dying to vocalise, and he doesn't miss the surreptitious glances that Karn keeps sending your way, the maker's lip trapped between his teeth all the way back to the Guardian.

Much, much too soon for your liking, you soon find yourself standing before the monstrous construct once again, your neck craned painfully in order to look up towards its head where, right in the space above its stony brows, there sits a hole, framed by a bronze surround which is obviously meant to house the heart stone laying across Karn's shoulders.

The skin on your thumb is subjected to a vicious torment by your other hand as you absently pick at it until cold fingers suddenly wrap around your wrist and tug your hands apart. Sheepishly, you peer up at Death and tuck your thumb into the hem of your skirt, hiding it from view. After a few more seconds spent underneath the Horseman's chiding frown, you let out a sigh when he finally releases you and turns to Karn, who's teeth haven't stopped worrying at his lip.

“Pup,” Death calls, causing the maker to give a start and whip his head down, releasing his welted lip in the process, “It's time.”

The small puddle of dread that has been sloshing around in your gut ever since you arrived at the Foundry promptly turns into a flood that rises into your lungs and squeezes at your heart.

As if he's fine-tuned to the same wavelength as you, Karn hesitates, furrowing his brow before twisting back to regard the heart stone and pressing his palm gently to its surface. You could almost swear the yellow light pulses in response, which makes you wonder how deep the connection really runs between these giants and the stones that supposedly hold the souls of their fallen brethren.

“We've seen its work, Horseman,” the youngling says, his ears drooping as he speaks, “Corruption fair weeps from it. Maybe....” He falters, and when he looks down at you, you notice that his forehead is etched by worried lines. “Maybe Y/n's right. Maybe this ain't such a good idea.”

Death's head swivels from the maker on his right to the human standing to his left. Just like that, it dawns on him that he's amongst not one, but two younglings.

“I have a theory,” he begins, impressed that the patience in his tone could match Eideard's, “The other two heart stones were pure. I'm wagering that their radiance will cleanse the third.”

After a pause, the youngling tips his head back to stare apprehensively at the Guardian. “Mayhaps.”

“Not, uh.. Not that I'm any kind of authority on corruption and magical stones and whatnot,” you offer in the ensuing silence, “But have you ever seen what happens when you put a drop of ink in a glass of water?”

The Horseman lifts a brow, retorting, “I hardly think this is the time for -”

“-The water doesn't turn the ink clear, Death,” you press, pleading. When he glances down, he notes that your hands are wringing together. “It's so often the other way around.”

Surprised, he can't help but admit that your analogy raises a rather compelling argument, and a troublesome point. Yet even so, the plain and simple fact of the matter is that by choosing not to act, then the valley and perhaps even the whole realm will be condemned to a slow, but inevitable death.

At least, if things change, there is a chance that they may change for the better. But first, the have to change at all.

Death steels himself against the strangely affecting look you're giving him and he clears his throat, gently putting, “You both know that the greater risk is to do nothing.”

A somber moment passes between the three of you and you finally lower your eyes to the ground, conceding without uttering a word.

Seeing your silent, if not reluctant acceptance, Karn too gives the Horseman a solemn nod and sighs, “Aye.”

Without further ceremony, he steps forward and heaves the mighty stone from his shoulder, offering it up to the Guardian.

Seconds later, your head snaps up when the stone is promptly ripped from his hands and shoots like a bullet up towards the enormous construct's head, propelled by whatever magic resonates underneath its surface.

Teeth grit, you wince as the projectile crashes right through the wooden scaffolding and into its destined slot with enough force to jolt the Guardian in its struts, shaking the gigantic chains that keep its wrists secured to the Foundry walls.

Immediately, golden light explodes from the stone, though it's soon drowned underneath a blinding, brilliant blue.

And then, your heart is thunking down into your shoes as the Guardian's colossal neck plates begin to rattle and at long last, the great beast raises its head, twin flickers of pale light bursting to life in the carved eye sockets. Its heart stone pulses in response with the same blue light and there is, for a moment, the brief hope that perhaps Corruption isn't strong enough to breath this construct's will.

Suddenly, the entire world around you begins to shudder and shift and the air fills with the deafening sound of a mountain trying to move.

Death's hand appears from nowhere and grabs your shoulder, holding you steady when you almost teeter sideways as the Guardian wrenches at the chains, straining against them until a thunderous CRACK rings out across the courtyard.

To your horror, the rusted metal gives way completely, falling from the Guardian's wrists and crashing to the ground with one, final heave.

Over the din, you can hear Karn shouting excitedly. “The corruption has burned off like rain on a hot forge!” Beaming at Death, he exclaims, “You were right!”

However, one glance at the Horseman, and you can tell that the enthusiasm is far from shared.

Death's fiery eyes narrow to slits as he looks up at the Guardian.

Before you can ask what the matter is, he rasps a phrase that turns your blood to ice and sends panic sweeping through your veins.

“I was wrong.”

You turn to meet Karn’s horrified gaze over Death’s head, the youngling’s expression perfectly conveying your own thoughts - at least those that consist predominantly of nonsensical screaming.

Seconds later, you're clapping both hands over your ears to protect them.

From somewhere deep in the Guardian's cavernous chest, there booms forth a roar so powerful, it feels as though a thunderclap has gone off right beside you.

Turning your focus up once again, you can't help but to gasp at the sight. No longer is the final heart stone shimmering with the blue radiance that the others share. Now, the unmistakable, yellow glow of corruption is prominent, drowning out any trace of blue, whilst thick tendrils sprout from within it. At an alarming speed, they grow larger and longer, so much so that in no time, they start to wrap themselves around the Guardian's neck and dig their pointed tips underneath its plating.

One of the colossal arms gives an almighty shake, as though the beast is attempting to rid itself of the tendrils that are now snaking their way down to its elbow, coiling and spreading in every direction until a thick webbing of the stuff has engulfed its solitary hand.

But tragically, whatever fight the construct might have put up was already over the moment the heart stone entered its head.

Helpless, you can do nothing but stare and cover your ears against another, ear-splitting and haunting wail as the lights inside its eye sockets lose their pale hue and turn the colour of pus, flashing and flaring like a pair of suns on the brink of going supernova.

You're so distracted by the somewhat mesmerising display of such an effective, parasitic takeover that you hardly notice the titanic leg moving towards you until it smashes through the stone and wood scaffolding built around it and hurtles straight for you, Death and Karn.

Dragging your eyes down to what can only be described as an entire tower speeding in your direction, you try to choke out a gasp and your brain chooses that moment to freeze up, failing to provide you with a direction in which to dive.

Lucky then, that Death's brain is still functioning perfectly.

Whilst you and Karn stare agog at your impending doom, the Horseman, driven by sheer instinct, throws his scythe out towards the youngling and a hand towards you.

The weapon's edge curls around one of the straps on Karn's backpack, and at the same time, Death's fingers wrap around the neck of your top.

Without a split second to spare, the Nephilim leaps backwards out of the Guardian's path and subsequently drags you and Karn right along with him.

The maker lets out a grunt as he lands on his rucksack, whereas you find your spine hitting Death's chest when he falls to the ground beneath you, and not a moment too soon, as the construct's leg goes sailing over your heads before it pounds into the dirt again just a few, scant feet from where you all lay.

To you, the world had almost come crashing down on top of you.

To the Guardian, it had done little more than taken its first step into the world for which it was created.

All around, pieces of debris continue to crumble and fall as it approaches the cliff walls that hem the Foundry in, walls that bear no obstacle for a creature that stands twice their height.

Trembling against Death's chest even when he pushes himself into a sitting position, you stare after the Guardian, your teeth chattering to witness it step over the cliff wall like you'd step over a stick in your path.

The thunderous foot falls recede into the distance, and only then do you scramble to escape Death's hold and shoot up onto your unsteady legs, a sudden, awful realisation hitting you harder than a slap to the face.

“I-It's – it's heading for Tri Stone!” you struggle out, your exclamation followed by Karn's accompanying cry of, “The others!”

The youngling doesn't hesitate. He breaks into a lumbering run, bee-lining for the courtyard's primary entrance without even glancing back to see if either you or Death are following.

“Karn!” the Horseman barks.

“I have to go back!” the maker bellows in return, never slowing his gait, “I have to make sure they're alright!”

Fatigue is blessedly exchanged for adrenaline and you're able to forget all about your aching body as you break into a run and start after your friend in stubborn spite of the instinct to sprint in the opposite direction. The Guardian is an impossible obstacle that you have no way of hurdling.

And still, you run.

With a snarl of frustration, Death spits an old Nephilim curse and follows suit. For a human, you manage to kick up a bit of speed as you chase after Karn through the Foundry, a Horseman hot on your own heels.

Hitting the enormous, circular chamber, you almost think you’ve somehow gone the wrong way, but the chains hanging down from the walls and the lava spitting and bubbling below you are so, unmistakably familiar, you have to do a double take, roving your gaze across the room as you hurtle along the curved catwalk. When you notice the rather worrying change, you nearly stop dead in your tracks.

“The hammer's gone,” you breathe, following Karn at a sprint through the doors, your voice raising in pitch until it's an alarmed shout, “Are you shitting me? The hammer! It – It took the hammer!”

Karn’s feet pound like thunderclaps against the stone ground whilst Death’s are hardly heard at all. However, the cold that chases the back of your neck is reassurance that he is there, always behind you, even when you burst through the Foundry’s main entrance and spill out onto the bridge.

Smoke plumes rise ominously from beyond Tri Stone’s outer walls and all you can do is keep running until the wind stings at your eyes and the icy rain hits your skin like tiny sparks of fire.

The sky suddenly lights up and just moments later, from somewhere further down the valley, there’s a boom of thunder, indicating a swiftly approaching storm.

#Darksiders #Darksiders 2 #Imagine Darksiders #Death x Reader #Karn x reader #one sided pining #jealousy #fluff #angst #worry #Guardian #dealing with guilt #grief

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