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thedreamlessnights · 6 months

Note

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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strawbeerossi · 1 year

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Trapped In A SUV

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Unit Chief!Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever you and Spencer are on the way to investigate the house of a suspected unsub, the SUV breaks down in the middle of nowhere. It’s a shame that you are both practically cooking in the Texas heat.

Content/Warnings: Case matter but nothing specific, extreme heat, undressing, Spencer is a bit of a pervert, car sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

Word Count: 1.6K

Kinktober Day Thirteen: Car Sex

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

The sound of the engine completely blowing out had you groaning softly as the smoke was coming from the hood of the car. In hindsight, you two probably shouldn’t have left in such a hurry in the first car you could get your hands on. However with a search warrant to search the house of a suspected unsub who you’ve been hunting for days, there was no time to waste.

Until you were stuck on the side of the road, your hand shielding your eyes from the harsh sun as Spencer tugged open the SUV’s hood to be met with a black cloud of smoke. “Jesus,” He muttered, using his hand to waft away the evidence of a vehicle that needed urgent repair. “We are stuck here until someone can pick us up.” You filled in the unit chief as you frowned softly. “Emily said that they had a lead when I was texting her. They will be here whenever they can get here..”

“Of course. That’s just our luck isn’t it.” The male pursed his lips as he pushed the hood shut. “We should get back in the car before we melt out here.” You commented, already feeling beads of sweat forming from the blistering heat.

“We won’t melt but it’s a good idea. The engine isn’t too far gone to the point we won’t have AC. I’m trying to avoid a heat stroke.” Spencer spoke while heading to the drivers side while you had returned to the passenger seat. The blow of the air wasn’t as strong as you preferred it to be but you counted your blessings, you could’ve been stranded and left to cook in the heat.

“Well. I guess you and I are on our own.” He murmured, his gaze on you while his eyes were widening as he watched you work to unbutton your shirt. “What? I’m sweating my ass off. It’s not like I’m getting completely naked.” You stated, now moving to shrug the button up off of your shoulders and tossing it to the side. “You’ve seen a woman in a bra, I’m sure.” You muttered while leaning back against the seat.

His golden eyes were focused on your chest once your eyes were closing, the swell of your breasts being eye-catching in the black bra. It was like they were threatening to spill over the lace. His cheeks were bright red as he noticed a bead of sweat trail down your chest as it rose and fell steadily from your breathing.

He could feel his pants tighten, constricting his hardening cock as he gazed at your body. As he was so focused though, he hadn’t noticed your eyes opening or the fact that he caught you. The hungry look on his face had you intrigued. You didn’t expect for him to be watching you so intently, to have to look as if he was holding himself back from touching your bare skin. “Would you mind if I took my pants off too? I’m burning up here.”

“W-what? I mean, if it’ll be comfortable go ahead..” His voice was at a higher pitch, feeling caught as he was bringing his hands up to loosen his tie.

“You know that you can shed some clothes too, right? I highly doubt the team will judge us.” You suggested, biting back a smirk of amusement while Spencer was letting out a squeak in response. “I don’t know.” He began, his own body going against him as his hands were moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. Waiting for the rest of the team was gonna be fun, at least.

After both of you were stripped down, it was like Spencer was desperately avoiding your gaze, his face cherry red. This was a lot. He wasn’t actually thinking that anything but embarrassment would come out of even attempting to look at your body again. You obviously caught him staring.

You’d turned up the air the best you could, leaning forward. With a moan of satisfaction at the coolness hitting your skin, you turned your head to face Spencer for a reaction. His body was frozen in place as he kept his gaze out the windshield, the smoke coming out of the hood less than it was earlier. The moan was enough to make him shift uncomfortably from his throbbing cock in his pants.

“Hey,” You began while leaning over the console separating you both, offering a smile. “What are you thinking about?” You mused, knowing all too well what you were doing as you were squeezing your arms together slightly, making your tits push up in the bra you had on.

“I-I was just thinking of how, uh, hot it is outside.” And here. Jesus.

“You’re so red, oh, Spence..” You gave a faux pout while bringing a hand up to pat his cheek, thumb running over his skin. Spencer felt like he was going to have a heart attack. This was a lot to handle and you seemed to be eating up every reaction. “I’m fine..” He spoke softly while leaning into your touch.

What happened next happened in a flash, you pushed yourself over the small barrier between you both before you were settled in his lap. The man’s face was red, eyes widened and mouth agape in shock as your clothed cunt was brushing over the very obvious bulge in his underwear.

“I knew it! You were looking at me!” You laughed in victory, hands moving to rest against his shoulders once his long arm was scrambling to push the car seat back to make sure that you were comfortable without having to be shoved against the steering wheel.

“Can you blame me? You practically got naked without needing any prompting.” Spencer found his voice again as he was bringing his hands to rest against your hips, thumbs running over your soft skin. “Plus.. You look so gorgeous, I can’t help it.”

“Spencer.” You gush, nudging his shoulder while you offer a smile. It was your turn to feel your cheeks heat up from the compliment. “”Well.. I can assist you with getting rid of your… Issue.” You wiggled your eyebrows while moving to test the waters of rolling your hips against his, his breath hitching as he let his head tilt against the leather seat. “God, yeah, okay. I’ll bite. Help me out here.” He chuckled, his hands squeezing your hips while you leaned down to press your lips against his in a soft kiss.

As your lips were slotting against one another, Spencer was in a frenzy to get your panties pulled to the side before letting his finger swipe through your folds and brush against your clit, grinning at the gasp muffled into his mouth. You were pulling from the kiss to lift your hips, using your hands to squeeze the tent in his boxers to elicit a groan before getting his cock out of his boxers. “I hate to rush this but I don’t think I can wait any longer.” The both of you were in agreement as Spencer’s hands were grabbing a handful of your ass before you were aligning his swollen tip with your leaking cunt and sinking yourself down.

Both of your groans mixed in the SUV, your ass hitting the front of his thighs as you gave yourself a moment to get adjusted. You could feel every curve, every vein as your cunt was welcoming the intrusion. Letting your hips roll at a slow pace, you were bringing your hands to grip his shoulders.

“Does it feel good? Bet you’ve wanted to do this for years. You like fucking your boss while on the job?” Spencer’s words caused a moan to rip from your throat. “What about you? Fucking your subordinate because you couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself?” You spoke back while Spencer chuckled. “You had your tits out, I’m a man. We are pretty notorious to have an attraction to the female physique.” He chuckled.

“Fair enough,” you spoke softly while continuing with your movements, getting into a good rhythm that was eventually disturbed by the male thrusting upwards, your pussy swallowing his thick cock with no issue.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” You cursed, the windows fogging over from the actions inside as a thin layer of sweat was spreading over both of your bodies, the smell of sex starting to fill the SUV, the vehicle rocking at a steady pace as you both were wrapped up in your rendezvous.

As you fucked like rabbits, you were leaning down to press your lips against his once more. You never thought of having sex with him in a car before, mainly because you always believed it would’ve been different. Maybe after being put together in the same hotel room or the both of you letting out pent up stress in Spencer’s office.

“I’m gonna cum.” Spencer warned, voice husky as he let out a deep groan at the way your velvety walls were clenching around him, his cock twitching inside of you. “Ah!” He panted, a bruising grip on your hips as he roughly thrusted upwards, damn near making your head hit the roof of the car.

The sheer force behind each thrust was enough to have your body trembling, your head falling onto his shoulder as you let out a soft cry of his name, teeth biting down onto his shoulder as your creamy cum was rolling down his cock. He wasn’t deterred, instead now groaning as he couldn’t help but follow right behind. You could feel his cum gush inside of your cunt, eyes fluttering shut as you clutched his shoulders as your partially clothed bodies were pressed against one another’s while coming down from the high of your mixed orgasms.

“I guess I should probably get off of you, huh?” Your words were slurred while Spencer let your hand gently rub your back. “Not yet..” He chuckled, pointing the air vents towards the both of you.

“We have a little bit. Let’s just enjoy the air.”

3K notes · View notes

sl-ut · 1 year

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ceilings

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

description: ellie and y/n are together when they’re in private, but she’s not sure if she’s ready to be with her in public. A newcomer to jackson might be the shove that she needs to decide whether she really wants her or not.

warnings: UNEDITED!!! slight hint of smut, reader has a bad rep, reader is a lil slutty (in a fun way), mentions of bad parenting, slightly mean!ellie, jealousy

words: 4.8K

date posted: 08/06/23

part two

Early morning patrol was going to kill Ellie someday, that she was sure of. The urge to stay in bed all day only worsened as the wind grew increasingly bitter with the oncoming winter. More often than not, she would be paired with Jesse or Dina, who both took their time apart to use Ellie as their unpaid therapist. At that point, she would almost rather have tense smalltalk with Joel or even suffer through Eugene’s ramblings–at least Eugene almost always brought weed to share between them. Plus, waking up before the sun had even risen halfway into the sky was easily one of her least favourite things to do, and her thighs were always sore after riding all day, no matter how often she was on horseback.

The only thing that made it even worse in the more recent weeks, was that she found it so hard to drag herself out of bed while knowing who was still tucked into the numerous blankets.

She made an effort to wake up early every morning, turning over as slowly as she could manage in hopes of not disturbing the slumbering figure behind her, settling onto her side as her fingers itched to reach out and feel the smooth flesh beneath the hem of her shirt. In such close proximity, she was able to feel the warmth of her body, blistering beneath the mountain of blankets. The girl was curled onto her side, shoulders rising and falling with every deep breath that escaped her parted lips. Before noticing her own movement, Ellie’s fingertips stroked against the softness of her warm cheek, stroking the sleep-swollen flesh in admiration with slow, gentle movements until the girl’s long eyelashes began to flutter.

Y/n blinked a few times as she pushed through the grogginess, a dopey grin crossing her features sleepily as her eyes fell on the figure next to her. She tugged the blankets in closer to her chin as she readjusted her head on the pillow, smacking her lips a few times before mumbling out a warm ‘mornin’’.

“Sorry,” Ellie hurriedly pulled her fingers away, “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“‘S okay,” Y/n yawned, “I don’t mind waking up next to you.”

Ellie flushed, chest burning with the desire to snuggle so close to the girl that they became fused together. Her fingers moved down, searching blindly beneath the blankets in search of Y/n’s own hand, and tangling them together tightly.

The night before had felt unreal. Ellie had invited Y/n over, having made sure that they would be uninterrupted, to watch a movie on the shitty little box TV that she had brought out to her garage. In the dim lighting of the battery-operated lantern in the corner and the flickering TV, Ellie had admired Y/n’s features up-close in a way that she yearned to on a much more regular basis. The night had, of course, ended with Ellie tripping over her own feet in excitement as she was leading Y/n to her bed, wandering hands finally finding their purchase beneath the covers.

Things had been that way for a while now. Ellie had known Y/n from a distance for quite some time before they started seeing each other, but hadn’t truly gotten to know her beyond a few things until Dina and Jesse ditched her at the Tipsy Bison in favour of Jesse’s bed. The two girls had a short conversation that night, and their relationship quickly snowballed from there. Small talk quickly turned into stolen kisses, and kisses turned into experimental touches–though it was always in private.

“I have to go soon,” Ellie whispered to her, “Patrol.”

Y/n let out a quiet groan, “Just skip today, I’ll do the same. Let’s just stay in bed all day.”

A small huff of a laugh escaped Ellie and she rolled her eyes, “Yeah, and risk us both being skinned alive by Maria?”

The girl shrugged lazily, shifting a tad closer to Ellie and nudging at her nose with her own playfully, “I can make it worth your while…”

Ellie’s fingers twitched, a knowing smirk crossing her dry lips, “Yeah? And how’s that?”

“Well, I was thinking…” She lowered her voice, as if they weren’t completely alone in the privacy of Ellie’s renovated garage, “I could get on top of you, and, you know…”

“I’m listening,” Ellie prompted her to continue with a wolfish grin.

“Well, I would get on top of you, get nice and close,” she giggled, “and then we could go back to sleep for a few hours.”

Ellie chuckled, pinching at her side playfully, “I should’ve known you were full of it when you said you would get on top.”

Y/n scoffed, swatting at her as she cackled at her own joke, “Uh, excuse me! I would get on top if you would let me!”

“Oh please, you wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“You wanna bet?” Y/n wasted no time in crawling on top of the brunette, grasping at her wrists and pinning them above her head with as much strength as she could manage, “What do you think of that, huh?”

Ellie’s eyes dropped from Y/n’s own to her lips, then down to the plush of her thighs from beneath the large shirt that she had worn to bed. She could feel the warmth of her centre through the thin fabric of her panties against the firm expanse of her abdomen, and she could make out the shape of her breasts through the worn fabric of her shirt. Her breath caught in her throat at the intimate position, fingers stretching out as she gauged how difficult it would be to break her hold.

“I think you’re in over your head. You’re nothing but a little pillow princess, aren’t you?”

Y/n pouted, shaking her head in defiance as she bent down further to ghost her lips over Ellie’s before finally dropping them together in a firm kiss. Slowly, she began to rotate her hips against her, mewling against her lips excitedly and easily becoming overwhelmed at the slightest of touches.

Ellie took the opportunity handed to her, wrenching her hands free and manoeuvring herself to be propped up against her pillows while grasping Y/n’s hips in her strong hands while forcing them to continue on with her movements. Y/n shrieked in surprise at the jostling movement, but didn’t fight Ellie’s clear show of dominance and allowed the girl to guide her hips in grinding down against her abs.

Small gasps fell from her lips as she urged Ellie to let her go faster, their lips moulding together to a series of sloppy kisses.

“See?” Ellie panted as their lips separated for air, “You can be on top all you want, but you’ll never be in control.”

Y/n moaned as the sensation of cotton rubbing against her sensitive bundle of nerves, the contours of Ellie’s abdomen acting as the perfect surface for her pleasure, murmuring out little incoherent sentences under her breath–a result of both the warm feeling that had begun to pool in her belly and the sheer exhaustion that still gnawed at her brain. Ellie whispered little praises to her, watching impatiently as her face scrunched up with every movement of her hips.

Her peak was torn away as a knock sounded on the door, Y/n finding herself falling face-first into the mattress as Ellie pushed her away as if she had burned her, tossing the blankets over Y/n’s body as the door swung open.

Y/n peeled the blankets off of her face, scowling at her unofficial girlfriend for throwing her to the side so haphazardly, though Ellie hadn’t even spared her a glance as she rushed out of bed and towards the door.

“Yo, Ellie!” Jesse marched straight in after knocking only once, “We’re gonna be late if you don’t drag your ass outta–oh.”

His gaze had quickly shifted past his friend’s alarmed expression to the flushed figure in her bed, a knowing look crossing his embarrassed features.

“Jesse, what the fuck man?”

“Sorry,” He flickered his eyes to Ellie, not wanting to let his gaze linger on the half-dressed girl longer than necessary, “We’ve got patrol, so I guess I’ll just, uh, wait outside.” He paused at the door for a final remark before closing it behind him, “Hi, Y/n.”

Ellie dropped her head in embarrassment, hands on her hips as she shook her head, “Fuck.”

Y/n crawled out of the bed, cringing as her bare feet met the cold floor. Her fingers reached for Ellie’s back, barely ghosting her spine before the brunette ripped herself away, rushing around the room to collect her things.

“Hey,” Y/n called out to her, “I know you’re probably embarrassed over that, but it’s okay. I mean, he didn’t really see anything, but–”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure he’s not dumb enough to not figure out what we were doing,” Ellie remarked as she slid her jeans up over her thighs.

“It’s not the end of the world, now is it? I mean, you know what he’s doing when he and Dina sneak off, right? What’s the difference?”

“Difference is that I know that he and Dina are dating. This isn’t exactly something that I planned on telling people about.”

The blood drained from Y/n’s face, “Oh my God, Ellie. Are you not… I had no idea that you weren’t, you know, out to everyone. I’m so sorry, I would have taken it more seriously if I–”

“What?” Ellie scrunched her face up, “Are you kidding me? I dated Cat, everyone knows that I like girls.”

Y/n paused, the sinking feeling in her stomach returning, only significantly worse than before, “So, you weren’t planning on telling people about me?”

Ellie stood up from lacing up her boots, turning to shrug into her jacket and backpack quickly as she turned back to face Y/n with a sigh. Her shoulders dropped as she took in the wide, teary eyes of the girl she had been quite intimately embracing only moments before, “Jesus, I don’t have time to deal with this right now, ‘kay? We’ll talk when I get back.”

Ellie disappeared out the door without another word or glance, leaving Y/n to collect her things and flee back to her own home.

* * *

Jackson was not a very big community,meaning that Ellie had come to know who most people were within the first three weeks of her and Joel settling into Jackson for good. Seth was a cranky old asshole, Big Frankie had a bad temper, and Jennifer was cheating on her husband with his brother, only he was too blind to see it. Joel wasn’t exactly one for gossip, so she did her best to follow by example and ignore the kinds of reputations that people held until she could judge for herself. That was until she met Dina.

Dina was the kind of girl who people aimed to please. Generally everyone was instantly drawn to her; pretty, smart, and confident, the kind of girl that everyone wanted to be or wanted to be with. She was the first person that Ellie seemed to actually click with, so of course she was willing to hear and trust her opinion of other Jackson locals. With older people, the general consensus was that they were either nice or absolute dicks with no in between, though things were much more complicated with people closer to their own age.

There was a clear social hierarchy among the Jackson youths. Dina, of course, was among the top of this status quo, and had very strict opinions of those who she personally did not like. There were a handful of people who Dina wasn’t the biggest fan of, but there was no one else in Jackson that Dina seemed to dislike more than Y/n, though she was never very open about exactly why she didn’t like her, beyond several petty comments or calling her mean names when she passed by with a smile. Jesse had even let it slip one night just before greening out that Dina had once been friends with the girl, but was too out of it to tell her anything else.

Ellie decided that anyone who could have caused such hatred in Dina must have been the scum of the earth, and that it was in the best interest of herself and the relationship that she had with Dina to take up similar opinions, though she still couldn’t quite figure out how that kind of dreadful personality could exist within such a cheerful facade. Of course, Ellie was aware of the reputation that she had around town, and she had taken notice of how she seemed to hang around with different guys every few weeks, but did that necessarily mean that she was an awful person? She had also seen the way that she interacted with others around town, and had heard from Maria how sweet she was with the dogs when she worked at the kennels–things just weren’t adding up.

When she asked Dina, she was quite vague about the actual issue that she had with the girl, instead choosing to explain why Ellie shouldn’t like her.

“She’s slept with half the guys in Jackson, and tried with the other half. Guess they weren’t desperate enough to stoop to that level.” Dina had scowled, “Plus she’s such an airhead. Like, I figured that people nowadays needed to have some kind of common sense, but jeez.”

To be quite honest, Y/n was one of the first people who she had taken explicit notice of in Jackson, aside from Tommy and Maria, of course. She was the kind of girl that Ellie just couldn’t look away from, and always seemed to have a peaceful and soft aura about her. Whenever they happened to run into each other, she always greeted her with a smile and a soft hello, only to turn beet red and retreat when Dina came sidling up beside her. Whenever they were both at the Tipsy Bison, Ellie’s eyes couldn’t stop themselves from following her movements, internally cringing as she watched guys run their hands over her body and pulling a boisterous laugh out of her.

“Can’t believe Keith is the guy of the week,” Dina raised her brows at the sound of the obnoxious giggling.

Jesse shrugged, keeping a neutral position that would only prove to piss his girlfriend off even more, “He’s a nice guy. Seems to like her.”

She snorted, “They always seem to like her, until they get what they want. After that, I guess she lets people see the real her.”

Later on that night, Ellie did actually get to know the real her after Dina and Jesse pulled their infamous disappearing act, and she still couldn’t figure out what kind of person could be so awful under such a starkly opposite front. She quickly grew to like Y/n much more than she wanted to–she wanted to be a loyal friend, to hate the same people that Dina did, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to. But what Dina didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, right?

It hadn’t seemed to be in the best interest of anyone to be open with her relationship with Y/n just yet. Dina would likely have given her the cold shoulder for God-knows how long, as she so often did with people, Jesse would have been forced to ignore her wherever possible, and Y/n would have faced some serious consequences from Dina and, by association, Jesse.

Y/n had a reputation around Jackson, and it wasn’t as if Ellie was put off by it, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she was just the latest obsession and would soon be kicked to the curb. As much as she liked Y/n, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to risk losing Dina and Jesse if what they had was nothing more than a passing fling, so it only made sense that she hadn’t told them yet. Plus, that stupid grin on his face was enough of a reason not to tell them.

“Stop looking at me like that,” She drawled, trotting alongside him on Shimmer, “Seriously, I’ll punch that smug little smile right off your stupid face.”

Ellie was honestly surprised that he had contained it this long so far, waiting until they were a fair distance from Jackson to even prod at the questions he’s been dying to ask.

“So…” Jesse paused, unsure of how to approach the conversation without being maimed by his best friend, “How long have you guys been… Are you together?”

“No,” She answered sharply, “We’re–I don’t know. A few weeks, I guess.”

“Honestly, I didn’t even think she liked girls. Does…anyone else know?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “No, Jesse, Dina doesn’t know. She would probably kill me, which is why I didn’t tell you, and why you can’t tell her. Don’t bother asking anything else, ‘cause I’m not gonna tell you.”

Jesse grunted in response, nodding in silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat and leaned towards her ever so slightly as he muttered out his question.

“How is it?” He laughed at her incredulous expression, “What? It’s not like you can talk about this with anyone else, can you?”

She shook her head at him, turning her face away to keep her eyes on the path ahead of them, “I don’t–I mean…” Ellie sniffed, deciding to answer now rather than be bothered by him for the rest of patrol, “Yes, it is.”

Jesse howled in amusement, “Holy shit, you like like her, I can see it on your face.”

“I do not, I just–”

“You didn’t even look this smitten with Cat, and you were down bad for her too,” He continued, “So are you gonna ask her out?”

She shrugged in response.

“I don’t see why not. I mean, people talk, but she’s actually really nice, funny, not to mention that she’s like–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Ellie pointed at him accusingly, “And you know why.”

“Because of Dina?” Jesse asked incredulously, “C’mon, don’t let her stop you from being happy. What happened between them, that’s like ancient history now, D will get over it.”

“Will she? I mean, she’s never even told me why she doesn’t like her.”

Jesse paused, almost as if he was unsure of how much he should actually reveal about the situation without betraying his girlfriend’s trust, “Listen, it’s really nothing. Just drama from when we were like thirteen, and you know that Dina can hold a grudge, but I really don’t think that she would be willing to just stop being friends with you because of it.”

Ellie shook her head once more, “Just forget it. This is supposed to be patrol, not therapy.” She chuckled at her own words, nudging at Shimmer to get her to pick up the pace and leaving Jesse in her dust.

***

The morning had progressed very slowly for Y/n. She had been left in quite a state; still frazzled from Ellie’s touches, while also distraught from her words. They hadn’t been very public about their relationship, if you could even call it that, but it hadn’t even occurred to Y/n that there might have been a reason behind the secrecy aside from Ellie’s preference to keep her life a bit more private. She knows that Ellie had been upset this morning, and she likely wouldn’t have said the things that she had otherwise, though that didn’t make it any better considering that she was upset because someone had seen them together.

Y/n knew what kind of reputation she had around Jackson. From a young age, she knew that she had issues with being alone–it terrified her to no end. Her father, while still doing the bare minimum, was not very present in her life beyond making sure that she was still breathing and punishing her for getting in trouble. Aside from that, he would have nothing to do with her, and more often than not, didn’t even spend the night in the same house as her. In truth, it would be more surprising if she hadn’t sought out comfort in others, and it was incredibly easy for her.

The first boy she ever kissed was Frank Cahill, who was a year older than her and just happened to be there at the right moment. She had been crying to herself silently after a fight with her father, curling into herself on the front step of the empty house. Frank happened to be walking by and said the right words for her to fall so easily into his arms.

From then on, Y/n fell in love with just about every guy she had ever been with. She needed companionship, and guys were willing to give it to her for the price of her body. The only issue being that not many stuck around afterwards, and some weren’t willing to “work for it” beyond what they deemed necessary, so she truthfully could not deny most of the rumours that had gone around about her. Of course, she wasn’t stupid and knew that many of these guys didn’t really like her, but those who were good enough at acting to trick her into believing their sweet whispers truly took a toll on her.

Which is why she was so caught off guard by Ellie’s treatment. Ellie had criticised the way that she allowed guys to treat her in the past, but made it clear to her that she didn’t think of her any differently because of it. If the embarrassment hadn’t been caused by the fact that she was a girl, it left her with no other reason other than that she was Y/n. Ellie was embarrassed to be seen with her, not because she wasn’t out yet, but because she didn’t want to be seen with Y/n in general.

Ellie was the first girl that she had ever been with. In fact, she hadn’t even considered the fact that she might like girls until she found herself seeking Ellie out and eventually beginning to fall for her. She was different from the others, seeming to actually be interested in her as a person rather than just another warm body, and even after they had slept together for the first time, she still stuck around. She was the first person to make Y/n feel like she was worth more than what she actually believed, but their interaction during the early hours of the morning made her question whether Ellie was actually as trustworthy as she had believed her to be.

Her eyes were droopy as she brushed through the soft chestnut hair of what felt like the thousandth horse of the day. She hadn’t managed to fall back to sleep after returning to her own house and needed to be at the stables for her shift only a few hours later. She was dreading the fact that Ellie would soon be returning from her morning patrol and would be coming straight there to return Shimmer for the night.

She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of her name being called, managing a cheerful smile as her eyes fell onto Maria’s figure, then onto the shy expression of the girl behind her.

“Y/n, this is Erin, she and her brother are new around town. I figured that the stables would be a good place for her to start out, so would you mind giving her a little show around when you’re done here?”

Y/n turned to face the girl, taking in her short brown hair and cocoa skin. She smiled at her kindly, nodding to Maria before offering her a hand to shake. The pair had fallen into an easy conversation, giggling quietly together in the corner of the stables as Erin helped her finish grooming the remaining horses.

Y/n found Erin to be a welcome distraction, not even noticing when Ellie and Jesse returned their horses.

Jesse glanced over at the two girls, then back to his friend, who’s eyes hadn’t left them since they had first set foot in the stables.

“Who’s that?” She asked Steven as she handed Shimmer’s reins off to him, an uneasy feeling settling into the pit of her belly.

“New girl,” He shrugged, “Weird, though. Could barely get a word out of Y/n all morning before she showed up.”

Ellie sneered as Steven led Shimmer back to her stall, resisting the urge to march over to the pair and stake her claim–but what claim? To the public, Ellie and Y/n barely know one another. They may speak in passing, but there really shouldn’t be any reason for Ellie to feel jealous over Y/n getting along with someone else. This is what she wanted, isn’t it? She had been mortified when Jesse caught them together earlier that morning, so what could have possibly changed enough in the few hours that she was gone in order for her to feel so differently?

The brunette would never admit it, but it had actually felt quite nice to be able to talk about the time that she spent with Y/n to someone–it made it feel much more real, like something real could actually sprout from their late-night talks and stolen kisses. Perhaps Dina could grow to accept Y/n as her partner, though she was certain it would take quite a bit of time for that to happen.

That dreamy image seemed to shatter as Ellie whipped around, marching out of the stables and leaving the two girls to themselves.

***

The Tipsy Bison was usually busy on Saturdays, and this one was no different. It had been a full day since Ellie had last spoken to Y/n, unable to get over her own pride and jealousy to approach her while she had Erin at her side, which seemed to be just about all the time now. She was thankful for the opportunity to get to the bar with her friends, to drink until her problems seemed so miniscule that she could almost completely forget about them.

But then she caught sight of Y/n tucked into a corner booth, sitting suspiciously close to an all-too-obvious Erin. The mixture of annoyance with Dina and Jesse, who seemed to be moments away from sneaking off, the jealousy, and the heat of the hard liquor in her veins had her fuming.

“Oh my God,” Dina had sneered in judgement, “Looks like she burned through all the guys in Jackson too fast and switched teams. Watch out, Ellie, you might be next.”

Jesse and Ellie shared a knowing look over Dina’s head, his dark eyes silently asking if she was going to do anything about the new girl blatantly flirting with Y/n, while Ellie’s simply betrayed the burning rage inside of her.

She saw her chance when Y/n got up to approach the bar, leaning her arms on the sticky bar top as she waited for Seth’s attention. Ellie sidled up alongside her, remaining a casual distance away from her as she barked out another drink order for herself.

“So you and Erin, huh?” She mumbled, glancing at the girl out of the corner of her eye.

“Sorry, are you talking to me?” Y/n looked around dramatically, hand rising to grasp at her own chest in shock, “Last I heard, you couldn’t be seen with me.”

“You know that’s not…what I meant.”

“No, how could I possibly know what you meant, Ellie? When one person saw us together and you suddenly didn’t want anything to do with me, what else was I supposed to think?”

She shrugged, “I don’t–”

“And Erin’s just a friend, by the way.”

Ellie chuckled humorlessly, “You’ve gotta be stupid to not see how into you she is.”

Y/n shook her head, “You know, that’s the second time you’ve called me dumb in the last two days, Ellie. And so what if she likes me? Honestly, it’s kinda nice to–” she paused, choking on a sudden onset of tears. She shook her head, refusing to allow her own emotions to spill out with Ellie present, “It’s nice to be around someone who’s not embarrassed to be seen with me.”

As if on cue, Seth placed the two drinks down in front of Y/n, allowing her to snatch them away from him and flee before Ellie could even think of a response.

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #lesbian #ellie williams #ellie x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us

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thisreadswhatever · 11 months

Text

The Chase: Part One

Pretty Sweet

series masterlist

[description]: jax teller x female reader

[wordcount]: 2.7k+

[summary]: Jax Teller is used to getting what he wants. At least that was the case before he met you.

[cw]: 18+ only minors do not interact - AU, follows some canon characters & themes but timeline is different. otherwise none yet, but stick with me, I have a smutty plan!

[authors note]: this has been really fun to write. thank you so much to this anon for requesting this idea! I plan on writing a good few parts of this.. as I am really loving writing this reader insert. if you have any ideas or suggestions on where you would like this to go, please let me know! I absolutely love getting your suggestions. I really hope you enjoy!

It had been a long sixteen hour drive. You sighed with relief as you sped past the large wooden slice, “WELCOME TO CHARMING”. You rolled your windows down, the wind blistering through your hair as you took in the warm California sun.

You turned the music up, attempting to drown out the events replaying in your head that led you here in the first place.

Charming wasn’t exactly on your bucket list of places to travel. Your parents had split a few years back, after your mom decided she could no longer handle the baggage that came with the Sons of Anarchy MC. Your Dad was an avid member of the Denver Charter, and she soon realised she couldn’t sit back and watch as he grew deeper into the Club. It was a quick and amicable divorce, made easier by the fact you were an only child and more than understanding of why the relationship had to end. You were old enough to see the pain your mom went through trying to make it work, and you knew that it was the best decision for them both. Your Dad on the other hand, never really got over it.

When your mom remarried last year, he decided to leave Colorado and transferred to the SAMCRO Charter. Charming was his home now. He’d been begging you to visit him for months, and despite the fact you were genuinely pleased that he was happy, seeing him so far from home and content without his family wasn’t something you’d looked forward too.

Charming was a small place, and from what your Dad had told you, it had never really left the seventies. Denver was the total opposite, a city full of life and people, and ever growing with new expanding chains of business. Even with the freezing winters, there was always something to do in Denver. But Charming? They barely had a population of fifteen thousand.

You had evaded the trip for as long as you could, blaming college assignments and exams for the reason you couldn’t make the drive. Now that you’d graduated, the excuses had run thin, and it was time to visit your Dad in Charming.

You pulled into the road of the address he had given you, entering a long unpaved driveway that ended on the outside of a dainty cabin. Your Dad’s bike was parked stagnant on the dirt. You dug your suitcase out from your trunk and walked up the wooden steps to the porch, bringing your hand to the door to knock. Before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door flung wide and your Dad lunged at you with open arms.

“You’re finally here!”, he squealed in excitement as he grasped you into a giant bear hug.

“‘Finally’ is right. That was a serious drive, Dad.”

He took your suitcase and carried it through the entryway. “Sure is. I’m so glad you got here safely, kiddo. Come on, let’s get you settled. You hungry? I was just about to make some lunch.”

You followed him inside as you observed the interior of the quaint, dusty cabin. “I could definitely eat.”

—

Your Dad showed you to your room and then became sidetracked from lunch, giving you a full tour of his new home and the complete low down of all things SAMCRO. He’d explained that the place was owned by the Club, but nobody ever frequented it unless they were in hiding. Your Dad was housed here for the long term, or at least until he could find something he liked better inside the Charming suburbs.

Once he’d caught you up, he made his start on lunch. You watched as he strolled throughout the kitchen, sitting patiently at the small round dining table.

“It’s a nice place, Dad. Not sure how I feel that you’re out here all alone though.”

“I’m barely here, kiddo. Spend most of my time down the Clubhouse.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to make sandwiches, dropping a piece of turkey in the process. “I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, y/n. A lot more warm than the ones up in Denver. Some of them are your age too.” He placed the plate in front of you, and you grimaced at the site. Your Dad had never claimed to be a great chef.

“Thanks.” You smiled at him politely, taking a bite and struggling to swallow down the piece of dry sandwich. “I’m sure they’re great, Dad.”

“So, how’s your mom?”

You shrugged dismissively, unsure how to broach the uncomfortable topic of the newly weds. “She’s doing well. Mike is good to her.”

He nodded. “That’s good. I’m really glad she’s happy.”

It was hard to see your Dad try to be okay with the fact that your mom had moved on. The awkward silence was interrupted by his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up from the table. “Finish lunch and we can head on out. The guys are getting together at the Clubhouse tonight, you can meet them all there.”

You knew an evening with a bunch of Californian bikers was going to be inevitable during your trip. At least you could get it over with on the first night.

“Sounds great, Dad.”

—

You weren’t thrilled to be back in the confines of your car so soon after your long road trip, but your Dad knew better than to ask you to sit on the back of his motorcycle.

You rolled the windows down of your car as you followed his bike through the winding road from the cabin. As you re-entered Charming, you passed by locally run stores and cafes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was a quiet, peaceful town. But you did know better. You knew what the Club’s presence actually meant for a small community like Charming. If SAMCRO was anything similar to the Denver Charter, the underworkings of this town would be anything but quiet and peaceful.

You pulled into the lot of Teller-Morrow Automotive Repairs, instantly drawn to the huge row of Harley motorcycles lined up on the inner bays.

Your Dad parked up and met you outside your car, telling you all about his new job in the garage as you walked together. He led you across the lot towards a small black door, entering into the SAMCRO clubhouse. It was impressive, a comfortable space with its own bar and lounge area. The place was full of MC memorabilia and pictures from the club’s long history. The furthest wall was centered by two large double doors that were surrounded by mugshots of the SAMCRO members. You had visited the Denver Clubhouse enough to know that room was where the decisions were made.

Your Dad introduced you one by one to several members that were there, a few of which he’d mentioned to you that afternoon. Bobby, Chibs, Trager, Juice and Opie all greeted you with open arms. They were extremely friendly and welcoming, just as your father had promised. The one your Dad called Trager seemed very pleased with your arrival, hugging you for a little too long. Your Dad managed to break the long embrace, pulling you away to start touring you around the building.

“Don’t get too close to that one, kiddo. He’s a little out there.”

You giggled as you nodded in agreement, “I’ll keep my distance.”

—

You sat alongside the club’s Secretary, Bobby, on a leather bench that faced out with a view of the entire room. You observed as the Clubhouse filled with more members and women, a handful of which were old ladies. The rest of them, very clearly single. Of all the members you’d met so far, Bobby had been the easiest to talk to. He clued you in on some of the Club’s legitimate businesses, Cara Cara and Red Woody Productions. You figured that’s where most of the girls came from, retired and current porn stars.

It was a little strange, and anyone else may have felt uneasy seeing their father in this kind of environment. But you were used to the life of girls and guns from growing up with a dad in a motorcycle club. The Denver Charter had its fair share of women in and out of their doors, but mainly just bartenders and the odd crow eater looking for a way in. These girls were more forward, scantily clothed, makeup on point, and obviously comfortable with their surroundings.

Bobby nudged your shoulder, regaining your attention from the party happening around you. “You know your Dad talks about you constantly. He’s so happy that you’re here, kid. We all are.”

You glanced over at your father, a huge smile forming as he collected a drink from the bar.

“He does seem happy. Just weird seeing him away from home.”

“You got a home here with us too now, y/n.” He placed his arm over you and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, “we’re your family as much as we are his.”

“That’s really sweet, Bobby. Thanks.”

He pulled his arm back as he chuckled to himself, his large stomach bellowing as he laughed. “I am pretty sweet.”

Suddenly, the front door opened and a roar of drunken welcomes filled the clubhouse as two more members entered. The President of SAMCRO, Clay Morrow, walked in smiling ear to ear, hands held up as though he was a celebrity greeting his adoring fans. You’d heard a lot about Clay from your father, mainly that he was the initial sponsor for his transfer from Denver, and some remarks about what an ass he was. Behind him, a much younger member followed, embracing Opie as he entered. He was different from the other members, not totally clean cut, but you could at least tell he had showered. Not only was he bathed, he wasn’t harsh on the eyes either. You watched as he talked with Opie, his hands pushing his long blonde hair behind his ears as he spoke.

“Who’s that?” You asked Bobby, your eyes never feigning from the man.

“That’s Jax. Club’s VP.”

As you watched him converse with Opie, he suddenly glanced your way, locking eyes with you. You quickly turned away from him and back towards Bobby.

“He looks a little young to be Vice President”, you mumbled as you took a swig from your beer, still conscious that he was looking at you.

Bobby laughed, “Yeah, well, he’s a Teller. His Dad was First 9 alongside Clay and Piney Winston, Ope’s pops. Jax has been SAMCRO since he came out of the womb.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing back over your shoulder. Jax’s attention had now been obtained by one of the Cara Cara girls. She was pulling him in by his cutte, batting her eyelashes at him as she leaned against the bar.

Bobby watched as you observed Jax. He sipped his drink, amused by your interest. “He’s known for his way with the ladies.”

You wanted to press Bobby further, but your Dad suddenly was stumbling over beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Come on over here, kid. I want you to meet my sponsor.”

“The asshole?”, you whispered to him as you stood up from the chair.

He snickered back at you, patting you on the back. “He’s having a good day.”

—

You were impressed by the brotherhood the Redwood Originals shared. It wasn’t unfamiliar to the Denver Charter, but the way the members of SAMCRO loved one another was palpable. You observed quietly throughout the night as they all ripped into each other with lighthearted banter and spilled beer all over the place. You were conflicted by the fact your Dad fit in so well here. It was painful to know he had chosen this life over one with you in Denver, but you still felt at peace knowing he had found a place in this family.

He was now slumped over a leather armchair in the lounge, snoozing after one too many beers. You nudged his shoulder, trying to wake him. “I’m gonna head back to the cabin, Dad. I’ll meet you here in the morning?”

“You sure, y/n?” He tried to stand up as he slurred, but his balance failed him, collapsing back into the seat. “I can lead you back-”

You chuckled, placing a hand on his head as he closed his eyes, “No way are you getting on a bike in this state. I remember the way.”

Tig overheard and slid himself beside you, placing an arm across your waist. “We’ll take care of him, sweetie. Don’t you worry. Get back safe, okay?”

You unwound from his grasp, collecting your bag from the coffee table as you searched through the contents for your keys. “Thanks Trager.”

A strange laugh left his throat as he watched you leave, before his face turned straight as a board. “Call me Tig.”

You said your goodbyes to the members that were sober enough to communicate, and made your way to the parking lot.

Jax Teller was sitting outside the clubhouse, journal and pencil in hand. He glanced up at the sound of the door opening, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

He smiled boldly, in a way that perplexed you. Almost like he was happy to see you, even though you’d never met. He took the cigarette from his lips as he asked, “you’re Ralph’s kid, right?”

“I usually just go by y/n.”

He placed his pencil inside the journal and tucked it snug in his cutte, standing from the bench. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing, coming all this way to see him.”

You nodded, “had to make sure my Dad wasn’t living with some crazed psychopaths, you know?”

He exhaled, his lips forming a perfect O as the smoke left his lips. “Pretty sure a few of those knuckleheads could pass for psychotic”, he teased. His mouth pulled into an infectious smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Jax walked closer towards you, your bodies now inches apart. He held out an open pack of cigarettes, prompting you to take one. You shook your head, declining the offer.

“And what about you? How’s your level of sanity?”

Jax hesitated. “A work in progress.”

You smiled politely as you walked past him, making your way to the car. “Anyway, I was just leaving. Was nice meeting you.”

Jax’s brow creased in concern, “you heading to the cabin on your own?”

You looked over your shoulder to see him pacing behind you, flicking his cigarette to the cement.

“My Dad’s not exactly in riding order.”

“I can take you back.”

You stopped outside your car and turned to him, scoffing at how forward he was. “I met you thirty seconds ago.”

“So?” He shrugged.

“I don’t really think that’s appropriate.”

“I’m not asking to get in bed with you, y/n. You can ride the Harley with me and I’ll leave the second you’re in the cabin.”

You opened the car door, sliding into the seat. “Not gonna happen.”

“I won’t lay a hand on ya, darlin’,” he raised his hand up, smiling, “scouts honor.”

You pressed your lips together, suppressing yourself from giggling at his innocent gesture. “I don’t ride bikes.” You affirmed.

Jax cocked his head at you, confused at the statement. “Denver girl’s scared of bikes?”

Your eyes rolled at his assumption. “No offense, but I just met you. I’m not sure my safety is your concern.” You shut the car door, realising your window had been left ajar from the way there. You wanted to curse aloud that the good Californian weather enabled the opportunity to ride with the windows down.

Jax didn’t push further, nodding his head as he watched you settle into the driver's seat. “No offense taken.”

Jax leaned his head into the open window, resting his arms on the roof of the car. You turned the ignition, letting the engine roar to life. “Nice to meet you, Jax.”

“You too, darlin’. Will I see you again?”

You were looking directly at him, your faces parted only by the frame of the window between you. “I’m here for the week, darlin’.”

His lips pulled from ear to ear, smiling playfully as you put the gear in reverse, forcing his hands off the car as you pulled out of the parking lot. You peaked in the rear-view mirror, finding Jax still watching you drive away into the Charming night.

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realcube · 2 months

Note

NEED you to write more for kiyoomi i am BEGGING

SEA STONE ☽｡⋆

synopsis ☀ you're at the beach with sakusa and play a little prank on him!

tags/tws ☀ omi being sassy smh, mentions of drowning, sappyyyy, timeskip but sfw, maybe ooc idk & fluff

wc ☀ 1.4k

you ask sakusa to go to the beach with you and he agrees. it's that simple.

had atsumu or hinata witnessed that, they'd likely think you used some sort of black magic on him or a mind control spell. and in a way, you do have him in an — almost supernatural — trance. he's utterly bewitched by you.

so if going to beach is what it took to see even a glimpse of that pretty smile of yours, it was infinitely worth. although, as one may imagine, he's not a big fan of the beach. sand clinging to body, blistering heat beating down on him, limited space packed with sweaty bodies, amateaur volleyball; it's all just very unpleasant.

but he finds a way to deal with it. he rolls out his towel and umbrella, to protect him from the sun, and settles down with a good book. though he's only partially reading it, he's mostly watching you frolic through the water and mess around with the damp sand. you were so playful and fun, it enchanted him. occasionally you'd run back up to where he is to plant a kiss on his cheek or ask him to reapply sunscreen on your back, that was his favourite part.

you understood sakusa's adversity to the ocean — there's definitely some gross stuff in there — but you just loved swimming too much. gliding through the cool water, the seaweed tickling your skin and waves crashing gently against you. it's a once-in-a-year experience that you had to enjoy, but if sakusa didn't want to do it with you, that was alright, it was already sweet enough that he agreed to come with you. although he never outright said he didn't want to swim, you got that impression from the fact he was wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and matching trousers.

eventually, the sun began to cast an orange glow as it slowly set over the horizon, and many people had packed their things and left by now, so you figure it's about time you and sakusa do the same. as you're walking back towards him, you feel your ring slip off your finger a bit, but you promptly push it back on.

that is, until you have an idea.

a harmless prank, really. you take your ring off and slip it under the material of your top, then you rush over to sakusa with a frantic expression, to which he looks up with immediate concern.

" 'omi! i think i lost my ring in the ocean and i'm not sure what to do! i swear i had it on me when i came over here the las—"

sakusa hastily places his book down and stands up, resting a hand upon your wet shoulder and quickly interjecting, "don't worry, (y/n). we'll find it."

you nod while clutching your hand, your look downwards, which he assumes is out of shame but really you are trying to hide the evil smirk creeping onto your face.

"do you think it may be in the sand?" he asks, collecting the towel off of the ground to wrap up your poor, trembling figure.

you shake your head, "no, it probably slipped off while i was swimming."

sakusa sighs out of his nose. that is exactly what he didn't want to hear. "alright, honey." without another word, he relucantly starts making his way over to the shore, with you following suit.

just as he reaches it, he bites his lip, standing right before where the sea meets the sand, watching intently as the water spills forward against his toes. you stand behind him, snug in the towel, and prompt, "are we gonna look?"

he looks at you over his shoulder, with a dull glint in his eyes. the ocean is just so disgusting, filled with all sorts of creatures, and he loathed getting wet, it was such an annoyance. but seeing your sweet face, knowing your longing for something, what kind of husband would he be if he didn't at least try to help? he'd do anything to stop you from being sad. though he did momentarily consider perhaps just buying another ring.

without any further delay, sakusa puffed out his chest and rolled up his trousers to his knees and hesitantly stepped into the ocean, cringing at the feeling of sand between his toes. the contaminated water making contact with his pristine white trousers also killed him a little, but it's all worth it for you, to see that smile.

speaking off which, once he was knees-deep, he turned around to look and furrowed his brows when he noticed you hadn't entered yet, "(y/n). aren't you going to look with me?"

you shake your head, wearing a cheesy grin on your face that only confuses him more. "it's okay, kiyoomi. i was only kidding about my ring being lost. look, here it is." you pull it out from it's hiding place and slip it back onto your finger, "i just wanted to see if you would get into the water and help me look for it."

sakusa sighed, again. ususally something like this would piss him off, but you only amused him. "of course i would, (y/n). i'd do anything for you, i thought you knew that."

you blush a tad at your husband's kind words, then motion for him to come out of the water. "you're the best, omi. but you can get out of the water now."

he blinks, looking down at his feet sunk into the sand, "this isn't as bad as i thought. maybe next time we c—"

"no, seriously, omi, get out!—" you try to leap forward and grab his hand to pull him out but it's too late. the big wave you had seen rushing towards you came with such speed and ferocity that it knocked sakusa right off his feet, leading to him falling back into the water.

thankfully, you are able to grab his arm in time to help him upright again, so he isn't submerged for too long. and although some may say you just saved his life, he doesn't look awfully impressed with you after he gasps for air and wipes the salt water away from his eyes, with a single seaweed draped over his shoulder like a very ugly shawl.

fully soaked now, he grits, "let's just go."

rather unbothered by the tide, considering you were already wet from swimming, you nod sympathetically and lock arms with your boyfriend, guiding him back to your stuff while trying your best not to burst out laughing, "good idea."

he huffs and tosses a strand of dripping hair away from his face, "seems like i'm the only one who has those anymore."

"you've been spending too much time with atsumu. his attitude has really rubbed off on you." you titter, gathering all your stuff, "or maybe that wave knocked all the sense out of you."

"that might be true. the ocean does make people stupider, clearly." sakusa raises his eyebrows, watching you take all the stuff while stands with his arms crossed.

"oh wow, maybe i should've left you out there for longer. maybe instead of my ring, you could've found yourself some manners." you throw the blanket at him, since he isn't holding anything, which he catches frantically.

"you're ring wasn't even there to begin with." he turns around to look at the ocean, catch off-guard by how gorgeous it look in the sunset.

"and neither were your manners!" you retort, glancing at him to see his reaction, only to find him staring off into the distance. you follow his gaze and gasp slightly at the ethereal sight.

it's sobering, watching the golden sun lower over the ocean, casting a hue pink and orange over the sparkling water. the perfect end to the perfect day. it made you wonder if you'd ever see something so beautiful ever again, though that's not a thought you shared with sakusa, as he knew he'd wake up next to you tomorrow.

he gulped and turned to you, and you beamed at him, instantly leaping into his arms. he stumbled a little but quickly found his balance and held you against him, close.

"thank you for coming with me today, 'omi. i had so much fun."

he smiled against your damp hair, and kisses your jaw, "you don't need to thank me. going anywhere with you is always my pleasure." his hands run down your arm until they find yours, and they graze the back of your fingers, brushing over your glittering ring, "because you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

#sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #sakusa fluff #kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi sakusa #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu time skip #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyu fluff #haikyū!!

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drewsbuzzcut · 1 year

Text

August Sipped Away Like A Bottle Of Wine

nico hischier x hughes!sister

warnings: slight angst, alcohol consumption

You first met Nico this summer as he was invited to spend the summer at the lake house as your brother’s guest. When you reached out to shake his hand, you swore you could feel electricity pulse in his palm and run through your body. His eyes are dark and chocolatey, something you’ve been dying to swim in.

The whole summer has been full of secret looks and small talk, you both spent the majority of the summer getting a feel of each other from afar. However, somewhere in between those small moments, you’ve gotten quite close. Never getting too close to one another, though, wanting to avoid any tension it’d cause with your older brothers.

You sneak glances at each other from across the backyard, feeling everything pass by as time stops between just the two of you. You feel the blistering sun on your back as you lay out to tan. Nico is hanging out with some of the others vacationing at the lake house, but his eyes never stray too far from you. It’s your 21st birthday, also known as the closing of your summer as you’re headed back to New York for school. Your heart hurts knowing you won’t be close to Nico anymore.

When your thoughts start to become too much, and the sun adds to your oncoming headache, you get up to head to the outside shower, needing to rinse off. You feel his eyes follow your movements, it creates pockets of tension that the others around you notice, but don’t think much of.

Stepping into the small cabin and turning the warm water on, you slip out of your bikini. The water feels refreshing on your sun kissed skin.

“Y/n,” you hear Nico’s accent and it pulls you in like a siren song. The sounds of the water dripping and laughter gets drowned out. Your heart thundering and Nico’s smooth voice are the only things you hear. You can feel the butterflies fluttering around just thinking of the mere fact that he’s standing behind the other side of the door.

“Yeah?” You answer, trying to hide the shrill of your voice.

While you wait for his answer you ring out the excess water from your hair and slip your bikini back on, knowing that you’re about to comply with whatever he asks. Your rinse is basically for nothing. Oh well. At least he can get a good look at you when you step out.

“Are you almost done?” You hear him ask. You don’t answer, you just take a deep breath and throw on your best doe eyes.

You open the door, making Nico look up at you. His eyes widen seeing you walking out in your red bathing suit that doesn’t cover much.

“Hey, captain,” you greet, using the nickname that makes his blush flare on his cheeks down to his neck.

You start to fiddle with the ties on the back of your bikini top, tying them securely. It makes Nico blush harder. He looks down with a small grin adorning his face, his hand scratching at the back of his neck to distract himself.

“Join me in beer pong?” He asks, his hand pressing gently on your back and about to bring you under his arm. His smile is shy and his eyes are pleading.

You stay still, not daring to touch him if you’re under the watchful eyes of your three brothers.

“Where are my brothers?” You watch Nico’s smile falter and almost bring him into your arms as an apology.

“They went to the store for something,” he says and you immediately wrap your arm around his waist. His hand falls on the top of your shoulder and you have the strong urge to crawl inside his skin and hide forever.

You take a few turns tossing the ping pong ball, and pouting each time you have to drink beer. Nico just grins at you while also landing his shots in your opponents’ cup after saying he will make it in just for you. You both joke around quietly, his words only for your ears as he leans down close to you, arm tight around your neck and your hand rests on his abdomen. If anyone notices your closeness, they don’t say a word.

Your fun dwindles down once your brothers join the game, unknowingly pulling you away from Nico. Instead of cheerful hugs in Nico’s arms, you let the hot day take you up to your room for the rest of the day. You decide to let yourself sulk about the fact that you will never have Nico the way you want. He most likely doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. Even if he does, you don’t think Jack would like the idea of you dating his captain.

You only step out for your birthday cake, wishing for Nico when you blow out your candles. It’s sad, honestly.

When the sun dips down and the stars come out, you hear a soft knock on your door. Nico waits for you in the dim light of the hallway and you yearn to cuddle into him as he’s wearing the softest looking sweatpants you’ve ever seen.

“Where did you go? I haven’t seen you all night,” he starts.

“It got too crowded, I needed some time to myself,” you explain.

“Want to join me outside. We can stargaze on the dock… and share this bottle of wine,” he attempts to persuade you, but you don’t need persuasion.

“You had me at stargaze,” you lie, knowing that he had you the moment you opened your door.

Outside you both sit in silence and just watch the stars, taking sips of wine every now and then.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions.

“I’m sad. This time of year is always sad,” you whisper a half truth.

“Why? It’s your birthday, shouldn’t you be happy?”

“Yes, but it’s also when I have to leave this place. I love it here. I love the summer- especially this summer,” you answer, trying to keep your tears from welling in your eyes. You feel dramatic for the way you feel. Your frustration starts to bubble and fester.

Nico seems to notice, so he caresses your cheek in his large hand. You feel your heart pause at the contact, not expecting it but desperately wanting it.

“Jack isn’t too far from you. You know he wouldn’t mind you visiting,” he tries to comfort you.

“Yeah, I know. I can’t come visit him, though. I can’t,” you say, not wanting him to know he’s the reason why you will not be visiting Jack. It’s too painful to be around him while fighting what you’re feeling.

“Yes, you can. Y/n, don’t not let yourself be happy. You always need your family,” he tries to get through to you.

“I know I’ll always have my family.”

I don’t have you.

You stop the conversation after that. You stare at the lake, the stars reflect off the dark expanse of the water, and you reflect off Nico’s eyes. You look back at him, expecting him to look away but he doesn’t. Your shoulders are pressed together, your hands start to seek out the other’s, and your eyes eventually gravitate to his lips. You think he might lean in but you force yourself to pull away before he has the chance to pull away.

“I think I should go to bed. I have to finish packing tomorrow,” you mutter, hastily getting up and walking away.

“Wait, y/n,” he says, walking after you.

“Goodnight, Nico,” you avoid his calls.

“Y/n.”

You keep walking.

“Y/n, please wait,” you feel like the dock takes miles to reach the back door.

You’re about to make it off the dock when you feel a large hand wrap around your stomach, pulling your body into his. For the moment you melt into his hold, but then you remember why you’re walking away.

“Nico, I’m tired,” you say, no fight behind your words.

“No, I don’t want this night to end. I don’t want this to end,” he says, turning you around so you’re staring into his eyes.

His hands land on the sides of your face, yours viscerally go to rest on his chest. You stare into those dark brown eyes of his, finally getting your chance of that deep dive you’ve been wanting.

You can feel yourself start to pull away, not wanting any false hope, but his hands fly to the small of your back to bring you right back into him. You shake your head, making yourself look away from him. You don’t see the frown lining his features, or the want that fills up his eyes while yours fill with unshed tears. His hand hooks under your jaw, bringing your lips to his. At first you feel like you’re dreaming, but when your soft lips slot with his slightly chapped ones and you feel yourself become lighter, you know you’re not dreaming.

“Cap,” you say slowly, waiting for the second shoe to drop, but it doesn’t. He shakes his head, eyes boring into yours, and brings your lips back to his. The firm weight of his lips on yours is pleasant just as the weight of his hands on your hips is delicious. The bitter taste of wine on his sweet tongue when it passionately explores your mouth makes your knees weak. It makes you want more.

Everything about him makes you want more. The way he kisses you hotly, but his hands roam your body gently and with respect.

The way his heart pounds for you and you only.

The way his body melts into yours.

The way you both have to force yourselves away from each other, too consumed by each other’s presence and the feelings they bring forth.

The slight tickle from his stubble lingers on your skin. Just the way the sweet smell of your shampoo hangs around his nose. Your soft, angel-like skin stays imprinted in his senses, and his accent plays on repeat in your ears.

That night stays on your mind every night after. Even 7 months later as you pack your bag for spring break, going to visit your brother Jack, you still think about the way Nico kissed every romantic poem and exclamation into your soul. You think about how that night was the last time you talked to him or touched him.

a/n: My first nico fic! I’m kinda excited for this and I hope y’all enjoy!

#nico hischier #nico hischier x hughes!sister #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier fluff #nico hischier fic #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nj devils

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cordeliawhohung · 10 months

Note

hello, how are you today? :D last time i checked i saw your requests were open so i wanted to ask if you could write a reader and cowboy!gaz piece?

i was watching western shows with my granny the other day (it's her pastime and honestly some of them are pretty interesting) and there was this part in an episode where a woman and her cowboy husband were doing the laundry together until someone came over to their house which was by the town and started to bother them and it escalated until the husband ended up fighting that person in the middle of the street... anyway, all the laundry that was up on the drying line was ripped and thrown to the ground in the tussle and the couple just look at each other after the whole ordeal and are just like...welp. more laundry again

but yeah that's sort of what happened, if it's possible, could you incorporate that plot with gaz and reader? it'd mean a lot to me and i think it'd be a little hectic but sometimes people find peace in all that chaos.

thank you!

oh my sweet sweet anon this idea rotted my brain and i wrote this in a day (: pardon any mistakes i wrote this half awake and sorry my brain was in the damn GUTTER the whole time but i hope you enjoy!!! thank you so much for this request it was so much fun and made me think about things i.... never have a;lskdjf

masterlist

You and your husband live a quiet life on the outskirts of town, that is until a misunderstanding ruins your calm day of doing laundry. At least your husband is there to help pick up the slack.

warnings: fluff! not much else!! core went overboard again! slight suggestive language. 2.6k words long.

Summers on the outskirts of the Rocky Mountains were always dry and warm. Blistering rays of sun soaked the fragrant sagebrush around you and you intermittently wiped sweat from your brow as you hung freshly washed laundry on the line to dry. The nice thing about the sweltering weather was that the unblocked sun and gentle breeze would make quick work of it.

Once you were half way through your pile, the familiar sound of a horse clomping their feet on the dirt road past your home caught your attention. After you finished pinning up one of your blouses, you paused and turned your gaze towards the road. Your husband, Kyle, meandered along on his horse not too far off in the distance. Grinning, you wiped your damp hands off on your apron before skipping off towards him. You had sent him off not too long ago to head into town to purchase a few things for dinner that night; one of the nice things about living so close to town was that errands never took him too long.

“You started the laundry without me!” he called out.

His horse, who he had named Cisco but you called Spot due to its domino-like pattern, snorted as they approached the gate you found yourself leaning against. Kyle hopped off in one smooth and rehearsed motion before he worked on parking his horse on the post. You innocently tilted your head at him as you watched his fingers diligently tie the reins around the wood. You watched the tendons in his hands flex as he worked, and you found your own hands busying themselves by toying with the strings of your apron.

“Figured I’d get a head start,” you explained.

“Head start?” he asked as he sauntered towards the gate. “Looks like you got half the load done already.”

You loved listening to him talk, and could never get enough of his voice. Not only the dark timbre of it, or the way he always crooned at you, but his accent. His family had immigrated from England when he was a young boy, and despite the time he spent in the American West, he still held onto bits of his accent. When you had first heard him speak, you thought it was silly the way he pronounced certain words, but you found it awfully cute hearing American terms from him.

“Sounds like you’ll have to make it up to me later,” you teased as he entered through the gate and closed it behind him.

He held out a small leather pouch and gently shook it in his hands as he approached you with a boyish grin. “Oh, was getting ingredients for supper not enough?” he teased.

You tilted your head again as you snatched the pouch out of his hands. You hummed as if considering his words. “I’ll have to think on it.”

Without another word, you turned around and began to make your way back towards the clothes line as you threw a teasing glance over your shoulder. Kyle stood there with his thumbs shoved in his pockets and a cheeky smile on his lips, and you weren’t oblivious to the way his eyes roamed down your legs, hypnotized by the sway of your hips.

You placed the pouch in the pocket of your apron as you approached the line again, and you felt the light weight of it swing around as you bent down to grab more clothes. Not far behind you, Kyle assisted in finishing the laundry, and the two of you worked quietly in finishing the mundane chore.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but steal a glance or two at Kyle. Alright, more than a glance or two, but you couldn’t be blamed. Not when he was as fine of a specimen as he was. A proper cowboy, he sported a thick pair of jeans that hugged his thighs and a long sleeved maroon shirt. His attire was a bit more relaxed as he wasn’t working with the animals, yet he still wore his black cowboy hat to keep the shining sun off his face. Even through the fabric of his shirt you could see the way his muscles flexed as he shook out one of your dresses before reaching up to pin it on the line. The way his waist tapered at his hips should have been illegal.

When a quarter of the pile was left, the furious huffing sounds of a horse could be heard galloping down the road at full speed. At first you didn’t pay it much mind, as plenty of people used the road outside your house to get to other ranches, but when the horse started to slow, you knew you had a visitor.

Mr. Davis was a kind enough man, albeit a bit thick skulled and old enough to watch the birth of the world. Kyle often said the man couldn’t tell a pig from his own mother, and though you chastised him and told him that was rude to say, you knew he was right. You had once gone into town to shop at the store he worked at and watched him struggle to figure out how much change he needed to give back to you. Instead of holding down the shop like he was supposed to, he was on his horse, very red in the face and speeding towards your home.

“What else did you do while you were in town?” you questioned as you held a damp pair of jeans.

Previously unbothered, Kyle stopped what he was doing and turned his attention to the road. The soft smile on his face vanished and was replaced with confusion. “Nothin’ that would warrant him showin’ up here.”

Sighing, Kyle quickly dried his hands off on the thighs of his jeans before resting a hand on the small of your back. Even through the fabric of your blouse you could feel how the warmth of him bleed through into your skin. The two of you stood there absolutely dumbfounded as you watched Mr. Davis struggle to park his horse next to Spot. It was lazy and half-assed work and you watched the reins slowly begin to unknot, but he stormed up the path anyway, up through the gate, and started to shake his finger as he approached you and Kyle.

“Mr. Davis!” Kyle greeted, a bit tense as he took a few steps towards the man. “What can I help you with?”

“Help? You can help by returning my bell!” the man shouted, his hoarse voice hardly carrying over the distance.

He stopped just short of the end of the clothes line and he crossed his arms over his chest. Sweat laid in heavy beads across his forehead, and his breathing was far more labored than it should have been. His lips sat in a thin line and you noticed how his eyebrow kept twitching as he stood there glaring at your husband.

“I apologize, but I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talkin’ about,” Kyle admitted as his thumbs dipped back into his pockets.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mr. Davis snapped as he pointed his finger. “You snuck it into that bag of yours, didn’t you?”

Instinctively, your hand clutched at the pocket of your apron where you kept the pouch Kyle had used to store the items for dinner. It was mostly spices and small vegetables; certainly nothing that could have been confused with any bell. Mr. Davis must have caught sight of your reaction because he took another step forward in an attempt to walk around Kyle.

“Yes! That one!” he exclaimed. He held his hand out with the intention of snatching it from you, and you found yourself stumbling backwards. “Hand it here, girl!”

Before the man could get close to you, Kyle’s hand shot out and grabbed Mr. Davis by his wrist. The only other time you had seen Kyle that angry was when someone had spilled bourbon over his brand new chaps. It took ages for you to help him get the stench of alcohol out of them, and a rumor had started going around that he was a drunk because of the stench. But the fire in his eyes then was nothing but a small spark compared to the raging storm that ate up the sweet brown hue of his irises.

“You best remember who you’re talkin’ to,” Kyle warned. “That’s my wife and you’d do well to treat her with respect.”

As if the store clerk wasn’t riled up enough, being grabbed by Kyle certainly pushed him over the edge. He tried to wrestle his arm out of your husband’s grip, but Kyle was infinitely stronger than the rather fragile man. All he had managed to do was flail his arms until his hand caught on the collar of one of Kyle’s work shirts. Pins came flying loose as the clothing was tossed down into the dirt on the ground.

“Respect?” Mr. Davis repeated incredulously. “Awfully interesting of you to request respect when you stole something right under my nose!”

“Mr. Davis, please,” you tried to reason, “I’m not quite sure what it is you’re looking for.”

“My bell!” he shouted in response, arms still flailing against Kyle’s grip.

“Well, yes, but perhaps if you took a moment to breathe and explain-”

“Or your lying husband could give back what’s mine!” he interrupted.

“Alright,” Kyle warned, “that’s enough outta you.”

What unfolded in front of you was so confusing you didn’t have the words to explain it. Mr. Davis wasn’t an insidious man, by any means, just extremely dense, so when Kyle tried to drag him off your property, he did his best not to hurt the man. Though the man had nothing on your husband's strength, he certainly knew how to flail. Shirts, dresses, jeans; several articles of clothing flew to the ground as Mr. Davis managed to tangle himself in the clothing line. If you hadn’t spent the better part of the last hour or so washing them by hand, you would have thought the sight was a bit comedic. Instead you found yourself cringing at the awkwardness of it all.

Your only saving grace through it all was that another horse galloped at full speed towards your home. Clay Turner was the owner of the store Mr. Davis worked for, so it only made sense he was the one you saw racing towards your home. He was a fine and charismatic gentleman, but you had caught him sneaking fresh produce into his pockets on several occasions. You weren’t sure how a business could be as successful as his when he shoved his mouth full of his product any chance he could get, but you weren’t one to judge too harshly when the prices were so cheap.

“Whole damn town coming to visit?” you mumbled to yourself.

“Mr. Davis!” he called, nearly tossing himself onto the ground as he rushed through the gate. “Stop harassing these poor folks!”

But the man was still too busy tussling with Kyle to pay much attention to his boss. Clay shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small metal item that he held lazily up in the air. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was a small bell; the type to put on a desk or counter in order to call someone over. Was this the item Mr. Davis came all that way to accost your husband over?

It wasn’t until Clay started to ring the bell that the man stopped struggling, but even then his eyes found you as he pointed at you once more. “Ah, so you do have it! Give it here this instant!”

“Oh, you senile old man,” Clay muttered. With more force than needed, he yanked Mr. Davis away from Kyle and shoved the bell into his hands. The man looked down, completely astounded. “Maggie’s boy snatched it off the counter, you idiot. Now get on your horse and get back to work.”

Burning red shame on his face, Mr. Davis looked up from his bell, to Kyle, and then to you before watching his feet as he walked back towards the gate without so much as an apology. Sighing, Clay offered the two of you a short smile as he wiped his hands off on the front of his shirt.

“I apologize for that delirious old man,” he said sincerely. “He bought a desk bell for the front counter and brought it into work today. Says it’s easier to keep track of customers while he’s doing inventory. As you can tell it’s… very important to him.”

“So I noticed,” Kyle deadpanned.

Clay’s face tensed as he glanced at you and then to the ground. A myriad of clothing was scattered everywhere with heavy amounts of dirt smudged into the fabric. On the front of your favorite blush pink blouse was a large footprint. You’d be lying if you said that sight didn’t upset you a little bit.

“I apologize for the mess, Mrs. Garrick,” Clay continued. “I’ll make sure to give you a mighty fine discount next time you visit the store.”

One short and awkward farewell later, Clay and Mr. Davis slowly faded away down the road. Dumbfounded, Kyle turned to face you with a small shake of his head. His hat had been knocked off in the midst of their argument, but had been caught by his stampede strings and rested against his back. A few buttons had either been torn off or came loose because the top part of his shirt was open, exposing his sternum. Glistening skin laid underneath, and you found your eyes drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

“Knew I should’ve gone to Clancy’s,” Kyle sighed. “Why don’t you head inside and start supper? I’ll clean up out here.”

Humming, you reached for him and rested your hand on his chest. Sweat covered his skin in a thin sheen, and he felt warm to the touch. Whatever irritation that had been on his face melted away into a smirk as he rested his hand on top of yours.

“What?” he teased, smirk morphing into a grin. “You asked me to make it up to you earlier, didn’t you?”

“I had something a little more fun in mind than you doing chores,” you admitted.

As he thought for a moment, your hand slowly trailed down his sternum, only stopping when you had been blocked by the closed buttons of his shirt. Kyle took the stampede strings from around his throat and grabbed a hold of his hat before quickly placing it on your head. It was a few sizes too big and fit oddly on your head, and you found your hands flying up to keep it on straight.

“How about we wait to have fun until we’re sure we won’t get any more visitors?” he suggested.

A part of you wanted to say you didn’t care, but you knew that if Mr. Davis came by again to pitch a fit while you were trying to spend quality time with Kyle, the sheriff would be investigating a murder. So you huffed in agreement before crossing your arms.

“Alright,” you conceded. “Suppose I might as well put these ingredients to good use after all the trouble you went through to get it.”

Kyle’s hand came up to your chin and tilted your head upwards. He placed a short, chaste kiss on your lips before diving back in for a deeper one. A part of you almost wished he hadn’t because that only made your desire for him grow stronger. It took everything within you to keep your hands to yourself, and you instead busied your fingers with the task of keeping his hat on your head. You still felt him lingering on your lips in a pleasant tingle even after he pulled away.

“Atta girl.”

cowboy hat rule cowboy hat rule cowboy hat rule

#gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod gaz x reader #cowboy!gaz

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imagine-darksiders · 4 months

Text

Eden's Heir, chapter 4 - The Jump.

I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this. A lot has happened recently, not all of it good, but I'm still here, and will continue to be by hook or by crook! I've had to cut it into two chapters because the final fight between the Slag Demon and the Horsemen is taking way too long to write. Good news though, there'll be two chapters in [hopefully] quick succession. Hooray! Hope you like this one, guys, thank you all so much for standing by me and waiting so patiently.. I don't know where I'd be without your support. <3 <3 <3

Summary:

As you grapple with the horrifying, new reality you've found yourself in, Strife continues to torment you in the misguided hope that somehow, you'll spontaneously start to like him. His jokes are terrible. It's just a shame you have a weakness for terrible jokes. War, meanwhile, can't stop his eyes from wandering to your fresh, undeserved scar...

You suppose that when Strife said this would be ‘fun,’ he was only factoring himself into the equation. Because for you, there’s nothing very fun about having your particles ripped apart and rocketed through a portal which, according to modern science, should not and does not exist.

Well, modern science owes you a formal apology.

As it turns out, portals very much do exist, and they’re a lot less fun than the media has led you to believe.

The experience - though you hesitate to give it such a mundane moniker - isn’t… painful, per se, mostly because the whole process is over and done with so quickly that your brain and body aren’t given the time to notice that they’ve been squished through one end of a worm hole, reassembled atom by atom, and then spat out on the other side.

Perhaps more disconcertingly than the feeling itself is the fact that when you’re hanging for that split-second moment in a space outside of existence itself, you notice that the temperature around you inexplicably skyrockets.

And frankly, you’re not sure which is worse… The stale, unwelcoming chill of the Void, or the absolute blistering inferno that greets you within less than a second of leaving it.

Before you can even open your mouth to scream at the unnatural process your very human body is being subjected to, the space around you solidifies and stabilises again, and an unexpected jolt shoots straight through you when Strife’s metal boots collide with a hard, stone surface, jarring your stomach painfully against his shoulder pauldron.

At the same time, a wave of hot, dry air sweeps over you from head to toe, cloaking you in uncomfortable and immediate warmth that’s downright oppressive, thick and inescapable, as if you’ve just been tossed onto the fiery surface of the sun and left to sizzle.

Actually, now that you’ve experienced both extremes, perhaps you are sure which is worse. At least that sinister demon’s Void didn’t make you want to peel yourself out of your own skin.

Groaning miserably, you pick your hazy head up and suck in a breath that goes down about as well as spoiled meat, and then nearly retch at the unpleasant texture of heat sliding down the walls of your oesophagus like something squirming and alive.

Even the metal chain on your bag begins to grow warm against the skin of your neck, dangling down below your head near the Horseman’s holsters.

“Hot damn,” Strife announces, concisely putting a voice to your thoughts.

Your lashes are sticky from leftover tears, clumping together when you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to pry them apart again. It takes a few arduous blinks before your blurry surroundings bleed into focus.

You rather wish you’d just kept your head down and your eyes firmly shut.

If there were any doubts left in your mind that teleportation really is possible, they swiftly fly out of the proverbial window when you catch your first, proper glimpse of the surroundings.

Wherever you are, it definitely isn’t the same place you were in barely ten seconds ago.

Bracing a palm against Strife’s solidly armoured back, you lever your torso up slightly to give yourself a better view of the world around you.

It seems that the portal – your brain starts to ache as it tries to accept the existence of those – has spat you out underneath the roof of an absolutely gargantuan cavern.

Roving your gaze back and forth, mouth ajar, you notice the walls, floor and ceiling are made entirely of dark, igneous rock, and yet all around you, you start to spot signs of… Well, perhaps not civilisation exactly, but definitely an external presence that gives you the impression that this is a keep of some kind, dug by hand rather than time or nature.

Two, immense pillars stand proudly at the far corners of the enormous chamber, large enough to prop up the roof of a veritable mountain.

Craning your neck back until it twinges, you squint through a haze of simmering air at the ceiling far above you, feeling a trickle of dread creep down into the pit of your stomach.

Bolted into the rock between the stalactites, there are numerous, gigantic chains hanging like eerie sentinel over your heads, so large and heavy that it doesn’t look as though anything short of gale-force winds could cause them to sway. You don’t dare to imagine what purpose they might serve.

Pale, unreachable light trickles lazily down from above, dappling little patches of the grey stone underneath Strife’s boots.

With your heart wedged in your throat, you swallow another curl of heat and let your gaze wander over to the side of the keep to where the ground falls away in a sheer drop several feet from the walls. It’s from the resulting pit that a vivid, orange glow rises, carrying with it the distinct sound of cracking, like glass windows slowly splintering apart, or a lake of ice breaking under a heavily placed boot. And below that sound, a deep, subterranean rumble serves as the background noise to this stifling place, constant and oozing.

Coupled with the acrid stench permeating your nostrils and the sweltering heat, you’re suddenly struck by the very disconcerting but plausible notion that you might have found yourself in the heart a volcano.

As if your day wasn’t horrendous enough.

All of a sudden, your ears are pricked by a low grunt from somewhere just a little too close to you, reminding you of your larger tormentor’s presence with a nauseating pang to the stomach. Consequentially, the unsightly welt on your forearm gives an insistent twinge.

Twisting your head to the left, you nearly jump out of your skin to find War has appeared out of thin air beside you, straightening to his full domineering height that easily clears his brother, and subsequently, you. The hooded behemoth only spares you a disinterested glance before his pale, blue eyes dart away again just as quickly and he stomps around to Strife’s front, out of view.

A breath you didn’t know you were keeping behind your teeth shakes itself loose.

You have to peel your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth like a strip of velcro before you’re able to form a small, hesitant question in a voice baked hoarse and thin. “What is this place?”

No sooner has your meek question faded below the rumble of the cavern’s ambiance than an entirely new and harrowing sound punctures the otherwise quiet air.

Howling along the cavern walls comes a piercing, anguished scream, stemming from a place much deeper than you’ve already seen. It’s a raw sound, broken and terrified and primal, like a man with his humanity stripped and skewed just enough that he can’t quite be called human any longer. It prompts a sharp gasp out of you as the sound ricochets off the rocks, curdling your blood and raising the finer hairs on the back of your neck.

As if he’s entirely unconcerned with such a horrifying occurrence, Strife plants his free hand squarely on a hip and draws in a deep, obnoxious breath through his nose before he sighs it all out again, casting a casual glance around with all the air of a man surveying a pleasant sunrise.

“Ahh~ Screams of suffering, chains hanging from the ceiling, no sign of an exit…” he sighs wistfully, clapping the back of your thigh with his palm and announcing, “Yep! We’re definitely in a dungeon.”

He seems oblivious to your apprehension as you dart your eyes to every darkened corner of the cavern as if you might find the source of the tormented scream, curling your legs up under your dress until your knees bump against the Horseman’s chest. “A-a dungeon!?” you gulp, kneading your fingers between the gaps of Strife’s armoured spine, “A dungeon for what?”

Distracted for a fleeting moment by the foreign sensation of fingertips pressing against his leather under-armour, the Horseman almost forgets to respond.

It isn’t until he notices War’s expectant glare burning a hole into the side of his visor that he gives his head a shake and promptly shrugs his massive shoulders, swinging himself around to face away from his brother, and in doing do, bringing you almost nose to chest with the surly giant.

“Beats me,” he hums, utterly heedless of the fearsome stare-down currently happening just behind his head, “Probably for the poor bastard we just heard screaming... And a few others, to boot.”

Angling your head up, you have to gulp past a rather thick lump in your throat as you peer meekly up at War, who in turn, glares right back down at you, his eyes glinting ominously from within the shadow of his hood.

Reluctant to drop your gaze or even breathe for fear of provoking him by committing some unknowable slight, you shrink against Strife and duck your head, peeping up at him through your lashes as you tap your forefinger against one of the silver armour pieces interlocking across your captor’s back.

“Um,” you start, hearing Strife’s helm brush against your dress when he turns to listen, “C-can you, uh, put me down now…” Then, following a notable stretch of deafening silence, you squeakily tack on a hurried, “Please?”

There’s no guarantee that being on the ground will be any better for you than dangling over an uncomfortable, metal shoulder, but you’re at least willing to entertain the illusion that you’ll be safer on your feet without Strife dictating your every move. A modicum of control is better than none at all.

And truthfully, you’d just like to end the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of distraught potatoes.

Yet for some, inane reason, the armour-clad Horseman doesn’t seem as eager to relinquish you as you are to be relinquished.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” he drawls, bumping his shoulder up and down playfully, no doubt to pull a rise out of you which you frustratingly give him in the form of a gasp before he continues, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Still glaring down at you, unimpressed, War gives an exasperated huff, blasting a jet of warm air onto the crown of your head.

“Put her down,” he states firmly, lifting his gaze from you at last, “You will need both hands free if we run into trouble.”

Knocking his head back over a shoulder to address you, Strife grins beneath his helm and murmurs, “Ha. You’d be amazed what I can pull off one-handed.”

Trying your best to ignore his boast, you roll your eyes and start to squirm, wriggling around under the weight of his arm. “Ugh,” you complain, “Will you please just put me down?”

“Mmm…” Humming obnoxiously, Strife sucks his teeth and replies, “Depends. You gonna try and run away again?”

That, at least, gives you something to consider. Are you going to try and run again? They certainly haven’t given you much of a reason not to.

The scar War gave you still burns when you bend your arm a certain way and the flesh pulls and stretches beyond the limits of the tissue.

More to the point, how do you really know any of what they’ve told you is true?

How do you know you’re not on Earth right now, somewhere remote, yes, but escapable. Because they told you you’re not?

You don’t know these giants from Adam.

You can’t trust anything they say. You don’t trust anything they say. And while you’ve undeniably found yourself smack-dab in the middle of some seriously unnatural goings on, that doesn’t mean you have to accept everything at face value.

Reality might be breaking apart around you, but you don’t have to join it, tempting though it may be to curl up into a ball and sob until the problem sorts itself out.

Desperate, your brain falls into a tailspin as it tries to rationalise such irrational circumstances.

Outwardly however, you’re aware he’s waiting for a response, so, sweeping your tongue nervously over your bottom lip, you finally croak out a hesitant, “No?”

The silence that follows is damn near chilling.

Twisting your neck up and back over your shoulder, you catch the shine in one of Strife’s luminous eyes peering at you, narrow and thin with obvious scepticism.

“Huh,” he says, clicking his tongue, “That didn’t sound very convincing. I’m not very convinced.” Casting a look over at his brother, he adds, “War, are you very convinced?”

Predictably, War’s only response is to glower down at the shorter Horseman and grumble impatiently at the back of his throat.

Nonplussed, Strife returns his attention to you. “I don’t think he’s very convinced.”

You have to press your lips into a firm, immoveable line and swallow back the vulgar words you’d just love to spew all over his shoulder…. Instead, you heave in a hot, arduous breath and slowly reiterate, “No. I won’t try to run away.” Then for added measure… “Again.”

You loathe that you can feel the scrutiny of not one, but two apocalyptic beings boring into the side of your head with suspicious, calculating glares.

Just as you’re beginning to consider whether pulling his hair will get him to drop you or kill you, Strife suddenly perks up, his sinister doubt disappearing as he raises his chin to pipe, “A’right. Good enough for me.”

Taken wildly aback, you let your mouth hang open whilst Strife simply raises his arms and lays two oversized hands on your hips, causing your jaw to snap shut before you can emit an embarrassing squeak of fright.

With far too much ease, the Horseman lifts you up and off his shoulder.

The moment you lose the stability of his armour under your stomach, you begin to tilt forwards. Choking on a gasp, you throw your hands up and brace them on each of his forearms.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he chuckles brightly, to your immense dismay.

It’s a disconcerting sight. From the tips of your fingers to the heels of your palms, your hands don’t even wrap halfway around his armoured wrists.

Gawking down at your appendages, they seem so lost against the enormity of the arms that lower you gently to the ground.

As soon as the soles of your shoes touch a solid surface again, you waste no time in ripping your hands away from him and staggering backwards, trying but failing to extract yourself from his sturdy grasp.

Before you can get very far at all, fingers of solid steel bury themselves into your dress at the hip and you jerk to an immediate halt for fear of tearing the fabric by struggling. Arms held aloft to avoid touching his own again, you throw a wary look up at Strife’s visor, reluctantly meeting those sharp, alien eyes and finding they’ve narrowed to thin lines of gold, gleaming brightly against the shadows cast by his helm.

“You’re gonna have to get used to sticking close to one of us, kid,” he warns, his tone brooking no argument and devoid of any previous jocularity, “Cause as nasty as you think we are, I guarantee there’re things in here that are a thousand times worse.”

The well you typically draw your courage from ran dry long ago, long before you came here, long before you quietly agreed to marry Cain. So, you aren’t sure where you find the nerve to jut out your chin and bitterly remark, “Worse than trying to slice off my limbs?”

Sudden movement freezes you in your shoes as War emerges from behind his brother, moving to stand at his side and swallowing you up in the egregious shadow he casts across the ground.

Ignoring his approach, the gunslinger continues to hold you still.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, “A lot worse.”

Squeezing your lips into a tight, anxious pout, you swallow, unnerved by the way his gaze instantly dips to watch your throat bob around the undulating motion.

Gradually, you lower your head, losing the defiance of a jutting chin to instead tuck it timidly away against your chest, consumed by the sudden and unwarranted ideas that start to flash in your mind’s eye, showing you gruesome fates that could await you just around the corner.

If two gigantic maniacs wielding guns and a sword aren’t the worst you could face…

Just what the Hell have you walked into?

Regarding you closely for a few more moments, Strife eventually gives his head a satisfied bob, deeming that you’ve read him loud and clear.

Gingerly, he starts to peel his fingers from your dress, wincing when the gaps in his gauntlets pinch the delicate fabric as he returns his hands to his sides. Regardless, all of his muscles remain bunched, ready to spring into action at the first sign that you might go back on your word and attempt to flee after all.

He’s almost more caught off guard when you don’t move.

Instead, you murmur a soft, “Thank you,” which just about smacks the jaw clean off his face. Staring down at you, his lips parted by a fraction, he watches you fiddle with a jewelled band of gold sitting at the base of one of your fingers for several seconds before he remembers to blink.

Indifferent, and admittedly ignorant of his sudden bout of silence, you try to distract yourself by absently brushing the palms of your hands over your dress, tutting softly at the creases and rumples in the tulle.

It’s all you can think to do now that you’ve got a little freedom back.

Nearby, War shifts his immense weight to stand even closer to Strife’s flank, and together, the brothers share a sidelong glance before returning their attention to the fussy, little human in front of them.

Even with the helm obscuring most of Strife’s angular features, War only needs to take one glance at his profile to catch the distinct and unmistakable gleam of fascination bleeding through the cracks in his armour.

Typical Strife, he scoffs to himself. The minute something new and shiny comes along, it’s all he seems to be able to think about. And there are very few things newer and shinier than a lost human dressed from head to toe in sparkling, white garb.

Hauling his eyes up towards the cavernous ceiling, War lets out an exasperated sigh and brusquely elbows Strife aside, sweeping him backwards with the palm of his prosthetic gauntlet, much to his brother’s belligerence.

“Hey!” he barks, though he goes entirely ignored.

Stepping sideways into the spot Strife had once occupied, War places his back to the smaller Nephilim and clears his throat, curious at the way you quickly stiffen like a prey animal and gradually lift your head.

He stands so close that you have to tip it all the way back before you’re even able to meet his eye, reminding him of how much smaller humans are. Smaller, and weaker…

The colossal Horseman almost can’t quite believe that for a member of a species so vulnerable, you don’t seem to possess any weapons. Natural or otherwise.

His eyes drift down to the long, pink line he’d marked you with. You hadn’t tried to claw or bite or do much of anything to stop him, not that it would have made an iota of difference. You were helpless… And he…

A pair of snowy white brows twitch microscopically inwards.

“Do you know how to fight?” he utters at last, lifting his gaze to meet your otherworldly stare. He doesn’t miss how you seem to be fixated on something behind his crimson hood, and if he has to hazard a guess, you’re staring directly at Chaoseater’s hilt.

Pulling a face, you look back at him and croak, “I… I-I’m sorry?”

Briefly wondering why in the nine Hells you’re apologising, he presses, “Have you any weapons training?” When all he receives it a blank stare, he casts his mind about for something primitive you’ll have heard of and adds, “Swords? Axes…? Bows?”

“Guns?” Strife eagerly pipes up from somewhere behind him.

Heaving an irritated sigh, War half turns his head over a shoulder and snaps, “She is a human. She doesn’t know what guns are.”

“I… What?” you peep, wrenched from your stupor by the absurdity of his declaration, “Uh… Yes, I do.”

Bemused, War raises his brow at you and retorts, “No, you do not.”

For a moment, you’re so dumbstruck by his apparent ignorance that you forget how much larger and more dangerous he is, enough that you pluck up the gall to scoff at him and insist, “Uh. I’m pretty sure I do? Humans have been using guns for centuries.”

Raising your hands, you start to knock a list off your fingers, unaware of the behemoth’s eyes growing wide.

“Shotguns, rifles, pistols-“ you state, pausing to throw a hand out and gesture at the guns in Strife’s leather holsters. “Revolvers-!”

You’re unprepared for War to suddenly move forwards, instantly cutting off your rambling list and sending your glimmer of nerve scurrying back down your throat as he leans towards you, filling your field of view with his indomitable, ferocious scowl.

On a reflex, you tilt backwards with a hand on your chest, blinking owlishly up into the depths of his hood.

“How could you possibly know about firearms?” he demands, the sigil on his forehead burning with fiery heat as his temper flares.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stammer out, “I.. I don’t, I’m not-“

“-Hey,” Strife tries to interject, “C’mon, War. You’re scarin’ her.”

Disregarding his brother, the Horseman raises his voice and growls, “Who has been supplying you?! Speak!”

Your hands wring together as you try to form an answer, struggling in the face of someone who has proven they have no qualms about hurting you. But all you can produce is another pitiable whimper. “Nobody! We just-“

Before you can utter another sound, a large, silver hand suddenly appears over War’s shoulder, grabbing the metal pauldron that’s been forged in the likeness of a snarling face and tugging him away from you.

“War!” Strife barks, trying to wrench his brother around to face him, “I said back off.”

Savagely tearing his arm out of his grasp, War rounds on him, nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Flinging his arm out towards you indicatively, he bellows, “If humans are being supplied with weapons-!”

“-Then why’re you takin’ it out on her, and not the asshole trying to arm her species?”

War’s teeth click shut, his shoulders heaving with every breath he pulls into his train carriage chest.

Letting out a sigh, Strife sends a sideways glance at you, lowering his voice to add, “Come on. Look at who you’re trying to intimidate.”

Begrudgingly, War follows his brother’s line of sight.

You’re well aware you aren’t exactly giving humanity a good name right now, shivering like a wet leaf and holding your injured arm guardedly against your chest, all the while stifling a sob and eyeing War as if he’ll draw his sword and run you through at any moment.

For several, terrible seconds, the Horseman’s sneer remains locked in place, rigid and threatening, but as he watches you cower away from him, something in War’s almighty resolve shudders…

And yields.

Slowly, at a pace that would make a glacier yawn, his hard snarl recedes.

“See,” Strife points out, “You just look like a dick.”

The furious expression is back on War’s face in the blink of an eye, but at least this time, he aims it at his brother, opening his mouth to suck down a sharp breath, ready to berate him…

Rocks skitter across the ground somewhere too close for comfort, snatching the attention of your unlikely troop.

As one unit, Strife and War spin towards the far end of the chamber where the noise had come from, reaching for their weapons and placing their broad, armoured backs to you.

It would be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it, if you weren’t frozen solid by the prospect of running into whatever made these juggernauts so jumpy.

The former Horseman draws both of his guns from their holsters so quickly, your eyes can barely keep track of the movement. War, in the meantime, takes a gigantic step backwards as he swings his accursed sword over his shoulder, crowding you into a clumsy retreat to avoid having your toes stepped on.

Frantic, you try to peer through the gap between the titans, scanning the chamber walls for any sign of life.

“What the hell was that?” you can’t help but whisper-shout, hardly daring to breathe.

Neither of them replies for a time, not even Strife, who has his revolvers aimed out at the room, his arms still as statues as if he isn’t even vaguely affected by the weight of his guns.

Seconds tick by at an agonising pace, and the three of you wait, and wait, straining your ears to try and pick up another sound. But aside from the crackle of lava cooling as it hits the air, everything remains perfectly still and silent once more.

After another minute, War grunts, lowering his sword and casting a dark look up at the ceiling. “We’ve lingered here for too long,” he remarks, half turning to peer down at you again, his eyes skimming over you from head to toe.

“So,” he starts, “You’ve handled guns?”

Shaking your head, you hold your hands out helplessly and say, “No, I mean, I know about them, but I-I’ve never actually shot one.”

“I could teach you,” Strife pipes up, thrusting the revolvers back into their holsters with casual ease.

“Now is hardly the time, brother,” War snaps, still eyeing you pensively.

Something very strange has been hovering about you like a miasma ever since you crashed into his brother in the Void. Something unplaceable that he can’t quite put his finger on. You are human, that much is confirmed, but you’re not like any human he’s ever heard of. It’s a troubling notion, that some unseen force might be trying to arm your species. If that’s the case, they’ll need to figure out who. Then why.

But in the meantime, he and Strife have a job to do, here and now.

First thing’s first…

“… Never handled a weapon,” he murmurs aloud.

It makes sense, he concedes. Humans aren’t a war-faring species, so it’s little wonder that you don’t know how to use weapons… For War, however, a Nephilim who has been holding a blade since the day he was risen from dust, the concept seems so alien, not to mention disconcerting.

Inclining his head, he gives you another once-over before turning away, stating matter-of-factly, “You will be a liability.”

It’s such a blasé statement, accusing, as if you’re culpable of something you’ve had no control over thus far. It actually makes you recoil as you draw your head back to fix him with an incredulous frown, lips parted, and your brows furrowed heavily above your eyes.

Despite every fibre of your being telling you that there’s a terrible idea forming at the back of your mind, you take a step away, lean your weight on your heel, and start to size him up.

Now, you’ve picked some battles before, tried to stand up to people you had no business standing up to. Cain and Delilah nipped that streak in the bud back when you thought asserting your opinion on matters of marriage should make a difference. Those battles were wildly different from this one, and you lost, every time, worn down and beaten back from the woman you used to be by wills stronger and more tempered than yours. You used to think you could face the world bravely, and all it took were a few people to show you that you weren’t as strong as you liked to think you were. It humbled you, and over time, you learned an easier life was synonymous with a passive life.

But you’ve been passive a lot lately.

Maybe you’ve been running on cold feet for too long. Maybe this whole, nightmarish interruption to your routine is finally catching up to you and numbing you to sense and logic, but truth be told?

You really don’t like hearing that this is somehow your fault.

Balling your hands into fists, you swallow thickly, and steady yourself with a noisy breath, wondering if this will be the moment you get to learn if there’s a Heaven as well as a Hell.

“Hey! I didn’t ask you to bring me with you, okay?” you say in a wobbly voice, staring at a spot just past his left arm to avoid his glare lest your words fail you completely, “Maybe, if I’m such a liability, you should just leave me to find my own way home!”

His head snaps properly in your direction with such velocity, you let out a gasp, flinching backwards and shrinking in on yourself again, your eyes darting to his lips that curl just the slightest in one corner, and the little bit of gall sitting on your tongue shrivels up and dies at the back of your throat.

Oh well. It was nice to have your guts back while it lasted. Just a pity they’re probably about to get ripped out of you for raising your voice.

For a number of unpleasant seconds, War merely regards you like you’ve just completely thrown him for a loop, neither raising his sword nor his fist to send you spinning off your mortal coil into the aether.

Finally, just as you’re beginning to fidget under his inspection, he quirks his brow at you and slowly states, “If you leave… you will die.”

You were expecting him to lose his temper again, to shout you down or put you down, not remark on your chances of survival.

“Oh, as if you give a shit about that,” you huff guardedly, curling a palm over your marred forearm and eyeing the Horseman like he’ll tear you in half for daring to call attention to the injury he caused.

War’s stance and expression don’t change in the slightest. He only continues to observe you coolly from inside his hood, ignoring the frequent looks Strife keeps flicking between the pair of you.

After a further spell of silence in which you seem to grow impossibly smaller, he at last gives an appraising hum and straightens his shoulders, jerking his head towards his brother and declaring, “You will stay close to Strife.”

Wait… You will?

“I will?” you say aloud, sending the other Horseman a distrustful glance. Strife, for his part, looks conversely pleased with the verdict, his head tipping coltishly to one side as he gives you a little wave.

… Well, you suppose if you have to choose between the two, the less time you spend near War the better. You assume he feels the same about having to be close to you, at least until he adds, “If we run into trouble, his guns allow him range. He will not let anything to get close to you.”

“They’re welcome to try,” his brother says cheerfully, thumbing the stock of a revolver.

Wilting like a helpless flower plucked from its patch of earth, you weakly ask, “Do I have a choice?”

Giving a hearty chuckle, Strife takes an exaggerated step closer to your side and pivots on his heel to face the same direction, cheerfully replying, “Ah, c’mon. Don’t be like that. I thought you humans were social. Safety in numbers, and all that?”

Disconcerted by his proximity, you lean away from him, cupping your elbows. “That’s not true for all of us,” you mumble.

You hear his intake of breath and prepare yourself for yet more inane chatter, but at that moment, you jump as another howl – distant but hair-raising – comes drifting into the chamber from some unknown offshoot deeper in the keep’s depths.

“Fucking hell,” you quake, your voice shaking like glass on the verge of shattering.

At your side, Strife mutters, “My sentiments exactly.”

Raising his head to catch War’s eye, he swings his chin towards the only visible exit; the apex of a wide, stone staircase that winds down away from the chamber, disappearing into a tunnel below. “You wanna take point?”

War’s response is a rich, throaty hum, accompanied by a decisive nod. “Indeed, we have wasted more than enough time here. Let us find Vulgrim’s troubling demon and pry the artifact from its cold, dead hands.”

“Ohho-okay!” Strife grins, suddenly gleeful as he claps his hands together, “Now you’re getting me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, War turns away and makes for the stairs, swinging his arm up to clip Chaoseater into its usual place on his back. Blankly watching him leave, you give a start when something metal and solid nudges at the small of your back, prodding you to stumble forwards awkwardly until Strife’s knuckles drop and he falls into step beside you, one stride for every two and a half of yours.

“I love it when he gets like this,” he remarks.

Begrudgingly, you resign yourself to trail after his brother and ask, “What? Murderous?”

“Oh yeah. Even he can be fun.” Tilting his head to the side in thought, he adds, “On occasion.”

Sweat has been steadily gathering on your forehead, and as you finally begin to move, a tiny droplet breaks free of your brow and trickles slowly down the side of your face. Of all the days to get swept up in a Universe-spanning caper, it would be the day you elected to wear one of the most awkward and cumbersome dresses known to man.

“So far none of this has been fun,” you huff, reaching up to flick the sweat drop away with a finger.

Strife’s boots hit the top step and he twists his helm sideways to shoot you a mock-offended smirk, “Not even me?”

You don’t bother to respond to that, instead throwing nervous glances around the room as you lift the front of your skirts and start to descend the staircase, your heels clacking noisily against the hard stone underfoot and echoing off the high walls. Somewhere nearby, you can hear liquid lava squeaking and splintering as it hits the marginally cooler air, though the heat only seems to grow more stifling the further you venture.

Absently, you wonder if you remembered to put your setting spray in the bag.

The staircase spirals down into the depths of a tunnel, twisting out of view and giving you no concept of what might lay ahead. To your left, you note the presence of tall, metal spikes jutting from a pit that runs alongside the stairs, like a wrought-iron fence whose purpose has been retrofitted into an inefficient and hostile railing. From the corner of an eye, you spot something round and ivory impaled halfway down one of those spikes. A single glimpse is all you need before you immediately avert your gaze to the stairs ahead, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a pair of dark, unseeing eye sockets seem to sear into your back as you continue your descent.

As you move lower, more signs start to appear that you aren’t the only visitors to this keep. Sconces line the wall, roaring with open flames that cast the path ahead in an orange glow. Two, iron firepits stand on either side of the staircase at its base, and it’s here that War has paused. It strikes you that in spite of his size, he’s slightly more camouflaged in this place than he was in the void, his scarlet cloak and dark grey armour blending well with the rock and heat around him.

As you and Strife come to a stop behind War, you lean sideways and find yourself peering tentatively into the space beyond his bulk.

The tunnel has opened up into another spacious chamber, and the path beyond the stairs has opened up too, into a vast, circular area with no walls or boundaries, nothing but another deep pit that sweeps around it, carrying a river of flowing, basaltic lava to somewhere further into the - as Strife had called it -‘dungeon.’

Maybe you really are in some kind of volcano. The urge to find a way out of here increases dramatically, but with Strife watching your back a little too closely and War cutting off an escape from the front, your options, at the moment, are quite limited.

At last, War takes a step out onto the level ground, then another and another, stalking forwards with his head on a constant swivel, vigilant. Strife, in the meantime, walks out with a confident swagger, ensuring to walk slightly behind you to keep you moving up in front.

Tearing your eyes off the pit, you focus instead on the behemoth stomping ahead of you. He’s already on the other side by the time you and Strife make it halfway across. For a split second, you almost let yourself feel a pinch of guilt for wearing such inappropriate shoes and slowing the Horsemen down, but you’re just as quick to take the feeling and grind it up under said heels, curling your lip distastefully. You weren’t exactly given a chance to pack for this ‘excursion.’

“Y’know,” Strife says abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts, and just in time too. You glance down and see the lip of the platform’s edge rise up to meet you. It likely would have tripped you if you’d remained lost in your head. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Death will be pleased to hear it,” War remarks from up ahead.

The back of his hood receives a simmering glare, but Strife is quick to brush the dig aside and continue, “If Lucifer is as dangerous as the Council says he is, why’d they send just the two of us?”

If the uneven ground didn’t manage to trip you up, his comment definitely does. Stumbling on the heel of your foot, you hurriedly try to right yourself, swatting irritably at Strife’s hand that reaches out to steady you. There’s that name again. Lucifer. Would it be naïve of you to hope that their ‘mission’ doesn’t somehow involve the Biblical Devil? You’ve managed to survive for the better part of an hour, but you don’t like how the odds are quickly stacking up against you with every step you take.

“Death and Fury attend to other matters,” War responds simply, “It is not our place to question the will of the Council.”

Apparently unable to let his brother’s earlier tease slide after all, Strife rolls his eyes and quips, “It’s not my place to question your wardrobe, but I still think your armour could use some more creepy faces on it.”

You’re not sure how much you like trailing in between the sizeable men, especially when the more sizeable of the two slows his gait to aim a vicious snarl over his shoulder. “Must everything be a joke to you?” War snaps, “The Council-!”

“-Ugh!” Cutting his brother off with a pompous groan, Strife throws his helm back. “You really need to lighten up.” Then, lowering his voice to a deeper pitch, apparently for the sole purpose of mocking the far scarier Horseman, he taunts, “The Council this, and The Council that! You wanna hear an actual joke?”

Facing forwards again, War responds with a firm, flat, “No.”

Strife, of course, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations as you do about antagonising someone with the name ‘War.’

In fact, you carry yourself so rigidly in fear of being caught in the middle of a scrap that you almost have the wind knocked out of you quite literally when Strife chimes in with a phrase so familiar to you, you just about choke on your own spit.

“Knock knock…”

The classic setup, so universally understood that you almost wonder if humans are born with an inbuilt recognition system designed to identify two simple, unassuming words.

The three of you pass beneath an open portcullis, but you barely notice the jagged bars of iron looming above you because you’re so busy trying to pick your jaw up off the ground.

You can’t see Strife’s face, and you don’t dare turn around to gape at him in case you end up taking a painful tumble. Instead, numbly, you continue to stare ahead with unblinking eyes, vaguely taking in the narrow path ahead of you, and the apparent end of it fast approaching.

War makes a dismissive sound, an irked mutter of something too low for you to make out.

Clearing his throat when he doesn’t receive a response, Strife prompts, “You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there?”

You can’t quite believe you’re hearing this. Perhaps the idea that you’ve been drugged isn’t so unlikely after all because this isn’t something you could ever come up with sober.

Ahead of you, the stone pathway falls away in an abrupt drop, and the ceiling of the tunnel disappears, both opening out into yet another cavern, this one more spacious than the first two.

Or, you continue to muse to yourself, maybe you really did die in that church graveyard, and the chemicals released in your brain have conjured a hallucination of this pair of giants to serve as some unconvincing reapers who will guide you into the afterlife.

War comes to a stop at the edge of the escarpment, and unseen by you or Strife, his expression scrunches up in confusion and he asks, “Why would I give away my location? I would simply smash through the door and face my assailant.”

Oh. Wow. That’s…

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Strife complains as he draws to a halt just behind you and his brother on the rocky ledge. For a second, he’s distracted with casting his keen eye over the chamber, so he doesn’t notice you lower your face to the floor, your lips pursed like you’re trying to keep a cough in.

He does, however, notice straight away when, instead of escaping through your mouth, the sound you’re desperately trying to hold in finds its escape through your nose instead, and out jumps a sharp, unbecoming ‘snort!’

It’s unexpected. So much so that you’re just as surprised to hear it as the Horsemen. At once, you slap a palm over the lower half of your face in horror, a cold rush of dread trickling down into your stomach.

Eyes blown wide open, you stare at the ground, only too aware of the heavy silence that settles over you like a blanket, thicker than the heat pressing in all around you. You’re not even willing to raise your head because you can feel two sets of eyes watching you from above.

For too long, all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your own pulse throbbing just beneath the skin of your temples. The silence swells, tuning up like an orchestra, deafening you to every sound save for that accursed, high-pitched ringing caused by the crushing grit of your teeth.

“Did…?” Strife’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a headsman’s axe, “Did you just… laugh?”

Your jaw eases apart, and the ringing fades.

The telltale ‘clunk’ of War’s boots alert you to him turning from the ledge, pointing himself in your direction instead.

Suddenly and appropriately alarmed that you just snorted at someone nearly three times your size, you instantly shift from freeze to flight and throw your head up, only to find yourself blinking apprehensively into War’s face, etched with his signature frown.

“I-I wasn’t laughing at you,” you rush out, backing away from the scowling Horseman a little too far and ending up colliding right into Strife’s torso.

With a tiny yelp, you leap forwards again, tossing glances back and forth between them whilst they continue to stare you down. “It’s just-! I haven’t heard a knock-knock joke in so long, it… It just surprised me.”

A pause ensues, and then quietly – eagerly – Strife asks, “You know what knock-knock jokes are?”

Wondering why that’s his first question, you offer him a timid nod. And then you’re immediately flinching away from him when he barks out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh and straightens up, his chest swelling proudly.

“No kidding. Y’know, not to brag,” he brags, jabbing a thumb into his sternum, “But I practically invented knock-knock jokes.”

Well, who are you to argue with the man carrying two guns? “O-oh?”

“Brother,” War complains, “We do not have time for your-“

“-Here! Here, try this one,” Strife rushes out, leaning towards you a little too fast for your liking, “Knock knock.”

You start to get the impression he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this to come along for quite some time. Sparing his brother a nervous glance, you wet your lips and tentatively indulge him, “Uh, okay, who’s there?”

Taking a breath as if he means to brace himself, Strife says, “The interrupting War.”

Oh… Oh, for God’s sake...

You try to steady the muscles in your cheeks, sending another wary look over at the juggernaut clenching his fists by the ledge.

Still, with Strife waiting for an answer, you slowly and dutifully sigh, “The interrupting War wh-“

You knew it was coming. You knew the gist of the punchline if not the punchline itself, but you’re still wholly unprepared when Strife cuts you off by crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a loud, resounding growl.

“Grr! The Council~!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you immediately purse your lips, your cheeks aching with the effort of keeping a straight face. You wonder if this is the start of another emotional breakdown because the joke isn’t even particularly funny, but there’s just a familiarity to the formula that almost comes as a welcome relief, like Earth isn’t so far away after all.

A brother teasing his sibling… There’s something almost human about it, abating just the tiniest modicum of terror bubbling away inside your stomach.

Clearing your throat, you keep your lips puckered and inhale deeply through your nostrils in an attempt to compose yourself. Perhaps its Strife’s enthusiasm that lends itself to the humour of the situation, or perhaps it’s simply the absurdity of such a large and formidable brute doing something as innocuous as telling you a knock-knock joke at the expense of his brother, but whatever the case may be, when you open your mouth to tell him it wasn’t that funny, your lips spring up at their corners, contradicting you immediately.

“Think it needs some work,” you say, your voice wobbling.

“Needs work?” he parrots, his own mouth quirking into a grin as he clocks your expression, “Then why are you smiling?”

It takes no small amount of effort to wrestle your face back under control. “I’m not smiling,” you insist, “That isn’t how humans smile.”

Strife, naturally, isn’t fooled at all.

“Ah ha! It is! She’s smiling!” he gloats, jabbing his thumbs at his own mask, “I’m funny! And you-!” Swivelling his head up to War, he pokes a finger at his brother’s face and declares, “You were wrong.”

You make the mistake of glimpsing underneath the stoic Horseman’s hood, wincing when you find him sporting an expression of absolute thunder. He glowers down at you as if to say, ‘Now look at what you’ve started.’

Outwardly, he flattens his brows and exhales slowly through his nose, “Yes, you must be very proud that you’ve found the one, sole creature in the Universe who finds you almost as funny as you find yourself.”

Flapping a hand dismissively at his brother’s words, Strife blows a snort through his lips and tuts, “Ah, you’re just jealous she likes me better.”

You decide not to chime in with the fact that you don’t, in fact, particularly like either of them.

Besides, if War is at all concerned with his new ranking, he certainly doesn’t bother to let you know.

“If you are quite finished cheapening our reputation…” he growls, whirling away from Strife and stepping up to the very edge of the platform.

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you can protest, the masked Horseman lays a hand on your back and nudges you forwards until you’re standing next to his brother, then takes up his own lookout on the escarpment to your left.

Snugly sandwiched between them, you squash your arms into your sides, grimacing at the sharp angles of their armour that threaten to snag your dress as you try to shuffle backwards, but you don’t manage to retreat further than a few inches before you happen to cast a cursory look out at the view ahead and promptly freeze in your tracks.

Eyes bulging, your jaw falls open and you let out a soft, incredulous breath, your brain racing to take stock of what it’s seeing.

“Oh god.”

The path ends abruptly, falling away just a few paces from the toes of your shoes. And waiting beyond the precipice is a rock-walled cavern of absolutely phenomenal scale, far larger than those you’ve already come through. At its centre, rising from a chasm down below, there’s a rocky platform large enough to fit your house within its dimensions several times over. From what you can see, there isn’t any conceivable way to cross over to it, save for sprouting wings and flying. You’re not even confident you could pitch a tennis ball across the gap and have it land on the other side.

Scalding heat prickles your brow, and when you glance down to see where it stems from, you give an audible gasp as you look past the toes of your shoes and over the pathway’s crumbling edge.

Far, far below you, a stomach-churning drop lays in wait.

Thirty… forty-something feet of shimmering air is all that stands between you and a vast lake of red-hot lava.

“Hey, look down there,” Strife’s voice twitches your ear.

At your side, he raises an arm to point at the platform and says, “See that grate?”

With no small effort, you wrench your eyes off the pit of death and lift it to the level of raised stone, blinking your eyes hard to moisten them again after staring at the lava.

At once, you spot what he’s indicating.

Right at the centre of the platform, set into the stone floor itself, is a large, circular grate, vaguely reminiscent of the bars of a prison cell.

From the darkness below it, you can just make out a faint, pink glow seeping through the metal gridiron.

War answers his brother with a hum that vibrates in your chest.

“What’d you think?” Strife prods, “Reckon that’s where they’ve stashed Vulgrim’s artefact?”

Studying it for a few seconds, War eventually nods. “Something is definitely down there…” he murmurs, “No doubt that grate is heavily fortified.”

Shooting him a sly look, the smaller Horseman adds, “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you to pick the lock though, right?”

It’s disconcerting to see War with any expression other than a scowl, so to witness him return a smirk over the top of your head sends a veritable shiver right up your spine.

Lifting his arms, he slams his fist into the palm of his gauntlet with a resounding ‘thwack.’

Amused, Strife turns to thrust his chin at the gut-wrenching gap between the path you’re standing on and the edge of the central platform.

“What about that? Think you can make that jump?”

“J-jump!?” you blurt out, whipping your head up to stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Hell, maybe he has.

Briefly, War’s eyes flit down to you before he returns his gaze to his fellow Horseman, scoffing, “Is that a serious question?”

And without another word, he begins taking several steps backwards, away from the ledge.

“Wait,” you sputter, shooting him an incredulous look as he continues to back up along the path, “You’re not really going to-“

You don’t even get to finish your sentence.

Before you can blink, War pushes off on his back foot and lurches forwards, his boots pounding against the stone hard enough to send powerful quakes all along the path as he charges straight for the edge.

You think you let out an alarmed yelp, but there’s not much else you can do except helplessly gawk as the Horseman, laden down by his heavy, clanking armour, plants his boot centimetres from the crumbling edge of the path and unceremoniously launches himself, his sword, and all of his bulk off solid ground, soaring out over the lava-drowned chasm below.

With a comically loud gasp, you slap your palms over your eyes, yet you can’t resist peeking through splayed fingers to watch.

Why the Hell would he do that!? There’s no way he’ll make it, you tell yourself, not with all that weight dragging him down.

You wanted to get away from him, yes but… shit. You didn’t want him to get himself killed doing it!

It’s as if you’re staring at a runaway train, waiting in morbid fascination for it to derail. Something in the nature of a disaster unfolding keeps you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your attention away from it.

There’s power and grace in the way War sails over the gap, an impossible feat, further than any Olympic gold medallist would ever hope to achieve. And then, to your utmost astonishment, he makes it.

Metal boots hit the stone platform with an almighty ‘clang’ on the other side, and he dips his knees as he lands to absorb the impact.

You’re almost certain you can see the whole structure quiver from the force.

For several moments, you merely stand there with your mouth hanging ajar whilst War rises to his full height again and turns around, tipping his face up to see you staring back at him, your eyes wide with unconcealed awe.

“How. The fuck…?” you say emphatically, blowing out a disbelieving little whistle. You might not trust the man, but even you can appreciate a good stunt when you see one. Giving your head a shake, you briefly forget you’re supposed to be their kidnappee and gush, “That was incredible!”

Your voice carries easily across the sizeable gap and reaches the Horseman’s ears, erasing the hard line between his brows. Taken aback, War blinks, pressing his lips together bashfully in lieu of a response. ‘Perhaps it was rather impressive,’ he privately concedes, ‘from a human’s perspective…’

Back on the escarpment, Strife’s keen gaze makes out the befuddled expression warping his brother’s typically impassive face, and he sends several glances between you and War, pursing his lips at the glimmer lighting up your eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he huffs, “You think that was impressive?”

A loud clap rings out across the cavern, causing you to jump as Strife smacks his palms together. “Okay, little miss,” he announces behind you, “Your turn.”

Just like that, the colour promptly drains from your face. “My what?”

You don’t have time to spin around and face him, for not a second later, a powerful arm scoops your legs out from underneath you whilst the other snakes around the back of your shoulders, hauling you clean off the floor and pressing you to a hard, armoured chest.

“Oh for-! Stop grabbing me!” you complain, planting your hands on his clavicle and shoving yourself away as best you can, “Are you insane!? I am not jumping over that!”

Cocking his helm at you, he spares you an innocent blink. “You’re not?”

You don’t like how much levity is lacing his tone.

“NO!” you squawk, aghast, “Absolutely not! Let me go!”

One of the Horseman’s eyes narrows to squint at you before he angles his helm very pointedly towards the platform. “You sure?”

Something about his question gives you pause.

Hesitating, you snap your head in the same direction and follow his line of sight. It doesn’t take you more than a second to glean the bastard’s intent.

Now you really don’t like the way he’s looking at you, his upturned eyelids the clearest indication that he’s smiling quite broadly underneath his visor.

Your stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.

“Oh, if you dare…” you hiss.

Daringly, he raises his sizeable shoulders in a shrug and chirps, “Lesson one; Don’t ever dare a Horseman, kid. You’re always bound to lose.”

He wouldn’t…

Flashing you a golden wink, Strife turns his body sideways and swings you to the right, like a rugby player readying a forward pass.

It finally occurs to you that, oh, good god, he would.

“Wait-! WA-WAIT! STRIFE!” Issuing a high-pitched, wordless scream, you start to flail, but his ironclad grip on your legs and shoulders keeps you from launching yourself out of his arms.

Somewhere across the chasm, War’s voice drifts up to you, though you hardly hear it above your undignified shrieks. “Brother?”

The muscles around you bunch up, solidifying as hard as the stone underfoot.

“See you on the other side!” is all the cheery warning you get.

“Don’t you DA---AAAAARRRGGHHH!”

He’s moving before you can think to adhere yourself to his arm.

Sidestepping into a purposeful bound, the Horseman flings his arms to the left, with you in tow, and when they get to the zenith of his reach, they disappear out from under you, letting you go hurtling spine first out over the chasm like a screaming, thrashing blimp, dress and all.

You have several phobias that you were aware of before you fell into this godforsaken place. Phobias that, for the most part, have been quite avoidable in your day-to-day life.

Finding yourself suspended in the air over a pit without a safety net underneath you… add some lava to break your fall, and you suddenly realise as you’re flying through empty space that you’ve just discovered an entirely new phobia to add to the list.

Sailing in a none-too graceful arch, you stare in disbelief back at the silver Horseman on the ledge, your dress billows out behind you and the scorching air whips your veil over your face, tugging at your hair where the grips are heroically keeping it situated. Likewise, some subconscious part of you instructs your toes to grip like vices on the insoles of your heels, valiantly trying to stop them from plummeting off your feet.

Inevitably, as is the case with the laws of physics, you reach the height of your curve, and that’s when gravity seizes you by the heart and starts to drag you back down, sending your stomach crashing up into your diaphragm.

Time seems to slow as you descend, reaching back for Strife as if he could somehow stretch across the gap and catch you. You can’t see behind yourself, and it’s all you can do to hope that you pass out on the way down, so you don’t have to feel your body melt into a puddle in the hungry maw of the lava below.

It hurts your chest something fierce to think that the last anyone will see of you is your terror-stricken face and your raised hand closing into a fist, bar one choicely extended finger.

The hot wind screams past your ears and you screw your eyes shut tight, squeezing out the last tears you’re ever going to cry. Your father’s face flashes in your mind’s eye, and you wonder what you did to set off this chain of events.

Strife said he wouldn’t hurt you…

What a joke.

‘WHAM!’

Your mouth jerks open, wheezing out a gasp as something suddenly slams into you from behind, knocking the air violently from your lungs. Or rather, you crash into something with the force of a white, ruffled meteorite and nearly lose your heart through your open mouth.

At first, you assume you must have smacked into the hard side of the platform, but then the Something you’ve collided with grunts, and you hurriedly wrench your eyes open, coming to focus on a monstrous, metal gauntlet that’s secured itself under your knees, crushing your dress between prodigious fingers whilst something equally large presses across your shoulder blades.

With a kick in the guts, you realise you’re being held aloft in much the same way Strife had been holding you mere moments ago.

He caught you… War caught you.

Finally, you remember to gulp in a noisy breath to refill your desperate lungs.

You’re not dead.

But you are, in fact, shaking.

And as the revelation that you’re still alive sets in, your limbs start to wobble in earnest.

“STRIFE!” You visibly flinch when War’s terrible, wonderful, abrasive, beautiful voice booms like a claxon right above your head. “You fool!”

Even through layers of solid metal and leather padding, the Horseman can feel you trembling under his palms. Propping your neck in the crook of his elbow, he lifts his head to level a snarl up at where Strife still stands on the escarpment whilst you unclench your fists from your lap, heaving air in and out of your lungs in hysterical little bursts.

“What were you thinking!?” he bellows.

Leaning over the side to look down at you and your unwitting saviour, Strife throws his arms out wide and argues, “She said to let her go!”

“You knew what she meant!” A deep thrum rolls around in his chest, spreading up his throat and spilling out in another growl so deep it rattles the teeth in your skull. “You could have damaged her!”

“Oh relax, I wouldn’t have tossed her if I didn’t think you’d catch her.”

War slides his lips back to reveal his inhumanly sharp canines, but at that moment, something tugs very lightly at the fabric of his cowl.

Faltering, he angles his chin down and nearly gives a start.

Tiny hands have wandered towards him, found the scarlet material hanging from around his neck and latched onto it with possessive intent, fingers twisting themselves into his cowl and getting lost amongst the folds, as if you fully expect him to toss you over the side as well. The strange, white veneer lays draped across your face, so he can’t see your expression when you unexpectedly twist about in his arms and pull yourself a little closer to his chest.

Caught off guard, War remains stock-still, seriously contemplating whether or not he should drop you right then and there to spare himself from Strife’s potential teasing.

His bulging arms give a twitch, which in turn causes you to cringe, letting out a quiet bleat and further entangling your fingers around his cowl.

This, War decides, was not in the job description when the Charred Council made him a Horseman. Still, whatever he might think of you, he can’t bring himself to drop you in a heap on the ground.

For once, he might be out of his depth.

As soon as the notion occurs to him, he brusquely flicks it away with a toss of his head.

Taking a large step back, he slowly ambles himself about until he’s facing away from Strife and the platform’s edge, then stomps several paces towards the central grate, only stopping once he hears the loud clang of metallic boots hitting the stone behind him as his fellow Horseman leaps to the lower level.

Gingerly, almost as though he expects you to shatter if he moves too quickly, War bends down until he’s almost on a knee and starts to withdraw the arm that’s wrapped around your legs, a stoic frown tugging his brows towards the centre of his forehead when you refuse to let go of his hood.

Grumbling, he lowers you until your shoes click on the stone floor, and then he slips his hand out from under your knees, moving it up and taking both of your wrists between his gauntlet’s fingertips and thumb, mindful of the delicate limbs he’s handling.

He can still recall how you’d nearly crumpled to your knees when he got a little heavy handed trying to apply the poultice to your arm. He truly thought he had been correct in gauging the pressure he needed to apply to your flesh to draw blood. He’d only meant to take a little. Just enough to prove the validity of your claim. What an idea that had turned out to be. If War were being honest with himself, he’d been outright startled when your skin peeled open so readily to admit Chaoseater’s blade.

So, if he’s a little more careful in prying your hands off his cowl than he ought to be, well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you seem to come back into yourself.

With a sudden jolt, you wrench your hands away from his hood and start to struggle valiantly with the veil on your face, flipping it back over your head and choking on a sob as your knees start to buckle.

Planting both of his palms on your shoulders, War hauls you upright again.

“Steady,” he murmurs as if he’s addressing a wounded soldier, not a frightened human, “On your feet.”

The sound of clanking boots drifts closer, approaching from his rear.

War bristles, but he’s not the only one who heard Strife’s footsteps.

“You okay, kid?” the gunslinger’s voice drifts over to you, and War watches your jaw cinch shut, the hands at your sides curling into fists as you attempt to stop them from shaking.

Whirling around, you tear yourself from the Horseman’s gauntlets, your dress twirling gracefully around your ankles to find Strife standing a few paces behind you, paused halfway between one step and the next.

Blurting out a delirious laugh, you shoot him a bloodshot stare, half tempted to rip your bag off and lob it at his head.

“Am I okay?!” you echo, “Have you completely lost your mind!?”

Peering down at you appraisingly, War makes a sound that might be affirming, and even his brother lifts a hand to tilt it back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion.

Breathing hard, you resist the urge to scream and instead lower your head, massaging at your throbbing temples.

Slowly, through gritted teeth, you seethe, “I am trapped… inside a volcano… with two of the scariest people I’ve ever met…”

Strife shares a look with War, the former’s frame wilting as if he’s put out, while the latter, by contrast, almost seems proud of the achievement.

“I,” you continue, a humourless grin straining at your lips, “Just found out that demons exist! I also found out that Lucifer is apparently real…! It is my fucking wedding day!” Vitriol drips from your teeth like venom, and with each passing word, your voice grows louder and louder. “And! I just got chucked! Like a… like a fucking pigskin over a river! Of LAVA!”

All around you, the cavern echoes with the throes of your furious shout, bouncing off the rock walls and coming back to you ten times over before it fades into an uneasy silence.

Lungs heaving with the effort of raising your voice, you stop to breathe, finding, to your dismay, that tears are spilling onto your cheeks, only to start evaporating on your skin in the smouldering heat.

Clearing your throat, you sweep a few fingertips delicately beneath your eyes and wipe away the lingering evidence of moisture cutting tracks through your blusher. “So, no,” you sniffle, “For your information, I am not o-fucking-kay… I think I’m about as far from okay as it gets.”

It’s almost satisfying that the gung-ho Horseman can in fact be made to shut up.

Fidgeting idly with the gauntlet on his left hand, Strife shoots several glances at War, but finds no source of assistance in his fellow Nephilim’s cold, critical glare.

“Uh,” he starts, clenching his hands into fists and opening them again, “I mean… it was kind of funny, right?” He lets out a chuckle that falls painfully flat. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Your jaw begins to ache from grinding your teeth together like you’re trying to crush coal into diamonds.

“Knock-knock jokes are funny,” you say stiffly, turning away from him to scowl at the ground, “People don’t get hurt.”

Draping a hand over his hip, Strife lowers his voice and asks, “Come on, you really thought I’d let you get hurt?”

“OF COURSE I DID!” you suddenly bellow so loudly your voice cracks, “You threw me over a lava pit!”

“War caught you, didn’t he?”

“What if he hadn’t!?”

Strife doesn’t even hesitate before he offers his palms to the ceiling and says, “Then I wouldn’t’ve done it.”

“Why the hell would you-!? Why even take the risk!?”

“There never was any risk,” he shrugs far too nonchalantly, sending his brother a knowing look, “Besides, this is a good thing, right? Now you know you can trust War to keep you alive.”

Pulling a face, you allow a spiteful scoff to burst out of your mouth, arms folding sternly across your chest. “Oh, so that was all so you could prove some point to me, was it? Jesus, what is wrong with you?!”

“Now there’s a door best left unopened,” War chimes in.

At last recognising that there’s some, invisible line he’s crossed, Strife holds his hands up placatingly. “Look,” he concedes, scratching at the back of his head and disturbing the thick spines of ebony hair growing behind his helm, “After what happened back in the Void, I just thought, if we proved we could keep you safe, you’d… maybe start to trust us a little more, y’know?”

You have to take a moment to stare at him, waiting for his words to sink in for you, and hopefully for him as well. “So… you thought you’d show me you can keep me safe by… launching me over a lava pit, and expecting me to know your brother would catch me?”

The Horseman doesn’t speak for several seconds. When he eventually does, he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “I mean, if you’re only gonna focus on the first part, sure the plan had holes.”

“Well,” you say haughtily, “No offence, but I trust you two about as far as I could throw you. Which, you’ll be shocked to hear, isn’t very far at all. And unlike you-“ Here, you jab a finger up at his silver visor. “- I’m not strong enough to go around throwing people off the edge of cliffs!”

Once again, Strife remains silent, rapping his fingertips on a metal bicep. Soon enough however, he lowers his head and peers up at you from beneath the lip of his helm’s sockets, prodding, “It was a pretty good throw though, huh?”

“It was a very good throw!” you agree sharply, blowing out a rough exhale as your heartbeat finally begins to ease off the throttle, “Neither of you even had a run up. You two are like something straight out of a comic book… Except without the charisma… and altruism...”

“Comic…?” War asks, frowning, “Then… you are amused?”

“No, not comic like-…” You inhale. You exhale. “Never mind. Weren’t you guys supposed to be looking for something?”

Just like that, the pair of titans straighten up with a start, and you wonder if their ‘mission’ really had slipped their minds for a while.

Rolling his shoulders back, War just grumbles something inaudible and begins moving purposefully towards the grate.

You stand back to let him pass, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you mull over what you’re about to say.

“Hey, big guy?”

At once, War stops and swivels his head sideways, silver hair spilling out from underneath his hood.

Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you avoid the pale, unblinking eye that’s trained on your face and call, “Thanks…. For catching me.”

You won’t thank him for healing your arm when he was the one who cut it in the first place. But this? You can swallow your grudge for this. At least for a little while.

Several seconds tick by without a response, and the only sound you can hear is the heavy clanking of boots on stone as Strife ventures up behind you.

And then at last, War’s head falls and rises in an almost imperceptible nod.

When he turns away, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

How can one man be so intimidating just by standing still and saying nothing?

You’ve already deduced that the two Horsemen are like chalk and cheese, with one half of the duo serving as the strong, silent type, and the other, a smart-mouthed chatterbox.

… Speaking of whom.

Just as you start to trail after War towards the centre of the platform, an enormous shape sidles up next to you, easily keeping pace with your diminutive gait.

“Hey…” Strife tries, actually sounding hesitant for a change, “Knock-knock.”

Ah. There it is.

“Strife…” His name still sounds foreign on your tongue. “I’m… look, I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“…”

Scoffing quietly, you give your head a defeated shake and sigh, “Fine… Who’s there?”

“Eyes wear.”

… Okay?

“…Eyes wear who?” you venture, hesitant.

Swivelling his helm towards you, Strife bends his neck down, chasing after your face even as you try to ignore him by staring straight ahead.

“Eyes wear to… never throw you across any more chasms,” he offers, tipping his helm upright again, “Lava filled or otherwise. How’s that sound?”

Your lips quiver. “Wow,” you drawl, “I think that was even worse than the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” he replies coyly, “Then why’re you smiling?”

You jerk to a halt mid stride, taking stock of your expression.

Damnit. You are smiling.

You’re a little too slow to force the corners of your lips back down into a straight line, and of course, Strife sees it, tipping his chin back to peer at you triumphantly. You may not be able to see his mouth beneath the visor but judging by the upturned curve of his golden eyes, you just know the smug son of a bitch is grinning from ear to ear.

“I was not smiling,” you insist.

Quick as a whip, he retorts, “Well now you’re lying.”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you kick yourself into gear and speed up, marching up to where War has stopped by the grate. “I am not lying, I’m leaving.”

The Horseman’s chuckle haunts you all the way across the platform.

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #strife x reader #war x reader #bride reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #Strife being Strife #Fear #Bad Knock knock jokes #Reader has had enough

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writingforrhys · 2 years

Note

cassian is so hunky

you've caught me at a wonderful time cause i'm in such a cassie mood

Blistering

cassian x reader contents: SO MUCH PINING and a good amount of suggestiveness

masterlist

It was hot. So, so hot.

Despite living in the definition of the North of Prythian, the heat was blistering. The summer heat was relentless for the most part, yet the sun beams reflecting off of the tall peaks of the mountains made it impossible to think straight.

At least that's what you were convincing yourself.

The condensation from your bottle of water dripped down your fingers as you stood rigid next to the training mat. Much to your chagrin, your family had decided the night before over a bottle of wine, obviously, that a collective early morning training session was long overdue.

Yes, you could admit, you always had fun with them. There wasn't anything in your life that could compare to spending time with your family and, on the rare occasion that you could catch them all in one space, you savoured their company. But right here, right now? As the sweat rolled down your brow and your clothes clung to every patch of skin it could, you wanted to be anywhere but this blistering roof.

Well, now with your gaze upon the General, you could admit that this was a blessing in disguise. He was magnificent.

His back muscles rippled gorgeously in the sun, his arms flexing to and fro as he sparred with Azriel. He was quick and nimble, despite his giant stature; he knew exactly what to do with himself, dodging Azriel's attacks expertly. Your stare focussed on the damp hair sticking to his neck, the half-up do he'd put together now coming apart and framing his beautiful, beautiful face.

Oh, how you wanted him. You'd wanted him for three centuries. He was undoubtedly the most handsome male you'd ever met, and he was kind too. So kind, so generous, so funny, and so hot.

Every touch from him set your body on fire. You savoured every laugh you could draw from him, or every time you shared a private glance across a room. It was your life's mission to make him smile, to have that deep vibrato ripple from his chest as he put his shiny canines on show.

You'd always been close. Connected. When you first met the Inner Circle, you were immediately drawn to him. He intimidated most with his height, build, and domineering demeanour; but not you. No, to you he was a spectacle. He was a steaming cup of tea on a winter's day; yet he was also the cold nipping at your nose when the snow had begun to fall.

He was balance, he was harmony.

"You okay there, dreamer?" A snicker.

"Oh, give her a break, Rhys. She can't help that she's hopelessly infatuated."

You broke your stare from Cassian's silhouette, your face now a flushed maroon, "The two of you are incorrigible."

Rhysand and Feyre chuckled amongst themselves, and then his arm wrapped delicately around her waist. You could only burn in jealously watching the movement; the only time Cassian's arms were around you that way was in your imagination, just before you were waking up with a warmth at your core.

"Do you ever work out up here or do you just stare pathetically at him?"

"Rhys!" Feyre's jaw dropped.

"What?" He released a hearty laugh, "It's been three hundred years of watching her pine, Feyre darling. You haven't run out of patience like I have."

You floundered for a response, mouth opening and closing, then settled on turning your back to them and filling your water bottle.

Then, finally, "He doesn't feel that way. It's easier to stare from a distance than embarrass myself horrifically."

You could almost hear Feyre's eyes soften behind you. She was far more sympathetic towards you than her mate, having held you on the many nights you'd cried over the male, that he'd never love you like you loved him.

"Well with the way he's staring holes into your ass right now, I'd have to disagree."

You'd never turned faster.

The High Lord was right, he was staring straight at your ass. Well, now he was dragging that look all the way up your body, gliding over your curves until he met you eye to eye. He didn't look away. A smirk planted on his lips as your stares connected and he shook his head fondly. You panicked as his legs began to wander to you as he unwrapped his fists.

You turned to find salvation in your friends, but found the both of them halfway out of the door already, Azriel hot on their heels. The only remaining comfort of their presence was the wink that Rhysand sent your way as they left.

"Hi, beautiful."

What?

"Are you alright, honey?"

You were quite alright. He was blocking out the sun with his body and the only thing you could see was his ridiculously sculpted torso in your immediate vision.

You blinked the shock out of your eyes, finally allowing your head to move and look at him.

"I'm, uh, I'm okay, Cassie. You good?" Nice one.

"I'm okay," He laughed, "I just can't help but notice how distracted you are this morning."

Gods, he was so sexy.

"Distracted? Me?" You giggled nervously, "Not a clue what you mean."

"No?" His hand reached to brush the hair away that had fallen in front of your face, his scent filling every air pocket around you as he leaned closer. Your legs had never clenched harder.

"Azriel's shadows couldn't help but report to him how absentminded you've been recently. It made him quite concerned." HIs brows had pulled together, but you saw the teasing look he was sparing you.

"That's just Az being a busybody. Guess he's got nothing to do."

He hummed.

He reached even further behind you, as if that were possible, and pulled back with his own water in hand. You knew he could hear the beating of your heart, the blood pumping around your body as if you'd run to Spring and back. The bastard was doing it on purpose.

"I'm sure. Although, I have been thinking..."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"I've been thinking," He scoffed, "That you can't seem to think straight lately. Actually, I did think that until I spoke to Mor, and she said you've never been more at the top of your game."

Fuck.

"...So, why is it that when you're with me, you're so ruffled?"

You didn't know what to say. You didn't know what to do. You'd been caught. Three hundred years of keeping this secret, and you'd fucked it up. This could very well be the end of your friendship with Cassian. He'd grow distant and he'd avoid you, not wanting to give you the wrong impression that you could ever be anything more. You'd have to move out, not able to face the humiliation of such a harsh rejection. You'd lose your life. You'd lose your family.

"There you go again. Disappearing." His hand came up to rest on your cheek, thumb grazing delicately along the blazing skin. His eyes seemed understanding, but you couldn't help imagining your worst fear coming to life.

"You shouldn't flatter yourself, Cassian. It's unbecoming."

"I've been flattering myself for centuries, my love; trying to convince myself that a bastard like me was good enough for a female like you."

You froze. Your eyes didn't stray from his. Was this really happening?

"Tell me to walk away. Tell me to step back and we'll never speak of this again." His face had nudged toward yours ever so slightly, a silent question hanging in the air.

"I can't," You panted, "Please don't."

The General didn't need another push. Your drinks clattered to the floor as his lips collided with yours in a fury, a long over-due cauldron finally boiling over. He was fast and forward, hands gliding from your face down your body and around your waist, grabbing everything they could. Your own hands gripped onto his arms desperately, doing anything to stop yourself from toppling over.

This was everything you'd ever dreamed of. No, it was better.

This was better than the scandalous books you'd read secretly in the library, imagining it was Cassian with his face between your thighs, rather than the hero. This was better than the nights you lay awake with nothing to do but stare at your ceiling as you fantasised about his eyes and his mouth and his hands. And it was only a kiss.

"Cassie," You murmured against his lips.

"Yeah?" He didn't relent.

"Take me to your room."

He pulled back, a wickedness in his features that sent ripples along your skin.

“You better savour your ability to speak. Once I’m done with you, it’ll be long gone.”

“You better savour your ability to speak, because once I’m done with you, it’ll be long gone.”

“You better savour your ability to speak. Once I’m done with you, it’ll be long gone.”

"You better savour your ability to speak, because once I'm done with you, it'll be long gone."

#this was so much longer than i intended #i only wrote this so i didn't have to do uni work #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #cassian imagine #cassian smut #cassian fluff #rhysand #rhysand acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #cassian x you #azriel shadowsinger #feyre #cassian angst

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pro-mammonologist · 1 year

Text

Demons Are a Girl’s Best Friend

A fun vacation to the mountains! The brothers are fascinated by the human world and even more fascinated by the human world’s interpretation of them. After exploring a local church, Asmodeus learns of Mc’s relationship with the church as well as igniting an interesting fantasy of theirs.

What happens when the brothers discover Mc’s more impure fantasies? (Plenty of irony)

Note: inspired by the song Demons Are a Girl’s Best Friend by Powerwolf, if you’re okay with a little bit of metal, you’ll love this and want it in your obey me playlist

GN!Poly!Mc but with a coochie x All Bros

This chapter is SFW with NSFW conversation but no explicit action. The MC also has religious trauma so yeah.

Chapter 1: “theres a phantom lust to wake”

You shielded your eyes from the light blistering down on your skin. Having been in the Devildom so long, you forgot the intensity of the sun. You were thankful it was warm considering the coolness of the Devildom, it was a nice change, it was familiar. You packed cool clothes, making sure that your outfits were nice and airy for your trip. The brothers did the same, considering how their bodies had adjusted to the coolness of the Devildom, you already had Asmo and Mammon droning on about the heat only a few hours into your arrival.

Yes, your arrival. Lucifer wanted a trip with all of you and everyone said the usual beach, camping, famous city 1, famous city 2, and Lucifer of course suggested a factory tour but you wanted to relax. So, Satan suggested a more scenic trip, a nature trip. You loved the idea, being a lover of adventure. At least with them! So you all got to planning you settled on a mountain trip. Central Europe has many different attractions but none compare to the beauty of the mountains, especially in Switzerland.

“Man, ever been here before?” Mammon asked to no one in particular.

Satan opened your travel guide. “No, I don’t think any of us have been at least not to this one specifically.”

You looked out the window next to Mammon, lofting yourself from the seat on your train. “Are we not going to the alps?”

Lucifer chuckled from across you. “The alps would be boring… what if you’ve gone before?” He sipped at his tea, swirling the cup around before placing it on the tray in front you.

“I’m human, Lucifer, and this stuff costs money and time! What makes you think I’d have explored the alps in their entirety!” The scenery outside was enough to keep you fascinated, let alone the mountain trip approaching.

You could hear faint snoring behind you in the aisle and Beel munching on whatever food he had. Levi was babbling about how he’s seen this exact area in such and such while Asmo doted on the woman on the other side of the train. They pulled straws to choose who’d be sitting with you, short had to sit the next aisle over. They’re convinced Mammon cheated, but he insisted that if that were the case he wouldn’t have Lucifer in the same row as you two. Lucifer was offended, but it was entertaining to listen to them bicker as Satan told you about his most recent series.

You were on the train for much longer than you figured you’d be, causing eventually the whole party to lament. Once you arrived, you all were thrilled and ready to explore, but what caught everyone’s attention the fastest was the cathedral in the middle of the town.

“Beautiful architecture.” Lucifer noted, smiling to himself. “Catholic imagery has always had its appeal despite its not so kind depiction of us.” You could hear Satan scoff and you giggled at his reaction.

“I agree.” you could smell the incense from the exit of the train station. “I was shocked to find you and Satan are two separate beings.” You moved toward Lucifer as Beel lifted Belphie and his bags back up.

“Man, churches are kinda eh, if you ask me. Pretty but uncomfortable!” Mammon thumbed his nose up and pushed his sunglasses up, though with the current weather, they are unneeded. “Ain’t these places supposed to be sunny?”

“It’s Europe,” you sighed, “it’s always cloudy!”

“Still too hoooooot…” Asmo whined. “And we have to walk to where we are staying??? Ugh!” He looked exhausted despite having just sat for hours. “I’m already so beat!”

Satan started walking eastward. “Well, to rest, we need to actually get there first!”

“Well, that building has people giving out refreshments!” Beel notes, also feeling thirsty and tired. And hungry. “Maybe they have food.”

“Uhhhh,” you start, ready to protest but Mammon, Asmo, Levi and Beel (also Belphie) are already heading that direction.

“I don’t see why we can’t go inside. Perhaps we might learn something interesting.” Lucifer suggests and Satan gives up on trying to get to the cabin and follows suit. You give in as well.

Getting up close, you’re even more impressed. The stained glass and Roman build, the renaissance ambience, its all amazing. You inhale the scent of incense again and exhale. It’s hard to not be familiar with any Christian establishment in this world, especially of a Catholic nature and within Europe. Nuns were walking around the courtyard and they greet your party, speaking German. Satan speaks it eloquently and they offer to give you home baked bread. Beel obliges and eats it up in seconds.

“Danke.” You feel strange, receiving food from a place you abandoned long ago. You find it strange how the brothers seem so unbothered by it’s presence, but considering the various interpretations of demons, it makes sense.

“So holy water won’t burn huh?” You ask Asmo, who is drinking to his hearts content.

“This is bottled water, sweetie… I don’t think it’s holy unless they bless it.” He winks and offers the rest to you.

“Yeah… I think it’s funny how you guys are so… chill.” You trail off and fixate onto the crucifix adorning the doors of the church.

Asmo blinks and looks at you deeply. “It’s just a building. Humans get a lot of stuff wrong about us, don’t worry.” He sees your sudden shift in mood. “I love how cute you get when you’re worried.” He tries to soften the mood and make you smile.

Your eyes remain transfixed on the building. “I’m not worried, I just never thought I’d be back at one of these after meeting you guys. Any house of worship, really, especially a Christian one.”

Asmo looks confused. “I don’t really know this stuff, I just know they think we torture bad humans and there’s like 9 layers of the Devildom… oh and that Lilith was a human that corrupted the first human man or whatever.�� He leans in closer. “Do the books and stuff say anything about me????”

“Yeaaahh.” You respond and finally look away from the doors. “I don’t really remember that much. All I really remember is the stuff about Lucifer.”

He pouts and walks to the doors. “Man, why is he so special. He’s beautiful but he isn’t me.” He pushed them open and the sound of the old doors creaking open make you jump.

The nuns look over in your direction and your face goes red. Satan comes up from behind you and grabs your shoulders. “Jumping like that makes you seem more demon than we.” He looked down at you and you shuffled out of his grip.

“Those things are too loud to be that old.” You hear Mammon say looking toward you. He has a cheeky grin on his face and his sunglasses now folded and hanging on his shirt. “Don’t worry,” he nudges, “I’ll protect ya from any scary nuns.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile. Satan looks to where Asmo has stopped inside, admiring the—

“Gold!” Mammon shouts and chases after Asmo.

“There he goes again… do you want to go inside?” Satan asks you and you look aside to the rest of the brothers who are now looking toward you.

“It seems like…” you look at their eager and curious faces. “You all want to go in.”

“Is it wrong to be curious? We never get that much time here especially in a place with fictional depictions of us. You could say it’s like we are evil celebrities here.” Satan mentions and he’s right. Who wouldn’t want to know what someone wrote about them, especially if that many people believe it.

“Okay.” You say, nodding. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what they’re burning. It smells really good.”

You go inside and find yourself shoulder to shoulder with Asmo once again who was scurrying around trying to figure out what everything is. “Hey! Mc, what’s that man doing?”

“He’s going into confession.” You answer bluntly.

“Confession?” Asmo ponders aloud.

Mammon interrupts, “yeah you don’t know what that is? You confess to people stuff.”

“Kinda. But to a priest and it’s your sins.” You add, moving along to find where the smell is coming from.

“Ooooh… so it’s like that ‘daddy, sorry I’ve been naughty’ thing!” Asmo looks jubilant.

“Uh, more like ‘forgive me father, for I have sinned.’” Their ignorance is shocking. Don’t they know anything? “You really not know that or are you joking?”

Asmo taps his finger on his lip. “What’s the difference?”

Both you and Mammon look shocked now. You say, “uh, ones horny ones not!”

Asmo looks offended almost. “Are you not supposed to be horny in church?”

You froze and blinked for a minute. “Huh?” Thank the gods that there aren’t any English speakers around. “You… Asmo, you know lust is a sin.”

“Obviously but I was curious! It’s really funny that sorta stuff is sinful even though I see sexy nun costumes all over the place at Halloween in the human world. Don’t forget sexy priest too!”

It’s unfathomable what you hear from them sometimes, especially when it makes no sense. They’ve mastered your language, understand human pop culture for the most part, they even know some chunks of human history, but the one thing they don’t know is directly about them?

Lucifer joins your group. “You seem rather shocked, Mc. Is something wrong?”

“How do you not know anything about the group responsible for the whole religion condemning you?” You ask and Lucifer sighs.

“Well, as you know, I’ve long detested how I am depicted as well as the fact that Satan and I aren’t even considered separate beings. Truth be told, I just never encouraged them or myself to learn anything about it after the fall. I didn’t want them to be upset. Now, since you’re here, I think we might be more willing to interact with it.” Lucifer looks content and his words sound honest. That also makes sense but it’s still very mind-boggling their ignorance. “Mc, I only know what I’ve been told to be honest. I know much more about other depictions of demons that might be more accurate to us. But most human tales are a bit ridiculous.” Lucifer notes, scrolling to show you an image of Baphomet. “You mean to tell me most humans think this is me when it quite literally isn’t even me in the tale itself?”

“Yeah, I guess if it got that crazy, I would stay out of it too. Plus it’s not like you could really intervene and tell people it isn’t true.” You feel Lucifer’s cold hand on the small of your back. “Huh?”

“I’m curious, what did you think when you were going to meet us?” Lucifer looks at you, smiling.

“Well… a lot to be honest. Demons are depicted as deceitful, they’re to lure humans into sin. They’ll often treat you kindly, seduce you, or do whatever to make you feel safe and then take everything from you so I sorta expected that… but also I knew deep down that there’s no way that’s all true.” You answer him honestly.

He chuckles. “We do treat you kind, seduce you, and try to make you feel safe. Do you worry we are manipulating you?” He’s smiling but he’s hiding concern in his voice.

“Truth be told, the church manipulates so much that I figured I’d be used to it.” You only make him laugh again. “I know you guys love me.”

“Hmm, if I was expected to confess all of my wrongdoings to one person I’d feel terrible as well. That’s a lot of power to give one person, Mc.” His hand remains on your back and is now accompanied by Asmo’s arm.

“Heyyyy! We can all get a touch, can’t we??? I’d happily confess all my naughty thoughts to you, Mc!” Asmo snakes himself in between you and Lucifer. “And all the naughty things I’ve done.

“I’m sure you would.” You grin now, a thought coming into your head. “Say, wonder what that priest would say if I told him I’ve been bedding with demons.”

Lucifer grinned. “I’m sure they’d consider you quite the sinful human. I imagine sleeping with demons make for quite the punishment?” You nudged him playfully and stood by him for a minute.

“Don’t go getting too many ideas now.”

The clouds in the sky were heavy, ready to downpour. Lucifer pulled them group out of the church and you said your goodbyes to the nuns and made your way to your lodgings. It wasn’t too long of a journey, the rain only began when you were a few blocks from it. Lucifer rented an airbnb for your group and it was a homely loft, almost castle-like. It was clearly an older structure but had been receiving regular updates. It had only 4 bedrooms, but a multitude of beds for you all to share.

“So who gets to sleep with Mc?” Oh no. It has begun.

Beel asked the question innocently and Mammon was the first to speak up. “Obviously me!”

Asmo next. “Well, I think they want to sleep with me.”

Then Belphie half asleep. “Me n’ Beel should share.”

And then Satan. “I came up with the idea for the trip so I should pick where I sleep first and I choose where Mc plans to stay.”

Then Lucifer. “You picked it and I did the planning, I deserve first pick.”

Then Levi. “I never get to go first so I should!”

It was always bound to be chaos when you had to share rooms especially with seven demons completely obsessed with you.

You spoke up. “Let me try to make this fair. I guess I should choose first?”

They all agreed and you wandered the space. One room was large with one king sized bed in the middle, accompanied by a large window showing you the outside view of the woods. It was a dark room, much like the rest of the loft. Next there was another large room, this one with one bunk bed and another bed caddy cornered against the wall. It only has one window and small laterns hung to the ceiling, it’s charming and fantasy like. Thirdly, there’s another slightly smaller room complete with two beds next to each other, it wasn’t anything impressive, just like a hotel room complete with dark academia ambience. And lastly, a room about the same size as the next, another set of beds similar to the previous room but this time, it had a large window the exact same as the first room. The view in this one was certainly on par with the first one and you debated over which one.

But the answer was clear to you. “I want the first room. One more person can fit in the bed with me.” They looked as though they were ready to fight. “Okay, let’s do it this way… pick a number 1-50.”

“Ugh… 7.” Belphie answered.

“33.” Satan.

“I was gonna choose that one! 44.” Mammon.

“12.” Lucifer.

“Hmm… 24.” Levi.

“18!” Asmo.

And then Beel. “40.”

You waited a moment before saying who won. “Asmo gets to sleep with me.”

The brothers sighed of annoyance as Asmo celebrated and came up to you. “Yaaay! We’re gonna have lots of fun together.” He wrapped his arms around your hips and you pushed him back.

“Don’t get too touchy now. And don’t go feeling me up as I try to go to sleep, ‘kay???”

He pouted. “That’s no fun but I guess I will listen.”

You all started to move into your rooms and settle in. You could see the sunsetting as the downpour was intense. The sound was nice and calming, it made you want to cuddle up and relax with the brothers, but other things were on their minds. You walked up to the window to watch as the rain fell, gazing out into the woods.

“Mc, what are you thinking about?” Asmo asked, plopping onto the bed.

“Nothing really, just shocked Lucifer didn’t check the weather better.” You answered, briefly gazing back at Asmo.

“It must’ve not been in the forecast. You seemed upset earlier.” His voice went serious. “Was the church uncomfy for you?” He pulled at your arm to get you to sit on the bed.

“You could say that. I was kinda worried about you guys too. But really… there’s just not a lot of good in places like that. Even though they pretend to be good.” You chose your words wisely, not wanting to venture deeper.

He waited a moment before responding. “Okay. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah I’m good, to be honest…” you trailed off and your cheeks went pink. “I joked with Lucifer about how the priest would react if he found out I’ve been fucking you guys.”

Asmo giggled. “I imagine they’d be jealous, hun.” He rolled onto his back and cocked his head. “Ever seen any pretty ones?”

“Pretty priests??? Most of them are old.” You laughed, confused by his question.

“Well, it’d be funny if I were to seduce one huh? As a demon? It might be fun!” He suggested, his brain filling with naughty ideas.

You laid back beside him. “Well, they’re people too. I bet they wanna fuck.”

He turned his head to you slowly. “Have you ever been attracted to anyone of a pure status?”

You squinted at him, smirking. “Well, it is interesting to consider defiling them. But no one has ever caught my eye.”

“Demons love to corrupt.”

“Yeah I know.”

“Mc, I have… an idea.”

Uh oh. You looked at him and shrugged. “Okay.”

“You’ve already been corrupted by demons, so why not get punished by priests.” He suggested, nonchalantly.

“You want me to go get fucked by priests?” You were shocked, looking at him like he’s crazy.

“No silly, even better! Us pretending to be priests!!!! See, it sounds fun!”

Asmo was a man of many talents and many thoughts, but this one hit multiple parts of your psyche. Religious trauma, arousal, demons, kinks, and your insatiable lust for all of the above to be combined. Something you didn’t know until now. Well. Really, that’s a lie. It has always been arousing to consider how, as Asmo said, they’ve corrupted you, but to fantasize about retribution? Now, that’s new.

Asmo ran his hand up your arm. “Mc, you’ve been thinking a while…”

You snapped back in. “I like that idea.” You couldn’t be shy around him anymore, there’s no point with how well he can read you now. “So you wanna include the rest of them?”

“Satan and Lucifer will likely love this idea. Lucifer loves to punish as you know.” Asmo leaped up from the bed. “Let me go ask them now!”

“Hey!” You raced after him and he shouted for everyone to gather in the middle of the room. You were already feeling hot, embarrassment searing through you.

The brothers walked out of their rooms, complaining of being summoned, too tired, or annoyed. Asmo grinned eagerly and awaited for you to get beside him.

“So! Our lovely Mc confided in me of something naughty!” Asmo wrapped an arm around you and you saw the mood of the room instantly change.

“Naughty?” Lucifer’s mouth widened into a grin. “Do tell.”

The rest of them all nodded in agreement. Belphie yawned. “We just got here and they’re horny huh?”

You shot Belphie daggers with your eyes. “Asmo suggested I merely agreed.” He laughed at your response and looked at Asmo, eagerly awaiting to hear your fantasy.

“Mc has been dirtied by all of us, corrupted and fucked nice and good, so it’s up to the holy to punish them for their sins, is it not?”

Satan was the first to respond. “And we are to take up these holy roles?” He leaned on the railing to the stairs, propping his elbows up and resting his chin on his hands, his eyes lowering. “I quite like that.”

Lucifer chuckled. “Sounds interesting.”

“So we’re gonna punish ‘em?” Mammon looked to you, his face unreadable.

Levi came up beside Mammon, making him jump. “Ohhhh this is like that one episode of That One Time I Got Turned Into A Human! I know exactly what to do!” Levi looked even more excited that Satan or Lucifer.

Beel was still quiet but he looked deep in thought. When his eyes met yours you instantly knew what he was thinking about. You could see hunger in his eyes, this one not for food.

“So we’re all in agreement? Why don’t we do it tonight since we are all rained in?” Mammon broke the silence and to your own surprise as well.

“Hm, it’s short notice but I’m sure we can negotiate a scene.” Lucifer nodded and looked around to see everyone’s reactions and then his gaze landed back on you. “Shall we get on with it then?”

You breathed in deeply. “Yeah.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me nightbringer #lucifer x mc #mammon x mc #leviathan x mc #Satan x mc #asmo x mc #beel x mc #Belphie x mc #obey me smut

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needfantasticstories · 2 months

Text

Blood and Blade, Chapter 10: Desert Ruby

by SkipBreaker (aka needfantasticstories)

Summary:

Legend gets to meet the Gerudo of Wild's era. (Fun fact! So far, in his games, Legend has never met Gerudo people besides Ganondorf and Twinrova!) This should be fun, right? THANK YOU CHEETO!!!!!!! THE Beta ever!!!!!!! Crack TW: very relatable technology issues. (Qar, Riju would punch the screen.) Real TW: discussions of gender and sexism, some descriptions of arrow-wound care on a child

Desert Ruby

Deep sand dunes clawed at Legend’s Pegasus boots, slowing him. Waning afternoon sunlight baked his hands and face, yet the veteran forged on with a vengeance across the scorching grains. The breeze created from his reckless forward run helped soothe only some of the desert’s blistering heat. He hoped it was enough for the girl; he could worry about healing his own sunburns later.

The scorching sun inched lower behind him, still hours short of sunset.

Through dancing vapors of heat, the city walls drew nearer. A humble, arched gate on the western wall greeted him. Unseen streams whispered somewhere nearby, cooling the air around the city. Within the archway, sparkling cool blue and green tiles decorated the walls and small pools of water.

Legend sighed in relief. Wild spoke highly of his Gerudo, especially compared to the Gerudo tribe of Time’s stories, who seemed to hate Hylians. Legend waved to the guards and hurried to pass through. a request for aid on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he froze when the towering women shoved speartips against his chest.

“Wha–”

“No voe allowed!” snarled a veiled guard. If the blademasters were “strong” then these women were the equivalent of bipedal chain-chomps. Muscled arms flexed, and their boulder-firm stances left no question as to their capabilities. The guard on the left glared, and her drawn brows twitched as if she itched for him to give her any reason to run him through.

He glared back at her, and resisted the urge to leap over the gate. Fresh off multiple fights for his life, what was one more, if it came to it… but what then? Jostle the girl further in a mad dash with no destination? Delay getting her aid? He could not solve this with a fight.

‘Smile, and assume incompetence over malice,’ Zelda would remind him in moments like this, on those rare occasions she’d tasked him to guard her throughout tense diplomatic meetings.

He could do this. This was simply a puzzle, not a fight.

Legend took a slow step back and turned to reveal the child’s face and her injuries, her breath shallow and labored on his ear.

Their horrified gasps would have been satisfying if not for the girl’s groan at the sudden motion.

“Wait here until I call the healers.” The guard lowered her spear by mere inches and blew a tiny whistle with three long calls.

At last, she lowered her weapon and the guards helped him ease the child atop a blanket one of them produced. Legend stepped back and let his legs collapse. He knelt in the sand a moment, watching them carefully ease the girl to rest on her side. The arrow wounds looked more shallow than he’d first feared, at least—none of them shot at close range thanks to their wild descent—but it was little consolation when he could see her bleeding and shivering.

“Here. Healing potion,” Legend staggered to his feet and poured some on his blistered hand for them to see. He knew his era’s potions looked different than Wild’s. The healer snatched it as soon as the wound faded.

Legend watched, unable to help further but unwilling to look away as each arrow came free. Instead, the veteran fisted the dense weave of his tunic as she bit down her pain. He could have done more.

She took it all with a courage he admired. And, she was right. Gerudo were tough .

At last, the red-tipped arrows lay discarded on the ground beside the empty bottle of healing potion. Legend rested again in the sand just outside the gate, watching the little girl breathe deeply in her sleep, safe in the shade.

One of the guards turned to him with a softened expression. Not a smile, but not aggressive. “Thank you, young voe, for rescuing her. Buliara has been frantic over her disappearance,” she said with a sad shake of her head, “She’s very close to her nieces. I’m sorry we can’t allow you inside, or I’d buy you a drink myself.” She leaned closer. “Although,” she whispered, “You could do what another voe warrior does and buy a convincing vai set. Not many voe can pull it off, but I suspect you could do better than most, especially with that pink in your hair.”

Voe. That word again.

Oh .

A man.

He had found an entire civilization that hated him, helping the little girl notwithstanding. Legend regretted not grilling Wild about his era as soon as they’d come. He couldn’t even restock here, couldn't rest, might as well move on. Legend looked back at the wavering ocean of sand waiting for him to search. But where? Not back to the Yiga base. To Hyrule castle, perhaps, to find Wild’s Zelda? To Wild’s house in Hateno, the only place they’d spend time in their short visit before? Legend had no map, and such a lush village as Hateno must be hundreds of miles away.

The guards looked relieved when he asked for directions to both the castle and Hateno.

The guard who answered, one with short hair who wore it loose, pointed towards the far side of town. “There’s an oasis a few hours ahead where you can resupply, then a Hylian-run stable at the mouth of the canyon. Follow the canyon for a few days, cross Digdogg Bridge, on your first left is another stable. Return to the road going east, then beyond the coliseum ruins–”

Colosseum ruins… Legend’s heart sank at the words.

“Take the road north. You will see the castle. For Hateno, stay on the path instead of going north. You will find stables to rest in along the way. It’s a two week journey, at least, for most travelers. Best of luck.”

Legend saw a pair of green eyes staring at him. The girl rested, perfectly still, as her caregivers whispered above her. He waved a small goodbye. She lifted two fingers in answer.

“Yari!” A booming voice called from within the walls, and Legend stared as a massive Gerudo warrior collapsed at the girl’s side, her spear clattering on the packed earth. She wrapped the girl in a bear hug that might have killed the poor child if she hadn’t been healed first.

She would be just fine. A smile tugged at Legend’s mouth, though accompanied by a pang of jealousy. He missed his own brothers, and especially Hyrule, and the certainty of knowing they were all okay.

“I’m glad I got to see that, at least,” Legend told the guard as he took his leave.

She smiled as she waved.

Hot wind blew sand across the barren path ahead. He took one uncertain step. Two steps into the arid desert, the first steps of his next journey, and paused.

It felt more than lonely, without the girl on his back or brothers at his side or even his fairy companion from years ago. It felt more than daunting, with his skin already pink from the burning sun. It simply felt… empty.

“Buliara, that voe is the one who brought Yari back.” Called the guard he’d just said goodbye to.

“You!” the newcomer, Buliara, barked at him from the entrance. “Young voe! Explain.”

Legend slowly pivoted, hoping he would see someone who could help rather than hinder his quest. He took in her stern expression, and her rosy floral silks clasped in place with golden plates of armor, royaly jeweled. Legend wondered, if he faced her in the fighting colosseum, if he could even win.

Buliara eyed him skeptically in return. “What were you doing inside the Yiga base? How did you find her?”

To his own surprise, he rather liked this woman’s simmering rage; it was refreshing, somehow, and it matched his own. And, despite her people’s appalling sexism, she knew Wild’s world far better than he did. Honesty, it is , he decided.

“The Yiga ambushed my brothers and I, along with some demon, those bastards–” He was surprised at the slight wince the guards gave. Then again, with that much jewelry, Buliara could actually be royalty. Court voice , he decided. He explained, much more formally this time, the basics of the ambush that morning. “We reappeared deep within a cave complex in the canyon in that direction. Unfortunately, the demon did not appear there, the one who took my brother. I thought he was in the caves too, but I searched the whole complex, and even the Yiga did not know where they’d gone. I found Yari in the dungeon, and we made our escape together.” He paused to sip from his waterskin, at long last. It gave the guards a chance to whisper back and forth as he washed hot grit from his throat. “Now,” he added, “I still need to find my brother, wherever the demon took him, and return to our companions.”

“You say the Yiga are in league with a… demon?” Buliara scowled, and for the life of him Legend could not discern what it meant. But every guard and nosy civilian gathering near the gates to watch the commotion had also flinched at the word as she said it.

“Yes. Tall, thin, white hair and clothes. Do you know anything about demons, or where to find them?”

“We are no demon tribe!” One of the guards glared at Legend. “Have you come here to brazenly insult us with old prejudices?”

“No!” Buliara cut her off, stepping between them. “I believe they are earnest, and clearly a stranger to our history and our culture,” She eyed his clothes with something akin to amusement. Legend stood a bit taller. She nodded with something like approval, some decision reached. “The increasing brazenness of the Yiga clan may be explained by what he has seen; if there is such a monster among them, we must know. I will take you to our Chief. She should hear of this.” Buliara beckoned him to follow, and in one graceful motion she hoisted her sleeping niece into her arms like she weighed no more than a rabbit. Yari settled back to sleep almost instantly.

Legend hesitated, eyeing the guards. “As much as I’d like to brag that I got invited to your super-exclusive city, I really need to get back to my brothers. Do you know a man named Link?”

“Ah! The one with the vai clothes!” the guard whispered to her companion, much too loudly.

So, that’s what those silks were for? Wild wore them to get in? Legend suppressed a laugh. “I need to tell Link where I am. Do you have a way to contact that slate device he uses?”

“You know him, and the Sheikah slate?” Buliara considered him anew. “Lady Riju might know a way to contact him. You get to enter our exclusive city after all.” Buliara rolled her eyes, “Now put on decent clothes, for Nabooru’s sake. That dress is too thick for our sun, and we can’t let our citizens see a voe within the gates. Here. change quickly.” And she handed him a handful of soft fabric from her pouch. Like his own pouch, it was small but carried far more than its size implied.

“Uh, am I supposed to change here?”

She pointed to a gap behind some crates just inside the gates, and joined the other guards in shooing away the chittering crowd and telling them he was, in fact, a vai in disguise. Yari remained fast asleep on her shoulder.

Legend palmed the soft clothing she offered and walked behind the crates, and carefully examined each piece.

He took out his rok cape, briefly entertaining the idea of climbing a wall and soaring with the magical item to the palace without the grumpy soldiers hovering, but he did not particularly want to get on her bad side. He changed quickly, missing his skirt until he slipped into the silk pants, shimmying into the top and instantly feeling cool relief from the heat.

They felt… nice , he admitted in the privacy of his mind. I’m keeping these .

Buliara pointed to the gate, now cleared of spectators. “This way.”

Legend was never one to commit halfway. He swayed a little as he walked, trying to copy the sea-like gait of the vai filling the narrow street. If he was going to do this, he’d do it right , Hylia damn him.

Passing through alleys, all tiled in colorful mosaic designs, they soon entered a large plaza.

Canvas-covered shops lined the adobe town square, and shopkeepers reclined on rich carpets in the shade behind unfamiliar wares. They didn’t bother shouting, there were customers aplenty, Gerudo and Hylian and bird-like creatures and gorons all milling around curiously. The sun had a smothering effect, even in the cooling silks. This market would be a tough place for a thief to steal, so spread out were the stalls, and with so many eyes on one another’s customers.

Behind the shops, soft susurrations promised more waterways running somewhere behind the low walls, and cool air drifted into the plaza from above. Or he thought, until they passed water streaming from atop the wall itself into a mosaic-lined pool, the water diverted underground, but so close below he could still hear it as they entered the main plaza.

The central walkway to the palace was flanked by palm trees, and the water was exposed again between the walkways, joined by two wide waterfalls flowing down blue-tiled steps, all leading up to the adobe palace and its towering crown of stone pillars, bulbous at the top. A shimmering cascade flowed down like a divine gift from the sun goddess itself. Perhaps it was. Hylia was a strange goddess.

Sellers and Gerudo customers called familiar greetings to Buliara as they aimed for the palace steps. Curious eyes turned to him with open curiosity. Legend reflexively covered the scars of the trident on his chest and stared at the shimmering pools of water to keep himself from glaring back at their shameless gawking.

Stepping into the shade at the top of the palace steps, Legend finally sighed in relief, free of the sun and stares and the exhausting performance of walking in the awkward, foot-tilting shoes he’d only seen women of the court don for galas and balls. He missed his boots.

The little girl stirred in Buliara’s arms, and she whispered quiet greetings and comforts to the girl and held her closer. The girl settled, and watched Legend through heavily lidded eyes as they entered the Palace. Her gaze moved to his hair. She seemed uncertain. Legend resisted the urge to look around the opulent palace and waved at her instead. She smiled back at him, and closed her eyes.

“You found her!” Came a young woman’s voice, older than Yari’s but far higher than any of the guards. Legend begged his eyes to adjust faster.

Buliara dropped to one knee—spear braced in one hand and little Yari snuggled in the other—and bowed with only her knees. “Chief Riju, my niece is safely returned, and I present to you her rescuer.”

The tall throne, carved in ancient script like a monument, was fitted with a sort of wooden booster seat and small steps to accommodate the girl sitting in it. She lifted her gaze from some papers in one hand, her radiant gold headpiece–that looked much too large for her head—wobbling as she looked up.

“Praise all the sacred mothers!” The bejeweled girl looked relieved to see the child resting in Buliara’s arms. She faced Legend. “And who is our brave heroine?”

“Forgive me, Chief Riju, but I will personally vouch for this particular voe.”

“Oh!” The Chief gasped, and she laughed, light and airy, like the way Zeldas sometimes did when her courtly mask slipped. Several nagging worries evaporated with the sound. Riju straightened her headpiece from where it had fallen forward a little. “Well, she’s—I mean he’s not the only one, is he?”

Chief Riju slid off the throne and examined his eyes as she approached, as if trying to see the clues to some mystery. Her smile was open and unguarded, and refreshing. She reached for his hands and he readily offered them. She smiled even wider at his compliance, and held his hands earnestly as she spoke. “Thank you, young voe! Buliara has been inconsolable. She had all the troops gathered when the news of your arrival came. Please accept this in thanks.”

She pressed into his hand something heavy and warm. He knew better than to refuse a gift, so he bowed in thanks and peeked at it before stowing it subtly away: it was the warmest, heaviest ruby he’d ever seen, a gem that would have Ravio begging to buy it for crafting some new magic item… if he ever found out about it.

When he looked up again, Chief Riju was still staring. The chief blushed as she seemed to realize it herself. “Please forgive me, but you look so much like a very dear friend.”

“You mean Link, right? Hero of the Wilds?”

Riju’s open smile snapped into a frown. “You know him?”

“We were traveling together. He’s probably looking for me, and our brother.”

“I would like to know how you came to know Link, and of the Sheikah slate he carries.” Buliara asked, failing at keeping her tone neutral.

Their guards were up again. With enemies like the Yiga and that pale demon, Legend didn’t blame their suspicions. He knew the risks of shapeshifters and possessing spirits all too well.

Buliara did not wait for an explanation. “Chief Riju, I brought him here to his tale of encountering the Yiga, and his rescue of Yari, and his journey with our mutual friend. But he also claims to have seen–” Buliara paused and whispered it in Riju’s ear.

“What? What sort of… As in the ancient… does Link know?”

“We should listen to his report.”

They both turned to him.

“Please, share your tale.”

“It’s… it’s a bit hard to believe, but…” Hylia, where to start? “Are you very familiar with portals that can move you, not to different places, but to different times ?”

An uncomfortable silence fell as Riju blanched. “Yes.”

Legend began alowl, awkwardly, as awkward as the day he first stumbled through a portal and his confusing meeting with Hyrule and the black eye the traveler gave him. But as he spoke the story wove itself more easily: meeting the others, the sha-shifting creatures of dark magic and the monsters it infected, the ambush, the teacher and the mage, finding Yari, their escape, and finall to the moment he arrived at their gate.

The only interruption was when he shared their nickname for Wild.

Buliara laughed, “That’s quite fitting. He smells like a wet dog and muddy leaves most days, especially when he’s been around his wolf.”

Legend stored that intriguing comment to ask Wild and Twilight about later.

A long silence followed the end of his tale.

“Wait here,” Riju ordered, and she marched past her throne, and disappeared behind it. From behind the monument of a seat came a cacophony of thumps and bumps and clacks, of some jumble of items being pulled around.

“Chief Riju, please be careful!” Buliara hissed, trying not to wake her stirring niece.“Purah has yet to repair it.”

Riju ignored her.

Legend waited with growing dread, fingers itching to reach for his pack in case things went… well, as they often did: sideways. Had he said something to make them think he was secretly an enemy? Why was the Chief so upset about time-travel? He ran through all his words, but exhaustion had long since taken the edge off his mind. He sat, and drew slow, calming breaths. Nothing was wrong, not yet . Wild trusted them, and though their auras were not overwhelming like the mage, he could still feel them, fresh but strong like rainstorms.

Riju emerged at last. Her arms overflowed with a tangle of wires and cords, small stones and crystals and metal coils. Screws dropped from the mass as Riju moved. “She said it could still connect to the Princess’s, so I’ll risk it.” Riju answered her guard, dropping the bundle on her booster-throne. “We don’t have the technology or spells for time-travel,” And she mumbled, “Not in this version of our history.” And she stopped, sighed deeply, and continued louder, “However, we can travel and contact each other across great distances, thanks to the Sheikah technology the princess and Link have rediscovered.” The young chief pulled out what looked like a slimmer version of Wild’s fromslate amid the nest of cords. She studied it, her nose wrinkled in deep concentration, scanning the slate with uncertainty, and finally she pressed something on it.

“Your majesty, wait!” Buliara yelled, momentarily distracted by setting down her niece, but too late. A jolt of blue light pulsed from the crystals and stones, along the wires and cords, and promptly faded before reaching the slate itself.

Riju frowned, and Buliara sighed in relief. Whatever it was, it hadn’t worked.

“Oh, by all the mothers!” Riju grumbled, and held up the slate in one hand. With the other hand raised in an elegant pinch, she snapped .

OceanThunderHyruleWhere!? Legend’s mind scrambled for understanding as light consumed his vision.

When color at last bled into view again, Riju stood with the slate glowing softly in her hands, the wires and stones dangling from it pulsing steadily with a now-familiar blue glow.

“R… ch… Rij—” A crackled voice spoke from the stone. “Chief Riju, is that–worki—gain?”

“Princess!” the girl shouted. “Princess, I have found someone you should meet! He says he knows Link!”

“l—be there as soo—ake care of—oon–here me? –e on our way there,” a barely intelligible chorus of voices crackled in reply from the various stones.

“I do hope that means they’re coming,” Riju furrowed her brow, but the optimistic smile at the corner of her mouth never dissipated.

Hylia, why does she remind me so much of Hyrule? And the princess was coming? Legend could have cried in relief. She’d have answers. They always did.

As guards marched out to meet the Princess, and attendants brought refreshments, the trio waited on a collection of plush cushions and carpets set to one side of the court. Legend made use of the damp towels provided to wipe his face as the late afternoon sun peeked below the window tops, inescapable.

#linked universe #linked universe fanfic #blood and blade #skipwrites #lu legend #lady riju #riju #buliara #tw blood

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