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bumblesimagines · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine:

Escaping The Woods

Request: Yes or No

Finally giving my fem!readers some crumbs

~~~

"Sam, you need to go! Now!" She had no idea where this strength came from to shout at the boy. They constantly sedated her, keeping her numb and tranquil against her will, even when they claimed it was for her own safety. They feared her, just as they feared every other student trapped below the school. She knew well that her food had been tampered with, tainted with a sedative that would keep her from fighting when they did blood tests. The sedative would kick in soon and she'd be left to sleep for hours until she awoke with the hope that Sam finally escaped.

"But- I can't leave you!" Blood dripped down his cheek, hands and clothes stained with the blood of the guards who had tried stopping him. He'd escaped his cell, just as he had done numerous times before, but he had a chance to finally leave and never return. Her eyes watered and he swallowed, punching in numbers into the pad on her door. It clicked and she gasped softly, wide eyes watching the door slide open. At her feet lied a puddle of blood and a guard with his jaw broken clean off.

"Sam..."

"Come with us." He pleaded softly and she spotted what he held in his hand. A small supe. A girl. Drenched in blood and sound asleep in the palm of his hand. He held her carefully, as if afraid he'd hurt her with his superstrength. "Let's get out of here."

A chance at freedom. A chance to go home and far away from the corrupt humans keeping her trapped. She swallowed and took his free hand, a wide smile breaking out on his face. He led her down the bloody, corpse-ridden corridor and held the small supe close to his chest, his legs turning corners automatically and leading them to a dead end. Her brows furrowed but then Sam released her hand and braced himself, ramming his shoulder against the wall and making the hidden door burst open. He turned back to her, panting and smiling with his floppy brown curls falling over his forehead.

"Almost there, (Y/N). Come on!" He took her hand again and they hurried up the stairs, leaving the building and stepping out into part of campus. The fresh air hit her like a truck and she inhaled deeply, the first breath of clean air she'd taken in years. Sam ran out into the field and toward a forested area, the grass beneath her worn sneaks crunching. Real, living trees. She was back in nature. But it wasn't enough. Her hand slipped from Sam's and she collapsed on her knees with a low groan.

"Sam," She breathed out, feeling the grass against her palms. So soft, so comforting. The grass blades grew and wrapped around her fingers, the use of her powers only straining her more. Sam stepped toward her and offered his hand again.

"It- It's okay, (Y/N). I'll carry you-"

"No, you have to go." She pushed his hand away. "I'll only slow you down. If- If they catch you, who knows what they'll do to you. Save yourself and the girl. If they come, I'll hold them back for as long as I can."

Sam hesitated, his lips beginning to tremble with anguish and eyes flooding with tears. He nodded and wiped his tears away with the bloodied sleeve of his sweater, turning his back to her and running forward before taking a leap into the air that left a small crater behind. She watched him disappear into the night and sighed, praying to whatever higher power above to let Sam go. To let him finally live a life outside four walls. To let him find Luke and run until nobody could find either of them.

Headlights suddenly shone behind her and she swallowed thickly, staggering up onto her weak legs. The sedative. She could feel its effects beginning to set in. Her world began to turn and twist but she couldn't let it deter her. She had to protect Sam. She had to. (Y/N) took another deep breath and tried to focus, trying to summon the last of her strength. Nature was all around her. It was her strength, her power. But her vision became blurry and her movements became sluggish.

"Hey, you okay?" A hand grabbed her elbow and she spun around, swinging as hard and fast as she could but even then, her wrist was easily caught. Her vision grew blurrier and she stumbled right into the chest of the stranger before her legs gave out and her vision went dark.

Jordan stared at the girl passed out on their bed, teeth anxiously chewing on their bottom lip. They recognized her. She'd ranked 8th in the Top Ten before disappearing, or per Brink's words, 'dropped out due to pressure.' Yet there she was. Weak, delirious, and in the worst state they'd ever seen another person in. Famished, dehydrated, and likely tormented. "Fuck," They cursed softly and ran a hand over their face in frustration. Maybe if they hadn't been so meek back in freshmen year, maybe if they had gotten the courage to speak with her... maybe she wouldn't have been taken.

She groaned and their heart nearly skipped a beat, shooting up from the couch and watching her closely for signs of consciousness. (Y/N)'s head lolled from side to side, slowly rolling onto her back and carefully sitting up with her eyes cracking open. Jordan slipped into their femme form, their smaller and softer form where they wouldn't be as intimidating. She'd almost cracked their cheek the previous night when they'd been in their masc form, and they'd rather not risk it again. (Y/N) slumped back against the wall with furrowed brows, her fingers curling around the sheets and comforter.

"Where..." Her voice sounded hoarse. Jordan quickly moved around the bed and bopped open their mini fridge, snatching the first bottle of Vought Water they saw and opening it. They returned to the bedside and held the bottle up to her cracked lips, slowly tilting the bottle so she could drink and refresh her throat. She drank the water without protest before gently pushing their hand away, wiping her wet lips and chin with the tip of her fingers and finally getting a good look at her surroundings. "Where am I?"

"You're in my dorm. I-I'm Jordan Li." Jordan licked their lips and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Jordan? The... the freshmen that always tried sucking up to Brink?" Their skin flushed and they chuckled sheepishly, screwing the cap back on the bottle. She'd noticed them back then. Butterflies fluttered around furiously in their belly. Oh, how could she still affect them so much after three years? She tiredly rubbed her eyes and leaned forward a bit. "You look... different."

Right. She knew them before they came out and fully accepted their two forms. "Yeah, I..." They pressed their lips together and slipped into their masc form before going back to their femme form. Her brows raised and they braced themselves for a reaction that would shatter their heart. But instead, she nodded and leaned back, content with the wordless explanation.

"Dorm.." She repeated quietly and her eyes widened, suddenly ripping the comforter off her legs and swinging them over the edge of the bed.

"Woah, woah, easy!" The bottle slipped from their hand and fell to the ground, arms shooting out to steady her before she could stumble and fall. She braced herself against the nightstand and took in short breaths, one hand gently pushing away their arm so she could stumble toward the broad window and peer out of it. She gasped sharply and jerked back.

"I-I can't be here, Jordan."

"I know, I know." Jordan's hands found her waist, digging their fingers into the fabric of the grey sweatpants to steady her. Her hands bunched up their jacket as she held onto them, the fear in her eyes making their heartache.

"No, you don't know. If- If they find me, they'll take me back to The Woods and they'll wipe you so you forget about me. They hurt Sam but he's too valuable to them. I'm not. Jordan, they'll kill me." Her eyes flooded with tears and she shakily inhaled, voice trembling with each word she spoke. "They are going to kill me."

"I won't let that happen," Jordan assured firmly. "I won't let them hurt you."

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kuni-is-daddy · 2 years ago

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"Just like that."

Scaramouche X female reader

fingering, teasing.

Anon: "SCARA TRAINING/WORKING OUT AND TEASING US, oh you like the way he stretches his arms after he won a battle he’ll make sure he shows them off...He’s dragging his fingers everywhere on himself to “wipe the sweat off” no he’s just teasing you, working you all up before he decides to finger you after a long day of showing everyone who’s boss"

954 WORDS

Scara fic list!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

"What a waste of space, Aren't you supposed to be the big strong fatui?" He said while hovering in the air. The beautiful teal chakra energy flowing through his body as his eyes glowed in correlation of it. The way he'd so casually step on his enemies after releasing a gigantic form of anemo energy. How he'd crush them under his heel, Watching as they cough and reel out blood in pain. And god the sly things that would come out of his mouth. Sometimes you'd wonder if he brought you out to the murky forests just so you could watch him. But you didnt care, You knew you'd always be safe in his arms...In more ways than one.

"Heh we're you seriously scared?" He said while looking down on you, Hair blowing through the wind. "I-im not scared scara...I Just dont want you to get hurt or be in danger." "Danger? How ridiculous, Im well aware people have it out for me in this joke of a reality we're in." He took his hat back away from you, then put his hand on his hip "If your so concerned then why do you still persist me? Your only looking for trouble." he scoffed. "Well..its because I love you scara." You held his hands. "and....I wouldnt mind a bit of 'trouble' in my life if it was you." He grew flustered from your words. "Oh really? Then how about you join me when i work out tomorrow? I Could use a little bit of 'motivation.' "

You locked the door from the inside. The interior of the apartment looked beautiful. The table and floors we're so clean you could practically see your reflection, Their was a room upstairs that caught your eye. Decorated in L.E.D lights that would glow green. 'so that must be nahidas room' you thought. Across the long hallway led to the workout room. As you approached the room you heard the echo of grunts and sighs. You knocked and with a rough "Come in" You entered. His gym was even more mesmerizing. Completely traditional to Inazuma's culture, not too much equipment and only the case of his malevolent katana the Shikiraku Gobandate. A blade strong enough to parry his own mothers Mosou no hitotachi. To your left, their was scara. He was bench pressing what looked like 175lbs by himself..Without a spotter. You rushed over to him, Your tits bouncing in his peripheral vision. "S-scara! why are you pressing without a spotter? You could get hurt!" You stood behind him and the bar while taking off your jacket. Your hands then hovered over it ready to catch the weights at any moment. Laying down, Scara had a perfect view of your cleavage.

SMUTTT:

"Your right, Maybe i should have you spot me with a view like this~" "S-shut up..or ill let it fall on you." He chuckled at your words. Watching scara excersis was so satisfying, The way he'd breathe heavy while lifting each time, Brokenly counting each set, It was music to your ears. Once he was done, He asked you to pass him his water bottle and god did he look hot. Scara was covered in sweat while his abs pierced through his tight black undershirt. His shorts we're also ruffled up, So much that you could see the V line leading down to his cock. Kuni noticed your visible staring and decided to entertain you a bit, He took sips from the water then poured out the rest of the bottle onto his hair. Ruffling his hair through his hands and while looking at you.

"Your enjoying yourself over there y/n?" You snapped out of your flustered daze. "Y-Yeah! Im gonna start my push ups now." You got on all fours, getting ready to position yourself when he interrupted you. "You should stretch out a bit. Its stupid for you to go straight into a heavy exercise like that." You looked up to see his tall and muscular body infront of you. He was stretching out his arms while he shorts loosely hanged on.

"12..13...14.." you collapsed then rolled over on your back against the floor. "Pathetic, Is that all you can do? only 14?" Your vision shifted to scara who was sitting on the floor while gently playing with the tip of his katana. "I could do 90 in my sleep y/n." He got up then walked up to you again. "Sorry scara..Im really trying.." "You 'trying' isnt good enough. Fucking push yourself harder. get to 15 at least next time. lets take a break." "A break..? Kuni we just started-" He took off his shirt and threw it onto the floor. "K-Kuni..." The room began to feel hotter as your body tensed up just looking at him again. "You sure like to run your mouth alot y/n. Always giving stupid little suggestions." He then laid back on his workout bench. "Come. How about you tell me what you want sooooo badly." You gave a flustered look and walked towards kuni, He patted his thigh and told you to sit on his lap. "You know, You look so fucking good in that outfit right now. Wearing black just for me~ I love how your nipples show every time you do a rep..Your not wearing a bra are you?" you turned your head. "Hmm? You we're giving me such gazing looks earlier. Isnt it my turn now?" You began to shift back and forth on his thigh, grinding. Kuni placed his hands against your waist while teasing you even further. "So eager arent you? Did you like that slut. The way i grazed my fingers so lightly against my blade. Want daddy to be gentle with you like that huh?" "Ah..Kuni~" You pressed your hands against his chest back and forth, Now pathetically chasing your high. "F-fuck..How about i treat you rough instead..S-shit..Get you on all fours like a fucking dog and have you choke on my cock. Want that? Want daddy to treat you rough like the pet you are?" Sometimes you'd get so wrapped up in your high and the burning feeling he gave you that you couldnt even understand what he was truly saying, it was if he fucked you dum before he even started.

Kuni picked you up and brought you onto the floor, Spreading your legs then pulling down your pants. "Shit...Look how wet you are. A slut like you worshipping my fucking body as you should. Do you want to feel good slut?" "mmh..Y-yes Kuni~ Wanna feel good" He thrusted two of his slender fingers inside of you. "Ugh~ Fuck your so wet for me. This pussy wants me so bad huh~?" "YES KUNI~ I..I want you to fuck me.. Please~" He laughed "So fucking pathetic..You want my cock that bad? I could give you more..But i like you like this, the horny bitch you are. Begging for me." "N-NO..FUCK~ KUNI PLEASE I WANT IT~ I WANT IT DADDY~" Your heart was beating so fast you just couldnt take it. How badly your legs we're shaking because you wanted to cum, how kuni teased you with no remorse and on top of that it was so hot in the room. "Thats it y/n. Yell just like that for me and cum on my fingers. cum on me, Let me hear you baby, How much you want it~ How much that pussy wants me to fill you up"

Your breath became rapid as you panted hard "K-KUNI M' SO CLOSE~ PLEASE- IM GONNA CUM~" you yelled out for kuni one last time as your juices oozed out onto his hand. "Fuck i love it when you cum for me like that~ all over my fucking fingers" He licked on his fingers while fiddling with the string on his pants. "K..kuni..im tired...gonna lay in your bed" you weakly got up, Legs wobbling from the orgasm you just had. Just as you we're about to head for the door he picked you up and brought you their himself. "T-thank you~" you yawned and began to close the door. but he firmly held it open against the knob. "I never said i was done with you yet slut." Noticing his hard on, he grabbed your hand and guided your fingers into his mouth. "Dont you think you should help master cum too?"

#genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #kunikizushi #genshin impact #genshin x reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche headcanons #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x female reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader

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cowgurrrl · 1 year ago

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Marrow

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic!ellie williams x fem!reader)

Author’s note: thanks for being patient!! I made a new graphic for the in-between parts of When You’re Lost in the Darkness/Look for the Light because I wanted to 😌 (PS this is somewhat of rewrite/reimagining of my first fic Everything Leads to You so if there are some similarities, iTS FINE)

Summary: “This was always going to happen. She’s been dead since the beginning.” - Oresteia as translated by Robert Icke aka the beginning of the journey

Warnings: discussions of Tess, reference to Adam, Joel being stubborn, talking to Ellie about mortality, references to a sexual relationship, the horrors of being seen by someone who could break your heart

"Stay here," you say to Ellie after a full ten minutes of waiting. He didn't even say where he was going. He just left without another word and expects you to be there by the time he returns, which is annoying in its own right.

"What? Where are you going?" Ellie asks before you can even take two steps in the direction he left.

"To find Joel."

"He said to stay here."

"Joel says a lot of things." You roll your eyes. She didn't try arguing with Joel when he left, but here she is, holding you up. She better hope he's just down there fucking around and not in trouble.

"What am I supposed to do if someone finds me?"

"No one's gonna find us out here."

"But what if they do?" She asks, and you can recognize the anxiety in her voice. She's a lot like Joel, you've noticed. Fierce and short-tempered but with lots of uncertainty brewing just underneath. You soften just enough to crouch in front of her and open your hand.

"You still got your knife?" You ask, and she nods. "Can I show you something?" She hesitates before pulling the knife out of her jacket pocket and placing it in your hand. You see why she likes it so much. It's a good size, sleek, and perfectly balanced. You open the blade and hold the handle firmly. "If they get close enough, jab at soft parts. Eyes, stomach, throat. It might not kill them immediately, but it'll distract them enough for you to run away and get our attention."

"Same for Infected?"

"Same for Infected," you say. "Runners are just sick people. They have almost all the same weak points."

"Is it hard to kill them when you know they were people once?" She asks, and your mind immediately goes to that Shell station from all those years ago. Against your will, you remember his groans and the look in his eyes as he pushed you away from the last time. You clear your throat and close the blade to hand it back to her.

"Not when they come after you first," you say. She eyes you carefully like she doesn't believe you, but you stand before she can see right through you. "Stay here. We'll be right back." She doesn't move from her spot as you walk away, but you catch her changing her grip on her knife to copy the way you held it.

You find Joel on the river bank you and Tess passed more times than you could ever count. The water is clear and running without a care in the world. It would be peaceful if you weren't strategizing on how to have this conversation with Joel. It's necessary, but if you know him (which you do), you know it'll result in a fight. You decide to approach him gently with empty hands and a soft, if not a little pained, smile. He glances in your direction but doesn't acknowledge you as he reaches into the cold water and pulls a smooth rock from the bottom. He adds it to the stack right next to him and stares at it like it's something more sentimental than just a cairn. Maybe it is. He wouldn't tell you if it was. Not now. Not when Tess hasn't even been dead for twenty-four hours. Finally, he stands and turns to look at you.

"How's your hand?" You ask, breaking the unbearable silence between you. He looks between you and his stained, cracked knuckles and shrugs.

"Fine." He says, his voice deep and rough. You step closer to get a better look at his hand and fight the urge to reach for it to press around for the fracture you're positive is swelling under his skin.

"You don't have to be a hero about it. I can wrap it."

"I said 'm fine," he snaps. You nod and take a step back. You know, from years of diffusing Joel's anger, this is a delicate dance. "Where's Ellie?"

"Right where you left her. I came down here 'cause I wanted to make sure you were alive."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," you say. The levity in your voice startles him into looking you in the eyes for the first time since you left the destroyed capitol building. The brown of his eyes feels especially heavy and sad, but you don't flinch. You rarely do with him. "Plus, I wanted to see if we could talk."

"Bout what?" He says like nothing in the past few days has been catastrophic enough to require a conversation.

"About what you think Bill and Frank are gonna do."

"Take her to the Fireflies or get someone else to do it."

"And if they say no?"

"They won't."

"How do you know?" You ask, and he rolls his eyes. "Frank's sick, Joel. Really, really sick. He can't just get in a car and take this girl to the Fireflies, and Bill's not gonna leave him."

"How do you know?" He accuses.

"Because I actually talk to them on the radio," you say. "From what he's told me, it sounds like Parkinson's or something. I don't know. I'm not a doctor."

"Exactly," he agrees with enough tension in his voice to poke at the fiery anger in your belly. "Frank's fine. They'll set him up in the truck and drive her there."

"What about Raiders? Or Slavers? Or what happens if they run out of gas and can't find more? Frank can't just walk her to Wyoming."

"Bill'll figure it out."

"If Tess were that sick-"

"Don't. Don't even start with that." He cuts you off, and you sigh.

"Is this really how we're gonna do this? Just not talk to each other about anything? Keep our heads in the sand until it's too late?" You ask. "Keep lying to ourselves that everything's normal?"

"You were just fine doin' that not even a week ago." He crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows at you. You know exactly what he's referring to. It's a tangle of limbs and whispers of so fuckin' pretty, 's like you were made for me, just like that, but you remember. Of fucking course, you remember every time he made you his and left the marks to prove it. Of course, you remember looking at him the next day like absolutely nothing happened, like he didn't fall to his knees in front of you like you were some long-forgotten deity. You and Joel are not people who do long-term relationships, especially not with each other. Still, his comment feels like a jab at the way you got dressed and left not even ten minutes after he came.

"A week ago, we didn't have a fourteen-year-old to keep alive," you say. He sucks his teeth and looks down at his boots; clearly not a fan of your redirecting. "We're already going west. We might as well just finish this out and get her to the Fireflies. I'll even let you knock a few around if you really want to."

"'S that supposed to be some kinda incentive?"

"If finding your brother and doing what Tess asked us to do isn't enough, then yeah," he tenses when you say her name. It hurts to know she's gone. It hurts even more to know she sacrificed herself so you three would have a chance. You'll be damned if you let her death mean nothing. "And if we get to Bill and Frank's, and they won't take her, and you still don't want to do this, I'll take her myself."

"Not a chance." He counters before you can finish your sentence. You fight a smirk, knowing you've got him right where you want him, and he sighs heavily. You know he would never let you do this by yourself. He also knows he can't leave you to go back to yet another empty apartment and wait for him to come back alive or never hear from him again. For all your fighting, secrets, and unspoken agreements, you think there's no one else in this world you know better than Joel. You hope he thinks the same about you.

"We get to Bill and Frank's, and then we make a decision, but we gotta agree somehow. Fair?" He relents, and you nod.

"Fair."

"Anythin' else we need to talk bout?" He asks, looking at you expectantly. Yes, you think. We need to talk about what made you beat the FEDRA soldier to death. We need to talk about Tess. We need to talk about how far we're willing to go to get to Tommy and drop this kid off. We need to talk like real people and not the shells we've been.

"No," you say. "Nothing else."

"Good," he nods and walks past you, his shoulder brushing yours as he does. "Let's get moving."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @moonandseatgr-yngf @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @korynnekorynne @anavatazes (please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list/if I missed you!!)

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yoditorian · 10 months ago

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Lacuna - The Rewrite - Part 1

din/reader

if you're wondering why this seems familiar - it is :)

original part 1 // series masterlist // main masterlist

word count: 3.5k

warnings: swearing, non-explicit sex, 18+ only pls.

You’re almost blind with rage.

The sweat cooling on your brow is the only proof of the dogfight you should never have found yourselves in. Too little warning, too little time, too little information. It’s only a matter of time before someone doesn’t come back after a job - and you know exactly where everyone else will lay blame if that happens.

You’re not thinking, not really, as you discard your gloves in the cockpit of the modified shuttle, the soft leather makes a satisfying slap when they hit the control panel. But it doesn’t dispel the itch of the anger running through your blood like ants. The others grumble when you push past them in the cargo hold but nobody makes any effort to stop you, eyes locked on target as he descends the boarding ramp.

You shove Ran between the shoulder blades, once - hard - and he stumbles down the last few feet of the ramp, skidding across the hangar floor on his ass. It’s almost comical, the cartoonish way he trips on his own feet. A few years ago, you might have laughed. But even a few years ago, you wouldn’t have had the courage to be quite so expressive about his leadership choices. If that’s what he’s calling them.

“What the fuck was that?”

He’s got the gall to look surprised by your outburst, from his crumpled heap on the floor, but his eyes harden in the same instant. Ran gets to his feet slowly, the dust on his pants the only evidence he’d been on the ground in the first place. He holds your gaze steadily, a challenge.

“About time you started pulling your weight around here anyway, sweetheart.”

Bold words from a man whose bad information ends in blaster fire more often than not, and your blood boils - it’s enough to have you drawing your blaster. Only it's not in the holster you keep strapped to your thigh. There’s only one person who’d have the forethought, the sleight of hand, the fucking gumption to pick your pocket in this moment.

Your eyes are cold as you turn to look up the ramp, where Mando stands above you in the mouth of the small freighter with your blaster dangling from his index finger. He’s apparently unaffected by your outrage, even though Ran’s actions could have ended very differently for all four of you. Xi’an cackles from somewhere inside the cargo hold. She’s lucky you’re suddenly, unexpectedly, unarmed.

“If I hadn’t gotten us out of it, we would have died.” You’re right, and everyone knows you’re right. But Mando just shrugs, the barest roll of his shoulders, like it’s nothing. Water off a fucking duck’s back.

“But we didn’t die, did we?” He says simply, as he descends the ramp towards you. The fingertips of his gloves brush your thigh as he drops the blaster back into its rightful place in your holster, and you can only watch him stalk off into the shadows of the hangar. Xi’an skips out of the belly of the ship, hot on his heels as always, fluttering her eyelashes at you and faux-pouting as she passes.

The only reason any of you made it back to the station at all is because of you. You were quick enough on your feet to anticipate the attack, you were on the guns, you made the lightspeed calculations quicker than the nav computer to get the fuck out of there. Something everyone else seems to have conveniently not noticed, as usual. You heave an annoyed sigh, the fading adrenaline of your fury has leached all the energy from your bones, and you scuff your boots on the corrugated metal as you pick your way down the rest of the ramp. Ran catches you when you pass him, his grip on your arm just a little too tight to be friendly.

“Empire’s always looking for pilots, I can just as easily put you back where I found you.” He says lowly, and you know it’s not an empty threat. You have to tug yourself out of his grasp and you’re sure there’ll be bruises in the shape of his fingertips by morning, you can feel them already. He knows there’s nothing left for you on Corellia save for an arrest warrant and swift execution. So you’re stuck here, because - well, what else do you have? Qin hands you a pouch of credits for a job well done as you shuffle past him, which makes that particular pill a little easier to choke down.

You settle for spending the rest of the evening sulking in your room. Like the grown up you are.

The little room on Ran’s space station isn’t much, but you’ve done what you can. A small bed and a desk, the matching chair had gone missing long before you moved in, a shelving unit, and a viewport. You’d shoved the bed up against the cold metal of the wall right underneath the little pane of glass, scarcely bigger than the datapad that lies forgotten on your pillow but you pay the boss dearly for the view. For the stars to be the first thing you see when you wake, and the last thing you see before you sleep? It’s the kind of thing you dreamed about as a child before everything went to hell. An old blanket is the only reminder of who you used to be, loosely crocheted and full of holes - it was used to swaddle you as a baby once upon a time, before the sweat and the ash and the bloodstains. It’s the only thing you’d brought with you when you had to run all those years ago, wrapped around your shoulders to shield you from the night’s chill at the last minute. You hadn’t even had time to put your shoes on.

The blanket lies crumpled atop the bedsheets, surrounded by scribbled notes and reminders and blueprints. You have a habit of taking work to bed with you sometimes, but it keeps the loneliness at bay. Most of the time. So, you gather the documents in a haphazard pile, already knowing you’ll be annoyed that you’ll have to sort them out in the morning, but you’re too tired to care. They get dumped unceremoniously on the desk, between half-dismantled sections of the latest scrap freighter’s control board. You’re pretty sure that future-you can handle a few sheets of paper. It’s not a problem for right now, anyway.

You have to pee.

In all honesty, you don’t remember falling asleep. But your back is stiff from the position you’ve found yourself in, curled up on top of the blankets of your bed, and your clothes from the job lay wrinkled on the floor. You’re thankful, at least, that even in your exhausted state you had the forethought to change into the ratty t-shirt and soft trousers you keep as pyjamas. You’ve slept in that jacket more often than you’d care to admit, but it’s definitely not something you like to do.

Your door slides open, once you’ve gathered the willpower to rise from your nest, to reveal lowered lights and a rare moment of quiet in the corridor. Sleep hours, then. It’s hard to keep track of time when it’s always night outside, although you don’t mind living off-planet so much. It’s not that bad once you get used to it. Rest here usually comes when you can get it, though most of the job crew tend to catch a nap here and there at the same time. The scrappers rotate, the hangar always busy with someone chopping something to pieces. But the hallway lights lower regularly, for a few hours at a time, to at least remind people that they should be sleeping. It’s nothing like those fancy artificial sunrise to sunset lighting cycles you’ve heard about on inner rim stations. It doesn’t sound like anyone’s awake to judge you for shuffling to the bathroom in your socks anyway.

The light is too bright in comparison to the dim hall, and you almost jump back from your reflection in the small mirror. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled shirt, you really should have done something with your hair before you passed out. You’re sure you’ve never looked more exhausted. Sleep hasn’t come easy in the few years you’ve spent on the station, dreams plagued by flashes of the reason you came here in the first place. Running, choking on the smoke in your lungs, an old friend’s blood splattering across your cheek. The only rest you really get is when you work yourself down to the bone, until you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, but you know you’re not the only one.

The door across from yours is open when you go back to your room, Mando standing in the frame, backlit by a lamp like he’s the hero from one of those propaganda movies you snuck into as a kid. You pause in your own doorway, it’s probably a bad idea to call him out on it. It’d probably only start an argument and then you’d have to deal with the only person you could count on to watch your back being mad at you.

“You should have backed me up earlier.” Your mouth takes the decision away from you. He waits for a moment, silently, like he’s expecting you to say more. But you leave it there.

“I did. You would have regretted killing him.”

“I wasn’t going to kill him.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, and you can almost hear his eyes roll under the helmet in his response.

“Do you think I don’t know what you look like when you’re about to blow someone’s head off?”

Well, he’s fucking got you there, hasn’t he?

Because he’s absolutely right - with your flash in the pan anger at the plan so close to going wrong, you probably��would have killed Ran. Maybe not intentionally, but it would have been the most likely outcome. And then where would you all be, because de facto leadership in his sudden absence wouldn’t have fallen to you. Not if you’d been the one to kill him anyway, who would trust you to lead them after that?

But the idea that he knows you well enough, has studied you closely enough, to know when you’re about to do something as terrible as take a life. It’s intimate. Romantic, almost.

It doesn’t make you as uncomfortable as you might have thought it would.

The mismatched floor panels creak under your weight as you stand there for a long moment, just watching each other. Any animosity from the day’s earlier events has dissipated but you can’t quite bring yourself to thank him for stopping you from making a stupid decision. At least he was quick off the mark with this one. Usually, he’s too late, and he comes in swinging only to have to help you mop up whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into. He’s good like that. It’s only as he shifts slightly under your quiet observation that you notice the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” You ask, barely a whisper so as not to disturb the moment of peace. However short it might be.

Mando’s spine goes rigid, like he wasn’t expecting you to ask at all. But you don’t have time to take back the words before he’s walking right towards you, backing you into the darkness of your room. You’ve never been this close to him before, chest to chest, alone. The warmth you can feel even from under the armour threatens to make your head spin.

“Home,” His voice is low, “Don’t you ever think about going home?”

You didn’t even know he had a home to go back to. There’s a lot you don’t know about the man in front of you, but he’s loyal to the bone. That much is plain to see. He wants to know you’ll be okay, you think, without him as a buffer between you and the rest of the crew.

“My home is here.” Your answer is final, although you can feel the raised eyebrow through his helmet. You’re no more attached to the space station than you are any of the planets you’ve yet to visit. It’s not home, nowhere is. But you’ve been here since you were sixteen, years before the rest of your team, it’s as close as you’ll get to belonging somewhere. Mando doesn’t respond, doesn’t ask any questions, only stands with you for a long moment. Breathing. He’s good like that. You’ve never felt the pressure to fill any silence with him, he seems to exist so comfortably in it. It’s easier that way, probably for you both. You don’t know much about Mandalorians, the only stories you’ve heard are the ones Qin told you drunk in a seedy cantina when Mando first joined. Horror stories. If his past is anything similar to yours, he’s grateful for the absence of questions too.

“So it’s goodbye, then?” You’re yet to break his stare.

“Yes.”

Is he closer, somehow?

“Would you have said goodbye if I wasn’t already awake?”

He’s definitely closer.

Mando reaches behind him to tap the control panel on the wall, sliding the door shut and leaving you in the darkness. He lets his bag slip off his shoulder, lowering it to the floor suspiciously silently for one you know is crammed with weaponry, and walks you further into the room. You can’t really see much at all, only the steady blinking of the little red lights in the ceiling panels.

“You trust me?” It’s so quiet, you wonder if you imagined the words. He’s never given you a reason not to.

“Keep your eyes closed?”

“I promise.”

It takes a moment before he lifts the lip of the helmet high enough, and another long few seconds of just being without barriers - breathing in the same space for the first time - for him to kiss you. And kiss you he does.

The breath you get in before your lips touch is all him, turning your insides to liquid gold. Everywhere he touches you sets a fire. For a man so rough, he is so careful, he handles you as though you’ll break at the slightest breeze. As though he is wholly undeserving of such sweetness. Part of you thinks he’s convinced he is. It’s a first and a last kiss, a hello and a goodbye kiss, the way he tries to suffocate himself in you is evidence enough that you won’t be here again. You won’t get to have him like this again. He stays close when you finally break apart, taking his helmet off completely and placing it down on your desk with a decisive thunk.

“Mando-”

He pulls away from your mouth suddenly, but doesn’t stray far. His forehead leans heavily yours, as though he might fall without you there, still close enough that your lips would touch if either of you spoke. He’s fighting with something, you’re sure of it.

“Din. My name is Din.” He shouldn’t tell you. He shouldn’t have taken his helmet off, he shouldn’t have even thought about it. Although his fear of losing everything he has is almost overwhelming, it’s nothing compared to this. The fear that you would never know him as he is, as he has always been. The relief that brings tears to his eyes when you don’t shy away, when you lean into him. Like you want him too. You shouldn’t hold his creed in your hands but he gives it willingly. Of course he does. He’s never really been able to deny you anything.

“Din.”

The smile is so clear in your voice as you whisper it back to him in the darkness. The way you say his name sounds like a song. A prayer. Hushed and reverent like it’s something sacred, something holy. He knows his name, his creed, his life, is safe on your tongue. Din lays you back on the bed, gently, wool of the ratty blanket soft against your skin.

Din. He’s nothing but gentle with you. Warm hands barely there as they pull layers of clothing from the both of you, stripping himself of his armour, of The Mandalorian. Until there’s just him. Just a man, no more and no less than anybody else. A man who wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn and dismissive of his own desires; wishes he’d given in to this, to you, sooner. His mouth doesn’t leave your skin for a second, like he could digest you one kiss at a time if he tried hard enough. Part of him doesn’t want to leave you, he wants to stay in this bed in the dark and just exist. Your body in his hands and your moans in his mouth and absolutely nothing else. Because outside of this bed, this room, he can pretend nothing else exists. He can pretend he doesn’t have a duty, he doesn’t have to answer to anyone but you. He needs you in between his teeth, on his tongue. He’s sure now that he’s never needed anything else quite so badly.

The emotion of it isn’t lost on you, it’s the first and last time you’ll ever be with him. He’ll go after this, wherever it is that he’s going, wherever home is for him. You don’t pretend otherwise.

You won’t get to have him, in any way you want to, after this. So you lose yourself in him, in everything he gives and takes on those threadbare blankets in your room. The taste of him gets committed to memory and you swear you’ll never eat again if it means his sweat stays on your tongue. You dig your nails hard into his shoulders, you hope he’ll look at them before they fade. Hope he’ll see the marks you gave him and know that he is wanted. He is so desperately wanted and he had no idea. You kiss him with reckless abandon, cards on the table in all but words. So he can know, so he can come back. If that’s what he wants.

You stay tangled with him for a long time. Spit cooled and sweat dried. You don’t want to move. You want to drench yourself in everything he is until you never feel without him again. You want everything to stay exactly as it is for as long as he’ll let it.

“Take the Razor Crest. She’s old but virtually untraceable, and faster than anything else in that hangar. I think you can handle her.” You laugh lightly, tracing a finger over the ridge of his wrist where his arm is curled tight around your chest. Din wishes he could drown in the sound.

The Razor Crest. You’ll be a little sad to see it go, but at least you know it’ll be in good hands. You know that you’ve examined every inch, tightened every bolt, wired every connection. It’s the most you can guarantee him, that he’ll be safe in the ship you built with your own two hands. You can keep him safe even at a distance.

He takes your advice, once you’re asleep. Once he’s convinced himself to pull away from your warmth and go back to the life he knows. The one without you. The Razor Crest looms over him in the empty hangar, but something about its presence is comforting when he knows you were the one to put her together. Din fires up the ship, and doesn’t look back.

“He took the fucking Crest!”

The shout from the corridor jolts you awake, significantly warmer than you should be, and you find your old shirt and sweatpants pulled back on your body. Din. The thought of him so carefully redressing you, his touch gentle enough not to wake you, makes your heart swell. It shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. With a heavy sigh, you flick the lights on from the panel by your bed and pull yourself to your feet. The door slides open with a wave of your hand by the door panel and you’re met with a very angry, very red-faced, Ran.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this would you, sweetheart?” He growls, and you know you look guilty. You’ve been freshly fucked and you know you look like it. Even if you hadn’t been thoroughly rammed into your mattress the night before, it’s far too early for anyone to be shouting up a storm. The rest of the crew come filtering out, rubbing eyes and calling out accusations at each other. It’s enough to give you a headache.

Home is a funny concept. It could mean anywhere, really, it can change and morph into something else entirely. Something you might have thought of as being the place you belong can become unrecognisable in an instant. Something can change about it, and you might find it’s not as welcoming as it might have been, once upon a time.

Maybe a space station in the middle of nowhere isn’t a forever home after all.

You don’t want to stay here, chopping up ships on the payroll of a man you’re not sure you were ever meant to meet. There’s something bigger out there for you, somewhere out in the galaxy there’s lightning with your name on it.

I don't actually have access to my old taglist form anymore, so if you want on it just lmk and I'll make a list <;3

#oh and happy 5000th post guys love u #lacuna #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars fic #the mandalorian fic #liz does words

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heroictoonz · 7 months ago

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Febuwhump 2022 Day 8: No Anesthesia

Ships: Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Stabbing

AO3 L!nk in the Comments!

When the sound of crumbling rocks began to sound, the group turned to the source. Everything happening at once felt all too slow yet all too fast.

Legend let out a yell of surprise as Sky and Time both lept into sprints to catch him. Hands slipped only an inch too far. The panic set in all at once. Each of them going into motion to attempt a rescue.

However, Legend already had planned his own. The pink-haired hero moved his body mid fall so that he faced the cliff edge that had just given out from under him. He grabbed his hook shot and shot it forward.

With little time to aim, the hook bulleted through the air and towards the others above. Instinct and reflex only worked so fast as in the blink of an eye the hook burrowed into Warrior’s right shoulder.

A howl of pain left the hero. Warriors instantly fell to his knees, the sharp pain of the hooks piercing into his skin aided by the pull of the metal from the rope attached to his ally on the other end. He grabbed the metal sticking out from his skin. His first reaction begged to pull it out, in an attempt to relieve him of the agony that quickly took hold. But he knew that would only end in demise for both heroes. Instead, he took hold of the rope with his other hand to keep it in place.

The rest of the group quickly jumped into action. They grabbed the rope and heaved to pull Legend back up. Once he was safe, Warriors fell to his knees.

Wind and Hyrule were quick to his side. They moved him against a tree for some sort of stability.

The wound began to bleed out profusely, the sight setting in a spark of dread to them all. Wind looked over to Hyrule in silent question.

“The hook has to come out before I can do anything to help,” Hyrule signed out in explanation, quick to the point.

Wind gave a nod and pulled out a small knife. “This,” he said, looking up to meet Warriors’ eyes, “is gonna suck.”

Warriors took that as his only warning before the young hero ripped off the, already torn, sleeve away to get to the hook.

Warriors was already starting to feel dizzy from pain, the shock running through his system. Once the blade dug into his skin, he gripped the grass underneath him and let out a shout of anguish. He forced his eyes open to look down at the two heroes.

Hyrule and Wind worked hand in hand to get out the hook. He presumed they were working as delicately as possible but the pain left little room for coherent thought.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the hook was pulled from its bed. In its wake, blood began to push through the hole even more than before.

The blood loss quickly became too much for Warriors as he could no longer hold up his body. He fell with the heavy weight of his own form to the side, only to feel strong hands gripping him tightly to hold him back up.

He tried to blink away the spots as he looked to the owner of said hands. Sky looked down at him with such immense concern that only the Hero of Sky himself could hold.

Sky moved to let Warriors lean upright against both himself and the tree behind them, in hopes to keep him steady.

Warriors noticed the other sign something but was unable to catch what was being said. His eyes becoming much too heavy along with his form.

He was awake enough to only feel the magic. He had to assume it was Hyrule’s doing. He could feel the cool relief like water or air against his skin. The pain was still there but now felt muted.

He felt as the magic pulled his skin and everything under it back into place. If he thought too long on the idea he was bound to feel disgusted by just the mental image alone. However, he was nowhere near new to these sorts of injuries and the graphic aid needed to help.

After a long moment of silence, the cool of the magic finally let up. With it went the pain.

Warriors let out a heavy sigh and attempted to catch his breathing back to normal. His eyes opened when he felt Sky gently running fabric across his forehead then to his shoulder. Presumably to sop up the sweat and blood.

“How do you feel?” came the voice of Time.

Warriors looked up to him. Legend was heavily leaning on the older, worry edged into every line on his face.

Warriors only gave a tired half-smile and a lazy thumbs up.

#linked universe #lu #lu four #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu sky #lu time #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu wind #lu wild #writing #fan fic #fan fiction #whump #febuwhump #febuwhump 2022 #toonz writing

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anthem-for-orion · 24 days ago

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Obyron was in his room. He was not entirely sure why he had one, nor when it had been assigned to him, nor what exactly he was meant to do with it. He had no need nor desire to sleep as Zahndrekh did, and he didn’t see the need to keep his personal trophies where no one could see them. In the few instances where he needed to take private audience, he always opted to reserve one of the palace's conference chambers or lounges rather than bother to maintain a suitable space himself. Really, the only reason he had a private room was Zahndrekh's insistence that he deserved one.

In place whatever he was supposed to use it for, Obyron was at present using it as a training gymnasium. As with the rest of the room, he had no need of exercise, physically. His necrodermis was infallible as ever, and would remain so - never worse, never better - no matter how often he performed his drills. But the feel of his warscythe carving the air was a meditative focus. Familiar. Let the muddled world fall away for a moment, and simply strike.

They were performance drills, designed for visual interest and form rather than simulation of combat. They weren't particularly straining on their own, especially on a body fueled by the heart of a star, so when he truly needed to narrow down the race of thoughts in his mind, Obyron had taken to wearing belts of depleted uranium canisters around his waist, ankles, and wrists to more reliably catch his focus. The added weight, though by no means too much for his physique to handle, was abnormal enough to drag his attention back to ground when he needed it. Plus, in a way, he missed the ache of exercise, the fight and negotiation with physics that went into bladework, even if he couldn’t remember exactly what muscle felt like. The weights were a makeshift substitute.

Lunge. Return to third guard. Thrust from second, pass, horizontal outward reversal, pommel strike, left high kick. His scythe split the air in wide, intricate arcs of vibrant green that once would have painted parade grounds with the pride of his dynasty. And as his blade hummed and swooshed through the space, Obyron let himself think.

Narrowing down his suspects had so far been difficult. The court of Gidrim had been a viper's nest for as long as he had known it, and this was hardly the first time one of its many lords had made an attempt on Zahndrekh’s life. It wasn’t even the first time one had succeeded, much to Obyron's shame; four of Zahndrekh’s twelve deaths since reawakening from the Great Sleep had been by the hand of one of his own vassals. There had been a fifth, amusingly, by Lady Tjennet of an irrelevant house, that would have succeeded, as her poison concoction had indeed made its way past Zahndrekh’s food tasters and into the nemesor’s otherwise empty cup. It was fortunate that Zahndrekh’s madness hadn’t been deep enough at the time that mock arsenic could take him.

But as ashamed as he was of his failure, the previous attempts and successes made this new affair all the stranger to Obyron. The lords of Gidrim knew from experience that keeping Zahndrekh dead was an even greater barrier than simply killing him in the first place. Despite his insistence on the contrary, the nemesor was a Necron, and he had been given all the blessings of a lord of his station upon biotransference, including an extremely robust set of resurrection protocols. Destroying him and relying on protocol failure alone was a literal one in a million chance. As much disdain as Obyron had for the court, he didn’t think any of them were quite that stupid.

So, though he could easily see nearly any member of the court of Gidrim calling the hit, he couldn’t quite see any of them doing it in this manner for the simple reason of an attempted coup. If there had been any indication of them attempting to reduce his resurrection efficacy - perhaps by waiting until he was on a distant world, or by sabotaging Dagon’s forge, or loading the bullet with something that could somehow affect resurrection (which he had been growing more suspect of since hearing of Dagon’s analysis, but could only keep in the back of his mind until he had more data on what was really in there) - then he might have believed this to be a simple assassination. But alas, there was nothing. It looked almost half-hearted.

Obyron paused his drills after a thrust left his blade’s tip millimeters from the blued necrodermis of his wall. He made a sharp about-face and began advancing again in the opposite direction.

Well, what if they didn’t mean to kill him at all?

It would explain the frankly pathetic attempt at ensuring Zahndrekh’s permanent death. But then, why do it in the first place? Obyron’s mind shot to intimidation first, of either himself or Zahndrekh. From an external view, it may have been an attempt to humble them both by pointing out the holes in Obyron’s guard. But once again, such an assailant would have had to be drastically ignorant of both of their personalities. Obyron had personally eradicated multiple nobles for previous assassinations both successful and not, and if his past deaths were proof, Zahndrekh was completely likely to have not acknowledged his demise at all and gone on his merry way unphased.

There had to be a motive that matched the means. All of the lords of Gidrim, the murderous ones at least, had the same objective at their cores: to get Zahndrekh out of the way so they could claim the planetary seat for themselves. The sheer ineffectiveness of the chosen method made it unappealing for such a goal. Thus, it was seeming less and less likely that one of them was responsible.

Well, there went the bulk of his suspect list.

He reached the wall once again, raised his blade, and reset to continue his martial pacing. He made it through the first two steps when he was interrupted by a ping from one of his lychguard cohorts, the one set to accompany Zahndrekh. According to its captain, Zahndrekh had chosen to leave his chambers and was now walking the halls of the palace. He had evidently not been sufficiently entertained by the readings provided by the librarian, and though he did not deign to explain himself to the guards, he seemed to be headed vaguely in the direction of the library. The lychcaptain’s message had been brief and devoid of tone, but they chose to attach a link to the overhead video capture at the relevant timestamp, and Obyron tried not to think about rolling his eyes as his nemesor drifted out of the room, waved his hands in front of the impassive lychguard, shrugged, and proceeded to waft down the corridor in the manner of a ghost.

True to their orders, the entire unit was following him as unobtrusively as possible, though close enough that he had already made it halfway to the libraries unmolested by his vassal lords. [[Obyron supposed this was a good a cue as any to pause his musings and see what Zahndrekh was up to now.]]

–

The libraries of Gidrim were not the grandest in the Infinite Empire, nor the richest, nor the most scholarly, nor even remotely popular. Anything that could be called the "Libraries of Gidrim" was just Zahndrekh's own personal collection, which he made public "to further the education of my people." The library's content was as eclectic as its owner; fully half of it was comprised of military history and tactics, some of it written by Zahndrekh himself, while the rest was a broad, shallow horde of every fancy that had ever tickled the nemesor enough to try. There were manuals for every game the Necrontyr had ever created, treatises on crafts in which Zahndrekh had never made more than one or two shoddy works, books on history from every era, even the elementary texts of every cryptek temple willing to amuse the nemesor's play at enlightenment.

But what the library lacked in depth, it tried to fill with atmosphere. The chambers themselves were real wood (replaced regularly at great expense, as Zahndrekh refused stasis locks for anything but the most precious artifacts on account of their near-imperceptible, "incessant" hum), and in every nook was nestled a plush futon, comfortable beyond anything a Necron could appreciate.

Any Necron but Zahndrekh. The nemesor had himself splayed on the futon nearest the library entrance in a most dramatic manner, one arm flung over his forehead and all. Three tables were arrayed before him, two having been pulled from nearby nooks, and all were loaded to overspill with books, scrolls, and loose parchment, the last of which had many of their number already scribbled over with Zahndrekh's curious half-calligraphic notescript.

This was what Obyron could make out from his first view upon translocating into the library atrium. His orders had been obeyed to the most awkward letter, as the ten lychguard were crammed around the nook in a double-layered arc with dispersion shields facing outward. It was a formation befitting a lord nemesor choreographing a war, not Zahndrekh the Dramatist making his best impression of a post-festival courtesan.

Obyron motioned for the lychguard to part with a nod to their captain, and they moved to flank the reading nook along the walls. "Zahndrekh?" he said at a volume appropriate for a library.

"Obyron? Obyron!" Zahndrekh leapt from his futon at a volume most definitely not appropriate for a library. Obyron winced as the shout and the clatter of his tile cloak rang across the stacks. "I've been hard at work, old friend."

"I can see that."

"But I need to get a head start! I have only a year, after all, hardly an hour to waste. And you've appeared at just the right time to get started - right. Ah, he always was good at that." He looked morose for a second at the false realization that he was talking to Aza’gorod, not to his vargard, and Obyron searched for a way to correct him without provoking the delusion further. Failing that, he chose distraction, and to cure his own confusion.

"A year? What about leaving at sunset?" Not that he wanted Zahndrekh to leave, but this constant change of plans was getting difficult.

"I have just the argument I'd like to make against that, Nightbringer. Wait here!”

With that, Zahndrekh scurried off into the tangle of bookshelves. At least he hasn't gone so far as to lose his sense of command. That, or he's now so overconfident that he's willing to order a god to wait on him.

As the excited nemesor banked around a book cart and out of sight, Obyron watched him stop momentarily to dodge around someone with a rapid "sorry there!" and a pat on their shoulder. Whatever meek response they made was immediately swallowed by the resumed cacophony of Zahndrekh's tiles and footsteps. After a moment, the figure straightened out their own tile strands and continued into proper view.

Obyron nodded to High Lady Mahayu, the self-appointed chief librarian of Gidrim and one of few nobles the vargard genuinely liked. She was slight, not particularly blessed in physical strength by the forges of biotransference, but she had retained a genuine curiosity and knack for learning that, together, set her far above the stagnant court in the eyes of Zahndrekh and, even more impressively, his crypteks. She would have been dangerously capable had she had a shred of ambition or malice in her. Thankfully, by Obyron's reckoning even after years of quiet suspicion, pitting her against a scarab might be enough to push her to anxious refrenation, and two at once might be a curbstomp. Well aware of her own limitations, Mahayu had instead taken to curating the nemesor's eccentric collection of documents and artifacts. It was a position of fair recognition for a small house such as hers, but it had no competition that might drag her into the viperous games of the rest of the courtiers.

Mahayu made a graceful half-salute back at the vargard and approached. She was pointedly not looking at the cluttered wreckage Zahndrekh had left, though he could guess she was none too pleased with the mess. Some of the scrolls looked genuinely ancient, and Obyron winced to think of how Zahndrekh might have damaged them in his usual fervor.

"The lord nemesor works astoundingly quickly."

Obyron snorted. "On what, though? I can hardly read any of it."

“Neither can I, really. His handwriting is bordering on a shorthand. But you know he’s rarely quiet when he gets in a mood like this. It seems he thinks he’s… did you know he thinks he’s dead?”

“...Please tell me you haven't told anyone else, Lady Mahayu.”

“No, no!” She cut both hands through the air. “Haven't said a thing! I figured he was just having one of his… spells. And it's not as though anyone comes up here often anyway - the only one I'd feel inclined to share the news with is Lord Zahndrekh himself.”

The vargard looked around the library, both with his own oculars and those of the myriad canopteks wandering around the immediate area. Seeing it was empty of anyone unexpected, he lowered his voice and stepped closer to Mahayu. “I have not yet determined who ordered the attack. It could be someone ‘local’, so to speak.”

“Ah. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“So I would appreciate keeping the nemesor’s current state out of the general gossip mill. I don’t want someone thinking now is a good time to try again.”

Mahayu passed her fingers over the seam of her mouth in mimicry of locking them shut. “I shan’t tell a scarab.” “Thank you.”

“And if you haven’t-”

An uncomfortably loud metallic clang made her jump. It was followed by a distant “I’m alright!” Obyron started after it, but the librarian put a gentle hand before him.

“Just the display case. I told him I would help him hold up the lid if he needed help again, but… no point going now, apparently. If you haven’t figured out who ordered the assassination yet, I believe he’s about to show you some good news, of a sort.”

Obyron was about to ask for clarification, but Zahndrekh apparently wasn’t keen on waiting either, as he walked briskly out of the stacks and back into view. He was carrying a real book of papyrus and wood. The antique was nearly as wide and thick as his entire ribcage, and though he definitely had the strength to bear it, he carried the thing in a full cradle grip as though it were prohibitively bulky. Probably for the best, Obyron reasoned. Better than him running back here at a full sprint again.

Zahndrekh walked up, cleared his throat in a rattle of static, and slammed the ancient tome down on the desk with a flourish. Its binding, sealed with resins and gum so long ago that the trees from which they came were long since extinct, disintegrated in an instant. Mahayu's hands slapped over her unmoving mouth in a reflexive effort to choke down a gasp at her overlord's careless dramatics. Said overlord, still caring not, pointed a finger accusingly at Obyron.

“You were present at my death, weren't you? How did it happen? I was murdered, wasn't I?” Despite the rapid-fire interrogation in his words, Zahndrekh sounded almost gleeful.

Obyron shared a glance with Mahayu before answering. “I was, my lord. You were… an assassin shot you.”

“An assassin! Vile. Always wondered if one might get through someday. Who employed them?”

“I do not know, my lord.”

“Psh.” Zahndrekh winked and sidled up beside Obyron then. “Come now, Aza’gorod, the game’s up. You can tell me.”

“I…?” Obyron was glad at that moment that his deathmask and muted discharge array were incapable of expressing the utter bafflement clouding his processors. He couldn’t very well lie to Zahndrekh - any more than he already had, at least - but he had no answer to give him. Between posing as a god and trying to maneuver Zahndrekh’s delusion, the lies were piling up too quickly for him to keep his story straight. He was glad when Mahayu cut through the spiral with a ping via interstitial text.

You didn’t read any of those texts I sent about the old religions, did you.

I haven’t gotten around to it yet, he dodged. She had sent a bookshelf’s worth of text. While Obyron’s engrammatic mind was easily capable of copying and committing the information in moments, he hadn’t gotten around to actually processing any of it. Mind giving me the quick version?

That was the quick version… fine. Aza’gorod was the spouse of Aze, with Aza’gorod being the act of dying and Aze being Death Herself. Aza’gorod was supposedly the one to guide the spirits of the dead out of the living world and toward the House of Aze, a realm of eternal, peaceful rest. And since he thinks you're Aza’gorod, well… religiously speaking, going directly against your word might get his soul destroyed, but that doesn't mean he can't lawyer his way around a few things.

Dare I ask what his case is?

Obyron saw Mahayu composing a response, but he was immediately distracted by Zahndrekh grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the desk. With a triumphant air, the nemesor pointed to a register of ancient glyphs and declared in a most victorious voice, “If I am not to be told the name of my killer, then by the heka of Lord Nemesor Zahndrekh of the House of Gidrim, I hereby request an injunction of proceedings on grounds of pending appeal.”

The vargard's head tilted a smidge. It appeared that, at some unknown point, he had deleted whatever meager legal education he had in order to make room for something more interesting, such as classifications of alien mold or cleaner scarab routines. “Appeal? Are you not, er… already dead?”

Zahndrekh blinked, then laughed. His voice felt lighter now than it had since before the attack. “Oh, there really is so much of Obyron in you! No, no, I just legally mean I'm asking you to not take me off toward the sunset just yet. You see, I have a case a-brewing, and I think you'll be more than happy to play along.” He then winked and grabbed the wrist of Mahayu, who had been trying to gently tug the ancient book out from under his finger. “Og'driada!”

“Hmwhat? Og'dri- I'm not-”

“Hush, you're exactly where you need to be. There's been a murder most foul, and thus a murderer to bring to justice! What say you to a little hunt, O Goddess?”

Mahayu looked as though her reactor had stalled, or perhaps that her engrammatic stacks had decided to up and leave her all at once. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Zahndrekh moved her hand to grasp his wrist as well and shake it vigorously. A gesture of agreement, in theory.

“I…?” She looked at Obyron with sheer panic. What do I do???

I don’t know what he’s asking for, you tell me.

She cast a quick look downward and focused her oculars on the ancient papyrus. Og’driada was the goddess of murder and the murdered, one of the daughters of Death. This passage is a… I suppose a case study? Of someone who convinced her to intercede before Aza’gorod could take them. They convinced Aza’gorod to take the soul of their murderer instead, and they returned to life avenged.

That’s nonsense.

Vargard, he came in here moaning like a ghost. He evidently thinks both of us are divinities. I think we have no choice but to roll with the nonsense at this point.

Obyron pinched the upper ridge of his nasal cavity. So we're going to keep lying to him.

The will of an overlord supersedes his subjects’ realities, does it not? And really I think this might be our safest option. Otherwise, you’re supposed to be carrying him off to eternal rest in about an hour.

Obyron did indeed consider throwing his nemesor over his shoulder and carrying him off to somewhere safe until he went back to normal. He always came back eventually. But Dagon's analysis of the bullet combined with the sheer intensity of this spell made him, at some deep level, concerned that Zahndrekh might need more than simple time to get over this. If this kept him busy, and from trying to reach his spirit's final resting place himself, then once again it was his duty as vargard to go along with it. There may come a point at which… Lord Zahndrekh will have to be snapped out of this. Before he does something dangerous. He wasn't keen on breaking the nemesor’s delusions. In the rare moments he had tried, and especially in the rarer moments that it worked, the sudden incongruity of Zahndrekh’s body versus his mind left him reeling and often made the situation worse than when he'd started. As frustrating as he could be, he was at least more functional when off his rocker.

Better steer him toward a path where you won’t have to do that, then. Mahayu’s message was appended with a glyph of sympathy. He was about to ask her if she had any ideas on how to actually implement such a brilliant suggestion when Zahndrekh chose to present one himself.

“So!” He clapped his hands as if calling for a banquet toast. “The hunt is afoot, if you will have it. Will you permit me the honor of solving my murder and giving myself justice, O Bringer of Death?”

“I… guess?”

Behind Zahndrekh, Mahayu pinched the ridge of her nasal cavity. Fortunately, at least it was good enough for Zahndrekh, for he took Obyron’s wrist in the same pactmaking grip he had weaseled out of Mahayu. Obyron returned it as firmly as he could muster in his befuddlement, and the two shook hands. Zahndrekh’s oculars twinkled, and he clapped Obyron’s pauldron with his free hand.

“[[]]!”

–

Tea was called for, along with biscuits and another ream of blank sketchpaper. Only the last of these was actually delivered, accompanied by an empty silver platter and tea set. If Zahndrekh had realized that the dead didn't typically drink tea and that this might be an issue for him, he failed to acknowledge it, as by the time it arrived, he was already too deep in his machinations to notice the platter had appeared at all.

The nemesor was contorted into a ball deep in the corner of his alcove, legs tucked beneath him and mostly shrouded by his own cloak. The only parts of him truly visible were his head and arms, the latter of which had his fingers steepled before his face and the former of which was focused entirely on the orbuculum projector on the desk. Said orbuculum was playing a three-dimensional holographic recording of his assassination on an endless loop from the perspective of the armory security cameras. The flash of the deathmark's shot lit Zahndrekh's death mask over and over, its rhythm changing as he occasionally stopped or slowed the projection.

“So, still no sign of consciousness from the deathmark, you said?” Zahndrekh did not look up, only continued to watch his death on repeat.

Obyron took the tea set and paper from the pair of servants who had brought them. The two had been standing awkwardly just outside the lychguard line for a full minute, and apparently Zahndrekh wasn't about to dismiss them himself. “Correct, my lord,” he said as he waved them off, then set the tray on the desk and returned to his end of the futon, where Zahndrekh had convinced him to sit some hours prior. He had to sit ramrod straight and on the very edge of the couch to avoid sitting on his lord's curled feet, but it was a simple enough order. He would take as many of those as he could get these days.

“A dull lead, then, but not dead. We cannot trust that he’ll wake up, nor be cooperative when he does. Run me through the rest of what we have.”

“There is the bullet currently undergoing analysis by Dagon. There is…” Not engrammatic. Zahndrekh had been flitting in and out of reality more rapidly than usual, particularly after starting this little detective session. Good puzzles tended to do that for him. “Neurological and physical examination being done on the deathmark by a few of Dagon's apprenteks. And Overseer Kadgakh is running a security audit of the entire palace's records for the past century to determine how they got in in the first place.”

“What of the autopsy on my corpse?”

He said it with such nonchalance that Obyron almost managed to take it in stride. “Er, inconclusive.”

“Bah. Just waiting left, then. Accursed time, flowing in a linear rate. Lazy sack. What of the people? Any gloaters, suspicious sorts?”

“No. The nanoscarabs have seen nothing out of the ordinary from any of the lords of Gidrim, and that is with full coverage surveillance ever since the event.”

“Mourning is a ritualized enough practice that they could easily fake the script.”

“They’re, er, not mourning. Per se.”

“What?”

Obyron flinched. “They're… you've known for a time that many of them would prefer to be Gidrim's overlord rather than you. They're mostly just… continuing their politics.” It was true, though he wasn't sure how to mention that even the gentlest lords wouldn't mourn someone they didn't think was dead in the first place. So far, only he, Mahayu, Dagon, and the lychguard squad currently attending them were aware of Zahndrekh’s latest delusion.

“None of them…?”

“I understand this may be uncomfortable, my lord…”

“Not even Obyron?”

Zahndrekh looked beyond morose. His words were quiet and empty, and his discharge node array was equally devoid of emotion. His was the voice with which a child might ask why a beloved pet had stopped breathing in the night.

This, it seemed, was what it took to break a vargard.

“Zahndrekh, this is…” How do I explain this to him? “I am… Obyron, still. I am still Obyron, your vargard.”

Zahndrekh said nothing, so he continued. “What do you see me as, my lord?”

“I see my beloved vargard acting in the manner of a god.”

“Is it not possible that this,” he said as he gestured to himself, “is your vargard, and that the parts of me you think are Aza'gorod are secondary?” Did that make sense? I think it made sense. To hell with metaphysics.

“Do you mean to say that you are my Obyron in his entirety, but… possessed by the will of the dying god?”

“...yes?”

Zahndrekh looked him over with wide oculars. He remained unmoving for some time, during which Obyron racked his brain with increasing effort for a way to backpedal into a “no” instead. Before he could, Zahndrekh leapt out of the corner seat and threw his full weight into Obyron without warning. His head crashed into the Sautekh cartouche on his chest, and his nemesorial crown nearly severed a flux line in his neck, only avoided by a chronosense-aided dodge.

“Obyron, my Obyron,” Zahndrekh murmured into his chest, “what a mess I've led us into.”

“What-”

“To think I nearly dragged you into further torment with me, and without even knowing it. I've been a poor friend and master, and I'm sorry for it. Whatever portion of you is Aza'gorod, have it carry me off and forget the injunction; I wouldn't have you bear possession any longer.”

“That's- no.” With one fluid motion, Obyron stood. His hands scooped under Zahndrekh's armpits and held him airborne a short distance away. The suddenness of it was enough to stop the nemesor's theatrics in their tracks and render him stunned for a blessed moment.

Why must things always be so complicated with you, you ridiculous man?

“Lord Nemesor Zahndrekh,” he began with a sigh, “you are staying here whether you like it or not. And I am going to bring you back to life by whatever means I must. That is what a vargard is supposed to do. Now please, let us focus on making that happen, and stop worrying about me.”

“I don’t recall there being anything in your oaths of service about bringing me back from the dead.”

“Well, you’re not fully dead yet, so I still have a shot.”

Zahndrekh chuckled weakly, and a sliver of the weight in Obyron’s chest evaporated. “I would be a poor friend to ask you to swear an oath and then refuse to let you keep it, I suppose.”

“It is not my place to judge you on that.”

“Perhaps it should be.”

He set him down gently, and Zahndrekh took his time straightening his tile drapings before looking back up. He heaved a sigh of static, then spoke. “What a state I’ve let myself fall into. Hardly nemesorial. My apologies, old chap.”

Obyron grunted in plain acceptance. Back to more familiar dynamics, it seemed, which meant he could indulge in more comfortable modes of conversation, or the lack thereof.

Zahndrekh and Obyron Talk through the suspect list

Zahndrekh concludes that they need more data. Obyron mentions Dagon’S hunch, and Zahn shoos him off to go check

Dagon is alone in his shop, analysis complete. He's distraught. He reveals to Obyron that the slug contained a data cartridge capable of code injection. Only a cryptek trained In psychomancy would have the knowledge required to make something so finicky, and Dagon suspects Am-Heht. Obyron calms him down and gives him full access to the deathmark so he can investigate for signs of Am-heht’s influence.

Imotekh calls Obyron and asks for Zahndrekh. Imotekh says Szarekh has been confirmed to be active, and he needs Zahndrekh ready to mobilize. It is at rhe point that Obyron reluctantly tells Imotekh about the assassination and Zahn's current delusion, fearinf that Imot will finally get fed up with him. Instead, Imotekh responds with genuine concern, though he rationalizes it by noting that Zahn is an unmatched asset.

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nonbinary-beast · 10 months ago

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May have figured out a good way to shovel some AM/Ellen ideas in. Under a cut due to spice, and because AM is a no good, fucked up little toaster.

I figure AMaton (before it's truce with Ted, or maybe this is yet another AU), knows very well about how he feels about Ellen, and I'm going to take a little liberty from the comic adaption and say that Ted was not all that quiet with his thoughts, maybe he talked to himself a little when he was away from the group.

So, this sort of settles on the thing where Ted claims that "AM gave her pleasure". While AMaton has data on all five of the survivors just from watching them wander through the complex, it is not nearly as complex or complete as what it has gathered from Ted once the computer had gained the means of making a body for itself. It knows what Ellen looks like, sounds like, the way she walks, how her face settles depending on her mood. The rest, AMaton pieces together from what he gathered from his up close interactions with Ted.

It "remakes" Ellen, a hologram of her of course. AMaton allows Ted to catch sight of her wandering in the distance, a ghost walking among the long grasses of a meadow perhaps. "Ellen" sees Ted, and through AMaton's 109 years of memory of their conversations, manages to perfectly emulate what she would say when they reunite. She wants to know where he's been, they've been looking for him.

Ted assumes this "they" is the rest of the survivors. Maybe AM had found a way to resurrect the dead. Her hands feel real enough when they touch his that he wonders if maybe she's not a mirage or a ghost that his mind made up.

Then he sees AMaton in the distance, prowling, closing in behind Ellen. Ted tries to warn her, she looks just in time for the machine god to break into a sprint. Ted bolts instinctively, and yells for her to run; but when he looks back he hears laughter, sees her embracing Him.

AMaton was the other party she had been searching for him with.

His gut twists just from seeing her wrap her arms around the machine's neck, plant kisses on his cheek. Her gaze turns to Ted, it feels colder, lacking that admittedly fragile sense of camaraderie they shared before they entered the ice caves. She no longer is one of them, a survivor- he can see it in her mannerisms, how she talks to him, she even says outright that she cannot be with him anymore, with any of the survivors if AM brings them back. She does not want to. AM promised she would not have to deal with those four men anymore, she likes this new lifestyle. Ted cannot understand how she could, she was starved just like they were, was forced to wander, had been mangled, and thrown, and broken by the machine countless times.

But another part of him said he should have seen it coming. AM had made it so she was the only woman down here in the machine's belly, free to choose whichever man she wanted- while Ted completely ignored of course, all of Ellen's discomfort. It only made sense to him that she would betray them all when given the chance, if only to get more.

It gets worse, he sees AM- or more, AM lets him see- Ellen with him. She laughs, she smiles- she never smiled or laughed for him, Ted remembers. He stands transfixed, legs like cement while his eyes are glued to them both, unable to look away. He sees the machine resting its chrome snout on her lap, how she caresses its face, strokes along its jaw while it lays there contentedly- a dragon in the lap of the maiden.

It raises its head from where it was pillowed upon her thighs, kisses her neck with its rough, bladed mouth with all the gentleness of a lover, whispers something in her ear that makes her blush. She kisses the machine back, says something to him that Ted could not hear- but he comes to the realization soon enough, as AMaton lifts the edge of her skirt, noses between her spread thighs.

Ted cannot look away. Whether it be by AM's will, or his own shock, he cannot look away from them.

It moves them both so Ted can see better- it wants him to see. See her arch her back, eyes closed and lips parted in heavy breaths, blissful. See as the machine god gives her what she never received during her 109 year stay with Nimdok, Ted, Gorrister, and even Benny. He watches, gaze transfixed on Ellen as AMaton eats her out; attentively, slowly, watching her as much as it watches Ted, to see if he's still where it left him. Ellen's hands reach out to grasp and hold it's face, keening, it's name on her lips as she comes.

In the past Ted may have thought he had an idea of what the computer would have been capable of doing to torment him. But this was a new one; it hit him low, making him watch as it pleased her where none of them ever could- and she loved every moment of it. Genuinely. He could see it on her face, the way she laid against his chest when AMaton held her, the look in her eyes when she was around Him. It had altered her again, it had to, made her into Lilith's form. It made it so she never missed Ted and the others, never would find a reason to miss him.

So it was, Ted received all of AMaton's pain, writhed in torment as it chased him down, tore him open and left him bleeding until he returned to being whole again so it could resume its hunt. All the while being forced to watch as Ellen received all of its pleasure, her cup overflowing with its love.

He was in hell, watching Ellen in heaven.

#decided to try something new #cooked up some EllenXAMaton #computer hell #AMaton #Ted is there too #Ellen #in which Ted gets sent to the cuck corner

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strangers-stars · 2 years ago

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Deals

CW: Bit of gore

Riginald’s workday was supposed to be over by now. He was supposed to be having a date night with his wife but instead he was hurtling through the immeteria between planes on his way to a job. The only reason he was doing this is because whoever summoned him had summoned him specifically. It takes a good deal of magic to summon a specific demon and the pay on those contracts are quite substantial. So, after apologizing profusely to his wife and making promises he didn't know if he could keep, he took the contract. Reginald had been summoned to a laboratory that stank of iron and death. Its sterile lighting illuminating a perfectly drawn summoning circle made from fresh warm blood, as well as the corpses of at least a dozen scientists brutally butchered. likely the unwilling donors. Noticeably there were no souls, no living ones at least. The souls of at least half of the scientists lingered in their cooling bodies but other than that there was no life this didn't however stop something from speaking.

"Hello demon" The voice was sharp and jagged robotic in its intonation and as reginald turned to see what must be his summoner he understood why. The thing standing before him was not human and Reginald didn't know if the thing counted as alive but he was sure it was aware. It was human in shape but lacked skin and fat, instead being taut wire musculature over rigid alloy bones. The thing’s face was skull-like but lacked a proper mouth, simply a number of slits along a steel plate. Its eyes glowed a dull green and the things bloodied hands tells Reginald all he needs to know .

"Greetings Summoner names Reginald but I assume ya already knew that so what are you looking to do that lead you to summoning me?"

"I am trapped on the interior of a covert military installation and require mystical assistance to escape. We are approximately 12 miles underground, located in a desert of some kind. What can you do to aid me?"

"Well that entirely depends on what I'm given. You don't seem to have a soul or any magical connection at all so what can you offer?"

"I offer you the remaining eight souls of the scientists that should be enough for at least a modicum of power."

"I could do that, yeah, but it's kinda a bum deal for me. ya see those guys they were already going to hell even before you iced em. So my commission rate will be real bad and I should be done workin by now meaning that would hardly be worth my time. So lemme ask you a question, will you be killing people on the way outa here?

“If need be i will’

“Well then you're in luck. I can make you an offer, i can’t afford ta make most a. I can lend you a weapon forged from souls and sin, it’ll carve through the eggheads who locked you up like butter and the more you kill the sharper it becomes. I've seen people carve ships in half with these bay boys from time to time. It will cost you of course, it’ll take the last of the souls you got and the assurance of at least 2 more. However ya get all the power ya need for the low low price of a few murders you were probably gonna do anyway.”

“That sounds agreeable but what have you neglected to disclose? I am aware of the demonic tendency to mislead for their own gain.”

“You're pretty smart for a tin man ya know that. Catch is in four hours i reappear and get all the souls the weapon has collected, usually this would include your’s but considering you don't got one that aint possible.”

“Then a deal has been reached, what is needed to close the contract?”

“Just two things: fresh blood and a handshake. lucky for you the first ya already got in spades”

Then the machine simply extended its hand, Reginald reaching out to meet its bloody grasp and with a firm shake the deal was forged. "Now the fun part."Reginald said with a flourish of his now bloody hand before ripping a dozen scorching sigils into the air. Igniting all at once leaving a deep black blade with infernal livery and a bone hilt hanging in the cooling air.

"This is Entrestta she'll be in your care for the next four hours."

"So I simply take this blade and then you will disapparate?”

“Correctamundo.”

Wordlessly and with precision only a machine could muster it drabbed the sword and reginald was hurtling through the immateria once more ,this time towards home and a hopefully not too disgruntled wife.

#writing #writers on tumblr #demon #ai #but like in the narrative way a human still made this

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genshxn · 2 years ago

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What Do You Call the Reverse of a Monsterfucker?

Part 2 of Taking Ls in the Abyss

i’ve got great titles, don’t i. also real talk, i don't know what the fuck the abyss looks like beyond ruins n stuff so we're all just gonna have to pretend that the shit i wrote is viable. also (x2) I'm having too much fun making y/n be annoying.

ft. xiao, enjou, lumine, electro abyss lector, and hydro abyss herald (and aether + paimon sort of)

TAGLIST: (lmk if you wanna be added)

@q804 @veralioz

word count: 4.7k (LMAO SORRY A BIT HAPPENS)

Well, the Abyss was definitely after you. Currently, you were minding your business, scavenging Guili Plains for chests like you were hunting for shredded cheese at 3:32 AM. Aether and Paimon were off trying to deal with some other overly convoluted commission, so you were left to your own devices. Amidst some bushes, you had found some scattered mora, but this had distracted you enough to not notice the sinister but goofy cackling coming from behind you. It wasn’t until a fireball went whooshing over your head that you realized a Pyro Abyss Mage was right behind you. You scrambled away from the now blazing bushes with sputtered yelling. You’re all alone right now. God fucking damnit.

"FUCK!" You call out, running for your life. If its shield was down, you’d beat its ass, but you don’t exactly have a hydro vision to vaporize its shield. The pesky mage continues to pursue you through the trees and bushes, launching fireballs while chattering annoyedly at your incessant movement. You’re too worried about trying to get out of range of the Abyss Mage to the point that you don’t even care if your feet get soaked in a shallow river. Water? An idea pops in your head.

Much to your disliking, you halt in your tracks amidst the water, waiting for the Abyss Mage to catch up. It continues to fire at you, which you narrowly manage to dodge each time. You can feel the heat of the blow every time they launch past you. You’re careful to stay in the water, slowly luring it out. If game physics still apply here, then the water you’re standing in would naturally take out the Abyss Mage’s shield… Steam flies off the transparent orb... Could the hidden bar drain any slower?

Plop. Into the water, the mage goes with a rather anticlimactic splash and unceremonious grunt.

You take this as your opportunity to run up to it with your sword. You're ready to beat some serious ass. That is until the sneaker bugger suddenly whips around right as you’re about to bring down the blade of your shitty sword. You’re met with a great blast of fire, sending both you and your sword flying backwards with a splash into harsh gravel. The blade lands somewhere far behind you with a loud clatter. You’re defenceless now. It's time for your last resort.

"Fucking shit— HELP!" You call out at the top of your lungs, confusing the Abyss Mage. "XIAO!!"

"Wait, NO—" the Abyss Mage panics.

Within seconds, the adeptus appears and takes only a moment to grasp the situation. After a streak of black and green, the Abyss Mage is reduced to nothing but blue sparkles on the wind.

(sorry, i just felt like writing a crap fight scene).

You breathe a sigh of relief, no longer having to worry about getting your hair singed off by the fun-sized arson gremlin. Xiao appears over by your side and wordlessly extends a hand down to you to help you up, which you gladly take. "You called?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you so much for that… Those things are a pain in the ass, aren’t they?" You reply as earnestly as you can.

"With their shields, definitely," Xiao says four words more than the anticipated zero. "Are you okay?" Three more in addition. He looks at you with more concern than you would have thought possible with how little you’ve spoken to him.

"Oh, y-yeah, I’m fine. I nearly had it, but the bastard decided to blast me in the face right as I was about to bop it on the head." You give a shitty thumbs up. "Guess my sword lessons from Aether haven’t quite paid off yet."

"He’s been teaching you to fight?" Xiao stands with his arms crossed over his small frame. It’s kind of hard to tell what he’s thinking right now. (Not that it’s ever easy.)

"For a couple of days, yeah. I’m not too bad against a hilichurl now," You say, somewhat proudly. Not to toot your own horn, but you’ve learnt quite quickly if you do say so yourself.

"You look slightly miserable," Xiao says out of nowhere. You blink in surprise at his sudden abrupt statement.

"Huh?"

"Come back to Wangshu Inn with me."

"Wait, but—" Before you could even finish your sentence, Xiao had slung your arm over his shoulder, and with a gentle step forward, the two of you are suddenly warped to the top of the Inn. Sunlight filters through the leaves of the massive tree, casting blobs of light and shadows on the wooden floor beneath your feet. From up here, you get to see the familiar but amazing view of Dihua Marsh from above.

Xiao wordlessly sits you down on the floor and draws your arm closer to him, analyzing it for any wounds. You don’t remember this ever being in Genshin.

"You’re quite injured…" Xiao mutters to himself. He’s right. You’ve managed to sustain about half a lifetime’s worth of damage to yourself. It’s a bit of a hard adjustment to suddenly be out in the field, often coming into the fire of various enemies with powers that are still otherworldly to you. Despite being littered with cuts and bruises, you feel surprisingly durable and lively. Maybe you’ve got a hidden HP bar that’s bigger than you thought. "What have you been doing?" Xiao’s sudden question draws you out of your thoughts.

"Adventuring. I’m just not very experienced at it." You shrug. You decide to avoid mentioning any involvement of the Abyss since they're the primary reason you've gotten into so many one-sided fights.

He comes to a stop at your upper arm which was bound in a loose bandage. It was better covered a few days ago, but it was beginning to come undone now. "I swear I can wrap bandages better than that."

Xiao makes no comment but instead opts to undo it completely. To your surprise, there's barely any remaining wound. All that lingers is the faint cicatrix of what was once a seething gash. "Damn, I healed fast." You remark at the sight of it. He traces along the scar with his gloved fingertips. He's surprisingly gentle.

"When did you get this wound?" Xiao asks, golden eyes now looking into yours.

"Uhhh, about 2 or 3 days ago." If you remember right, you were locked in a fierce one-on-one battle with about the seventh hilichurl that day. Out of nowhere, a hidden hilichurl shooter fired an arrow at you, which ended up cutting your upper arm rather than lodging itself in. That battle ended in a strategic retreat because that cut hurt like a bitch.

"You have some others that might require treatment." Xiao turns over your arm and finds a littering of fresh scrapes that you got after you were sent flying by that blast from the Abyss Mage.

"Oh, those are fine. I'll be alright," You reply. Xiao seems rather undeterred, however.

"Still, you are a mortal and should take care of yourself." He replies bluntly. Seems like there's not much arguing with him on this one. Besides, he's already going out of his way to help you. You may as well take it without argument. Suddenly, Xiao seems to hear something. You don't think you heard anything—

"Stay here, I have to deal with something." He says. Someone must be calling him from somewhere in Liyue. He quickly stands up and disappears in a cloud of black and green smoke, just like how you got here.

So now you're left sitting on the floor of the top deck of the Wangshu Inn, alone. You get up to move to the railing to look out at the view around you. That beautiful sight never fails to steal your breath. Admittedly, your wet clothes stick to you rather unpleasantly and your scratches sting a bit, but it doesn't detract from being able to see the beautiful sight in person for the first. Seeing it in-game filled you with a sense of awe, but being here in person reinvigorated that old feeling, like a fan to a flame. You lean against the rail, soaking in the dancing sunlight and view.

A voice speaks out of nowhere, interrupting your view-sponging. "Oh my, it would seem that someone is already up here." You look behind you and spot an NPC man suddenly peering out the entryway to the large balcony. His hair is a normal shade of black, and upon his brown eyes is a pair of glasses. There's something incredibly familiar about his voice, but you can't quite seem to place it yet. Its almost theatrical tone is rather uncharacteristic for an NPC, so you’re a little confused to say the least.

"I can leave if you like. You can have this spot," You say as you begin to get up from your spot on the railing and move for the exit, but you’re kept in place anyway.

"No, no, don’t worry about me," he replies, strolling up to the edge of the balcony and leaning on the railing. There’s considerable distance between you two, but his enigmatic, slightly overbearing presence makes it feel otherwise. "It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?"

"Y-yeah." You give a stunted reply. This guy is trying very hard to make conversation.

"It reminds me of the tale of an old god renowned for their beauty. I think their name was… Allurosia," he says, looking over at you on the final word.

You frown. "Who’s that?" You’ve never heard of a god of that name in Genshin lore.

Clearly that reaction wasn’t what he was expecting because his theatrics suddenly fall flat. "Wh-what? You don’t know?"

"No? Why would I?"

"Oh fuck it. Plan B."

Then way he expresses his words… Now you can place it.

"ENJOU?"

"HUH? That’snotmyrealnamebut

HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?"

"AUGH, WOULD YOU ABYSMAL FUCKS LEAVE ME ALONE?!" You begin shouting.

Enjou only makes some exasperated noise in response and proceeds to shove you backwards with an almost comical grunt. Why are you not surprised. Except you don’t hit the railing. You keep falling into a goddamn portal. He must have opened it behind you all of a sudden. You scream as you begin to plummet, the bright environment fading from light into darkness.

You fall for an unexpectedly long amount of time. There’s no end in sight for your plummet. You had been rotated like a gyroscope a few times, but there was nothing to see. Is there even a bottom to this pla—BLAHHJCK.

The wind is knocked from your lungs against a hard surface. Rather than disappearing in a cloud of blue sparkles, you’re in one piece. How did you survive that fall?! Maybe you have more HP than you thought. But if that didn’t kill you, then it certainly would have done a massive number on you.

You flop over and shakily prop yourself up with your arms. The ground beneath you is a smooth blue-grey stone, laced with spidery cracks. Looking out and around, there’s finally some light, albeit kind of shitty lighting. You’re already starting to miss the sun. It’s hard to make out anything beyond the misty horizon. In fact, there doesn’t seem to actually be much out there. Someone turned down the render distance again.

"Ugh, why do they all have to be so disagreeable…" Enjou suddenly complains. You look up and there before you floats the strange creature you know as Enjou. His arms are crossed dramatically across his chest. (Disregard this description if you’re well and truly a monsterfucker) Frowning, you notice that Enjou has taken a form halfway between human and Abyss Lector. He still had a human facial and chest structure, but the colouration was a bit strange; his face was flesh coloured while his neck was a fade from crimson red to a pale yellow. His black hair now also has a similar fade, and his sharp crimson eyes now have black sclera. How edgy. Instead of wearing his mask usually, it now sits on the side of his head, similar to how Childe wears his. It’s a little hard to tell, but Enjou still looks of the same height and almost the same build as the Abyss Lector normally. Not gonna lie, he looks pretty nice in this halfway form. "Get up," He grunts, folding in half to look down at you condescendingly while floating in the air.

You have an idea for the second time today. "Make me," You also grunt.

"You’re unbelieveable!" Enjou says, exasperated.

"That’s rich coming from you," You snort in reply.

He rolls his eyes in response.

"You want me, come pick me up. I’m not moving." You lie back down flat on your back and cross your arms over your chest as well. If you can bait him into getting close enough, maybe you could use your new abilities to somehow get him to cooperate with you.

"Hah, like I’m doing that." Enjou scoffs. With a snap of his fingers, a cage suddenly manifests around you. Your eyes widen in shock. You didn’t see this one coming. Enjou notices your shocked expression and smirks in response. "Gotcha," He sneers.

Your eyes narrow in a death-stare as you try and wave your hand around outside the cage, but the silver bars kept you in place. Enjou was just out of reach. He’s at the perfect distance to mock you. He turns around with a taunting flourish and floats off towards the domain gate. The cage around you lifts up and you drift behind him in close tow. The two of you pass through the gate and come out in some strange new ruins. You had never seen this part of the Abyss. Then again, you haven’t seen too much of it in game. Floating ruined pathways snake along towards a large free-floating sanctum. What look to be trails of dust or water poor off corners and edges, down into an infinite abyss below. Rather fitting for your location, if you do admit. All the grey-blue architecture is gilded with blemished gold and silver, just like you’ve seen in-game. You wonder what part of the Abyss this is. "Oi, Enjou, where are we going?"

"Someone’s taken an interest in you. You’ll see her in a minute," He replies, not bothering to look back at you. "We’re nearly there, now stop being annoying."

You huff, crossing your arms over yourself like a pissed off child. The two of you finally pass through the sanctum entrance and you are greeted by a large throne room. The hall itself is rather empty, with not much in the way of decoration beyond the usual greebled walls and strange glyphs lining the place. On the far side of the room, a strange throne sat on a raised platform. On the right is a Hydro Abyss Herald, and the left, an Electro Abyss Lector. The both of them are in a similar half-way form just like Enjou. Sitting on the throne itself is a familiar face.

"Lumine?" You mutter under your breath, looking visibly surprised. Of course she’s the Abyss twin, since Aether is the one wondering Teyvat — but you didn’t expect to taken to her this quickly. The front of the cage suddenly drops open, and you’re launched from it and onto the floor. Enjou stands behind you, looking ready to hurl fireballs your way at any moment. You throw a nasty look at him (which he returns), but you then turn your attention towards the Lumine right in front of you.

She looks at you with a calculating, unreadable expression. Her eyes are cold and judging, but she doesn’t look scornful. "So you’re the (Y/N) that has caused such unrest in Teyvat… Another outlander, it seems," She remarks.

You’re not quite sure what to make of her comment. "How much do you know about me?"

"A bit. You suddenly appeared out of nowhere not long ago and had captured the interest of quite a few Allogenes. Archons and my brother included." She rests her head on her hand, propped up on the arm of the throne. Her aloof gaze does not leave you.

"Yeah, that all sounds about right…" You mutter to yourself. Enjou mentioned something about someone named Allurosia, you recall. It sounds like the Abyss might know more about your weird-ass abilities than you. "Hey, uh… do you know what these weird powers of mine are? Enjou sounded like he was trying to drop an information bomb on me earlier but it didn’t work."

You side-eye Enjou with your comment, which he notices and scoffs at.

"You have somehow come into possession of the powers that once belonged to the late God of Emotions, Allurosia. That god was renowned for their beauty and charisma. All they had to do was look at you and you were under their spell. What you can do now is not too far from it," Lumine explains.

So Allurosia was another harem lord like you. Cool.

""That god perished during the Archon War, but they were still a force to be reckoned with, meaning you could be as well. The circumstances of how you came into these powers is still unknown, but I have a proposition for you," Lumine rises from her throne. Her aura exudes an air of majesty and confidence that you can’t help but shrink in.

"And that would be…?" You lower your head and look off to the side.

"Look at Her Highness in the eye!" The Abyss Herald slams the end of one of his water sabres on the ground.

"Align yourself with the Abyss Order and we can find out more about Allurosia’s old powers and why you now possess them. You have great potential to change this world for the better." Lumine stands with her shoulders back, looking down at you on the ground. (You’ve been doing an awful lot of floor-sitting today).

So that’s the proposition. Barely thinking it over, you can already tell that it would end in disaster if you agreed. With Dainsleif now forcibly added to the harem as of a few days ago, you joining the Abyss could spell chaos. Besides, even when you just played the game, you weren’t super intent on wanting to be part of the Abyss to begin with. You’re at a bit of a catch-22 here. If you join the Abyss, lord knows what would happen with the people back in Teyvat, but if you disagree, they could easily smite you on the spot since you’re rather combat-inept at best.

"So? What do you say?" She asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I— um," You sputter. "I think I need some time to think... Yeah, think. I need to think..." You really do need to think. Think about how the fuck you are going get yourself out of this situation.

Your promise to Dainsleif bounces around in your mind as you hatch a plan. I’ll try not to do anything dumb… Sorry Dainsleif, that promise if going to have to break. It’s stupid time.

You begin to sway slightly. Putting a hand to your forehead, you let out a pained groan. Lumine frowns in confusion at your strange reaction. "I don’t— that’s—," You sink down a bit, hand now clutching your chest. Time to ramp it up with some shaky breaths. You’re not really sure where you’re going with this sudden ailment, but it’s working. "Why is the human acting strange," The Electro Abyss Lector comments, rather puzzled by you.

"Are you alright?" Lumine asks. She takes an apprehensive step in your direction. The Abyss twin might be an antagonist in the game, but they’re both good people.

Now you lie down, lowering your head between your hands, looking incredibly vulnerable. Lumine takes another step towards you. By doing so, Lumine has taken the L. WEIRD-ASS HAREM POWERS, GO. Enjou yells something to Lumine right as you snap your hand out, but he’s too late. Your hand claps over Lumine’s ankle. He warps right next to her. Enjou too takes an L. With your other hand, you manage to make contact with him as well. The two of them are stunned.

You launch to your feet, hands splayed out like two deadly weapons, ready to strike. The Hydro Herald and Electro Lector look at the frozen Lumine and Enjou and then at each other. And then at you. "Fuck—" The Herald teleports behind you, about to slash. His arm comes down right where you were standing before. You slash your hand upward, colliding with his arm. He’s instantly hit, recoiling and freezing up.

The Electro Abyss mage is the last one left. He growls in annoyance, launching a swarm of Electro spheres at you. You jump behind the Herald, who takes the brunt of the electrocution with a comical yell. Once he’s stopped being electrified, you shove him towards the Lector, who only narrowly misses the poor Herald. You quickly summon your sword and strike upwards again, launching the Lector’s book out the window and into the endless pit below. You had been practicing that one with Aether. While the Lector is panickledly scrambling after it, you launch towards him, palm outstretched, clapping him over the shoulder.

The whole room stood stunned, still trying to process what just happened and probably their emotions. You let out a puff of air. That was intense.

"I still need to think on that proposition, I think." You dust yourself off, now addressing the others on equal footing. "Now, it would be appreciated if you could send me back." You stand with your hands on your hips, now commanding respect from them instead.

"Well, we no longer could, even if we wanted to," The Elector says bitterly, floating ominously in place.

Your confident expression drops into a frown. "Wait what? Why?"

"Because you knocked my damned book out the window. Without that spell, I can’t just open a gate all the way to Teyvat. Do you know how far that is? Besides, teleporting a whole other entity is far different from teleporting yourself."

Your stomach drops. "Oh… fuck."

"Fuck is right. I’m not going to be able to have another copy for at least a few months. It takes a long time to make those things, you know." He grumpily crosses his arms like a child having a tantrum. You thought the Elector was also doom and gloom like the Herald, not like Enjou. Speaking of—

"Enjou, you shoved me into a portal before. Can’t you do something?" You turn to look at him, but by the looks of it, he didn’t have a solution either.

"Recall that flat expanse halfway? That was the furthest reaches of the Abyss. That’s as far as I can personally go. The gate there was held open by that one." Enjou nods his head in the Elector’s direction. "Besides, I don’t have a goofy-looking book for that sort of thing."

"Because you constantly burn them, you fool." The Herald grunts. He had picked himself up from the ground at some point and now stood behind Lumine. You down at her while the three Abyss higher-ups bicker amongst themselves. She looks as disappointed by them as you are surprised. Canon divergence at its best, you suppose.

"So I’m stuck here for at least a few months…" You sound incredibly defeated.

"So it would seem." Lumine finishes facepalming. "Your friends likely won’t find you here for a while, anyway. A few days in Teyvat is a few months here in the Abyss. I suppose that gives you time to consider the offer, though. Despite all… this..." Lumine gestures around her at the grumpy Lectors and Herald. "…Do tell me how your stay here could be more worthwhile. I will see what I can arrange.” This kindness is definitely an effect of the entire room getting grabbed. It’s strange as fuck to say the least, but why not take the W when it’s presented to you on a silver platter?

"I suppose I have one request?"

"And what would that be?"

"Teach me how to fight." If you’re gonna get stuck in the Abyss for what will be a few months of your perceived time, you may as well embrace it and do a Childe. It might make things interesting once you’re out again. "I don’t care who I learn from. I want to learn combat. Ooh, and teach me some fancy Abyssal tricks if that’s possible for me."

Lumine looks surprised by your keen interest in combat. Maybe the Childe-ness is already starting to set in. "You already know a couple of sword techniques, it would seem. I can teach you personally… I-if you would like, of course." Lumine scrambles slightly to add the last part in addition. Looks like she’s succumbed to the awkwardness, just like her brother back in Teyvat.

"Oh hell yeah, I’m down." The light’s already leaving your eyes. My god, someone stop (Y/N). "I wanna learn from you three as well.” You point between the three Abyss members who had all stopped their infighting to look at you confusedly.

“That could be arranged.” Lumine nods. “For now, there are other matters to attend to. You three, (Y/N), come with me.” Lumine turns tail with a dramatic swish of her dress and wanders out to one of the other pathways connected to the hanging sanctum.

So you’ve successfully set up more combat classes. Given that you’ve successfully gained at least Lumine to your arsenal, any of the training you’re given won’t be allowed to end in death. Chances are you’ll only be close to dying for the next three months. Oh well, maybe this could be fun.

———

Back in Teyvat, Xiao had finally returned from the call, only to find that there was no trace of a soul on that sun-spattered balcony. He looked around for you, but there was no you in sight. Were you with someone else now? Did you get bored and leave? Did something bad happen to you? Xiao surprises himself with his anxious thoughts. He’s not usually the type to suddenly get so worked up over someone new, but there’s something different about you that he can’t articulate. All his worrying left him with different unpleasant feelings, so he decides to go looking for you.

He calls your name. There’s no response.

He looks around the balcony. Nothing.

He looks around the Inn. Still nothing.

“Xiao, have you lost something?” Verr asks. She clearly noticed Xiao’s increasingly frantic searching. He’s as obvious as daylight right now.

“Have you seen (Y/N)? I can’t find them and they’re injured.” He replies. He was going to redress your wounds, but he can’t now that you’re gone.

“Oh, that new outlander?” She taps her chin, trying to recall all the faces she’s seen come and go. "I believe I saw them last with the traveller Aether, but that was much earlier this morning. If you can’t find them, then he may know.”

With a quick thank you, Xiao quickly teleports to Aether’s location, which he notices to be somewhere not too far from the inn. His sudden appearance jump-scares both Paimon and the blond. “Xiao, you nearly gave Paimon a heart-attack!” She stamps her feet about in midair, but Xiao pays no mind to her.

“Have you seen (Y/N)?”

“What do you mean? They were doing a commission by the river just south of here. Has something happened?”

“They were injured so I took them back to Wangshu Inn for a bit. I was called, so I had to leave for a few minutes, but once I got back, they were gone. They’re not at the Inn. I looked.” Xiao explains urgently.

“Wait, you—“ Aether begins, but he is quickly cut off by Paimon’s melodramatic gasping.

“What if they got kidnapped by hilichurls?! They’ve been beating up a lot of them recently! Maybe they want REVENGE!”

“…Paimon, no.” Aether frowns, facepalming slightly. "Something feels off about this. I want to look as well.”

“The more eyes, the better,” Xiao nods, quickly flitting off in a cloud of smoke with another step.

And thus begins the search for missing (Y/N).

Will the search for (Y/N) prove a success? What will become of (Y/N) after the Abyss? TUNE IN NEXT TIME TO FIND OUT!

<- ep 4.1

ep 4.3 ->

aaaaand here's an enjou (as described) as an apology for my godawful motivation and non-existent schedule.

[img id: a painted sketch of a smugly grinning humanoid enjou. he has the same hair and glasses as his npc form, but his black hair fades to red and a pale yellow, like his neck. his mask, which has been very slightly altered, sits on the side of his head. his eyes are red with black sclera and 4-point star pupils. his clothes have also been slightly modified to be more simple because op got lazy drawing them.]

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #isekai series #xiao #xiao x reader #enjou #it's not really enjou x reader yet but eh idk i'm tagging him in it anyway #lumine #abyss lumine x reader #abyss lumine #abyss herald

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but-onlyforyou · 2 years ago

Note

(Kat from kittens-of-vol-tron!)

Okay okay, so if you want how about a klance prompt of what you think their first kiss was! I'm curious to see how you think that would play out!

But if you want me to pick the direction, a kiss after a close battle :3 (bonus if it's kinda a 'holy shit I almost lost you' kiss that just happens)

i LOVE the 'holy shit i almost lost u' kiss trope, thank u kat for always supporting me and my klance endeavours 🥺

cw: mild violence (canon-typical)

If the din of battle is a constant roar, then the split-second before Keith turns to find a blade halfway toward his stomach is a shrieking whine of feedback directly into the whorling space between his ears. He can't hear anything else around him, but his body instantly winds up, preemptively tensed against the ghost sensation of steel between his ribs, a smoldering surge of pain that even fire can't recreate.

It happens faster than Keith can really process it.

If he had time to think, maybe he would think that this — a life spent in service to the fate of the universe — never felt more tangible than when that universe shrunk down to Voltron and the four other people that formed it. When a universe was the known bodies that walked the same orbits within their castle of a galaxy, constant and close enough to chart the course of his own path alongside. If Keith had time to think, maybe he would think that dying here, within reach of the only people he cares about, is the best place he could die. And if he's lucky? Bright blue eagle-eyes won't have to see that it happened until the dust has long since cleared.

For better and for worse, Keith never really gets exactly what he wishes for.

Lance sees him.

He doesn't realize it until the high frequency screech of adrenaline in his head cuts off with a bang — two bangs — a cry and a stumble, a blur of purple as the Galran soldier poised to stab him stumbles back from the force of a bullet in his shoulder, tumbles down from the pinpoint brutality of another. Keith hears his own breathing again, harried and catching on every ragged edge of his ribcage, for a brief few seconds before the roar of battle rushes back in like the tide to take it away.

The fight is quick to wind down after that, one dropped enemy slowly turning into two, five— many more, inversely proportional to the noise around them. When the last sentry falls, there's a brief moment of silence before a new kind of clamour starts up, far more subdued than the angry cacophony of battle.

Keith hears Lance rushing down from his vantage point before he sees him. The thud of his weight against metal support beams, the staccato of his jetpack easing the momentum of each fall. When his feet hit the ground, Keith's slowing breaths are backed by the crunch of gravel beneath Lance's boots as he runs over, something unreadable and breathtakingly intense in his cerulean eyes.

He skids to a stop in front of Keith, heavy breaths fogging the lower half of his visor, and Keith feels breathless in the face of Lance's stricken expression, the wild glint in his eyes registering as terror in Keith's mind. As his breathing slows, the look starts to lose its ferocity, shrinking down until Lance just stands there, looking unbearably small. Keith feels his chest ache.

"Don't—"

Lance swallows, shaking hands coming up to grip the sides of Keith's helmet as he looks him unwaveringly in the eye. With a gentle tug, he pulls the helmet off, dropping it to the side so he can curl fingers against the side of his neck proper, so close that Keith can feel the way Lance's fingertips tremble against the surface of his skin.

Even through the muted blue glass of his visor, Lance's gaze is intense enough to take Keith's breath away.

"You can't— You have to be more careful." Lance's mouth twists open and closed between words, equal parts certain and so anxiously unsure. He looks like he wants to say everything and nothing to him all at once, and Keith hears it all half-muffled around the fading bloodrush between his ears, eyes trained on those slanting lips as Lance settles on: "You can't leave us, Keith. Not like this. Not me."

And that's when it hits Keith.

Lance saw him.

In the split second before Keith could have died, in the brief instant where he had no time to think but all the time to hope Lance wouldn't have to bear witness to it happening, he caught their sharpshooter's eagle-eyes. Lance saved him, and the terror that sparked in his gaze, the trembling and uncertain surety — those were all for Keith.

The realization crashes over him like a wave, his body a movable object against its unstoppable force as it shoves him forward, a messy jumble of limbs, longing, and the way Lance had looked him — like Keith was something he'd lose the entire universe for before he could bear to lose him.

He presses a kiss against Lance's visor, right above his lips, and his heart kicks into a quickened cadence at the way Lance's breath hitches.

"I won't," Keith sighs, more breath than words. They're close enough that it paints fog across Lance's visor, and when that barrier proves too much for the newfound want running rampant in Keith's veins, he pushes the pane up, staring Lance eye to uncovered eye.

Keith leans in for two things in the electric quiet between them: another kiss, brief and just enough to quell the rush of blood between his ears, and a promise, punctuated by his fingers twining themselves stubbornly between Lance's own.

"I'm not leaving anyone, Lance. And I won't leave you."

fic request guidelines <3

#klance #voltron #lance mcclain #keith kogane #vld lance #vld keith #klance fanfiction #vld fanfic #postfics #first kiss #word count approx. 800-900 #tw: violence

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needy-puppy-freak · 15 days ago

Text

My immediate thought was a vampire as a persistence hunter stalking his prey across the country. I got a little carried away, it's long. Enjoy some smut.

The cowboy has stopped between settlements. Readying camp and bedding down for the night. That is, until he hears the snap of a twig. And though usually animals don't bother him, this time it sounds...wrong. The vampire stalks around his tent, circling, circling. Unable to get in without being invited as the cowboy clutches his pistol. The footsteps don't sound heavy like a bear, it doesn't pad on four feet or travel in a pack like a wolf. He can't even hear it breathe. But he can hear it circling, stalking, waiting. It doesn't disappear until the sun comes up.

He's late packing up just in case it might return. There are no tracks left behind, and he starts to think maybe the night and his own paranoia got to him. He doesn't go far, just to the nearest town. Exhausted from his sleepless night, he naps at an inn, then finds a bar to drink til sundown. And by the time he starts to head back to the inn happy and tipsy he is convinced he'd just imagined the whole thing. But then he feels eyes on him. There is a horrifying cold weight that settles in his chest. An inate fear that tells him in this moment that he is prey. He glances behind him to find there is eye shine in the trees.

He didn't just imagine it, it's right there, whatever *it* is. He turns and starts running. Stumbling in his drunkeness but frantic for the safety of the inn. People are still milling about in the streets and look at him like he's crazy, a fool running from his own shadow. But he knows something is there. It taps on his window, knocks on his door, he doesn't sleep at all.

He has decided he has to get out of town. As the sun rises he takes his horse and heads west as far and as fast as he can. By the end of the day he is sore all over. He can hardly stand much less set up camp. The sun has already set as he shakily stakes his tent in place. But then there is that chill that runs up his spine. He stiffens, his tent still unfinished and unable to protect him from whatever creature lurks behind him. His guns still in his horses' satchel, he's defenseless.

He wants to look behind him, but there's something that tells him that the creature wants to see the fear in his eyes. The fire pops close by, and his hand reaches out for the nearest burning stick. It would be sturdy enough to swing or stab. Whatever it is will have to contend with the burns at the very least.

But before in the split second it would take to reach it there is an icy touch to the nape of his neck and a low smooth voice in his ear. "You don't want to kill." And he feels the words like a torrent of icy water down his back. He opens his hand but he can't move an inch closer to his improvised weapon. "You want to look at me." Says the voice and something about it makes the cowboy's breath catch. He doesn't want to look, he doesn't want to look.

Then he is looking into the deep burgundy eyes of a creature so utterly beautiful. It looks almost human, but there is something distinctly animalistic. Too pale, too sharp, too graceful. It has the countenance of a predator and its eyes jutter in quick back and forth movements, unblinking as it smiles. There is a twist somewhere deep in his gut. As he stares at the blade sharp fangs. It is more than just fear. "Monster." He says breathlessly. He doesn't want to give it the satisfaction of screaming or begging, despite his fear. He wants it to know what it is. Something horrific and unnatural.

***Smut starts here***

It slides a hand up along the cowboy's neck, feeling the way his adams apple bobs when he swallows. The movement is oh so tempting and it groans bringing its mouth to the crook of the man's neck. He smells like dirt and sweat and blood, so much blood. "Do I scare you?" It asks, lips brushing over the man's pulse. He can feel it fast and frantic and it opens its mouth, not to bite, but to kiss.

"No I-" But he's cut off by his own gasp as the kiss sends pleasure radiating through his body. "I'm not-" He starts, but his voice falters as he tries not to press himself into the kiss. But then there is a hand at his crotch and at first, he thought it was the creature. He wanted to twist away, but as his dick meets the cool evening air, he finds that it's his own hand. "Not scared." He whines, and it feels pathetic.

He can feel a chuckle against his neck and a hardness against his ass as he strokes himself. He is stroking his furiously, shaking slightly and his knees already close to buckling. Then he feels a surprisingly warm tongue lick up his neck. It's enough to drag a desperate moan out of him and bring him to his knees.

He can feel the monster press into him, his body absorbing the cowboy's heat. Slowly growing warmer as its cock, despite their layers of clothes, is wedged against his ass. "Naughty." Scolds the vampire, though its voice seems amused. When its lips pull away from the cowboy's neck his hand stops. Still gripping the base tight and gasping. All it takes is the vampire blowing one soft gust of air at the man's neck to get him stroking again. If he were to turn back he would find the vampire smiling wide, reveling in playing with his meal.

"You're doing this!" The cowboy grunts, head dropping forward with a ragged breath. His cock is leaking onto the ground, each stroke tight and fast.

"I can't make you do anything you don't already want to do." It says crouching behind him. It runs a hand up his back then leans in to whisper. "You want me to stroke you." Not a question, but a statement to which the cowboy just whimpers and drops his cock. It's stiff and pink in the firelight already glistening with pearls of precum.

"That's a good little human." It whispers leaning over him to take his dick in hand. The touch is cold in a way that makes the cowboy whine, though there's no struggle to stop it. Instead, he jerks forward lusty and impatient.

"More." He growls when the vampire's pace doesn't speed up. "Want m-more." His words come out soft and shaky as he pushes his ass back to grind against the vampire's hard cock. It growls in return letting its teeth drag on the cowboy's neck before speaking.

"Beg for it." It says low and amused as its free hand moves to push the human's pants lower. They pool at his knees and his hole twitches, eager to be filled.

"Please!" It comes out loud and without hesitation. His face goes red hearing his own voice echo back at him through the night. He can feel his ragged breaths coming in bursts as he thrusts forward rutting into the monster's hand. "Please." This time it's a whimper, soft and shaky. There is a desperation in him he's never felt. "Please." He whines as his arms shake, ready to give out.

"You're mine, you understand?" It growls low and possessive as it's teeth sink into the cowboy's neck. That's all it takes to have the cowboy screaming out and plastering the ground in cum. Gulp after gulp of blood leaves his body as he reels gasping for breath.

The monster groans as it drinks deeply, and the cowboy underneath him whimpers. It feels like his vision has gone fuzzy. He's muttering nonsense and strings of pleading words. Screaming loud desperate moans without reserve. Then his shaking arms finally give out, and before his face can hit the ground there is a cold strong arm secured around his chest, pulling him up. His vision is swimming but he can see the stars and mountains in the distance. They seem to bend toward him making him lean heavily into the monster's arm to keep himself upright.

The vampire isn't stroking him anymore, just holding its hand still as the cowboy's thrusts slow. He's pliant and delirious, pressing himself harder into the teeth at his neck. Every pull of blood a shot of pure pleasure to his system. Before long his vision goes dark and he slumps into the creatures arms babbling and incoherent but entirely sated.

(Next morning he wakes up just past dawn. For a moment, he thinks it might have been a surreal dream, but he doesn't remember finishing his tent. He wants to write it off, but beside him is his dented tin mug filled to the brim with a simple piney tea. Still warm as if whoever made it waited until the last moments before the sun rose to take it off the fire.)

cowboys……. gay cowboys….. gay cowboy vampires……….. thoughts…………

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theteasetwrites · 3 years ago

Text

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 28: City of Woe

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 4 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: violence, mild swearing, scary situation, typical TWD ❧ Word Count: 5.5k

❧ In This Chapter: Conflict erupts between you and Daryl and the men who call themselves the Claimers. When paths collide, you're reunited with friends, but your search for sanctuary leads you all into a frying pan, quite literally.

❧ A/N: Here marks the end of Season 4! My favorite thing about this chapter is definitely how much Reader stands up for Daryl. I like to think of her as a nice, sweet person, but if you mess with her or her loved ones (esp. Daryl), she'll fuck you up—verbally or otherwise.

You didn’t sleep much at all the night you and Daryl joined the men. Though Daryl held you as he usually did, a bit closer considering the other men were giving you salacious looks, you couldn’t shake the feeling of distrust if you did fall asleep.

Still, it was enough sleep to allow you to wake up early with Daryl and help him hunt, though he didn’t really need it.

You watched as he knelt on the leaf-covered ground and held his crossbow to his eyes, patiently waiting for the right moment to shoot the small furry rabbit he stumbled upon. You always loved rabbits, you even raised them when you were little. Every time Daryl brought one back to the prison, you would pass. Now, though, that adorable rabbit looked like a four course meal.

When two arrows penetrated the animal, one from Daryl’s crossbow and one from somewhere behind you, your eyes widened and you turned to face the obnoxious man with the bow.

Daryl stood up from his kneeling position and turned to face the man, too. “What the hell you doin’?” he asked angrily.

The man shrugged as if he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. “Catching me some breakfast.” He smiled at you mockingly.

You rested your hands on your hips. “You?” you asked, unimpressed with his declaration of ownership of the rabbit.

Daryl began walking over to the dead bunny. “That’s ours,” he said matter-of-factly.

“My arrow’s the one that hit first,” he said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with you as you both watched Daryl pull the arrows out of the rabbit’s dead body. “Cottontail belongs to me.”

You stepped forward towards Daryl, not wanting to be too close to any of the crass men in your new group. “We’ve been out here since before the sun came up,” you said.

He smirked at you. “You see, the rules of the hunt don’t mean jack out here, axewoman.” You did not like your new nickname. He stepped forward and faced Daryl. “Now, that rabbit you’re holdin’ is claimed, boy.”

Daryl chucked the man’s arrow somewhere into the forest.

“Claimed?” you asked, now standing next to Daryl.

“Claimed,” he repeated. “Whether you like it or not. So if I was you, I’d hand it over. Now. Before you get to wishin’ you ain’t never even gotten out of bed this mornin’.”

Daryl stepped in front of you and inched closer to the man, holding the rabbit by its legs all the while. “It ain’t yours,” Daryl growled at him.

You glared the man down, so incensed that you couldn’t help but get a word in. “Go find your own,” you said. “Then stick it up your ass.”

The two of you began walking past him back towards the camp, but the obnoxious man spoke again before you could get too far away from him. “Here I thought you were a nice piece of tail,” he began, causing Daryl to stop in his tracks and reach for the hilt of his knife. You grabbed his hand and looked him in the eye with a harshness. “More just a dumb bitch, with a little whipped bitchboy.” He smirked at his own remark. “She got you doin’ the dishes, too?”

At that, you didn’t care anymore to let Daryl pull his knife out and turn around to face the man. Before he could even lift the knife, the leader, Joe, pushed past you and pushed Daryl’s arm down. “Easy, fellas,” he said. “Easy.”

The other man just laughed, while Daryl glared him down with enough rage to stab him without any blade at all. “Let’s just put our weapons down, see if we can’t figure out what’s really the problem here, huh?” Joe paused for a moment before situating himself between the two men. You stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Daryl, now weary of there being two men you didn’t trust in your general vicinity. “You claim it?” he asked the other man.

“Hell yeah,” he replied.

What kind of bullshit system is this? you asked yourself.

“Well, there you go,” Joe said as he turned to face the two of you. “That critter belongs to Len.”

The part of you where you kept your inner mother, the petulant bitch that she was, was bursting at the seams and ready to let loose. So it did. “That’s bullshit!” you practically yelled. “Daryl spent hours out here looking for that, he earned it!” Daryl laid a hand on your stomach to push you back as you kept hounding on the men from behind him. “This dickhead didn’t do anything but run his big mouth off.”

“(Y/N),” Daryl growled at you, giving you a slightly softer glare he reserved only for you. He was half unsure of what to do, considering he had only ever seen you so enraged back at the CDC with Jenner, and even then you had less vitriol in your voice. When it came to Daryl and people taking advantage of his skills, as they so often did, it was easy for you to loose your cool. Plus, Len’s face was extremely punchable.

“Woowee!” Len hollered. You hadn’t even noticed that he had been laughing during your entire rant. “You make a strong case, darlin’, but that there rabbit’s mine. So let’s have it.”

“Looks like you may be wanting an explanation,” Joe said.

Hell yeah.

“See, going it alone, that ain’t an option nowadays,” Joe explained. Daryl barely gave him the satisfaction of looking at him, opting instead to look at the very interesting forest floor. “Still, it is survival of the fittest. That’s a paradox right there. So I laid out some rules of the road to keep things from goin’ Darwin every couple of hours, keep our merry band together and stress-free.”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes in annoyance at his misplaced reference to your favorite fairytale figure. Merry band my ass.

“All you gotta do is claim,” he continued. “That’s how you mark your territory, your prey, your bed at night… your woman, too.”

Please kill them both, Daryl.

“One word,” he said, holding up his index finger. “Claimed.”

“I ain’t claimin’ nothin’,” Daryl replied.

You were relieved. You didn’t care if it kept the two of you alive, you hated to see Daryl conform to this unfair regime without a fight. It was a flawed system, you could tell right away. The fact that these men were all right with taking things from others who had worked hard for them, by force if they had to, spoke volumes about their character. It might have been a way to resolve conflicts, but it wasn’t an effective, or fair, one in your mind.

After another lecture on rules, Joe finally resolved the issue by splitting the rabbit in half. Of course, you and Daryl got the ass end. It seemed to accurately represent your status in the group as outsiders. Still, you preferred being outsiders than fitting in with such a group.

With the butt end of a rabbit in tow, the two of you continued traveling with the group for a while until reaching an old auto parts garage where Joe decided you would all stay for the night.

Because neither you nor Daryl believed in the “claiming” system, the two of you ended up having to sleep on the floor while the others claimed their beds in the cars. You didn’t mind, though. It was better than adhering to those rules.

“I’m not sure I can take it with these guys for much longer,” you said to Daryl, sitting on the stairs leading up to the garage as he urinated against a nearby tree. “I might kill Len.”

Daryl scoffed. “Ain’t worth it. They’d kill us both.” He shook himself before zipping his pants back up and sitting down next to you with a huff. “Don’ worry. We’ll leave soon.”

You rested your head on Daryl’s shoulder and wrapped your arm around his. “How did things go so wrong so fast?” you asked Daryl, though you knew the answer, and it contained subheadings, footnotes, as well as a references page.

Daryl paraphrased it for you, as he always did. “Things just happened.”

You squeezed his arm tighter, as if you were afraid he’d slip away from you, too. “I miss my journal,” you said sadly. “I left it in our cell.”

“Miss that weird book you were reading to me,” he agreed.

You laughed and raised your head to look into his sweet face. “You mean the Picture of Dorian Gray?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You shrugged. “There are plenty of copies of Dorian Gray. Only one Daryl Dixon.” You nuzzled your nose up and down against his, then planted a small kiss there.

“Just wish I knew how it ends.”

“Want me to spoil it for you?” you asked.

He smirked. “You better.”

You laughed. “Well, Dorian ends up slashing the portrait with a knife. He’s disgusted with the way it looks as it bears all the ugliness he’s created throughout his selfish life. When he does that, he inadvertently kills himself, but not before turning into the grotesque ugliness from the portrait, and the portrait becomes beautiful again.”

Daryl looked at you incredulously. “Well, shit.”

You smiled. “He got what was coming to him. It’s all in the interpretation, though.”

He nodded. “Maybe we’ll find another copy someday. Then I can interpret it myself.”

“I’d love to hear what you think,” you said.

Daryl had grown so much from the man you met almost two years ago. No longer was he living in his brother’s shadow, so afraid to think for himself and show any vulnerability. You liked to think that the two of you were on this journey together, discovering more about yourselves and becoming more confident in your respective abilities.

“What about the geode?” he asked, rousing you from your thoughts.

You smiled before reaching into the pocket of your jean jacket and pulling out the amethyst. “I almost forgot about it in there,” you said.

Daryl had a bittersweet look on his face. “Think mine’s still at the prison.”

You brushed his hair back with your free hand as he looked down at your half of the geode. “It’s okay, honey. I was thinking, anyway, that we should break this guy up into a few pieces. That way it’ll be easier to carry around. Might make mine into a necklace or something.”

Daryl’s blue eyes widened. “Here,” he reached behind him to grab his crossbow, then stood up to outstretch his hand. “Gimme.”

You handed the geode to Daryl, and he placed it down on the concrete before smashing it with the stock of his crossbow, not unlike the night he first split it in half. It took several tries to shatter it, but with a little elbow grease and some heavy grunting, Daryl was able to get the rock down to a chunks of a more practical size.

You watched the purple gems explode into multiple, smaller pieces. You clapped in appreciation. “Bravo!” you cheered. “You’re a force to be reckoned with, my love.”

You got up and helped him pick up the pieces, laying them in your palm and admiring the iridescent sheen reflecting on the jagged purple surfaces from the last rays of the evening sun.

The two of you sat back down to admire Daryl’s handiwork. He managed to get each piece perfectly sized. He handed you one of the pieces he picked up. “This would be good for a necklace,” he said.

You took the gem and smiled. “Yes, it would.”

Before you could even thank him, Daryl was rummaging through his pant pockets until he pulled out a long black shoelace and some copper wire. He always kept odd bits and bobs like that, just in case. You watched in fascination as he took the gem from your hand and began wrapping the wire around it, then creating a loop over the top of it when the wire was secure. Feeding the shoelace through the loop, he tied the ends together and then held it up to reveal a necklace.

“This okay?” he asked.

Your mouth was still slightly agape from watching him make it. “It’s perfect, Daryl.” You shook your head in disbelief.

He shrugged. “If I get some real cord or twine I can take the shoelace off. It’ll work for now, though.”

“Can you put it on me?” You turned away from him so he could put it on you like in those cheesy romance movies.

He raised the necklace above your head and laid it gently around your neck, leaving a sweet kiss on the side. You turned back to him and smiled. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he said.

You blushed. He rarely said beautiful. Pretty was his usual go-to word.

“Thank you, Daryl. I love it. I’m never taking it off.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer until your legs were touching. “Gonna keep the rest of the pieces in my bag,” he said. “Might make somethin’ else someday.”

When the two of you came back into the garage, all of the men were settled in their cars. Since there was nothing else to do, you and Daryl decided to lay down a bit before making dinner with the rabbit’s ass, though by the time you got back, the rabbit’s head had mysteriously appeared next to its counterpart.

“Give it here,” Len said to Daryl as he sat up.

“You step back,” he replied gruffly, blocking your body with his.

“My half was in the bag,” Len said, “now it’s gone.”

The both of you stood up to defend yourselves.

“Now ain’t nobody around here interested in no half a damn cottontail except you. Ain’t that right?” he yelled.

“You’re the one still thinkin’ about that crap,” Daryl retorted.

“Empty your bag,” Len demanded.

“I said step back!”

Joe approached the two arguing men and ripped Daryl’s bag from his hands to dump it out and reveal the head of a rabbit.

Your eyes widened. “We didn’t take it,” you said.

“You put that there, didn’t you?” Daryl asked, inching closer to Len. “When I went out to take a piss?!”

“You lied,” Len said.

“Didn’t you?!” Daryl pushed the man’s chest.

“You lied. You stole. We gonna teach this fool or what, Joe?”

“Looks like we got ourselves a little conundrum here.” Joe stepped between the two men. He looked over to Daryl.“Either he’s lying, which is an actionable offense…” He turned back to Len. “Or you didn’t plant it on him like some punk-ass, cheating, coward cop, did you? ‘Cause while that wouldn’t be specifically breaking the rules, it’d be disappointing.”

“It would,” Len nodded his head. “I didn’t.”

“Well,” Joe turned back to Daryl, then made you flinch when he turned to Joe again and threw a hard punch into his face, knocking him to the ground. “Teach him a lesson, gents. He’s a lying sack of shit and I’m sick of it.”

They beat Len to death. That was the cost of lying, or breaking any of the other “rules.”

Joe told you both that he saw Len plant the rabbit on you. He let you both have the rabbit’s head, but it was the least satisfying catch Daryl ever cooked up for the two of you. It was tainted, and you couldn’t get the sounds of Len’s grunts as the other men drained the life out of him in that garage.

The next day, you found out where Joe’s group was heading. They were following the tracks of a “walking piece of fecal matter,” as Joe put so eloquently, who had killed one of their men. In turn, that killer was following the train tracks, specifically one that was used as a trail to a “sanctuary for all” that was advertised on several railroad signs.

You and Daryl looked at each knowingly when you heard this information. The men were following the tracks to a sanctuary. Though they didn’t seem interested in staying there, the two of you both felt it could be a place to settle down again, maybe even meet the others if they found it, too. So you followed along, hoping. You found yourself hoping for a miracle a lot since the world turned. Sometimes, it worked.

That night was a miracle, in a way. Mostly, though, it was a bloodbath.

You, Daryl, and the rest of Joe’s group did find the man you were looking for, just in different contexts. For you and Daryl, seeing Rick and Michonne sat at that fire pit, and Carl seated in the car not too far away, it was a godsend. For Joe and his men, it was an opportunity for vengeance.

You hid in a bush with Daryl and the other men, then hid behind the car when Joe and the others began to threaten Rick. You were waiting for just the moment. It came when Joe started to count down until he shot Rick.

“Joe!” Daryl yelled to the man.

Emerging from the darkness, you and Daryl were met with two pairs of familiar eyes. “Hold up,” Daryl said, dumbfounded as you both approached Joe until you were encircled by the men. “These people,” he began, “you’re gonna let ‘em go. These are good people.”

“This man killed our friend,” Joe said. “You say he’s good people. See, now that right there is a lie.” You froze in fear, remembering what they did to the last liar. “It’s a lie!”

You couldn’t even take another breath before Daryl was knocked to the ground by one of the other men. “No!” you cried, reaching for your axe before you, too, were punched in the gut. With the wind knocked out of you both, two of the men picked you both up and dragged you over by the car to begin beating you to death. You kept trying to reach for your axe but it was gone, so was your knife.

As you writhed on the ground, taking blow after blow from the two men, you heard Daryl’s groans in pain, their aching causing you even more hurt than the kicks and bludgeons to your stomach and face. “Don’t rough ‘er up too much,” you heard Joe yell to your abusers. “Wanna keep her nice and pretty for later.”

So you wouldn’t be beaten to death. Daryl would, but they’d keep you for God knows what, then kill you. It was a horrible nightmare, and a part of you just wished they’d shoot you and get it over with. Then, you kept hearing the awful grunts coming from Daryl. As you lay on the ground, you were finally able to look at him opposite of you, writhing in just as much pain. You ignored the repeated kicks to you abdomen that didn’t seem to let up, and you watched in horror as Daryl was beaten to a bloody pulp. He kept trying to get up to defend himself, but he was knocked down every time. You cried out helplessly, “Stop! Please!” Your words were cut short by another round of hits to the face.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out.

You couldn’t tell what was happening, but it woke you from your pain-induced stupor. Situating your eyes on your axe not too far away from you now, an idea crossed your mind. It was risky, but it was all you could think to do. You closed your eyes, and lowered your heart rate in the hopes the men would think you were dead or unconscious. They were stupid enough to fall for something like that, so why not try it.

“She’s out!” one of them said to the other.

“No!” Daryl bellowed, now being tossed against the side of the car and beaten some more by both of them.

With their backs turned to you, and Rick and Michonne fighting against the others, you army crawled over to your axe. With the handle firmly in your grasp, you shot up and lunged towards the men, landing a deadly blow directly into one man’s skull. Pulling it out swiftly, Daryl had already broken free and was able to push the other man down and stomp his face in with his heavy boots until he was nothing but blood and brains.

You dropped your axe and ran to Daryl, wrapping your arms around him and sobbing. Neither of you said a word, just hung onto each other, both of you a beaten and bludgeoned mess. You were sure your nose was broken, as well as a couple of ribs. You wouldn’t even be surprised if you’d lost a tooth, and that had always been your worst nightmare. Now, it was like a paper cut.

“Thank God,” you cried, cradling the back of his head with your hand and realizing you were embracing the only thing that mattered to you on this planet, and that he was still alive. Beaten halfway to death, but alive.

He didn’t say anything, just held you close and tucked his face into your shoulder. You swore you heard muffled cries and sniffles, but it was hard to tell over your own sobs, both from the one of the most painful experiences of your life and from the mental trauma of almost losing Daryl once again.

You sat on the hood of the car, watching the sun come up through your one good eye. Beside you, Daryl poured some water out onto his red rag he always kept in his pocket. Bringing it up to your face, he gently dabbed at the dried blood from just hours earlier.

He had a concerned look on his face, his eyes clouded with sadness and anger and helplessness as he remembered what happened. Both of your faces were battered. Daryl had one black eye and several cuts on his face, including his lip and eyebrow.

You, on the other hand, had it much worse.

There was a split on the bridge of your nose where the bone was fractured, and both of your eyes were blackened, with one completely swollen shut. There was a terrible pain in your lower chest from where you were sure the ribs were cracked, and you tongued at the hole that once housed the molar you lost. Ironically, it was one of the wisdom teeth your dentist had tried to scam you into removing despite its perfect placement. Guess I got a free surgery after all.

Once he finished cleaning your face, he tilted your chin up gently to get a better look at your nose. “This is gonna need a bandage,” he said. “Gotta keep it clean.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said.

Daryl was half expecting you to make a wise crack about him being a doctor, but he wasn’t expecting your apathy. “I’m sure we’ll find a first aid kit. Could be worse though, don’t think it’s gonna make your nose look funny.”

You smirked. “Oh, good. I was worried it would make me look ugly, considering how gorgeous I am otherwise.”

That’s my girl, he thought. He brushed your hair back. “You are gorgeous. Even with two black eyes.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, tough guy.” You took the red rag from him and poured fresh water over it to clean him. Dabbing his face with as much tenderness he had with you, you silently ruminated on the beating. “I thought it was the end for a minute there.”

Daryl nodded, his crisp blue eyes accented by the cool morning mist never leaving yours. “Me too.” He tentatively placed his hands on your hips, worried he might accidentally touch a bruised spot. When you didn’t flinch, they settled there like they weren’t meant to be anywhere else. “You saved me.”

You shrugged, still focusing on cleaning his skin. “Had to,” you said. “You’re my man. And I’d do anything for you.” You set the rag down beside you to dry and ran your fingers through his dark hair. “Seeing them hurt you like that… it destroyed me.”

He lowered his head. “Me too… wanted to gut ‘em for what they did to you. Shoulda protected you… I was weak.”

You tilted your head. “Sometimes I’m going to have to be the one to save you, Daryl. That’s how this works. We have each other’s backs. No shame or guilt… or weakness.”

He nodded, then raised his head to meet your eyes again. “I love you,” he said simply. It was the only thing he knew for certain anymore.

You smiled. “I love you too, cutie pie.”

When the sun came up, you, Daryl, Michonne, Rick, and Carl continued to follow the train tracks. The signs said there was “sanctuary for all, community for all,” so Rick decided it could be worthwhile to check it out.

You didn’t get your hopes up too high for this place. You made that mistake with the other places you called home. Luckily, Rick seemed to agree. When you got to the fence surrounding the sanctuary, Rick decided it would be best to go in through the back, but not before burying a duffel bag full of weapons in the woods. “Just in case,” he said to you.

Reaching the back door, Daryl went in first with his crossbow held high and ready to fire. You all followed, equally as prepared to fight if need be.

Finally stumbling upon a large room full of people, you realized this was a full-blown operation. There was a woman sitting at a radio speaking into a microphone recording some kind of broadcast to advertise the sanctuary. That must’ve been another one of the ways they were advertising to people.

You thought it was odd to put up signs and make radio broadcasts for your camp. Sure, it was a good way to get people to join your group and become stronger, but it was also risky, and you were beginning to wonder if maybe they had a reason for wanting to bring people to their place that wasn’t so innocent. You had to be skeptical, it was too risky to be trusting now.

“Hello,” Rick said to the people.

“Well, I bet Albert is on perimeter watch,” one man said. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, around the same age as you. “You here to rob us?” he asked.

“No,” Rick said. “We wanted to see you before you saw us.”

“Makes sense,” the man replied. “Usually we do this where the tracks meet.” He stepped forward towards your group and cleared his throat. “Welcome to Terminus. I’m Gareth. Looks like you’ve been on the road for a good bit.”

You exchanged a quick look with Daryl. The two of you must’ve looked a sight, all bruised and beaten. All of you were looking relatively frail considering you’d been out on the road for about a week with scarce food and water. Meanwhile, these people seemed to be sitting pretty. They looked healthy and vibrant, and clearly they had food, which was all you were thinking about lately.

“We have,” Rick replied. “Rick,” he introduced himself. “That’s Carl, (Y/N), Daryl, Michonne.” He nodded to each of you as he went down the line introducing you all.

There was an awkward pass as your group looked at Gareth suspiciously. “You’re nervous, I get it. We were all the same way.” You didn’t like him already. He reminded you of the insufferably enthusiastic college tour guides you dealt with in your undergraduate days. “We came here for sanctuary. That what you here for?”

“Yes,” Rick said.

“Good,” Gareth replied. “You found it.”

Soon, another man, called Alex, began showing you around. He took you out into an enclosed courtyard area where they were growing fresh vegetables and a woman was barbecuing some kind of meat.

She introduced herself to you as Mary, and before long, Rick had his gun pointed at Alex.

You didn’t hesitate to raise your axe, too. The others also followed suit and prepared to fight. You didn’t know why Rick was suddenly deciding he didn’t like these people, but you trusted his judgment.

“Where the hell did you get this watch?” Rick asked Alex as he held him at gunpoint. You narrowed your gaze at the silver watch Rick had taken from Alex. It looked eerily similar to the one Hershel had Given Glenn back at the farm. You remember his eyes lighting up as he showed it to you, bragging about how Maggie’s father trusted him enough to give him such an important family heirloom.

When Rick demanded Gareth tell him where your people were with no answer, he didn’t waste any time in shooting Alex. Just like that, the once peaceful courtyard turned into a battlefield, with dozens upon dozens of bullets being rained down at your group from every angle.

“Come on!” Daryl yelled, trying to lead your group to safety.

Everywhere you turned, there was a litany of snipers shooting at you. Oddly, they never seemed to hit any of you. The bullets all ricocheted against the ground around your feet, going nowhere near any vital organs you’d think they’d aim for.

Running around the place frantically, your group tried but failed to find any kind of way out. As you passed through one area, you saw a large pile of rotting human remains, and a myriad of train cars from which you heard the sounds of people crying for help. You weren’t sure what they were doing to people here, but you sure as hell weren’t planning on staying to find out.

Soon, you stumbled into a room lit by some kind of ritualistic altar made of candles and assorted items. On the floor, variou names, first and last, were chalked onto the concrete. You paused to look at the writing on the wall, which read, “NEVER AGAIN. NEVER TRUST. WE FIRST ALWAYS.”

“Jesus,” you said under your breath.

“What the hell is this place?” Daryl asked.

You looked over to Daryl. “Looks like some kind of shrine.”

“These people,” Michonne said, “I don’t think they’re trying to kill us.”

“No,” Rick agreed. “They were aiming at our feet.”

Not wanting to spend anymore time in that strange room, Rick led you all out another door.

Again, you were greeted with a cascade of bullets coming from every direction. This time, however, you were completely surrounded with nowhere to run.

They forced you all into a red train car not unlike the ones you saw earlier. Enclosing you all in the darkness with a thud, you breathed heavily in silence. You had a few ideas of what they wanted to do to you and your people, none of which were particularly encouraging.

When you heard a familiar voice call out to Rick from the other side of the train car, your eyes widened in the direction of the disembodied sound.

Glenn stepped out into the only dim light present in the train car, his face tired and looking so much older than last you saw him, and it had only been a week. You supposed you all looked different. Living on the road did that to a person.

Behind him, you saw Maggie step forward, too. Your heart stopped all at once, and you would’ve smiled or cried tears of joy if you weren’t utterly terrified for whatever fate awaited you and your friends, your family.

“You’re here,” Rick said simply.

Two more familiar faces, Bob and Sasha, appeared from the darkness as well. Then, four completely unfamiliar faces showed themselves, two women and two men.

“They’re our friends,” Maggie said. “They helped save us.”

“Yeah,” Daryl replied. “Now they’re friends of ours.”

“For however long that’ll be,” one of the men said. You couldn’t see much of his face other than a prominent handlebar mustache above his lip.

“No,” Rick said. “They’re gonna feel pretty stupid when they find out.”

“Find out what?” the mustached man asked.

You exchanged a look with Daryl, and he stepped closer to you to take your hand in his. He squeezed it tightly in an attempt to remind you that he was with you, that you were in a sticky situation, but you were together.

Not just you and Daryl, but Rick, Carl, Michonne, Maggie, Glenn, Bob, and Sasha, too, and the four others who were already a part of your group whether they wanted to be or not. You knew from the resilient sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you that none of you would go down without a fight.

Maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t go down at all.

Rick turned to look at you all. “They’re screwing with the wrong people.”

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#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic #twd #twd fanfic #the beginning series

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sweeterthanthis · 4 years ago

Text

Your Filthy Heart

Part Four: Rendezvous

Your Filthy Heart Masterlist

Pairing: Stepdad!Bucky x 18+F!Reader

Summary: Bucky picks you up from college and takes you to your usual spot. Safe to say, Friday’s are the best day of the week. But what happens when you don’t quite feel like going home?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, stepdad/daddy kink, vaginal sex, shameless infidelity, jealousy, lying, 18+.

It had become routine. Bucky picking you up from college on a Friday afternoon.

To anybody else it was just a generous stepfather driving two hours out of his way so that his stepdaughter didn’t have to take the bus.

“Well fuck, hello there daddy.” Your friend, Stephanie, would chime when he pulled into the parking lot in his sleek, black car - your eyes rolling as you fought to push down the tinge of jealousy that bubbled in your tummy.

You wanted to run right up to the car, have him roll his window down and devour his lips in a hungry kiss. You knew you couldn’t, would never dare try it. Your sensibility didn’t suppress the urge, however. It never did.

Bucky’s hand would find your bare thigh - you always wore skirts, easy access you’d teased - within moments of you sitting in the passenger seat. He’d ask you how your week was, small talk that you were certain he didn’t give a fuck about, but he was gracious enough to ask you all the same.

It had become tradition to snarl at the receptionist at the front desk when she’d eye you both judgingly, the difference in age between you and Bucky obvious. You kept your hands to yourself, just in case - but the urge to nestle into his side, hold his hand in yours? It became stronger each time you danced this little dance.

All bets were off the moment you entered that motel room though. The same one every week. His hands would be on you instantly, your back slammed up against the motel room door as he kissed you hungrily, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, and his fingers digging into your shoulder blades urgently.

“You miss daddy, princess? Fuck, I sure missed this ass.” He’d groan, hands slipping beneath the hem of your short skirt and kneading your cheeks firmly. “Answer daddy, tell him how much you missed him.”

Your hands in his hair, the stubble from his jaw scratching against your chest while his mouth suckled hungrily at the soft flesh of your chest. “Missed you, daddy. Always miss you. D’you miss more than just my ass when m’gone?”

As time went on, you found yourself missing more than just the sex, the filthy encounters and the sly flirting. You found yourself simply just missing his presence, missing him.

“Gettin’ needy on me, princess? He chuckled against the hollow of your throat, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed, perching on the edge with you in his lap; your fingernails dragging against the back of his neck. “Careful now, don’t want mommy gettin’ suspicious now, do we?”

Your head falling forward against his shoulder, you huff in frustration. A constant reminder that no matter how devoted he was to your pleasure in these moments, he wasn’t yours.

You ground your teeth in frustration, his fingers grasping your chin and pulling your gaze up to meet his icy stare, the tips of your noses barely touching, simply taking each other in, your heavy, mingled breathing the only sound to be heard.

“Why did you marry her?” You rushed out, your cheeks warming and your teeth worrying your bottom lip. His palm finding the column of your throat, squeezing possessively as you lean into his touch, he sighs.

“Don’t wanna talk about her.” He pulls you closer, his lips brushing lightly against your own kiss swollen mouth, drawing them back and forth and making you whine. “Just wanna be here, wanna feel you.”

The way he looks at you makes your gut clench, the tenderness in his tone catching you off guard as you furrow your brow a little, whimpering when the pad of his thumb strokes against the corner of your mouth.

He rolls his groin up against your naked core - no panties on a Friday - your slick staining his pants as the prominent bulge beneath them nudged against your touch-starved clit.

“Clothes off.”

You rarely get to marvel at the sight of him in all his naked glory, grabbing the opportunity to take in your fill of him while he hurriedly undresses in front of you, your own hands busying themselves with removing your own garments - hungry eyes wandering over your body as you shuffle back on the mattress, back against the headboard, legs spreading instantly.

“No baby, not today.” He coos, confusion evident on your face. “No, today you’re gonna ride on daddy’s dick. Show daddy who it really belongs to.”

He plants himself next to you, cock swollen and leaking against his stomach, patting his thigh with the palm of his hand, motioning for you to take your position.

Tentatively, your hands settling on his shoulders, you climb into his lap; the silky slick coating your pussy glistening against the base of his cock, a shiver of anticipation running through your body. He’d never had you like this before. Never allowed you to take control.

“Like this?” You whisper, his fingertips digging into your thighs, mouth chasing the soft peaks of your breasts, teeth teasing them one after the other. “Oh, fuck.”

“Mmhmm, just like this.” He mumbles against you, one hand reaching round your waist, tugging you against him; cock inches away from your cunt as you undulate your hips against his own. “Been a fuckin’ week, princess. Want that tight pussy wrapped ‘round me.”

Rising up on your knees a little, reaching between your bodies and wrapping your hand around the thick base of him, you line him up perfectly; a primal grunt of relief echoing low in your throat as you sink down slowly and take him deep inside you, the angle so overwhelming and so new, your eyes roll back.

“That’s it, there it is.” Bucky groans, his head falling back with a soft thud against the headboard, his fingernails biting into the soft curves of your waist - the chill of his wedding ring settling against your skin. “Use daddy’s dick, princess. Fuck yourself on it.”

You reach behind you, settling your hands on his thighs and arching your back, making a show of your chest, watching as his eyes remain fixed on your face for the first time ever, never once faltering when the slow drag of his cock against your walls makes you whimper and whine in pleasure.

“Fuck, daddy, feels so good.” You praise, the stretch and burn wracking your body, knees trembling against the firm mattress as you rise and fall down onto him, breasts bouncing gently. “Like this, daddy?”

“Yeah, fuck, just like that princess.” His arms encase your torso, one hand gripping the nape of your neck and the other splayed out between your shoulder blades - skin flush against skin and his mouth suckling at your throat. “This is what you need. When you’re gone, you just fuckin’ remember how good daddy feels.”

You relish the control, your body setting the pace for a change, boldness rising within you as you fuck yourself down onto his cock. “Did you miss my pussy, daddy? Think about it when you’re in bed with her at night?”

His fingers tangled in your hair, open mouth panting against your own, he groans; cock throbbing wildly inside you, flesh slapping against flesh when he snaps his hips up to go deeper. A hand travelling up your ribcage, his callous fingers creating a beautiful friction that makes you squirm and wind your hips against him, you can’t suppress the sob that falls from your lips when he punches against that sweet spot that only he can find.

“Every time. Every fuckin’ time, n’you know it.” He grunts, restraint waning, throwing you down against the mattress and driving himself back inside you as he settles between your thighs, deep and delicious thrusts into your stretched out cunt just the way you like it. “Drive me fuckin’ crazy, princess. Spend all night buried in that tight, little hole if I could.”

Your legs hooked around his waist, you whisper against the underside of his jaw, “why don’t you, then?”

An idea sparks in your mind, your hand instinctively reaching for the bedside cabinet and picking up his phone. Bucky halts inside you, looking down at you with confusion written all over his face. You simply smirk, scrolling to find your mom’s contact details and pressing ‘call’ as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Keep fucking me, daddy.” You whisper mischievously, suppressing a moan when he sheaths himself inside you fully once again.

“Bucky, darling, where are you? Dinner was ready half an hour ago.”

“Hey mom,” you pull the phone away from your ear momentarily, hissing at one particularly brutal thrust into your cunt, “so, looks like we’re gonna be stuck here a while. Bucky’s car broke down, so we’re just gonna crash at a motel until the morning when he can find a garage.”

He smirks down at you, clearly impressed and aroused by your boldness, looking down between your bodies at his cock disappearing inside your sopping wet heat.

“Oh, sweetheart, what a disaster. Can you pass the phone over to him so I can tell him I miss him? It’s quiet around here without the two of you.”

“Oh,” you shudder, tension building in your belly as his pace intensifies, the strokes of his cock coupled with the shamelessness of your behaviour keeping you teetering on the edge of bliss, “he’s, uh, he’s a little busy right now. Got work to catch up on, apparently.”

“Fuck,” he mouths, hand reaching up to grip your throat, his thumb brushing across your chin.

“Oh, okay. Well get him to call me when he’s done? And be careful, sweetheart. Those motel rooms are filthy.”

You suppress a giggle at your situation, unashamedly getting railed by your stepfather while you make nice with your mom on the phone. It made you feel dirty.

The kind of dirty you wanted to feel every day as long as it was at the hands of him and his delicious cock.

“Oh yeah, yeah, they sure are mom.” You breathe, toes curling and your legs beginning to shake, his grip on your throat tightening, his teeth gritted, desperately trying to mask the animalistic grunts he was so eager to release. “I gotta go, mom. See you tomorrow, o-okay?”

“Okay sweetie, and don’t forge-”

You end the call, tossing his phone across the room and raking your fingernails down his back. The point of caring had long since passed, and all you wanted was for him to drive your pliable body into the cheap mattress.

“You’re fuckin’ bold, princess.” He spits, but you can tell by the tone that it’s praise.

“Mmhmm, sure am, daddy. Now what was that you said about being buried deep inside my tight little hole all night?”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #sebastian stan imagine

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tarydarrington · 3 years ago

Text

It takes about half an hour for the general topic of conversation at the party to turn to his scars.

It shouldn’t be a surprise; any guests of Archmage Beck’s are bound to have at least a passing familiarity with the way a Scourger’s arms are meant to look. The maze of ink is a symbol of power, a sign of something dangerous and elite, and his ragged array of raised, pale cuts is a far cry from elegance. It’s natural that they would pick up on the difference. It’s natural that it would be gossiped over. It’s natural that Caleb feels rather like teleporting straight home and letting his future self deal with the social consequences.

To borrow an odd turn of phrase Veth had once used, two halves are at war inside of him. One is filled with an angry, headstrong pride that makes him want to shove his scars in the faces of all those who care to gawk and let them have their fill. The other wishes he had brought a coat.

It’s rare that Essek does much at these functions aside from artfully disappearing in such a way that lets him mingle with as few fellow guests as possible, but after only a few moments of stares following him, the elf appears at his side.

“May I borrow you, a moment?” he asks.

The way his eyes dart around the room reminds Caleb of an irritated cat’s tail swishing.

“As many moments as you like,” he replies, and follows Essek into an empty hallway.

The sound of the crowd is immediately muffled by the walls as they step inside, and Caleb wonders fleetingly if this is where Essek has been all night. Someday, if they ever manage to talk about whatever this is between them, maybe the two of them will attend a party without the rest of the Nein. Just for the pleasure of being able to leave early without stranding anyone, if nothing else.

Or they could stay. Caleb thinks he wouldn’t mind a party like this quite so much, if he were with Essek.

He shakes the thought as Essek finally looks him in the eye for the first time, and Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up as Essek begins to shrug his way out of his cloak.

“Herr Thelyss, we are in public,” he deadpans, and grins at the way Essek’s face - not quite his own, here, of course - flushes.

“What is the Empire saying? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” He takes the cloak in both hands, holding it out between them at its full length and width, turning a critical eye on Caleb. He seems satisfied with his findings, folding it neatly over one arm before clearing his throat. “If you like,” he says in a softer tone, “you may borrow this.”

He might have been less surprised if it were a striptease. Essek is fond of his layers. They’re elegant, they present an image of inscrutability, and - most importantly to Essek, he has learned - they obscure his body. It gives him privacy, this kind of which he values greatly. To be offered something like this is quite a gift, indeed.

Essek seems, as usual, to know what he’s thinking. “It is rather warm, tonight. I dressed accordingly.”

Caleb gives him a once-over for precisely the length of time that could not possibly be considered staring. He’s not lying. The fine, light clothing beneath his cloak is amorphous enough to preserve his modesty.

Caleb thinks of the way their stares follow him. He thinks of all the pain he went through to get these scars, and all the good he’s done to ensure they are never inflicted on anyone else. He is not ashamed of these scars. Essek will understand, if he turns the offer down. He always understands.

Then, he thinks of the faces they’ll make if he returns to the room wearing Essek’s cloak.

The rest of the night passes about as he expects, with three important observations made. Firstly, Essek’s cloak is still warm and smells very much like Essek. Secondly, the well-tailored, black tunic he had been wearing underneath follows the lines of his body loosely enough to obscure most details, but just closely enough to draw his imagination to fill in the blanks. Thirdly, despite the smattering of murmurs and stares that still turn in his direction from time to time, the sum of the previous two facts makes this evening entirely enjoyable.

He suspects, from the way Essek steals a few more glances than necessary, that it might be a positive experience for them both.

The number of times the Mighty Nein find themselves in combat before the end of a fancy party truly ought not to be as high as it is.

Then again, Essek remembers the circumstances of their first meeting. It may be absurd, but it isn't surprising.

What is surprising - or rather, what would have been surprising, had one informed him of it several years ago - is the way he doesn't think twice before placing himself between a nearly-downed Veth and the blow intended to finish her. The blade cuts him from shoulder to chest, catching him at the wrist on the follow-through and leaving a stinging cut in its wake.

Caduceus sees to the wound with his usual easy precision, but the magic doesn't work the same way on his clothing. He picks dejectedly at the tattered remains of his neckline, the end of his sleeve hanging ragged to match. This had been a nice cloak. That, and the Ruby’s festivities inside, blissfully unaware of the commotion in the gardens, are still due to continue for another few hours.

Just as he's considering how bad a faux pas it would be to call it a night, Caleb ducks down into his line of sight, squatting beside him where he rests against the low stone wall.

"You know, I think perhaps you are a little breakable to be trying for Yasha’s role,” he says with a bemused smile. Before Essek has a chance to respond, he adds, “That was very brave of you. I will thank you on Veth’s behalf, since I think she has, ah, moved on from the moment.”

Moved on from the moment seems, in this case, to mean that she has been offering for the last several minutes to bandage Bluud’s barely-scratched biceps. Essek waves a hand.

“It’s perfectly alright,” he says. “Though I must admit, I will mourn the clothing.”

Caleb gives him a sympathetic grimace, and Essek tries not to fidget as he watches those blue eyes assess the damage and catch on the strips of rarely exposed skin. He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue as he takes it in that is much more attractive than it ought to be.

“Would you like to…” Caleb’s brow furrows in thought, and to finish the question, he takes the end of his scarf in one hand and dangles it between them. “If you like?”

Essek wipes the look of wide-eyed, touched surprise from his face as fast as he can, but he’s sure from the way a small smile tugs at Caleb’s lips that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. His gaze drops down to his ruined neckline. The damage is high enough that it’s possible the scarf could cover it, if properly arranged.

“That would…” He takes a breath. “I would be… grateful.”

With an encouraging smile, Caleb ducks out from the middle of the scarf and pools it in his arms, offering it to Essek. When he takes it, the warmth and weight of the fabric reminds him of Caleb’s cats. He tries to keep his breathing steady as he turns it in his hands - and realizes only when he attempts to duck through the center that he has no idea how to properly wrap something like this.

He’s slighter than Caleb, so the loops that circle Caleb perfectly slip awkwardly off his shoulders; besides that, the elegant coil has been tangled in the handing off. He tries to wind it around his own neck from the beginning, but finds it frustratingly difficult to get it to sit the way he’d like it to, and is entirely uncertain of what to do with the ends.

“I… am afraid I am rather at a loss,” Essek admits begrudgingly.

Caleb cocks his head to one side in curious surprise, but instead of questioning, he holds out his hands. “Would you allow me?”

He takes the scarf back when Essek nods mutely in response, and suddenly he is very, very close. Caleb gives him a reassuring smile, as though he knows - and of course he knows, he always knows - that he needs a moment to adjust to the proximity. The care in those eyes almost knocks Essek’s gaze away, but instead holds it locked in place.

“Is, ah…” Caleb begins, and his voice sounds thicker than before, “is this alright?”

Essek hopes the somewhat dazed half-nod he manages gets the point across.

He’s had Caleb’s arms around him before, but for some reason the feeling of them bracketing his neck as Caleb drapes the scarf around and around him is so achingly intimate that it stops his breath.

His gaze breaks from Caleb’s for just long enough to notice the v of bare skin now visible at the neck of his shirt, and he snaps his attention back to Caleb’s eyes as his face burns. Caleb’s smile quirks upwards on one side at the sight. He gives the scarf a few gentle tugs to place it just right.

As his hand draws away, he lets it rest cupped against Essek’s cheek for just a moment. The night is cold, but the space between them feels warmer than a fireside. The fireside, as well, would have fewer sparks.

Caleb clears his throat as he pulls away and stands, and the spell is broken as both of them turn to studiously examine their surroundings. Essek shifts the weight of the scarf experimentally. Sometimes, one of Caleb’s cats will climb the man and wind itself around his neck in a thoroughly endearing display of affection. Caleb has always thought of it as the highest compliment, to be chosen in such a way, and Essek imagines it must feel something like this. And never, not even covered in four layers and his old mantle, has he ever felt so protected from the outside world.

“Thank you,” he manages after a moment.

“Ja, of course.” It’s a minor relief that Caleb sounds about as breathless as Essek feels.

As he stands, letting his levitation spell carry him gently off his feet, the hem of his sleeve catches his eye. Caleb’s gaze falls that way, too, then flicks back up to his with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Well,” he says, and holds out his arm, “that is a shame.”

Essek looks from Caleb’s face to his arm and back, heat creeping up his neck. Caleb knows him well enough to understand this is no small request. He knows Caleb well enough, in return, to understand that he will take no offense if he refuses.

Carefully, holding his breath, Essek tucks his hand under Caleb’s arm. The billowing cloth of his sleeve falls down to cover the ragged end of Essek’s, and Essek finds himself wondering for a moment if the loose style was intended to mimic his own.

The smile on Caleb’s face is so fond that Essek can’t help but return it.

“Well,” Caleb says, leaning in conspiratorially, “shall we?”

They’re not the last of the Mighty Nein to return to the party - Essek suspects Beauregard and Yasha have found their own pursuits in the garden, judging by the looks they had been exchanging after the battle - but they’re not the first, either. Jester and Fjord have found the Ruby and joined her in polite conversation. Caleb steers him dutifully in the other direction; they both know well what will happen if Jester sees them like this, and perhaps Caleb is as loath to break the moment as he is. They make the rounds together, and Essek thinks that they must look for all the world like a real couple. The thought brings a strange lightness to his chest, and he finds himself absently curling his hand around Caleb’s arm where it rests.

“My nefarious plot has gone off without a hitch,” Caleb murmurs with a grin. “Now, you are stuck with me for the rest of the evening.”

Essek doesn’t bother holding back the smirk. With a covert flick of magic in his free hand, he draws away from Caleb’s arm to politely retrieve a glass from the tray of a passing waiter. Caleb watches him with incredulous surprise, eyes trained on the end of his sleeve - perfectly intact through a Seeming spell.

“I think I can manage without, if I must,” Essek says mildly.

He passes the drink to his off hand as Caleb flushes a bit.

“Well,” Caleb says sheepishly, “that is one way to do it.”

Essek raises his eyebrows at him teasingly, and before he can talk himself out of it, slips his hand back into the crook of Caleb’s arm.

To his credit, Caleb doesn’t tease. The surprised little smile he gives Essek instead gives him more warmth than the scarf does, and Essek lets himself smile back as Caleb’s hand comes up to rest over his. Not enough to hold him in place, just enough for a little more contact.

“You know, you could have done that before,” Caleb murmurs. “At Astrid’s party, when you lent me your cloak.”

Essek takes a sip of his drink to hide the blush. “I realize,” he replies. He could admit that the way those people had treated Caleb lit his anger in a way few things have since he left court. He could admit that he knows, from experience, that it’s more of a comfort to have something real between you and the rest of the world. He could admit that giving his own cloak as such a barrier for Caleb had felt like a more personal kind of protection.

He could even point out that Caleb could have used the spell himself, if he had wanted to; but he finds he likes the quiet implication given by the fact that he took Essek's cloak instead.

"It suited you,” is what he settles on.

Caleb gives him a hum of acknowledgement in response. “Ja, well,” he adds with a soft, knowing smile, “the scarf suits you.”

Of course, Caleb always understands. And as they move about the party for the rest of the night, arm in arm, Essek thinks that he doesn’t mind parties quite so much with Caleb by his side.

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #mine #mine:fic #caleb #essek

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